Heathfield had landed at one of the best places for his particular line of business. Like any student, when he applied to Harvard, he knew it was a ticket to the big time, a chance to make contacts and open doors, to work his way into the elite circles of American life. The difference from most other students was that this would be for Moscow’s purposes and not just his own self-advancement. He was studying for a master’s in public administration at the Kennedy School of Government. The school was often looked down on by the traditional academic departments, but everyone knew the reason to attend was the connections it offered. The faculty was packed full of former officials and politicians. Former and current CIA officers, senators, and policy wonks all made it their home. And the students who came were ambitious and would make their way into government in the United States or around the world, especially in the midcareer program that Heathfield joined.
Heathfield arrived in late 1999 and gained a reputation as a sociable member of his class of two hundred students. He said he was from Montreal. If pressed about his accent, he would say he was the son of a diplomat and had been to school in the Czech Republic. Heathfield organized a drinking night in which fifty members of the class visited Canadian students to try high-end Scotch. “We called it the Royal Canadian Scotch Stagger,” one later remembered. The night ended at 3 a.m. at Heathfield’s house. The networking opportunities were ample. Among those in his year was Felipe Calderon, who would later become president of Mexico, as well as others who would run for political office in the United States and work with the US Army. Heathfield, fellow students remember, was particularly good at keeping track at what people got up to afterward. Harvard would provide the credentials for his future career but was also the first stage in trying to find that “somebody” who could—wittingly or unwittingly—serve Moscow. “The main task of an agent is constantly climb the social ladder, achieving contacts with more and more prominent society members. Because it is only there that you find really valuable information,” he later said.
On a sunny day in May 2000, Donald Heathfield attended his graduation ceremony. He was all smiles. It was a proud day for all the family. Ann was at his side, looking smart with a pale blue jacket and a pair of sunglasses. At her side were young Alex and Timothy. The mission seemed to be progressing well. But what the family did not know was that they were being watched. Spotting an illegal in the wild is incredibly challenging—that is the point. They could be anyone—your neighbor, your coworker (even, in one case, your dentist)—they are almost impossible to find. Unless, of course, you have your own spy in their ranks.
Heathfield and Foley were ghosts—their identities stolen from the dead. But they were not invisible. Close to them at the graduation ceremony—just a few feet away—were people silently hovering around them. These figures furtively snapped pictures of the couple with their children. They were members of the FBI’s Special Surveillance Group—the SSG, often called the Gs. Decades earlier the FBI’s surveillance had been something of a joke—the regulation dark suits and white shirts were a giveaway. So they had learned from their British cousins at MI5 how to set up specialist teams who could blend in anywhere and looked like ordinary people—a mirror to what the illegals themselves were trying to do. And because their job was to be unseen as they tailed their targets, the Gs were also known as “Ghosts.” That sunny day at Harvard, ghosts were chasing ghosts.
IN THE LATE 1990s, as Donald Heathfield was arriving at Harvard, Alexander Poteyev was making his way every morning to the Russian mission to the United Nations. The mission is a slice of Moscow dropped slap-bang in the middle of Manhattan, a dull-gray Soviet-style twelve-story building at 136 East 67th Street. On the same block sits the 19th precinct station of the New York City Police Department and the 16th Ladder of the Fire Department. Directly across the road is a synagogue. In an act of defiance during the Cold War, the synagogue had a large plaque placed outside for Russian diplomats. “Hear the Cry of the Oppressed. The Jewish Community of the Soviet Union,” it reads. No doubt, the FBI also has a presence somewhere to watch those leaving and entering the Russian building. And in the late 1990s, Poteyev was of particular interest. He is an elusive figure whose life is deliberately shrouded in mystery. But while FBI and CIA officials adamantly refuse to confirm or comment on the identity of the origins of the investigation into Russian illegals and many of the details come from Russian sources, there is no doubt that Alexander Poteyev was the key figure. He was the reason why Donald Heathfield was followed at his graduation. It took a spy to catch the spies. Poteyev was “the source.”
POTEYEV WAS BORN on March 7, 1952, in the Brest region of Belarus, in what was then the Soviet Union. His father, Nikolai Poteyev, had commanded T-34 tanks with distinction in World War II, earning the title “Hero of the Soviet Union” for his role in battle in the Baltic front in September 1944, but died when Alexander was twenty. His son followed him into the army and in 1975 he joined the KGB, first serving in Minsk and then from 1978 in Moscow, though not yet as a spy. During these years he met and married Marina and they would have a daughter and then a son.
In 1979, Poteyev went on the Advanced Course for Officers (KUOS). The name was misleading. It was better known as “the school for saboteurs.” This was the KGB’s elite paramilitary training for those destined for either irregular combat or stay-behind and sabotage roles in the event of World War III and other conflicts. It came under the wing of Directorate S’s Department 8, which carried out “special operations.” These were unique roles that combined the ability to work undercover for long periods as a spy with high-end military training. Poteyev would soon get his chance to put those skills into action.
On Christmas Eve 1979, Soviet troops were ordered into Afghanistan to quell a growing insurgency and topple a leader insufficiently pliant to Moscow’s orders. Directorate S’s Department 8 had already tried to assassinate the Afghan leader by sending an illegal documented as an Afghan to get a job as a cook and poison his fruit juice. But the Afghan leader was suspicious enough to carefully mix his drinks. So Moscow resorted to an all-out assault on the presidential palace led by Directorate S and GRU special forces (the “illegal” cook had to hide to avoid being shot by his compatriots during the raid). Poteyev was sent early to Afghanistan as one of the Directorate S “Zenit” teams. The invasion set the scene for a brutal struggle as a bloody insurgency by mujahideen fighters gathered strength. This was fueled by weapons and money sent by Islamic states and the CIA (led, in part, by Milton Bearden), who saw it as a chance to give their Soviet enemy a bloody nose. It was a savage and dirty fight—the Soviet Union’s version of Vietnam—from which many young men returned in body bags. Poteyev was on the front lines. One of the only photos of him is as part of Zenit—a young-looking figure in fatigues with a blank expression. One KGB colleague from those days simply remembers Poteyev as someone who liked to drink and who had a good sense of humor.
Poteyev next served in “Cascade,” a new task force formed to fight guerrilla warfare. Like a US special forces team in Afghanistan in later years, their job was to seek intelligence and use it to hunt for the enemy and its agents in the towns and countryside. This included using illegals who could