In Canada, a Sequel to an Old Cloak-and-Dagger Story

Suspect Could Be 'Part of the First Post-Soviet Generation' of Spies for Russia

TORONTO, Nov. 23 -- The man carried crib sheets -- index cards scribbled with reminders of key dates in Canadian history. But he is a real Russian spy, Canadian authorities insist, real enough for them to deem him a threat to national security.

The arrest last week of a man who called himself Paul William Hampel, and carried fake identity papers, set Canada abuzz: The old cloak-and-dagger games between Russia and the West appear far from over.

Hampel, an apparent alias created with a fabricated birth certificate, appeared Wednesday in Federal Court of Canada in Montreal in the first step toward his deportation to Russia.

Federal authorities said little about him and nothing about his alleged spy targets, except to assert that he had been undercover in Canada for at least 10 years. The length of that stealth, and the man's apparent ease in operating here and abroad, hearkened back to Soviet moles who lived with false identities for decades without being exposed during the Cold War.

"If he was already in Canada in 1995 and preparing for this mission, he represents something very unusual," said Wesley Wark, a security analyst at the Munk Center for International Studies at the University of Toronto. "He must be part of the first post-Soviet generation" of spies, trained immediately after the 1991 breakup of the Soviet Union.

The idea that Russia, after that collapse, would have no need for a wide international spy network turned out to be a "post-Cold War illusion," Wark said. Russian President Vladimir Putin, himself a former spy in the Soviet KGB, has made little secret of his affection for espionage.

Still, Wark said, it is rare to catch a Russian spy who has operated for so long. And the bare details that have emerged about the man have whetted the interest of aficionados of a good spy tale. Newspapers have run with it, with prose hinting of James Bond. The Globe and Mail breathlessly described the "man of mystery" at his brief court appearance as "tall, good-looking." The Toronto Star painted him as "cool and unruffled" in court.

The court papers available indicate that the man, whose true name has not been disclosed, was picked up at Montreal's airport Nov. 14 carrying his fake birth certificate and passport, about $7,000 in five currencies, three cellphones and five password-protected SIM data cards to go into them, two digital cameras and a shortwave radio.

The public documents do not say where he was going. But the Canadian news media have found a few traces. He had established an "emerging markets consultancy" in Ireland but listed no income or activity. The landlord of the Montreal apartment listed as his address does not remember him. His most visible trail, oddly, is a collection of scenic photographs from the Balkans that he posted on the Internet and paid to have published in a vanity press book.

The Canadian government calls him a member of the "Russian espionage elites" working for the Sluzhba Vneshney Razvedki -- the SVR, a successor to the KGB. Using terms popularized by Cold War spy novels, the government alleges that he was an "illegal" who created a "legend" -- a background history for himself as a Canadian.

"It's called a false flag," said Martin Rudner, head of the Canadian Center of Intelligence and Security Studies at Carlton University in Ottawa. "You get a person to create a Canadian identity -- passport, birth certificate, et cetera -- and then deploy him to a third jurisdiction.

"The third jurisdiction may not be willing to disclose anything to a Russian. They may not want to talk to a Russian. But they may be willing to chitchat with a Canadian over a dinner or drink. That's how the process begins," Rudner said.

Rudner sees a variety of attractive targets in Canada: strategies on Afghanistan or Iraq shared with Canada by the United States, defense technologies, oil and gas negotiating positions, even intelligence on the thriving Russian emigre population in Canada.

A spy on those beats could run into competitors. Two Chinese defectors caused a stir last year by alleging that Beijing maintained a network of 1,000 spies and informants in Canada to keep track of the Falun Gong movement and to steal commercial secrets. The Iranians have been known to operate here, watching their immigrant community. The Canadian government warned in June that it had to spend "substantial resources" to try to combat commercial and government spies.

And in 1996, two other Russian spies in Canada -- a husband and wife who called themselves Ian and Laurie Lambert, the names of dead children -- were unmasked and deported. No hard feelings: The couple divorced, and the woman sued Canada to be allowed back in.

Rudner said a spy need not have access to sensitive information to be valuable; the Russian couple worked in an insurance agency and a photo store.

"It's not the agent who procures the secret," Rudner said. "It's the operative he recruits. He does the talent scouting, identifying a vulnerable local, and then that vulnerability is exploited. So working in a position where you meet a lot of people is exactly what you need."

David Harris, a former chief of strategic planning for Canada's spy agency, considers the latest arrest evidence of Russia's continued interest in espionage.

"We have known that vigorous intelligence efforts are being made by Russia. If anything, the pace has stepped up," he said in an interview from Ottawa. "The old Soviet thirst for economic development and high-tech secrets has not been entirely slaked."

Perhaps more dangerous, Harris said, is Russia's continuing interest in weapons and military technology that could be passed on to Russian allies, such as Iran.

"I'm very impressed by this" arrest, Harris said. Canada's spy agency "has been able to haul in an unusually big fish."

And what of the scrawled index cards, with giveaway reminders of important dates in Canadian history? Wark has a theory, befitting novelist John le Carre.

"After 10 years, the guy probably didn't need a crib system," Wark said. "It's just a guess, but I would say those dates are a code."

Special correspondent Natalia Alexandrova contributed to this report.