A Walk in the Dark

For Ray, the bottom line was this: Hanssen "had an absence of a moral rudder. He didn't have that part of the gut that says: 'Don't do this. It's illegal, immoral, dangerous and wrong.' "

"I believe that moral rudder was there, but it was just ignored," counters O'Neill, a clean-cut, bright-eyed man of 33, now a government contracts lawyer in Washington. "He knew the right things to do but he made excuses for himself. And because his religion was so central to his life -- and he knew he was doing immoral things, hurting people -- he believed himself evil and doomed."

"Breach" is also fascinating, ironically, for what it doesn't tell, and how those stories -- found in numerous articles and such nonfiction books as David Wise's "Spy: The Inside Story of How the FBI's Robert Hanssen Betrayed America" and David A. Vise's "The Bureau and the Mole" -- yield even more perplexing questions about Hanssen.

"Ultimately, who knows the heart of a double agent?" asks "Spy" author Wise. "Does a spy even know what drives him to betray everything -- his wife, his country, himself? It's a complicated business."

In the case of Hanssen, the more that these writers uncover, it seems, the darker and more elusive he becomes.

In a 2001 article, intelligence affairs author James Bamford, who came to know Hanssen personally, remembered that Hanssen "would much rather talk about the immorality of abortion and the dangers of Planned Parenthood than the latest draft picks." And when Bamford finally agreed, at Hanssen's request, to attend one of his Opus Dei meetings, the FBI man "reveled in that closed society of true believers, like a fraternity brother exchanging a secret handshake."

But "hidden deep behind that pious, anti-Communist facade," Bamford wrote in the New York Times Magazine, "was a disturbing, bifurcated psyche. A Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hanssen."

A tall, brooding loner -- nicknamed "the mortician" for the dark suits and clothes he always wore -- Hanssen pursued a shadowy double role in virtually every facet of his life. As the head of the Soviet unit at the FBI, he was in charge of catching enemy spies but, according to court documents, books and published reports, received an estimated $1.4 million over 22 years for passing classified materials to the Soviet and Russian regimes.

(Those materials included details of the U.S. government's contingency plan for surviving a nuclear attack, identities of Soviet agents working for Washington and the existence of a multimillion-dollar spy tunnel built under the Soviet embassy here.)

Hanssen would duck out of work early so he could attend antiabortion rallies, yet had no compunction about sending three young men to their deaths -- Russian double agents whose identities he sold to Moscow. And according to Vise's book, Hanssen was never too busy working for his country's enemies to feed the media damning information about the Clinton administration's purported cover-up of financial contributions from communist China.

"You have to understand he was a compartmentalizer," Vise says. "How else could he be married and a father and go to church every day and, at the same time, commit treason?"

According to Wise and Vise's books and others, Hanssen spent his share of secular time at "gentleman's clubs" in downtown Washington. He befriended several strippers, including Priscilla Sue Galey, on whom he lavished several thousands of dollars in cash and jewelry. (She was the one for whom he bought the Mercedes -- used.)

On one occasion, he took Galey on a free trip to Hong Kong, while he attended an FBI conference there. Yet to her surprise, Hanssen never attempted to have sex with her. He was, he told her, trying to bring her closer to God. He neglected, however, to inform his wife, Bonnie, of his missionary work.

As the movie only alludes to, but most Hanssen books recount, Hanssen reserved the worst betrayal of all for his wife, Bonnie -- who, by the terms of her pension arrangement, cannot comment about her husband to the media. He ostensibly revered her, yet disseminated material about their sexual relationship on the Internet, and even rigged a secret surveillance camera in their bedroom -- unbeknown to her -- so a childhood friend could watch their lovemaking when he came to visit.

This highly secretive man also wanted to be discovered, maintains Vise; "otherwise, in his eyes, the world would never have had the chance to see how devilishly clever he was -- eluding detection for two decades."

That seemed clear to O'Neill on that January day in 2001 when he moved into Hanssen's office to begin his clandestine assignment. As the movie shows, his new boss immediately lectured him on the kind of spies to be on the lookout for: They would be in "the worst possible place," trying to do the most possible damage and for the best financial gain.

"There he was," O'Neill says. "Across the desk, sitting in that worst possible place, with access to everything. So we began our relationship with me thinking, 'Is it cat and mouse? Who's the cat and who's the mouse? Is he just being a mentor or is he saying: 'I know what's going on. See if you can catch me. You can't because you're a stupid, low-level clerk.' "

But O'Neill had the last word in that crucible of a relationship. On the day of Hanssen's impending arrest, knowing he'd never see Hanssen free again, O'Neill had a special farewell to make.

"I said 'Boss?' He turned and said, 'Yeah?' I said, 'I'll catch you later.' "