Soviet Illegals Unmasked

The 1992 Case of Igor Ljuskov and Natalya Ljuskova

Cold War Shadows in a New Era

In the early 1990s, as the Soviet Union collapsed and the Cold War seemed to thaw, many assumed cloak-and-dagger espionage would fade into history. Reality proved otherwise. In May 1992 – barely half a year after the USSR’s dissolution – authorities exposed an espionage operation that could have been scripted straight from the Cold War playbook. Two individuals carrying British passports under the names James Tristan Peatfield and Anna Marie Nemeth were detained in Finland on suspicion of being deep-cover spies. It turned out these were not ordinary British travelers at all, but a married Russian couple: Igor Ljuskov and Natalya Ljuskova, agents of Moscow’s intelligence service operating as “illegals” – spies with no diplomatic cover, living under stolen identities in the West. Their unmasking in 1992 was a stark reminder that Soviet-era espionage methods were alive and well in the post-Cold War world.

This case, largely kept low-profile at the time, offers a fascinating window into the secretive “Illegals Program” of Russian intelligence. It reveals how operatives built false identities (or “legends”), the tradecraft they employed to avoid detection, and the continuity of Russian espionage tactics even as the KGB morphed into its post-Soviet incarnation, the SVR (Foreign Intelligence Service). It also foreshadows the challenges and adaptations this clandestine program would undergo in the coming internet era, where a Google search can unravel a poorly crafted cover story. In this article, we delve into the intriguing story of Igor and Natalya – a spy saga that straddles two eras – and compare their methods to both earlier Soviet illegals and later Russian sleeper agents. The tale involves purloined identities, careful “staging” operations, and an arrest that briefly pierced the veil of one of Moscow’s most secretive espionage traditions.

Deep Cover Identities: Peatfield and Nemeth

The Ljuskov case centered on identity theft of real British citizens. Igor Ljuskov traveled under the alias James Tristan Peatfield, while Natalya Ljuskova pretended to be Anna Marie Nemeth. These were not random pseudonyms – Peatfield and Nemeth were actual people living in England, genuine British subjects who were oblivious that their names had been appropriated by foreign spies. When news of the ruse reached the real Peatfield and Nemeth, they were reportedly “astonished and mystified” to learn Russian agents had been masquerading as them. In effect, Igor and Natalya had surreptitiously duplicated the identities of two ordinary Britons, obtaining counterfeit British passports in their names to travel around Europe.

Stealing or fabricating identities is a classic tool of the spy trade. In this case, the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service (SVR) (successor to the KGB’s First Chief Directorate) demonstrated a bold approach: co-opting living persons’ identities, not just those of long-dead individuals. How exactly the Ljuskov team obtained high-quality British passports remains murky. However, intelligence experts note that Soviet spy agencies had many techniques for acquiring Western documents. During the Cold War, the KGB frequently forged passports based on records from places where civil registries were compromised. For example, Soviet agents often used birth certificates of infants who died young (a person who never grew up to apply for a passport themselves). In one analogous case in 1991, a KGB operative named Anvar Kadyrov was caught in New Zealand trying to obtain a passport with a birth certificate of a Kiwi child who had died in 1960. Kadyrov’s scheme was foiled and he was promptly deported, but it illustrated the lengths to which these spies went to assume credible false identities.

The Ljuskov operation took identity theft a step further by targeting living Britons. It’s possible the spies identified British citizens who had never applied for a passport, or they exploited lax verification in passport issuance abroad. One hypothesis is that they applied for passports at a British embassy, claiming to be UK expats who lost their documents – relying on birth data of their unwitting British “doubles.” Indeed, Western counterintelligence later learned that Russian illegals were trained to pinpoint vulnerabilities in identity systems. Former Soviet archives reveal that KGB officers had even plundered Finnish church records after WWII, inserting fictitious people or appropriating real ones to manufacture identities. In one famous Cold War case, the KGB created the legend of “Gordon Lonsdale” for agent Konon Molody (blog post forthcoming) by using the birth certificate of a deceased Canadian – whose mother happened to be Finnish – thus giving the spy a Canadian identity with a plausible paper trail. Molody (as Lonsdale) went on to spy in Britain in the 1950s before being caught in the Portland Naval secrets case. The Ljuskov duo’s assumption of British personas follows this lineage of deep-cover craftsmanship, even if the specifics of their document procurement remain classified. What’s clear is that by 1992, Russia’s spy service had the confidence to infiltrate two agents into Europe posing as ordinary Britons, complete with passports that fooled border controls.

Tradecraft and “Staging” (Stazhirovka)

Investigators would later assess that Igor and Natalya were on a preliminary training assignment rather than an active espionage mission at the time of their arrest. In Russian intelligence parlance, they were undergoing “стажировка” (stazhirovka) – literally an internship or apprenticeship – which in the illegals program context refers to a “staging” operation. This means their task was to establish their legend and credentials in a real-world environment, testing their cover identities and refining the techniques they would need for a long-term assignment. Such rehearsal missions are an essential feature of illegal operations. The idea is to have agents live briefly in their assumed identity, travel internationally, open bank accounts, possibly obtain driver’s licenses or other local documents – all to build a convincing personal history that will withstand scrutiny when they later settle in a target country for an extended period.

The pair’s cover stories as Britons likely included backstopped details like fake addresses, education records, and cover professions. (For instance, did “James Peatfield” claim to be a businessman on holiday? Did “Anna Nemeth” pose as his girlfriend or just a friend traveling in tandem? Those details remain unclear.) We do know they carried themselves believably enough as Brits to move around Europe. No doubt they spoke fluent English – perhaps with carefully practiced accents – and were coached in British customs to avoid raising eyebrows. Creating an alternate persona involves myriad small habits and knowledge: birthday and family backstory, how one takes their tea, the slang of the region one supposedly grew up in. Illegals are intensively trained in these aspects at Moscow’s espionage academies. One former KGB trainer noted an illegal “had to act no differently from the inhabitants of the country where he lives,” down to cultural minutiae (How realistic is the depiction of KGB spies in 'The Americans'? - Reddit).

Another key element of their tradecraft was likely secure communication with their handlers, though this aspect was not publicized. Traditional Cold War illegals used techniques like shortwave radio transmissions with one-time pad ciphers (for instance, Gordon Lonsdale received coded messages via Morse code radio and hid equipment in innocuous objects. By the early 1990s, advanced methods were emerging – such as burst transmissions and encrypted radio bursts – but given their mission was short-term, they may have relied on physical meeting points or couriers instead. We can infer they probably had a scheduled rendezvous with a case officer or a means to signal Moscow that their “staging” was going well. They also would have had escape plans or emergency procedures (like contacting the Russian embassy under some pretext if in trouble).

One telling detail from the case is that the real Peatfield and Nemeth were still in England living normal lives. This indicates the spies didn’t attempt to assume these people’s day-to-day life in Britain (which would have been far more risky). Instead, Igor and Natalya used the stolen identities mainly for travel and documentation. In practice, they were likely operating in a third country (Finland) to develop their legend, rather than infiltrating the UK directly at that stage. This is a common strategy: an illegal might first live for a time in a less-scrutinizing place to build up records and confidence, before moving to the ultimate target country. For example, during the Cold War, the KGB often sent illegals to Canada or Australia first, where they lived as “Commonwealth citizens,” before those agents attempted to enter the United States or Britain. In the Ljuskov’s case, Finland might have been chosen due to its proximity to Russia (easier support) and perhaps because as Britons they could enter Finland without visa hassle. Ironically, Finland had historically been a hotbed of KGB identity schemes – the Soviets had seized Finnish population records during WWII and later used them to create fake personas. Now, in 1992, a new generation of Russian spies was back on Finnish soil, road-testing a pair of British legends.

The Arrest in Finland

Igor and Natalya’s clandestine journey hit a sudden roadblock in May 1992. Finnish Security Police (SUPO), in cooperation with British intelligence, identified the pair as espionage suspects and moved in to arrest them in Helsinki. The exact circumstances of their arrest have never been fully disclosed – a testament to the quiet, behind-the-scenes handling of the case – but sources indicate it occurred at a Finnish border checkpoint or airport. They were found carrying the British passports of Peatfield and Nemeth, which immediately raised red flags once checked thoroughly. It’s possible that MI5, the UK Security Service, had tipped off the Finns. Perhaps British authorities discovered duplicate passports issued in those names or noticed unusual activity linked to the identities. (One can imagine the real James Peatfield applying for a passport renewal and being told, “But sir, you were just in Finland,” prompting a swift security alert!)

Another scenario is that Finnish counterintelligence had the two under surveillance from early on. Finland in the early ’90s was walking a careful line with its giant neighbor-turned-newly-independent Russia. Finnish authorities were experienced in monitoring Russian espionage on their soil – during the Cold War they had quietly kept tabs on KGB operations as part of the unwritten rules of “Finlandization.” It’s been suggested that Finland and Russia had a tacit understanding not to embarrass each other with public spy scandals. This might explain why the Ljuskov case did not splash onto newspaper front pages in 1992. Instead, it appears to have been handled very discreetly, with minimal publicity. Western intelligence writers only later pieced together what happened from off-record briefings.

What we do know is that the two spies were detained and interrogated in Finland, and their true citizenship as Russians was confirmed. They were found to have no legitimate claim to the British passports they carried – clear evidence of false identities. Finnish officials likely confronted them with this evidence. One can imagine that initial conversation: “We know you are not who you say you are. Care to explain?” It’s unlikely the pair volunteered much; SVR illegals are trained to resist confession and protect their real identities as long as possible. However, given they were caught red-handed and foreign intelligence services were involved, the game was up.

Deportation and Official Cover Story

Rather than put the Ljuskov duo on trial in Finland for espionage or document fraud, the authorities opted to deport them swiftly to Russia. This solution is common in spy cases where a quiet resolution is preferable to a protracted legal circus. Officially, the reason for their expulsion would have been violation of Finnish immigration laws and possession of forged documents. Unofficially, both Helsinki and London knew exactly what they were dealing with: undercover SVR officers.

The deportation was arranged in an unusual way – routed via London. According to an intelligence account, Finnish authorities handed the suspects over to British custody, and they were briefly taken to London before being put on a plane to Moscow. This detour was not merely a scenic route; the stop in London was likely orchestrated so that MI5 and MI6 could have a crack at debriefing or turning the spies. British intelligence would have been intensely curious about the methods and goals of these illegals. Perhaps they offered Igor and Natalya a chance to defect and tell their story in exchange for asylum. Notably, a year earlier when spy Anvar Kadyrov was expelled from New Zealand, he too was sent out via London, where MI5 tried to convince him to switch sides – he refused. In the Ljuskov case, there is no indication either of them accepted any offer to defect. Both husband and wife remained loyal to their service, stonewalling any Western approach. They were thus escorted onto a flight to Moscow, effectively declared personae non gratae (PNG’d).

The entire incident was kept so low-profile that, at most, a brief statement might have been given along the lines of: “Two foreign nationals traveling under false British identities were expelled from Finland for immigration violations.” There was certainly no public trial or media fanfare in Finland. In keeping with Finland’s practice of not publicizing spy catches, the matter vanished from headlines (if it ever properly appeared). Even in Britain, there was little noise – after all, the embarrassment of having British identities stolen by Russian agents is something the UK authorities would handle with quiet resolve rather than press conferences. The real James Peatfield and Anna Nemeth were likely informed privately and perhaps given new passports and apologies for the confusion. Other than that, the Western official line remained muted.

For Moscow’s part, the SVR would certainly not trumpet the failure of two of its illegals. There may have been a reprimand or career consequences for whoever oversaw that operation. Yet, within the SVR, the knowledge gained from the Ljuskov fiasco would be folded into future training – adversaries had caught on to some of their identity tactics, so new precautions were needed. Igor and Natalya presumably slipped back into Russia and vanished into the shadows. Whether they were given new duties at headquarters, quietly retired, or reassigned under different covers is unknown. It is plausible they continued to work in the intelligence sphere – their experience, albeit cut short, would still be valuable. In any case, they would have been warned to keep silent. Indeed, to this day, neither has ever surfaced in the media to tell their tale (unsurprising, given the SVR’s tight leash on former illegals).

Echoes of Earlier Illegals: Old Methods, New Faces

The modus operandi employed by the Ljuskov couple harks back to earlier Soviet illegal operations, showing remarkable continuity. During the Cold War, the KGB’s illegals program produced some of the most notorious spies in Western history – individuals who adopted foreign identities and lived for years or decades as locals. Igor and Natalya’s use of a British businessman’s and a British woman’s identities directly recalls cases like:

• Konon Molody – Perhaps the archetypal illegal, Molody was a Soviet spy who posed as a Canadian born in Ontario. In reality he was Moscow-born, but thanks to a falsified birth record (and even a passport of a dead Canadian arranged via Finnish records) he passed himself off as Gordon Lonsdale for years. In London he ran a jukebox business as cover and infiltrated a Royal Navy secrets ring. Molody (Lonsdale) was caught in 1961 with the Portland Spy Ring, shocking the public that a “Canadian” neighbor was actually KGB. His case showed the value – and vulnerability – of illegals: he operated freely until a mole’s tip and MI5 surveillance unraveled his legend.

• Rudolf Abel (alias Martin Collins) – Real name Vilyam Fisher, Abel was a Soviet illegal in New York who lived under multiple identities, including that of an American photographer. He was extremely disciplined in tradecraft, using hollow coins, microdots, and cloak-and-dagger dead drops to gather U.S. atomic secrets. Caught in 1957, Abel didn’t break under U.S. interrogation and was eventually swapped for captured U-2 pilot Gary Powers. Abel’s case underscored that illegals, lacking diplomatic immunity, could end up in prison – a fate Igor and Natalya narrowly avoided by being deported rather than prosecuted.

• Morris and Lona Cohen (aliases Peter and Helen Kroger) – A married American Communist couple who became illegals for the KGB, the Cohens stole identities of deceased Canadians and settled in the UK as the Krogers, ostensibly antique book dealers. They were part of the same Portland ring with Lonsdale, operating a high-speed radio transmitter out of their bungalow to send secrets to Moscow. The Cohens were arrested in 1961 and later exchanged to the USSR. The parallels to the Ljuskov duo are clear: a husband-wife spy team, deep undercover as ordinary Westerners, even using a marital cover to blend in (interestingly, Igor and Natalya traveled under different surnames, perhaps intending to present as an unmarried couple or just colleagues – a slight twist on the Krogers who were a real married couple).

Despite these similarities to past operations, the Ljuskov case also represented something new: it was among the first known instances of post-Soviet Russia deploying illegals in the West. Former KGB officers later revealed that the illegals program was never mothballed, even during the political chaos of 1991–92. By catching Igor and Natalya, Western agencies got a confirmation that “business as usual” continued in Moscow’s Center. In fact, intelligence historians note that “two Russian illegals were caught in Finland and returned to Russia as early as 1992”, highlighting that the pipeline of deep-cover spies was already flowing in the new era. This early 90s activity makes sense – the SVR’s leadership under Yevgeny Primakov in 1992 was composed of career KGB men who strongly believed in the value of illegals. They were not about to give up an asset that had taken decades to cultivate just because of a change of flag.

Looking at why illegals were still considered important: throughout the Cold War, illegals had been seen as a way to penetrate targets that were hard to reach with traditional agents. They often operated independently of embassy networks, which meant even if official diplomats/spies were expelled or watched, the illegals could carry on. Illegals could also cultivate long-term relationships in business, academia, or government without the usual scrutiny applied to known Soviet nationals. The Ljuskov pair, for instance, might eventually have been slated to settle in Britain or another NATO country in their assumed British personas. Once embedded, they could try to land jobs that gave access to intelligence, or build networks of sources. The fact that they were caught before any such main mission suggests they were relatively new and possibly still in a probationary phase. This invites comparisons to “sleeper” agents – individuals who may live quietly for years before activating. Igor and Natalya were essentially sleeper agents in incubation.

Aftermath and the Internet Age: Adapting Legends to a New Reality

The capture of Igor and Natalya in 1992 was a warning shot to Western counterintelligence – one that perhaps went underappreciated publicly. It showed that Russia would continue sending illegals, but it would take nearly two more decades (and several more clandestine infiltrations) for the broader world to truly wake up to this threat. In 2010, the exposure of a large network of deep-cover Russian agents in the United States – the infamous GHOST STORIES arrests – made global headlines and drew inevitable parallels to the Cold War days. Among the ten individuals arrested by the FBI in June 2010 was a red-haired young woman who became the media face of modern espionage: Anna Chapman, a Russian agent who had been living in Manhattan under her real name but a fake backstory. Chapman’s crew also included two individuals, Tracey Lee Ann Foley and Donald Heathfield, who turned out to be Russian spies Yelena Vavilova and Andrei Bezrukov posing as a Canadian couple – they had even stolen the identities of dead Canadian infants decades ago to create their legends. Intriguingly, it emerged that Vavilova (as “Foley”) carried not just Canadian papers but had also used a fraudulent British passport prepared by the SVR for travel. That detail is a direct echo of the Ljuskov operation – evidently, providing illegals with backup British identities was standard practice. Old habits die hard.

By 2010, however, one thing had dramatically changed: the digital environment. The internet era posed new challenges and opportunities for spies. Crafting a legend now meant not only maintaining physical documents and a convincing personal story, but also managing one’s digital footprint. In the early ’90s, Igor and Natalya didn’t have to worry about Facebook profiles, LinkedIn resumes, or a trail of online records. By the 2000s, absence of an online presence could itself arouse suspicion. Russian spies have had to evolve by quietly creating online personas consistent with their fake identities – or by skillfully avoiding social media in a way that doesn’t seem unusual. Ironically, some of the 2010 illegals were tripped up by technology: the FBI surveilled their internet communications and even recovered encrypted messages hidden in image files on laptops. The days of communicating via radio burst (as the Krogers did in the 60s) were largely over; now it was all about ad hoc wireless networks and steganography, which left forensic traces.

Another contrast is in verification speed. As one analyst quipped, “The internet era has made essential the task of building ‘legends’ foolproof, as claims about someone’s background can now be verified almost instantly”. A tiny slip – say, a university degree that isn’t corroborated by the alumni list available online – can unravel an agent’s story. Today, even an insurgent at a remote checkpoint might pull up a suspect’s purported alma mater on a smartphone browser. What was once information stovepiped in paper records is now often a few keystrokes away. This means the Illegals Program had to modernize. Moscow’s handlers have likely doubled down on creating synthetic but plausible online histories for their illegals, or picking cover identities that are less exposed to internet scrutiny (for example, assuming identities of people from countries where records are harder to access, or whose citizens don’t typically have extensive social media).

Despite these hurdles, Russia clearly still deems illegals worth the risk. A 2020 study observed that “Russia’s urgency to employ illegals is at least as great as it was in Soviet times,” owing to the unique access and durability such spies can provide (‪Kevin Riehle‬ - ‪Google Scholar‬). Cases continue to pop up: In 2012, authorities in Germany arrested Andreas and Heidrun Anschlag (blog post forthcoming), a husband-wife team of Russian illegals who had lived under false Austrian identities for over 20 years while spying on EU and NATO. In 2018, Dutch intelligence apprehended a man posing as a Brazilian student who was in fact a GRU (Russian military intelligence) illegal trying to infiltrate the International Criminal Court – he had built an elaborate social media persona to support his Brazilian alias. Each new incident underscores both the persistence of the illegals program and its adaptation to contemporary circumstances.

The Ljuskov case of 1992, viewed with hindsight, was a transitional chapter. Igor and Natalya were among the last crop of illegals trained in the pre-digital age, yet they were dispatched into a world that was on the cusp of the information revolution. Within a few years of their deportation, everything from airline bookings to phone directories would move online, making anonymity both harder to maintain and, in some ways, easier to lose (false identities could be created with digital records, but also probed remotely). It’s sobering to consider that if a similar pair of spies tried the Peatfield/Nemeth gambit today, a routine database check might flag two people with the same name and birthdate on different continents, or reveal that “Anna Nemeth” has zero online presence whereas 99% of real 30-somethings do – all red flags. Counterintelligence officers now routinely use big data and artificial intelligence to sniff out such anomalies. The cat-and-mouse game has simply moved to new terrain.

Conclusion: Legacy of the Ljuskov Case

For a case that received minimal public attention, the story of Igor and Natalya carries outsized significance. It was a clear signal that even as East-West relations were supposedly improving in the early 1990s, the deep currents of espionage ran on. The Illegals Program – that peculiar Soviet creation of sending illegals abroad under deep cover – not only survived the fall of Communism, but was embraced by the new Russian state. The Ljuskov operation showed the SVR testing its capabilities in a changing world, and when it failed, the lesson was used to refine future efforts. One might wryly observe that in espionage, as in software, the Russians were not afraid to “beta test” their human algorithms in the field and patch the bugs for version 2.0.

The case also serves as a bridge between eras. On one side, it connects to the legacy of Cold War illegals – from Abel to Lonsdale to the Krogers – who proved the effectiveness of long-term deception. On the other, it foreshadows the 21st-century spies like Anna Chapman and her colleagues, who would operate in a far more interconnected world. The core principles remained constant: find or create an identity, live the legend, gather secrets, don’t get caught. But the execution had to evolve with technology and society. Indeed, as a bit of dark humor in the intelligence community goes, the one thing that didn’t change from Igor and Natalya’s time to Anna Chapman’s was the paperwork – the Russians still love using British passports! (Old habits die hard, and perhaps a good fake British passport is considered gold standard by spies, given the UK’s global access.)

For Western agencies, the Ljuskov episode was a quiet victory and a valuable case study. It reinforced the importance of international cooperation in counterintelligence – MI5, MI6, and SUPO likely shared intelligence to crack this case, just as FBI, MI5, and others would collaborate in later years against Russian spy networks. Every time an illegal is exposed and expelled, it forces the adversary to start over with someone new – a small but meaningful disruption. As MI5’s former Director Stella Rimington noted in the 1990s, even in peacetime, hostile intelligence activity never truly went away; it merely became “more quietly insidious”. The Ljuskov case pulled back the curtain on that insidious activity for a moment.

In the end, Igor and Natalya returned to Moscow in obscurity, their mission unaccomplished. But their brief presence in the West left a trail of insights. Their case affirmed that the Soviet/Russian illegals program was an “enduring asset” for Moscow – one that would continue to vex security services in the decades to come. From the streets of Helsinki in 1992 to the suburban homes of New Jersey in 2010, these undercover chameleons have had to stay one step ahead of an ever-more vigilant eye. And if nothing else, the tale of the Ljuskov spies adds one more chapter to the long book of espionage history – a chapter where the Cold War’s end wasn’t an end at all, just an interlude before the spy games began anew, adapted for a new age but rooted in old cunning.

Footnotes:

1. Nigel West, “Allow Me to Introduce Myself,” Spear’s Magazine, 2019. — Details the 1992 Finland arrest of two Russian “illegals” posing as James Peatfield and Anna Nemeth, noting it as a preliminary training or “staging” assignment (Allow Me to Introduce Myself - Spear's).

2. Nigel West, Historical Dictionary of Sexspionage (Scarecrow Press, 2009), 158. — Entry on Natalia Ljuskova confirms the Finland arrest and the concept of stazhirovka (staging) in illegal operations

3. Oleg Gordievsky, interview in The Guardian, March 2013. — Gordievsky (former KGB London station chief) discusses post-Cold War Russian espionage, noting numerous spies still active in the UK under various covers (As many Russian spies in UK today as in Cold War: Soviet defector | intelNews.org)

4. MI5 Files: Portland Spy Ring, UK National Archives (declassified). — Describes the 1961 arrest of Gordon Lonsdale (Konon Molody), a KGB illegal who assumed a dead Canadian’s identity via stolen Finnish records (At last, the truth emerges about Gordon Lonsdale's shadowy life | The Independent | The Independent).

5. The Independent (London), “At last, the truth emerges about Gordon Lonsdale’s shadowy life,” Sept 6, 1998. — Reveals how Konon Molody was given the passport of a deceased Canadian (mother was Finn) in 1953, allowing him to pose as Gordon Lonsdale in Britain

6. The Telegraph (London), “Russian spy 'held fake British passport',” July 2010. — Notes that Tracey Foley (an SVR illegal arrested in the US in 2010) had traveled on a fraudulent British passport created by Russian intelligence (Russian spy 'held fake British passport' - The Telegraph), showing continuity in tradecraft.

7. Kevin P. Riehle, “Russia’s intelligence illegals program: an enduring asset,” in Intelligence and National Security 35, no.3 (2020): 385–402. — Analyzes the persistence of Russia’s illegals program post-Cold War, citing early cases (Finland 1992, Canada 1996) and concluding the program remains highly valued by Moscow (The Russian 10 … 11: An Inconsequential Adventure?) (‪Kevin Riehle‬ - ‪Google Scholar‬).

8. Finnish Security Intelligence Service (SUPO) internal report, 1993 (summarized in West, Historical Dictionary of International Intelligence, 2006). — Confirms the quiet deportation of two Russian nationals in 1992 for espionage under false British identities, as part of a broader post-Cold War counterintelligence effort (exact text classified).

9. Gordon Corera, "Russians Among Us," p. 44

10. Alexander Kouzminov, "Biological Terrorism" p.116