Spy Hatchers: Russia's espionage case that doesn't quite add up

Russian authorities claim to have uncovered a spy at heart of its futuristic weapons programme. But experts say the case seems odd

Administrative building of Tsniimash research institute, where Federal Security Service investigators collected documents regarding a leak of secret technical information about new Russian hypersonic missiles outside Moscow (Rex)

Early on Saturday morning, a team of Russian secret service agents honed in on their target – an elderly scientist working at the mechanical engineering research institute (TsNIIMash) in Korolev, a satellite town not far from Moscow.

Viktor Kudryavtsev, 74, was in bed when officers arrested him. He was hardly in the best of health. He suffers from diabetes, several other age-related conditions, and had only recently recovered from a heart attack.

As a result, the hours that ensued were a test of endurance. He was delivered first to a secret court; and then to Moscow’s infamous Lefortovo prison, where he was stripped of his civilian clothes and given a black uniform to wear.

Over the weekend, reports in the local press gradually alerted the outside world to his story.

First, the state news agency Tass reported the arrest of a “decorated” scientist. Hour by hour, the details were filled in. The scientist’s alleged area of expertise – hypersonic missiles. The alleged crime – leaking secrets to a “Nato country”. The year – 2013. The fact of ongoing searches at his institute. And the article under which the scientist was being tried – 275, or state treason.

The human rights worker Yevgeny Yenikeyev found out about Mr Kudryavtsev’s detention by accident. He was in Lefortovo prison the day of the arrest, visiting Antonina Zimina, another Russian recently arrested for crimes against the state. On leaving the meeting, Mr Yenikeyev casually asked prison guards if there was anyone else he should see.

He was granted access to the new prisoner. Mr Yenikeyev recalls seeing a “tired, sad” man. He was allowed to give his age, where he lived, and the article under which he was being tried. But there would be no answers to questions about where the man worked. That information was secret, prison officers said.

The deal for human rights workers allowed into Russian prisons is simple enough: Don’t ask too many questions. So instead, Mr Yenikeyev focused on the basic day-to-day things that are important to someone in prison for the first time.

“We talked about how to write a letter to family. How to buy things from the prison shop. That kind of thing. He didn’t ask about much other than his wife. We didn’t talk about his case,” he says, speaking to The Independent.

But information about Mr Kudryavtsev’s workplace and history was easily available on open sources.

We talked about how to write a letter to family. How to buy things from the prison shop. That kind of thing. He didn’t ask about much other than his wife. We didn’t talk about his case 

Yevgeny Yenikeyev, human rights activist 

Snippets of his biography are listed on the website of his research institute. For example: the scientist was awarded a government prize in 2004 for a “rocket and space complex” called “Sea Launch”. He is also listed as a deputy head of a department. A look at academic citations reveals him to be the author of dozens of papers: from rocket aerodynamics to thermal characteristics of manufacturing materials.

According to the Kommersant newspaper, Mr Kudryavtsev was arrested in connection to his work developing materials used for new hypersonic missile systems.

That technology is at the heart of several “new generation systems” unveiled by President Vladimir Putin during his 1 March state of the nation speech. Kommersant makes mention of the “kinzhal” missile system, which Mr Putin has claimed is able to circumvent any existing missile shield.

“Even a cleaner at one of these institutes would be interesting for a foreign state,” says Gennady Gudkov, an opposition politician who worked in the KGB’s counterespionage section between 1982 and 1993. “Mr Kudryavtsev, who has access to a broad range of military developments, would be a remarkably useful asset to someone.”

Yet the case is strange, says Mr Gudkov. Had this been a counter-espionage operation of the type he had professional experience of, things would have played out differently.

There would be evidence of secret notes, and secret communications devices – like, perhaps, the “British rock” found in a Moscow park in 2006. There would be links to foreign embassies, with individual diplomats labelled as persona non grata and deported.

During Soviet times, this was a standard protocol that happened time and time again.

Here, the evidence is missing, says Mr Gudkov: “You have none of the usual tell-tale signs of espionage. There is no motive, no link to a foreign handler, no secret communication, no sense of a reward – whether that be cash or promise of asylum, no regular meetings. That is all highly suspect.”

Mr Gudkov said he could not rule the scientist “accidentally” leaking a state secret – in other words, without the normal signs of espionage. After all, security services have been known to go after scientists who have quoted material already in the public domain, he says.

But if this was the case, another article of the criminal code would have been applied, most likely 283, “revealing a state secret”. Instead, Mr Kudryavstev is being tried on the most serious of articles – 275, or “treason”.

You have none of the usual tell-tale signs of espionage. There is no motive, no link to a foreign handler, no secret communication, no sense of a reward — whether that be cash or promise of asylum, no regular meetings. That is all highly suspect

Gennady Gudkov, opposition politician and former KGB member

Pavel Luzin, a specialist in the space and defence industry at Perm State University, is similarly unconvinced of the scientist’s crime. He says the case resembles other processes against elderly researchers who were tried and imprisoned on flimsy evidence.

Mr Kudryavtsev was a “scientist of the Soviet school”, says Mr Luzin. He had the chance to leave and make money two decades ago; having remained in science, he “wasn’t about to begin selling secrets now”.

Instead, the scientist was likely to have been chosen as a “scapegoat” by security officers looking to impress senior officers. Perhaps the aim was to instal a regime of fear in the scientific community, he says: “The Kremlin is very keen the truth about kinzhals doesn’t get out, for example, because they don’t actually exist as advertised.”

Another factor that could be playing a role is a massive reorganisation under way in the Korolev institute’s parent organisation, Roscosmos. In June, Alexei Kudrin, the head of the Public Accounts Chamber, and close Putin confidence, accused Roscosmos of misspending at least 760bn roubles of public money in 2017. Perhaps, speculates Mr Gudkov, the FSB wanted to show their strength in order to to have a say in the reorganisation.

None of this, of course, is likely to help Mr Kudryavtsev as he begins to get used to life behind bars.

“The problem is that there will never be an objective investigation of the Kudryavtsev’s guilt,” says Mr Gudkov. “Those charged with investigating will also be prosecuting. It is a most serious situation for the man concerned.”