When he was arrested in Halifax on a chilly Jan. 13 of this year, Jeffery Delisle's socks were damp from helping his girlfriend move into his house. She had no idea what his military desk job really was. He didn't talk about it.
But to the Russians? No problem. He'd been selling them secrets for nearly five years, because he was "dead inside" after his wife betrayed him. She cheated on him in 2007. So the Russians didn't have to ensnare Delisle with some exotic blackmail or honey trap. He just walked into the embassy to hawk his wares.
Navy spy blames marriage heartbreak for betrayal
That, in a nutshell, is the banal reality of a spy caper whose effect upon Canada's security interests is, according to CSIS, "severe and irreparable." As sensational as the damage may be, as a drama it's no threat to Ian Fleming's lurid tales of James Bond.
The Jeffery Delisle story is more John Le Carré — one wretched shade of grey. No sexy double agents, no SMERSH, no Double-O licence to kill. Delisle was a divorced, diabetic naval sub-lieutenant, not fit enough to go to sea. Struggling with bills, he toiled over an antiquated computer at a base in Halifax. The computer even had a floppy drive! Remember those?
But sitting right next to that classified computer, Delisle had an unclassified one with a USB input. Transferring secrets to a thumb drive was a breeze. Out he walked, again and again, with a rich harvest of top-secret intelligence — from the U.S., the U.K., Canada, Australia … "everybody's stuff," he called it.
And, today, Delisle awaits sentencing for selling secrets wholesale to the GRU, the Russian intelligence service.
A list of monthly payments to Jeffery Delisle by his Russian handlers — in U.S. dollars:
Delisle's motivation emerges quickly in the official transcript of Delisle's interview, still in his damp January socks, with a sympathetic Sgt. Jimmy Moffat of the RCMP. It was simple: Delisle explains that his wife's infidelity, back in 2007, made him do it:
Soon, Delisle breaks down as he recalls offering his services to the Russian Embassy after discovering that his wife had cheated on him:
It becomes clear that Delisle understood perfectly that he had made a fateful decision, and that there was no going back.
The actual business of spying, though, was devoid of drama. Using an account shared with his Russian handler on a free webmail site called Gawab, Delisle would paste his stolen secrets into a draft email, without sending it. But the Russians could read the draft. Simple!
An email message from Delisle's handler about his attempts to draw money from prepaid bank cards given to him by a Russian handler on a trip to Brazil:
Delisle's Russian handlers, it seems, were mainly interested in learning the names of Western spies inside Russia, although, by Delisle's account, the pickings were slim. They also wanted to send him to Austria for technical training, so he could become a "pigeon," or courier for them once he left the Canadian military.
And why $3,000 a month? That was easy: anything more would alert the federal government's tracking system for bank transactions, known as FINTRAC. The scheme worked fine until Delisle went down to Brazil to meet his Russian handler in September 2011. There, he received prepaid bank cards which did set off alarms with a Canada Customs agent when he returned.
It wasn't all good. The customs officer took copies of the cards — and that may have been the clue that unravelled Delisle's scheme. But not yet. He continued to copy and paste his monthly quota of secrets for sale. No dead drops, no cloak, no dagger. Quite the reverse: when he was done, the USB key went into his son's Xbox.
Amid this ho-hum account of the spy's routine, there is only a hint of potential drama. What if Delisle were exposed? No problem: he would walk into any Russian mission with his code name:
There is also a hint that the Russians were interested in something of great interest to the Canadian government these days: trade with China. After Western agents, it seems, the next thing they wanted was intelligence on China and the energy business.
As for any misgivings about his betrayal of his country, well, that's not apparent. Instead, Delisle suggests that, heck, the whole spying business is rotten anyway:
Delisle seemed unworried, too, about the risk of being caught — but not because he didn't think he would be. Rather, he thought it was inevitable — especially after that customs officer spotted his fistful of pre-paid bank cards. The Russians were spooked by that:
And so it was that, from 2007 to 2012, Jeffery Delisle just kept on copying and pasting:
"Uh-hmm" seems about right. It all sounds so routine, so undramatic. Even the departure of Russian diplomats in the wake of Delisle's arrest was handled quietly — almost as though it were a normal rotation. Nothing to see here! Move along!
But perhaps, if there'd been just a little more drama — and a little more curiosity about where Delisle got his money — then this leaking gusher of top-secret allied intelligence would not have gone on, and on, and on, for nearly five years.