REDACTED: Declassified Mysteries with Luke Lamana - Ames Mole Hunt

Episode Date: December 31, 2024

In 1985, Soviet defector Vitaly Yurchenko revealed a chilling secret to the CIA: a high-ranking mole was leaking American intelligence to the KGB. As it turned out, the mole was Aldrich Ames, the CIA’s own Chief of Soviet Counterintelligence. The disgruntled agent turned traitor operated undetected for nearly a decade, exposing the CIA’s missteps and blind spots along the way. Be the first to know about Wondery’s newest podcasts, curated recommendations, and more! Sign up now at https://wondery.fm/wonderynewsletterFollow Redacted: Declassified Mysteries with Luke Lamana on the Wondery App or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to new episodes early and ad-free on Wondery+. Join Wondery+ in the Wondery App, Apple Podcasts or Spotify. Start your free trial by visiting https://wondery.com/links/redacted/ now.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Wondery Plus subscribers can listen to redacted, declassified mysteries early and ad-free right now. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. On the morning of August 1st, 1985, Vitaly Yurchenko walked out of the Soviet embassy and into the bustling streets of Rome. The blonde-haired Russian told his embassy co-workers that he wanted to visit the Vatican Museum. But that was a lie. Instead, he walked in the direction of the American embassy in the Palazzo Margherita. When he reached the ornate three-story building, Yurchenko looked around, wondering if he was being watched.

Then he took a deep breath, walked over to a payphone just outside the embassy, and dialed the CIA. An officer picked up. Yurchenko told him two things. First, he said he was a senior officer in the KGB. And second, he wanted to defect to America. If the CIA could help him get there, he was willing to spill Soviet secrets. The officer's breath caught in his throat, and Yurchenko smiled. He'd put himself in danger, but he was pretty sure he'd made this agent's day.

In the waning years of the Cold War, Yurchenko knew he'd be a hot commodity. The officer told Yurchenko to head into the embassy. Once he got there, everything happened fast. head into the embassy. Once he got there, everything happened fast. He was questioned by CIA officers, who immediately wanted to know why he was defecting. Some Soviets switched sides for political reasons. Others were sick of life in Russia and wanted to start over again in America. Most did it for money, since the CIA paid well for KGB intel. Yurchenko didn't fall into any of those categories. He was defecting for love. He was on the outs with his wife and son, and desperate to rekindle a flame with an old mistress who lived in Canada. Moving to America

would let him break from his family and start a new chapter with his old girlfriend. Yurchenko was pretty sure the CIA would help him. After all, he was the highest-ranking KGB agent to ever defect. Once Yurchenko got comfortable, the officers asked what they always ask defectors. Did he know any of the Americans leaking secrets to the KGB. Yurchenko said he did. There were two of them. One worked at the National Security Agency, and the other was a CIA agent and a mole. The officers were well-trained to betray no emotion,

but Yurchenko couldn't help but see the impact of his words. One officer blinked several times in a row. The other agent's mouth twitched. The two men thanked Yurchenko and calmly walked out of the room. But Yurchenko imagined that the minute they were out of hearing range, they would start racing down the halls to put in an urgent call to Washington because they had just unearthed a terrifying secret that a KGB mole was operating right under their noses.

From Ballant Studios in Wondery, I'm Luke LaManna, and this is Redacted Declassified Mysteries, where each week we shine a light on the shadowy corners of espionage, covert operations, and misinformation to reveal the dark secrets our governments try to hide. This week's episode is called The Ames Mole Hunt. Ever since I became a student of military history, I've known that the U.S. and Russia have always had what you might call a complicated relationship. Both countries have enough nuclear weapons to obliterate the other and have always relied on spies to plumb each other's secrets.

The CIA has a history of sniffing out Soviets willing to switch sides and fight for the American cause, brave double agents willing to risk their lives, and who sometimes ended up living their own American dream in the States afterwards. These defectors may have been foreign, but the CIA saw them as American heroes. But spies cut both ways, and in 1985, one of the CIA's top agents, the chief of Soviet counterintelligence, did the unthinkable. He betrayed his country to sell secrets to the KGB and reveal the identities of top-secret CIA assets. It led to the execution of 10 Russians working for the American cause. And he did it for cold, hard cash. The brutal murder of these agents sparked a decade-long hunt for whoever ratted them out.

At first, the CIA asked themselves who was capable of such horrific treason. Then, when they closed in on a suspect, they wondered, how could we have let this happen? As it turned out, all it took was two things, one man's desperation and the CIA's deadly blind spots. Late one night in 1981, an American and Russian diplomat roared with laughter at a Mexico City dive bar. They clinked glasses and downed their sixth round of vodka shots. Or maybe it was their seventh. It was a blur because these guys were on a day-long bender. The tall, dark-haired one was a 40-year-old American named Aldrich Ames,

or Rick to his friends. He was posing as an employee at the U.S. Embassy. But Rick was actually an undercover CIA agent. And his drinking partner, a short, lively Russian named Igor Shurigan,

was undercover KGB. Rick's mission in Mexico was to seek out local KGB officers and recruit them to work for the CIA. Igor's job was the same, but recruiting Americans for the KGB. They were an odd couple, two spies trying to extract secrets from each other. But despite their ulterior motives, they bonded over two powerful forces, vodka and complaining. Today's binge started at lunch at the diplomat's club. Now, hours later, it was last call at a dive bar. Rick's mood turned grim as he fumbled for his pack of cigarettes and found it was empty. Luckily, Igor swooped in with a cigarette

and a lighter. Rick lit it, took a deep breath, and exhaled. Igor asked him what was wrong. His friend seemed stressed. Was it trouble at work? Rick felt a flutter of nerves. The smart thing to do would have been to stub out a cigarette, pay his bill, and call it a night. The last thing he needed was to give Igor insight into his life. But it was hard to keep his frustrations to himself. The fact was, Rick felt trapped. He hated his job. his boss was a jerk, and over the last few years, he'd begun to lose faith in the CIA as a whole.

But instead of talking about work, Rick moved on to more personal problems. There were two of them, money and marriage. Rick's last post with the CIA had been in New York City, and it was a job that came with a lot of perks. He'd lived in a luxury apartment with his wife of 12 years, Nan. But despite their cushy lifestyle,

the relationship grew strained. When Rick was offered the job in Mexico, he felt like he had to take it. He had turned down other overseas jobs in the past since Nan didn't want to leave New York, but foreign experience was too important an opportunity to pass up. Plus, a new backdrop might just be what he and Nan needed. So this time, Rick said yes, only Nan didn't take this well. She said there was no way she was going to uproot her life for him.

But Rick had already said yes. So in the end, he moved to Mexico without her. Their marriage had already been on shaky ground, but now it was on the rocks. The move had worsened Rick's money problems too. In New York, the CIA had covered most of the rent on his nice apartment. They also gave him a steady stream of cash to cover business expenses, like taking Soviet targets out to dinner or shows. After a couple years, he'd gotten used to high living.

When he moved to Mexico, the New York subsidy ended abruptly. But since Nan was still there, Rick had to cover their expensive rent himself. And that quickly drained Rick's bank account. His job at the CIA only paid $36,000 a year. Rick coped with the stress by drinking more. And he started cheating on Nan, too. He'd been with three different women since getting to Mexico. His life was quickly turning into a mess, and he had to vent to someone. Tonight, his outlet was a KGB agent. Igor responded by ordering two last shots.

He forced one into Rick's hand and proposed a toast. To better days ahead. ordering two last shots. He forced one into Rick's hand and proposed a toast. To better days ahead. As Rick stumbled back into his apartment a few hours later, he wondered if he had said too much. He reassured himself, no, his job was to get close to Igor. Maybe Igor hadn't revealed much about his own life yet, but that would surely come.

If Rick was sober, he might have realized he had definitely said too much. Complaining about work was one thing, but admitting his personal and financial issues gave Igor a direct line into his vulnerabilities. Igor could clearly see the hole Rick had dug himself into, and a KGB could offer him a way out of it. All it would cost him was some information. Four years later, on the evening of April 16th, 1985, Rick Ames stood at the doorway of the Soviet embassy in Washington, D.C. His head was spinning. He'd had a few drinks before coming. Maybe not the best move, but he needed liquid courage for what he was about to do.

In his sweaty palms, he held an envelope, one that could do serious damage to the CIA. In it was a short list of KGB agents who'd volunteered to work for the U.S., and paperwork confirming his new job title as the CIA's new chief of Soviet counterintelligence. It was an unlikely position for a man whose career flamed out in Mexico. Rick's bond with Igor Shurigan produced lots of hangovers, but few results.

His drinking had gotten worse. Rick fought with Cuban diplomats and even got into a car accident. It got so bad that his superiors reported his drinking to CIA headquarters. Rick was sure that after his Mexico tour ended, his career would be over. The only bright spot was Rosario Casas Dupuy, a 30-year-old cultural attache at the Colombian embassy. She was beautiful, smart, and 10 years younger than Rick. Rick saw Rosario as his last chance at happiness. So when his job in Mexico ended in late 1983, he flew back to D.C., divorced his wife Nan, and moved in with Rosario. But furnishing their new

apartment was pricey, and Rick's divorce was even pricier, especially since he had to pay Nan monthly spousal support. He was in the hole for over $50,000. It was all he could think about. Something had to change. Miraculously he got the job offer for Chief of Soviet Counterintelligence from an old CIA buddy. It paid much more than Rick's last job. It was also a highly covert gig that put Rick in charge of supervising CIA assets working undercover at the KGB and hunting moles in the CIA.

The job seemed like a solution to his problems, but for Rick, it was really a means to an end. For Rick, it was really a means to an end. In April 1985, Rick reached out to Sergei Shuvakin, an arms control expert at the Soviet embassy. He told Shuvakin that he wanted to discuss security concerns, but really, he wanted to let him know that he was willing to betray the CIA for a price. Rick stepped into the Soviet embassy and straight to Shavakin's office. The men chatted for a while, and Rick left. What they talked about didn't really matter. What was important was the envelope Rick left behind. It was a list of CIA assets in the KGB and paperwork confirming Rick's new job as the head of Soviet counterintelligence.

It was a clear message. Rick was willing to turn on his agency and his country to help the KGB. The last document in the envelope was a request for $50,000, the equivalent to a year of his new CIA salary, and exactly the amount he needed to survive after his divorce emptied his savings. A few days later, Rick met with Shavakin again, and this time, Shavakin brought Rick an envelope filled with money. Rick didn't feel too guilty. He suspected that the informants that he'd ratted on were really double agents, so the Russians probably wouldn't hurt them. And if they did,

well, he told himself that this was just a one-time thing. But Rick loved money just as much as alcohol. Soon, he was having regular lunches with Shuvakin. These meetings were fully sanctioned by the CIA because Rick told his bosses he was developing Sergey as a CIA asset, just like he'd done with Igor Shurigan in Mexico. But the truth was, each time Rick met with Shuvakin, he was giving him intel on the CIA's anti-KGB operations. And in return, Shuvakin was rewarding Rick with tens of thousands of dollars in cash. At first, Rick's info drops were small and selective. Then he gave them a full list of

all KGB personnel who were secretly working with the US government. The KGB thanked Rick over time by lining his pockets with millions of dollars. Sure, he was selling people out, he was endangering lives, but what he was getting back in return was worth it. He was buying himself and Rosario a new future. They would never have to worry about money again. All they would have to worry about was how to spend it. On the morning of August 1st, 1985, Rick walked down the halls of CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia, with a bounce in his step. He was feeling great. He was marrying Rosario in a few days, and little by little, he was filling his bank account up with KGB money. little, he was filling his bank account up with KGB money. Rick headed for his office,

greeting everyone he passed. When he got in, he heard his boss call out for him. Rick went into his office and saw he was looking cheerful too. His boss handed Rick a piece of paper, new intel from Palazzo Margherita in Rome. When Rick read it, his heart sank. A KGB agent named Vitaly Yurchenko had just defected, and now he was on his way to the U.S. to reveal the identity of a mole inside the CIA. Rick felt a surge of panic. He was about to be found out, and he had no idea what to do. His boss pulled the page from Rick's trembling hands and asked if he was alright.

Rick plastered on a smile and said, of course, this was great news. His boss laughed and said he had even better news. When Yurchenko landed in D.C. the next day, Rick was going to debrief him. Rick went home that night and got plastered, but it didn't make his anxiety go away. The next day, he showed up at the airport like a man heading towards his own execution, and with an awful hangover. heading towards his own execution, and with an awful hangover. As he exchanged terse nods with the CIA and FBI agents assembled for Yurchenko's arrival,

he felt doomed. For all he knew, Yurchenko would call him out as soon as he hit the tarmac. But when he met Yurchenko, the man shook his hand and made no sign that anything was wrong. Rick tried to relax, but his guard was still up. Maybe the man was just biding his time. He got even more nervous when he was forced to share a limo with Yurchenko later that day. He couldn't help but notice the Russian's piercing blue eyes were constantly on him. He couldn't tell if Yurchenko was just curious,

or if he recognized him as the mole. At a safe house in Virginia, Rick took point on debriefing Yurchenko. He handed him a glass of water and asked him to describe the CIA mole. Yurchenko took a long sip. Rick felt the man's eyes boring into him. He wondered if he should just turn around and fess up before Yurchenko beat him to it. But then the defector spoke, and for the first time in 24 hours, Rick could breathe. The KGB mole Yurchenko described wasn't Rick. It was Edward Lee Howard, another agent who the CIA was already investigating. Rick was safe. But this debrief was going to go on for weeks. He was going to be in constant contact with Yurchenko.

He could still sniff Rick out. After all, that was the man's specialty. Yet, as Rick questioned Yurchenko over the next month, his traitor status remained a secret. If Yurchenko knew he was facing off with a mole, he didn't say anything. Which just filled Rick's head with more paranoid questions. Was Yurchenko truly in the dark? Or was he a double agent sent to protect Rick by directing attention to another mole? Either way, Rick typed up reports for the CIA and passed copies to the KGB. Every time he did, he put Yurchenko's life at risk. But Rick was in too deep, and the KGB's money kept filling his bank account.

It was too late to turn back now. But Rick was in too deep, and the KGB's money kept filling his bank account. It was too late to turn back now. On May 2nd, 1986, Rick walked down an empty hall at Langley. He was headed for an unmarked black door, and he wished he could stop time. But he couldn't. Rick was about to face the black box. That's what CIA grunts called a polygraph test, which agents had to take every five years, or at least they were supposed to. years, or at least they were supposed to. The agency was backlogged, and Rick hadn't had a test in 10 years. Back then, he wouldn't have cared, but now he was terrified. A dark cloud hung above the CIA, and Rick was the secret at its center.

In his year of selling secrets to the KGB, Rick had snitched on many Russian agents in league with the CIA. He expected the KGB to investigate them slowly, punish them discreetly. Instead, he was horrified when he learned that 20 CIA assets had disappeared, virtually overnight. He got the sense that the CIA knew something had gone horribly wrong, but he wasn't sure what data they had, or if they suspected him. Rick was dying to get out of D.C. and away from all the agents at CIA headquarters who knew him too well and might start to suspect him. He had just landed a cushy gig as the CIA Soviet branch chief

in Rome. Though the job would take him away from a lot of valuable DC intel, it had other benefits, not the least of which was keeping his romance with Rosario alive by whisking her off to a glamorous life abroad. But Rick couldn't go to Rome if he didn't pass the polygraph test, and he had no idea what kind of questions were waiting for him. He got to the door and knocked. A female technician opened it, then guided him into a dark room. It felt like a tomb. She told him to sit and hooked him up to the polygraph. Rick took a deep breath and told himself, keep calm. He knew that polygraphs weren't 100% reliable. They were too reactive to a subject's emotions. A nervous truth-teller might fail, while a relaxed liar might pass.

When the operator asked if Rick had unauthorized contact with foreign spies, he said no. When she asked if he disclosed CIA secrets, he said no to that too. He felt like he was in control until she asked, had Rick ever been pitched by a foreign agency? As in, had someone tried to turn him into a mole? That's when Rick faltered. He couldn't think of what to say. The technician looked sharply up at him. Rick had to think fast. So he laughed. Then he apologized. No, he'd never been pitched. But yes, he was worried he might be pitched in Rome. This new job was a big deal, and he was nervous that something would go wrong. That's why he stumbled. The technician paused.

Then she nodded and moved on. She asked the rest of her questions, and Rick answered each one calmly. Once she was done, Rick got the results. He'd pass the test. With that, he stepped out of the black box and back into the light. Rick took a walk outside to bask in the spring sunlight and marvel at the cherry blossoms. He was nervous about leaving DC for Rome, but there were definite upsides. The KGB was committed to their relationship. And since the CIA and FBI weren't constantly surveilling the streets of Rome the way they were in D.C., it would be easier for Rick to meet his contacts.

More meetings meant more money. More money meant a better life. Once he got to Europe, Rick intended to live large. A few months later, 34-year-old Rosario Ames snuggled under a cashmere blanket by a crackling fire. She was at a luxury ski chalet in Gestadt, Switzerland, having the time of her life. She felt a hand on her neck, and she turned. It was Rick, his face red from a day on the slopes. He held out a hot chocolate, spiked with Grand Marnier liquor.

The last few months had been like something out of a dream. Since coming to Rome, Rick had treated her to fine dining, designed her clothes, and had even started talking about buying a Jaguar. Rosario liked her new life. It was so much more exciting than the dreary grind of D.C. But on the other hand, something felt off. Back in D.C., Rick had been so worried about money. He'd complained constantly about his debt and how expensive the city was getting. But now he was opening Swiss bank accounts and spending like a king. She had even overheard Rick telling friends that their new money was coming from her family in Colombia, which she knew was a lie.

Her family was well-connected, they even had ties to the president. But they weren't president, but they weren't rich, and they certainly weren't sending Rick and Rosario cash. So why was Rick pretending that they were? Rosario took a deep breath. Then she grabbed Rick's hand. She told him she didn't need to know what he did at the CIA, or why he was always on calls with men with Russian accents, but she did need to know, where was all this cash coming from? Rick told her it came from Robert, his college friend from back in Chicago. Rosario nodded. She'd heard of Robert.

Last year, Rick was in financial despair until he came home with 50 grand in cash. He told her it was a loan from his old pal Rob. Rosario asked Rick, Had Robert lent him more money? Wouldn't they have to pay him back? Was this lifestyle going to plunge them into debt? Rick said no, this wasn't a loan. This was income.

Robert's rich friends wanted to make some investments in the European market. Rick was managing their funds and earning a commission. Rosario wondered if Rick was lying. He had done it before, hiding his CIA work from her when they first met in Mexico. But then again, Rosario had kept secrets too. While she was a cultural attache at the Colombian embassy, she had also been working as a CIA asset. She lent her apartment to the agency for covert meetings, in exchange for rent money. Once they discovered their CIA connection,

Rosario and Rick became even closer. Now Rosario worried that Rick's secrets would tear them apart. But Rick caressed her cheek and promised there was no funny business, just Robert's business, which was going to make them rich. Rosario kissed Rick and finished her hot chocolate. She might as well enjoy the luxury while it lasted. She might as well enjoy the luxury while it lasted. On a rainy November morning in 1989, 56-year-old Jean Vertife stepped into the CIA lobby in Washington, D.C. She flashed her badge to the guard, then stopped to clean the rain off her glasses. She made her way to her second-floor office.

When she sat down, she noticed a present on her desk. Jean unwrapped it to find a John Le Carre spy novel, gifted to her by an assistant. Jean sighed. Le Carre's stories featured an older female researcher who was a genius at cracking Soviet cases, just like Jean. She didn't love the comparison or the attention, but she got a lot of it these days. Ever since October 1986, when she was the head of the CIA's mole-hunting unit. By then, it was clear to the top CIA brass that the agency had been infiltrated.

Too many of their Russian assets had disappeared, and eventually they learned that some had actually been executed by the KGB. First, they thought their offices might have been bugged, but Gene thought it more likely a mole within the CIA. Gene's first suspect was Edward Lee Howard, the mole identified by Vitaly Yurchenko in 1985. But Jean couldn't tie every disappearance to Howard, so she decided there had to be more than one mole.

She spent a few tough years in the weeds, mostly following dead-end threads that had been planted by the KGB to confuse her. But on this November morning, Jean got a gift way better than a spy novel. Someone knocked on her door, and a young CIA investigator named Dan Payne rushed in. He'd gotten a tip from within the CIA. Rushed in, he'd gotten a tip from within the CIA. An unnamed female employee noticed something odd about her co-worker who'd moved back to DC after a three-year tour of duty in Rome. His name was Rick Ames, and apparently he'd just bought a mansion and paid for it in cash. He also drove a Jaguar worth 50 grand, had a full set of veneers,

and wore designer suits, all on a meager CIA salary. He said the money came from his wife's foreign family, but this woman just didn't buy it. The informant had a final piece of information that sent a chill down Jean's spine. At his old job, Ames had access to files that named many of the CIA's Russian assets who had since gone missing or turned up dead. Jean stared out the window as the rain fell harder. Then she turned to Payne and told him their mission was simple. Follow the money. In late 1991, Rosario Ames walked up the marble stairs

of her five-bedroom mansion in Washington, D.C., the one Rick bought when they returned from Rome in 1989. She headed to the massive walk-in closet in her and Rick's bedroom and smiled. It was a cliché, but she thought she might get lost in this house someday. She had to admit, she'd gotten used to this life. The mansion, the jewelry, the trips to visit her mom in Colombia, the 24-hour childcare for their toddler, Paul. Thanks to Rick and his friend Robert, Rosario had everything she wanted or needed. Well, almost everything.

Today, she was hunting for an old wallet of Rick's that she wanted to use. Rosario rummaged in a drawer until she found the little red wallet. She opened it and saw something inside, a piece of paper. She unfolded a faded, typed-up note. It was a set of cryptic instructions telling someone to meet in, quote, Rosario felt her knees go weak. The note sounded a lot like instructions from a handler, the kind she used to get when she did work for the CIA back in Mexico City.

That night, Rick came home from work. He walked over to kiss her, but Rosario stopped him. She held up the wallet and showed Rick the note. In a trembling voice, she asked, who wrote it and why was her mom mentioned? Rick blinked, then took the wallet and the note. He shrugged, saying he wasn't sure. He hadn't used it in forever.

Maybe it was a note from an assignment on his last job, or something from their Mexico days. Rick brushed it off. But Rosario's doubts kept eating away at her. A couple of weeks later, while they were out to dinner, Rosario asked him again, what was that note in the wallet? This time, Rick wasn't so smooth. Rosario saw him fumble, and she insisted, no excuses, no stories about this so-called friend named Robert. She wanted the truth. In a voice so soft, Rosario had to read his lips. Rick confessed. I'm working for the Russians.

Rosario sat in silence. It was almost a relief to know the truth, that his suspicious stories about Robert from Chicago were just clumsy lies. She felt clear-headed for the first time in months, but Rick was looking rough. Rosario looked at her husband and felt a wave of sympathy. This was the man she'd married, the man she'd vowed to stick with, for richer or poorer, for better or for worse. for richer or poorer, for better or for worse. Now they were richer, but things were definitely worse. So Rosario made a new vow.

She'd help her husband keep his treason a secret. On a fall morning in 1992, Jean Vertife stared out at the counterintelligence parking lot at CIA headquarters. She'd gotten to work early and sat in her office, watching everyone else park, chat, and enter the building. Like so many bits of data coalescing into a complete picture. Jean heard tires screech. It was Rick Ames, late, as usual. He was driving a brand new red Jaguar. Not her favorite sight in the morning, but she always watched him. With Rick flaunting his money, it wasn't hard for Jean to open an investigation into his finances. Over the course of the year, her investigator Dan Payne had found out that Rick and Rosario spent $30,000 a month on credit cards.

Plus, they were traveling overseas without reporting it to superiors. And the clincher? Over the past few years, Rick had transferred over $1.5 million into his bank accounts. Jean knew she was close. And later that day, when Payne scrambled in and slapped a printout on her desk. He confirmed it. It was a list of dates that Rick had met with KGB agent Sergei Shuvakin in the mid-80s. Then, next to the meeting dates, Dan showed her a dated list of Rick's bank statements. Dan didn't have to say anything because Jean's eyes lit up. She saw it instantly.

Usually, after Rick met up with Sergei, he'd deposit cash into his account the very next day. Jean almost cheered. They finally had enough to detain Rick and question him. But there was just one problem. The CIA didn't have the authority to arrest people. Jean's next step was clear. She'd have to transfer the case

to the group who did have that power. The FBI. On the morning of February 21st, 1994, Rick walked out of his house and clicked his garage door open. As the door rolled up, the morning sun glinted off his cherry red Jaguar. Rick loved this car. It was his third Jaguar, and he was already starting to think about an upgrade. Over the last few years, Rick had gotten more ambitious. Besides the fancy cars and fine suits, he'd also bought oceanfront property in Colombia. That's where he went a few times a year to meet with his KGB handlers. But since Rosario's parents were from Colombia,

and Rick had told people her family was rich, nobody really questioned the trips or the purchases. His spy tactics were getting bolder too. Thanks to advances in technology, he was able to siphon CIA data onto floppy disks and slip them to the KGB. He routinely left work in the middle of the day to drive to the suburbs, where he dead-dropped messages to the Soviets in suburban mailboxes. Afterwards, his KGB contacts would come and pick them up. He also had a new partner in crime. Rosario made good on her vow to help keep Rick spying a secret. She even helped him plan trips

to Colombia. It seemed like once Rosario got used to the idea of Rick's secret job as a mole, she became a real accomplice. Now, they talked about money laundering the way other couples might discuss weekend plans. As Rick kept the intel coming, the KGB got more generous. They had paid him over $2.7 million to date. Rick hopped in his Jaguar and headed to the office. It was President's Day, and Rick was supposed to have the day off, but he'd just gotten a call to come in. It was a little odd, but he didn't think much of it. Rick drove a few blocks and pulled up to a stop sign. He rolled down his window and lit a cigarette.

A car was idling in front of him, and Rick cursed under his breath. This guy was taking way too long. He thought about driving around the car and into the turn lane, until he saw that another vehicle was idling in that lane. He looked over his shoulder, aiming to back up and take a different route. That's when he saw two more cars come up behind him to box his Jaguar in. These ones had flashing red lights. In that moment, Rick Ames knew. It was over.

After nine years of a high-stakes tightrope act, he'd been found out. Before he could toss his cigarette and roll up his window, men burst out of the cars and drew their guns. They held out their FBI badges and told Rick he was under arrest. Rick would soon learn that the FBI had been tracking him since they took over his case from the CIA in 1993. President Clinton himself was following the mole hunt very closely. The FBI had proceeded slowly because they were afraid that Rick, a trained spy himself, would pause his talks with the KGB if he felt he was being investigated. So they had gathered the case

on him little by little. When they searched Rick's office, they found over a hundred documents about Soviet espionage that had nothing to do with his day job, which was suspicious, but not a smoking gun. After that, they tailed his car and saw him make several suspicious drives, but those hadn't given them any answers either. Their big break came in fall 1993, when they started searching Rick's home garbage cans. Analysts found a yellow post-it note in Rick's handwriting. It was written in code, but once they cracked it, the FBI understood. It was a draft of a message from Rick to the KGB. In it, he asked to meet in Colombia on October 1st. This was the team's big break.

Clear evidence of a meetup with the Soviets on foreign soil. It was enough for their superiors to authorize bugging Rick's house and get a search warrant. Once the bug was in place, the FBI overheard Rick and Rosario casually planning his next KGB trips, which just confirmed what they already suspected. Now, nearly a decade after betraying the U.S. for the first time, Rick Ames was finally arrested. betraying the U.S. for the first time, Rick Ames was finally arrested. As he opened the door of his Jaguar, Rick felt like he was floating above his body. He watched himself get out of the car.

He saw an FBI agent pluck the lit cigarette from his hands. The whole thing felt like it was happening in slow motion like a dream or movie he heard himself tell the agents over and over there must be some mistake but the only one who'd made a mistake was rick On April 28, 1994, Rick Ames pled guilty to charges of espionage and tax evasion on the $2.7 million he'd made from the KGB. Rick was given a life sentence with no parole. As of 2024, he's still alive and serving that sentence. Rosario also pled guilty for conspiring to commit espionage and tax evasion. But Rick cut a plea for Rosario.

He promised to cooperate if she was given a lenient sentence, because someone had to take care of their five-year-old son. Rosario did five years in prison. When she was freed, she didn't go back to her lavish lifestyle. Rosario was forced to give up all of their family's assets. The money went to the Justice Department's Victim's Assistance Fund, but it hardly made up for the pain that Rick had caused. Take the young Russian informant in Moscow who fed the CIA intel. Once Ames revealed his identity, the KGB sent him to a labor camp. He had been repeatedly beaten and forced to drink radioactive water.

By the time he was released at age 37, his bones were brittle as an old man's and his teeth had fallen out. But he was one of the lucky ones. At least he hadn't been executed like the other ten Ames had ratted on. So, we know why Rick did what he did. Simple greed. But the question remains, how was he able to pull it off right under the CIA's nose? He was loose-lipped, an erratic drinker, and a compulsive spender. He was sloppy and overconfident. But then again, so was the CIA. Even before he sided with the KGB, Rick should have never been entrusted with his high-level jobs. His behavior in Mexico was a big red flag. He went on benders,

got into car crashes, and fought with other diplomats. He bad-mouthed U.S. policy to both Russian operatives and fellow agents. That led to bad reviews from local bosses, but they were never properly reported to officials at the D.C. CIA office. When Rick moved to D.C., the old friend who got him a CIA job never bothered reading those reviews, so he gave him a major promotion and unwittingly let the KGB into the CIA. As for overconfidence, the CIA seemed to assume that all their agents were patriots, who were fueled by faith in a noble mission. So they routinely placed people like Rick in contact with KGB officers, who appealed to human desires much stronger than patriotism. Like the need for power, influence, and of course, money.

like the need for power, influence, and, of course, money. Rick Ames was a deeply flawed man who flourished in a flawed system. The CIA spent so much time looking out into the world for enemies that they forgot to look within. Thanks to that, Rick Ames became one of the worst traitors in American history. episode of Redacted Early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Before you go, tell us about yourself by completing a short survey at wondery.com slash survey. From Ballant Studios and Wondery, this is Redacted Declassified Mysteries, hosted by me, Luke LaManna. A quick note about our stories. We do a lot of research, but some details and scenes are dramatized. We used many different sources for our show, but we especially recommend

Nightmover, How Aldrich Ames Sold the CIA to the KGB for $4.6 million by David Wise, and how the FBI finally caught Aldrich Ames by David Johnston for the New York Times, and the terrible secret of Rosario Ames by Sally Quinn for the Washington Post. This episode was written by Amin Osman, sound design by Ryan Potesta. Our producer is Christopher B. Dunn. Our associate producers and researchers are Sarah Vytak, Teja Palakanda, and Rafa Faria. Fact-checking by Sheila Patterson. For Ballin Studios, our head of production is Zach Levitt.

Script editing by Scott Allen. Our coordinating producer is Samantha Collins. Production support by Avery Siegel. Produced by me, Luke LaManna. Executive producers are Mr. Ballin and Nick Witters.

For Wondery, our head of sound is Marcelino Villapando. Senior producers are Loredana Palavoda, Dave Schilling, and Rachel Engelman. Senior managing producer

is Nick Ryan. Managing producer is Olivia Fonte. Our executive producers are Aaron O'Flaherty and Marshall Louis. For Wondery. producer is olivia fonti our executive producers are aaron o'flaherty and marshall louis for wondering