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The CIA has confirmed that the most important of Ames' victims by far was Polyakov, whose briefing transcripts and photocopies of secret documents fill 25 file drawers in the agency's innermost sanctum. Many intelligence experts now believe that Polyakov made a far more important contribution than a more famous GRU turncoat, Colonel Oleg Penkovsky, who was executed in 1963 for supplying the U.S. with information during the Cuban missile crisis. Of all the secret agents the U.S. recruited during the cold war, says CIA director James Woolsey, "Polyakov was the jewel in the crown."
For the first time, in exclusive interviews with TIME, intelligence officers who worked with Polyakov and officials who used his information have described their relationship with this legendary figure in the secret history of the cold war. Furious that Ames in recent interviews has sought to minimize the human and national-security costs of his treachery, CIA chief Woolsey told TIME last week, "What General Polyakov did for the West didn't just help us win the cold war, it kept the cold war from becoming hot. Polyakov's role was invaluable, and it was one that he played until the end -- in his own words -- for his country."
The son of a bookkeeper, Polyakov was born in the Ukraine in 1921, attended military school, and won decorations for bravery as an artillery officer during World War II. After the war, he studied at the Soviet equivalent of West Point before signing on as a spy for the GRU.
In his early 30s, he was given his first assignment: the Soviet mission to the United Nations in New York City. There he directed Soviet spies who worked without benefit of diplomatic cover. It was during a second tour at the U.N., in 1961, that Polyakov sought contact with FBI counterintelligence agents in Manhattan, who dubbed him Top Hat and marveled at their good fortune. "He was a big catch, and went on for a very long time," says James Nolan, formerly the FBI's top Soviet counterintelligence specialist. "There aren't many who start out as medium-grade officers and rise to the rank of general."
Still, Polyakov's handlers found him an odd duck. He would not accept much money: no more than $3,000 a year, conveyed mostly in the form of Black & Decker power tools, a pair of work overalls, fishing gear and shotguns. He asked for a lot of trinkets such as lighters and pens, which he gave to other GRU officers who did him favors. Unlike most Soviet officers known to the FBI and CIA, he drank and smoked little and was faithful to his wife.
The things that mattered to him were his wife, children and grandchildren. He considered himself a true Russian patriot who had grown disillusioned with the Soviet system. And his handlers, despite initial skepticism, eventually shared that view. "I think his motivation went back to World War II," says the CIA officer who worked with Polyakov in New Delhi. "He contrasted the horror, the carnage, the things he had fought for, against the duplicity and corruption he saw developing in Moscow." Says a CIA headquarters officer who handled Polyakov's case for 15 years: "He articulated a sense that he had to help us out or the Soviets were going to win the cold war, and he couldn't stand that. He felt we were very naive and we were going to fail."