Just before New Year's Eve 2024, while many Russians were calling family and friends to send them holiday greetings, a 21-year-old computer science student from Moscow received a very different call.
“Fate keeps taking you away, from prosecution, from the army. I hope everything ends well for you,” the interviewer said. Soon, the good wishes took on a darker tone: “Don’t forget your homeland. And share more information.”
The student - whom we have called Ivan for security reasons - felt the pressure, but he was not surprised.
Over the past year, he had been harassed by the same man, along with a colleague, both members of the Russian intelligence services. It had all started 16 months earlier, after Ivan had been detained and offered a choice: provide information about his acquaintances in anti-Kremlin circles, many of whom had fled abroad, or end up in prison.
The New Year's call is part of a series of messages and recorded conversations between Ivan and his controllers, which were shared with "Politika".
At a time when the Kremlin is waging a widening campaign of sabotage and espionage across Europe, the materials provide a rare documented insight into how Russian intelligence services recruit, coerce and manage informants.
As this long-standing practice spreads beyond Russia's borders, it brings new challenges for European host countries and their intelligence services.
The conversations, conducted between the summers of 2023 and 2025, reveal a “good cop, bad cop” pattern, in which Ivan was pressured to infiltrate the online communications of an opposition group and report from Moscow on their activities in Europe.
The agents sought seemingly insignificant details, and their interest was not limited to Russian citizens. They were also interested in specific information about those - whether Russians or foreigners - who were helping emigrants in Europe, whether they were language teachers or foreign ministry officials in the countries where dissidents had found a new home.
"Find out who is in Europe and in which country, and who is helping them, including specialized organizations," one message states.
When Ivan told one of his controllers about a rally in Berlin in November 2024, organized to protest Russia’s all-out invasion of Ukraine, the agent demanded even more details: “I’m telling you, describe it, describe it, send me a report,” he wrote. “Don’t let me chase you.”
"We already know everything, but we would like to know even more," another message states.
“Consumable resources”
Since Moscow's all-out assault on Ukraine began, hundreds of thousands of Russians have fled the country, including some of the Kremlin's most vocal critics. They had hoped to find safety in Europe. Instead, they have become both targets and desirable resources for Russian security services.
While much of the attention has focused on “expendable agents,” recruited online for sabotage or vandalism, the conversations Ivan shared suggest a different tactic: the long-term creation of a network of informants within opposition circles themselves.
"We have to be prepared to live with this for a long time," said Andrei Soldatov, a leading expert on Russian intelligence.
Last year, in the first known case of espionage against a Russian political dissident in Europe since the invasion of Ukraine began, Poland brought Igor Rogov - an exiled opposition activist turned student - to trial in the southern town of Sosnowiec.
Authorities accused Rogov of being involved in the bombing plot, as well as spying on other Russians in exile, as well as Polish government officials and university staff, including language professors, who were helping them start a new life.
According to the indictment, Rogov was recruited by the Russian Federal Security Service (FSB) while he was in Russia, several years before he left the country, and he continued his role as an informant in exile. His lawyer declined to comment on the case, but court documents seen by Politiko indicate that he admitted to working for the FSB.
For Russian security services, building networks of informants within the circles of people in exile serves a dual purpose, Soldatov said.
As long as informants remain undetected, they can provide Moscow with information about the movements, private lives and weaknesses of Kremlin critics, at a time when access to them is hampered by the expulsion of dozens of Russian spies. And if an informant is exposed, as in the case of Rogov, it fuels distrust - both within activist circles and between them and host countries.
“In any case, it's a winning combination,” Soldatov said.
Although Moscow publicly dismisses exiled opposition figures as marginal and unimportant, the attention it pays to them betrays a deep insecurity. In addition to infiltration attempts, Russian authorities continue to prosecute Kremlin critics, even in absentia, labeling them “extremists” or “terrorists.”
The logic of the security services, Soldatov explained, is that today's people in exile may seem unimportant, but so did Vladimir Lenin before the revolutions of 1917, which overthrew the then Tsar and more than 300 years of Romanov rule.
"From the FSB's perspective, they cannot afford even a single percent probability that these people could one day threaten the political stability of Russia" or the rule of Russian President Vladimir Putin, Soldatov said.
"Don't try to make a fool of me"
Ivan's problems began in the summer of 2023. As soon as he landed at Moscow's Sheremetyevo Airport - returning from visiting his parents in a Russian city two and a half hours away by plane - he was approached by two men in plainclothes and two uniformed police officers, who took his phone and passport.
Two plainclothes men introduced themselves as investigators for particularly important cases, an elite division of the FSB responsible for state crimes. They showed him their badges, too quickly for him to see, and led him towards the baggage carousel.
While waiting for his suitcases, they began casually questioning him about his personal life, student debt, and parents — “things they could only know by monitoring my communications,” Ivan recalled. “They were looking for pressure points.”
As long as informants remain undetected, they can provide Moscow with information about the movements, private lives and weaknesses of Kremlin critics, at a time when access to them is being hampered by the expulsion of dozens of Russian spies. And if an informant is exposed, as in the case of Rogov, it fuels distrust - both within activist circles and between them and host countries.
Afterwards, in a room used by the airport police, the conversation took on a more serious tone. Two men confronted him with an organizational chart that had his name and photo on it, as well as information about several of his acquaintances, accusing him - rightly - of being a member of the youth movement "Vesna".
The pro-democracy group initially became known for its satirical, media-shy protests. In 2017, they staged a “funeral of Russia’s future” ahead of the presidential election that won Putin another term. A year later, they hung a banner from a bridge in St. Petersburg reading “This World Cup is soaked in blood” ahead of the World Cup finals, which Russia hosted.
After the Russian invasion of Ukraine, “Vesna” grew into one of the main opposition forces in the country, helping to coordinate and incite protests against the war and the Kremlin.
The two agents also showed Ivan another document, which appeared to contain excerpts of correspondence from “Vesna’s” Telegram group, which was deleted after a Russian court declared the organization “extremist” in December 2022.
The men gave Ivan a choice: either he would become their informant, or they would take him immediately to prison, where he would face a 15-year sentence for participating in an “extremist” chat group.
After he agreed to the first option, they made him sign a confidentiality statement, then drove him in an unmarked car to the center of Moscow, where they dropped him off at a metro station. “We’ll get back to you on Telegram,” one of them said as they parted ways.
Soon after, Ivan received his first message suggesting they meet in front of the building he was studying in, the first of a series of such meetings. However, the agents mostly communicated with him online, via messages and calls on Telegram.
One of them, tall and thin, took on an almost brotherly role and gave Ivan family advice, offered help with “problems” at the university, and suggested that he could protect him from mobilization and being sent to the battlefield in Ukraine.
“I’ve arranged everything, no one will take you to the army,” the agent wrote in late November 2024, apparently trying to calm Ivan’s fears that he might be drafted. He promised him that his case was under his “personal control.”
The second agent, of a larger build, seemed as if his task was to ensure obedience through intimidation.
"We had high hopes that you would help us with information, but judging by our communication, it doesn't seem like you have that desire," he once wrote to him in a threatening tone.
Once, after Ivan repeatedly made excuses not to meet in person, the agent lost his patience: “I'm a decent man, don't try to make a fool of me. No one is burning with the desire to be your friend. We have a common job to do!”
The invitation for a beer, he continued, serves "to motivate you" and to show "that we are not animals and that we need your help, which you have not provided so far."
The roles changed occasionally.
“Ivan, make sure you find and reestablish contact with 'Vesna', okay?” the first agent said during one conversation.
“Yes, I'm trying, I understand, okay,” Ivan replied, clearly stressed, which only further annoyed the agent.
“What are you nervous about? Am I pressuring you? Relax. Breathe. Everything will be okay. Okay?”
"You better call me right away."
The two agents made no secret of what they were looking for: information on Kremlin critics, most of whom had fled abroad to avoid prison after Moscow tightened its crackdown on dissent after the invasion. Ivanov's task was to use old connections to infiltrate their new communication channels and deliver information about the activist networks and their plans for anti-Kremlin protests, no matter where they were.
“They (activists) are actively operating and constantly recruiting,” wrote another agent. “The point is to understand what specific activities are taking place in which countries.”
The men also gave Ivan instructions on how to gain the trust of his former associates.
“Insert a story about how bad Russia is and that you are thinking about leaving,” one message reads. “Ask how and where you can go. For example, where people have already settled, where you can find work.”
What they didn't know, however, was that Ivan had been playing a double game from the beginning.
In the weeks after his arrest, as he waited for agents to contact him, his mental state deteriorated rapidly, he said. His social life froze, and he began failing exams, weighed down by the situation he found himself in.
Collaboration meant betraying his friends and, as he saw it, his own country. It also probably wouldn't bring him any real benefit. When he was no longer useful, the agents would probably send him to prison anyway, he concluded.
He decided to confide in one of the people he was supposed to spy on: Aleksandr Kashevarov, a “Vesna” activist living abroad. Together they devised a plan: the activist would give Ivan either false or innocuous information that he would pass on to his controllers, while Ivan, in the meantime, would provide documents to escape Russia. (Kashevarov confirmed this version of events.)
He succeeded in doing so in early 2025 and, after a roundabout route, ended up in Spain, where he is currently awaiting a decision on asylum.
To his surprise, the agents initially didn't seem to realize he had escaped.
“You’re really starting to bother me. You never answer the phone,” the first agent wrote five months after Ivan left. “Don’t make me come looking for you.”
A few months later, they seemed to have connected things after all.
“Why did you go abroad?” wrote another agent. “You better call me right away.”
After that, communication stopped.
“Either their tracking system isn't working properly, or they have a million people like me so they decided to just give up,” Ivan said.
He said he does not hold grudges against those who give in under pressure and become informants.
“It's stupid to expect everyone to be a hero,” he said.
"A worthy target"
It is unclear how successful the FSB has been in recruiting informants within opposition circles. However, Ivan's story is not unique, says Kashevarov, who says he personally knows of two other similar cases in which the FSB tried to recruit former activists.
Although Russians in exile in Europe are physically more difficult to reach, they are unlikely to be beyond the FSB's focus, said Kirill Shamiev, a researcher at the European Council on Foreign Relations and co-author of a report on Russian emigrants in Europe.
He said that their refugee status makes them vulnerable: many face financial hardship, uncertain legal status and have family members in Russia, which can be used as a means of pressure.
“This makes them valuable targets for Russian intelligence services,” Shamiev said.
In an effort to counter Russian sabotage and espionage, European governments have generally attempted to restrict the communities of Russian exiles living on their territory.
Some have tightened visa regimes, including for those seeking humanitarian protection. Others, like Lithuania, have imposed restrictions on how often Russian citizens residing in that country can travel to Russia.
For some dissidents, heightened suspicion following the arrest of Rogov, a Russian student on trial in Poland, has made an already difficult life even more difficult.
“For those of us who oppose the war, life is hard enough as it is,” said opposition activist Artyom Vazhenkov. “At home (in Russia) you are an enemy, a traitor, an enemy of the state. And now abroad you are (seen as) an agent of the FSB.”
He found it hard to believe that Rogov, who he says helped him stay alive and “not get beaten to death” after they were imprisoned together in Belarus following an anti-government protest in 2020, could have been working for the Russian authorities.
“We live in an atmosphere of distrust,” agreed Anastasia Shevchenko, a prominent opposition politician who knew Rogov. “And because of the actions of the Russian authorities, that distrust between us is growing.”
Not knowing who to trust makes work "impossible," she added.
Both Shamiev and Soldatov assess that the recruitment of Russians requires additional caution from European intelligence services.
However, they also warn that European countries should not further aggravate the situation of Russians in exile. Ultimately, “you want [Russians] to integrate, because that is the best vaccine against illegal activities,” Shamiev said.
The text was taken from the "Politiko" portal.
Prepared by: A. Š.
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