Spies: Foot Soldiers in an Endless War

OUTSIDE London's Marlborough Street magistrates' court one morning last week, a throng of newsmen waited impatiently. The object of their interest, an ostensibly minor Soviet trade official named Oleg Lyalin, 34, failed to show up to answer the charges against him--"driving while unfit through drink." He was resting instead in a comfortable country house near London where, for the past several weeks, he had been giving British intelligence a complete rundown on local Soviet espionage operations. His revelations prompted the British government two weeks ago to carry out the most drastic action ever undertaken in the West against Soviet spies: the expulsion of 105 diplomats and other officials--nearly 20% of the 550 Russian officials based in Britain.

The case generated waves from Moscow to Manhattan. As soon as Soviet Party Leader Leonid Brezhnev returned to the Soviet capital from his three-day visit to Yugoslavia, he took the extraordinary step of convening an emergency meeting of the 15-man Politburo right on the premises of Vnukovo Airport. The high-level conference, which forced a 24-hour delay of a state dinner in honor of India's visiting Premier Indira Gandhi, might have dealt with the still-mysterious goings-on in China. But it might also have dealt with the difficult problem of how the Kremlin should react to the unprecedented British expulsions--a problem that Moscow, by week's end, had not yet solved.

Potato-Faced Fellows

In Manhattan, British Foreign Secretary Sir Alec Douglas-Home spent 80 minutes with Soviet Foreign Minister Andrei Gromyko. "We have taken our action," said Sir Alec, "and that's all there is to it." Nonetheless, he emphasized that the British step was "designed to remove an obstacle to good relations." Harrumphed Gromyko: "That's a fine way to improve relations." He added that Moscow would be forced to retaliate. But the British apparently knew of some spies among the remaining 445 Russians in Britain. "Yes," said a Foreign Office man, "we have retained second-strike capability."

The British case dramatized the expanse and expense of espionage activity round the world. It was also a reminder that the old spy business, which has received little attention in the past three or four years, is as intense--and dirty--as ever, despite the rise of a new type of operative. Since World War II, espionage has undergone a metamorphosis. For a time, its stars were the famed "illegal" or "deep cover" agents--the Colonel Abels, the Gorden Lonsdales, the Kim Philbys. Says British Sovietologist Robert Conquest: "These men compare with the massive embassy operations rather as a skilled armored thrust compares with human-wave tactics in war." Moreover, the growing phalanxes of routine operatives are supported by spy-in-the-sky satellites that can send back photographs showing the precise diameter of a newly dug missile silo. But even as the modern army still needs the foot soldier, so does espionage still need the agent on the ground. "A photograph may show you what a new plane looks like." says a key intelligence expert, "but it won't tell you what's inside those engines and how they operate. For that you still need someone to tell you."

Eric Ambler, author of spy mysteries, has little use for the new species of spy, particularly the representatives of the Komitet Gosudarstvennoi Bezopastnosti (KGB), the Soviet Committee for State Security, and the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency. "KGB men?" he sneers. "They're the potato-faced fellows you see on trains in Eastern Europe wearing suits that aren't quite right and smelling too much of eau de cologne. The CIA people all smell like aftershave lotion. They always look as if they are on their way to some boring sales conference for an unexciting product--and in a way, they are."

In one respect, Ambler is unfair and behind the times. The contemporary KGB man is generally far more polished, more sophisticated, more accomplished in foreign languages and manners than his counterpart of a few years ago. But Ambler is right in saying that the Mata Haris and the 007s have largely given way to the undramatic, plodding and featureless agents who count it a job well done if they wheedle a photostat of a set of circuits out of a computer repairman for $80.

Wide-Open Country

The heroes, if there are any at all, sit behind gray desks in Moscow: Langley, Va.; and London, There they must sift through tons of material provided by hundreds of different sources before they can, with luck, piece together a picture of, say, the locking mechanism on a swing-wing fighter. Many of the reports are useless, some are contradictory and others are deliberately misleading, planted by departments of "disinformation."

It is work that occupies tens of thousands of mathematicians and cryptographers, clerks and military analysts, often with the most trivial-seeming tasks. Yet it is work that no major nation feels it can afford to halt. Says a former British ambassador: "We all spy, of course, more or less. But the Russians are rather busier at it than most. They're more basic too: not so subtle as our chaps. I like to think that we have a certain finesse in our methods --that we don't go at the thing bullheaded. But maybe our tasks are different from theirs, just because this country is so wide open."

Wide open or not, there remains the question, in Eric Ambler's words: "What on earth has the KGB got to spy on in Britain? You would think 105 spies could cover the whole of America." However, as a top Whitehall official told an American last week: "I rather think the Russians look upon London as a good place to collect information about you." Agreed an equally high functionary in Washington: "The Russians know full well that the one country with which the U.S. shares more information than any other is Britain. They know Britain is the only country with which we share nuclear secrets."

Ladies' Man

Oleg Lyalin and his colleagues would have been delighted to steal such secrets. Most of their work was more mundane, however, although some of it struck deeply enough at the security of NATO. Among the papers Lyalin delivered to British intelligence were contingency plans for sabotaging Britain's early-warning systems for detecting approaching missiles, presumably including the huge new U.S.-built installation at Orford Ness.

For almost a week after the case broke, Lyalin's identity remained a secret. Finally, when two Daily Express reporters called at the Soviet embassy, Second Secretary Vladimir Pavlinov proved to be surprisingly communicative. "His name, gentlemen," said Pavlinov, "was in your newspaper." He held his thumb and forefinger an inch apart to indicate that he was referring to a small story. Sure enough, the Express had carried a ten-line item on Aug. 31 about the arrest of Lyalin and his release on $120 bail. Two hours after Lyalin failed to keep his court dates, the Foreign Office confirmed that he was indeed the Soviet defector.

British intelligence had wanted to keep the secret for a while, in hopes of flushing out the frightened British citizens who had been running errands for other Russian spies; in fact, arrests were expected momentarily. By leaking his name and depicting him as an alcoholic and a ladies' man, the Soviets hoped to cast doubt on his importance and his character; in the process, they also betrayed the fact that, even in this drab age, the life of a spy can have its high points. A natty dresser who bought his clothes in Regent Street, Oleg was known as a big spender who, according to one restaurateur, "thought nothing of picking up an -L-80 [$192] tab." He had a wife and seven-year-old son in Moscow, but British newspapers linked him with at least five women in London--an Israeli student, a Czech student, two English secretaries and "a gorgeous Russian blonde,"--Irina Teplyakova, thirtyish and the wife of another Soviet official. Oleg and Irina had been seen together in London restaurants and nightclubs for months, and though she is not believed to be with the KGB, she defected with him. Oleg was supposed to be a trade official who bought such British-made items as panty hose and negligees for export. He was actually a captain in the KGB, and was thought to be a relative of Lieut. General Serafim Lyalin, head of the KGB directorate that deals with breaking codes.

Limits of Decency

The information furnished by Lyalin proved the last straw for Prime Minister Edward Heath's Conservative government. Douglas-Home wrote to Gromyko last Dec. 3 and again on Aug. 4 to complain about the growing number of Soviet spies in Britain. The Russians never bothered to reply. In a particularly brazen gesture, the Soviets announced that they intended to send to

London as a first secretary in their embassy a KGB agent who had been expelled from Britain only three years earlier for trying to bribe an English businessman to sell military secrets. "It's not for me to say that one shouldn't spy," a top member of the Foreign Office told TIME last week, "but there are limits of decency even in that sort of activity." At a meeting of Heath, Douglas-Home, Defense Minister Lord Carrington and Home Secretary Reginald Maulding, the government decided on the mass expulsion.

Most of Britain's allies, though officially silent, were delighted by London's daring move. Some, however, privately expressed nervousness about the Soviet reaction. For most Britons, the case of the drunken defector gave rise to an exhilarating feeling that the lion had not lost all of its roar. The Foreign Office, its reputation tarnished for two decades by the Burgess-MacLean-Philby case, seemed enveloped in euphoria. The Manchester Guardian weakly applauded the move, noting that Moscow's failure to reply to Douglas-Home's letters "suggests something more important than discourtesy. It indicates a cynical belief that we would meekly accept behavior which is outrageous."

Clicking Tongues

Not everybody agreed. Former Laborite Foreign Secretary Michael Stewart said the expulsions created too much of a "splash." Some critics complained that the Tories were trying to torpedo the projected European security conference, through which the Soviets hope to win Western recognition of the status quo in Eastern Europe. In fact, the British action appears to have been carefully timed to avoid damaging the conference. The British waited to move until after the four-power Berlin agreement was signed last month, and they acted well before the meeting, which is not likely to take place before mid-1972.

The Soviets responded with a campaign that mounted in intensity as the week wore on. As some of the expelled officials--who included nine of the embassy's eleven counselors and five of its twelve first secretaries--began crating furniture and canceling milk deliveries, the Kremlin launched a press campaign. Pravda accused London of "witch hunting" and declared that British intelligence uses British businessmen, tourists, journalists and scientists in the Soviet Union to carry out its "sinister aims." In Moscow, Kim Philby, the Briton who defected to the U.S.S.R. in 1963, named 20 British diplomats as agents for British intelligence, mainly in the Middle East.

Philby's office nowadays is located in KGB headquarters in the midst of Moscow, across Dzerzhinsky Square from a children's department store and round the corner from a huge book shop. No sign or flag indicates that it is the bastion of the Soviet secret police. In front of it stands the giant statue of the first Soviet secret policeman, Feliks E. Dzerzhinsky, who ran the police until his death in 1926. In the same building is dank Lubyanka prison, where political prisoners undergo their initial conditioning; in his novel The First Circle, Alexander Solzhenitsyn wrote how its warders clicked their tongues to warn each other whenever they were escorting a prisoner: "One prisoner must never be allowed to encounter another, never be allowed to draw comfort or support from the look in his eyes."

The Soviet secret police, of course, have a dual function. At home they were never busier than during the Stalin era, when they organized and executed the purges and ran the labor camps. Today the KGB is headed by Yuri Andropov, 57, a Brezhnev Protege who is clearly subordinate to the political arm of the party. A powerfully built man over 6 ft. tall, Andropov proved his ruthlessness in Hungary as ambassador at the time of the 1956 uprising. It was he who encouraged a delegation of Hungarians to meet with top Soviet officers in Budapest to talk about a withdrawal of Russian troops; two days later, when a settlement seemed near, General Ivan Serov, then head of the KGB, burst in on the parley with a platoon of agents and arrested the rebel leaders, many of whom were later executed. In 1967, Andropov became head of the KGB, and thereby master of the most formidable power complex in the Soviet Union outside the armed forces.

Even though the days of wholesale exile and mass murder are past, the

KGB retains awesome power. Andropov performs the functions of CIA Head Richard Helms, FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover and Secret Service Chief James J. Rowley rolled up into one--and then some. His budget is unknown. He commands an army of 300,000 that protects the Soviet leadership (and spies on some factions in behalf of others), tries to keep military units ideologically pure with a network of 80,000 political commissars down to the battalion level, ferrets out domestic dissidents, guards factories, railways, airports and border posts, and runs prisons and labor camps. It keeps hundreds of foreigners in Moscow under surveillance; and on occasion it has even bugged the seal of the U.S. Embassy in Moscow--an act that the U.S. publicized during the U-2 affair of 1960.

All this internal security is in the hands of the KGB's second chief directorate. The heart of the organization's foreign-intelligence operation is the first chief directorate, whose functions are roughly equivalent to the CIA's. Its boss was last known to be--and may still be--Alexander Sakharovsky. He is now about 70, and Washington experts speculate that he may have been retired, but they are not certain and do not know who his replacement might be.

Of his 9,000 officers, about 3,500 are stationed abroad. They may be assigned to an embassy or to newsgathering outfits such as Tass or Pravda, or to any of a host of other organizations --Soviet Export Films, the Moscow Narodny Bank, the Russian Lumber Import Co., Intourist, Aeroflot, Black Sea Baltic Insurance, Morflot Shipping. The Soviet government is totally integrated, without neat divisions between diplomats, intelligence officers and journalists. That helps explain why the Soviets and East Europeans almost automatically regard Western journalists as agents of the CIA or Britain's D16 (for Defense Intelligence, 6th Section, formerly MI-6).

Young Russians are recruited with promises of an exciting career, travel abroad, such perquisites as autos and expense accounts, and early retirement at 55. As for foreign talent, the Soviets after World War II relied on a succession of ideologically convinced Communists in the West as their principal undercover agents. Today the Russians are usually forced to recruit foreigners through blackmail or money.

Jumbled Numbers

As many as 50% to 75% of all Soviet officials stationed abroad are estimated by U.S. sources to be KGB agents. The percentage is lower in big industrial countries, where Moscow has many legitimate interests to oversee and services to perform, and much higher in underdeveloped lands. These estimates do not include the far smaller but vital contingents of KGB officers who function as undercover "illegals" under assumed names and do not operate through their embassies but report to "controllers" or directly to Moscow.

Their activities cover a wide range. They collect military and political information. They engage in industrial espionage, which has become an important part of their work. They keep rival spy networks under surveillance and strive to infiltrate them. They also engage in "wet stuff," the Soviet euphemism for violence (see glossary, page 44), although less frequently than in earlier times. Most wet-stuff activity in West Germany has been conducted against Russians living in exile and working for the overthrow of the Moscow regime. The last known case was the 1959 murder, with a special cyanide pellet fired from a pistol, of Ukrainian Exile Leader Stefan Bandera in Munich.

A considerable number of KGB agents abroad are primarily concerned with the Soviet Union's "main enemies," the U.S. and China. There are more than 200 staff members at the Soviet embassy in Washington, whose mansard roof bristles with more antennas than any other place in the area except the

Pentagon. There are 82 diplomats in the Soviet mission to the U.N., plus 227 Russians on the staff of the U.N. Secretariat. At least 20% of all these are believed to be KGB agents. The Soviets also maintain large KGB forces in the countries of the U.S.'s principal allies --notably Britain, Canada and West Germany. In 1970, West German counter-intelligence seized no fewer than 768 Communist spies. Even so. West German sources estimate that there are as many as 16,000 spies still at work, and Communists are acquiring recruits at the rate of two a day.

There are several reasons for West Germany's status as the spy center of Europe: it is part of a divided country on the edge of the East-West chasm, it is the base for 210,000 U.S. troops and a sizable nuclear arsenal, and it can be easily serviced from espionage centers in East Germany. On certain nights, a voice broadcast over a short-wave band from the closely guarded Karlshorst

Compound in a suburb of East Berlin will rattle off a burst of jumbled numbers aimed at a KGB undercover agent somewhere in Western Europe. The agent will respond by using the "dead-letter box" system or a powerful two-way radio no larger than three packs of king-size cigarettes.

Individuals as Ammunition

The Russians, of course, are far from the only players in the game. Moscow's agents may be especially aggressive, but Russian espionage has a strong defensive streak, linked to a conviction that half the world is against the Soviet Union --a conviction that began with the never-forgotten Western attempts to crush the" Revolution. The West is usually more squeamish about espionage than Russia or other Communist countries. David Cornwell. the Briton who writes realistic spy fiction under the pen name John le Carre (The Spy Who Came In From the Cold), once observed that the West does not believe in "eating people" and yet is forced to defend this very principle by using individuals as "ammunition." In the U.S., espionage was grossly neglected until the advent of the cold war. In 1928, Secretary of State Henry L. Stimson was shocked to learn that the State Department had a cryptographic bureau. He fired the founder of the code-breaking agency, observing: "Gentlemen do not read other people's mail." But since then, the U.S. has overcome these and other scruples; it has learned a great many lessons from its opponents.

The trauma of Pearl Harbor led directly to the establishment of the wartime Office of Strategic Services and, in 1947, the powerful Central Intelligence Agency. Today the CIA, with a budget believed to be over $500 million, has 15,000 employees in Washington and several thousand agents abroad. Moreover, the CIA is but one of nine major U.S. intelligence-gathering organizations,* though it does send the most agents into the field. The total U.S. intelligence "community" has a force of about 100,000 and a staggering budget of about $3.5 billion.

A Swallow Named Zina

Though the KGB's foreign directorate has a smaller staff, it fields more agents than its American counterpart. Says a U.S. intelligence official: "The Soviets not only are very good, but they also outnumber the U.S. by a factor of at least two." Both agencies are adept at dirty tricks. "We still try to get them with broads, or find out the homosexuals, or if they have debts," admits a top CIA man. One U.S. agent became friendly with a man he knew to be a top Soviet operative in Africa. The Russian ran into financial trouble. Eventually the two became steady--and heavy --drinking partners, usually at the American's flat. "It suddenly struck me that I was getting so stoned that the next morning I couldn't remember anything either of us had said," the American recalls. U.S. technicians "wired the whole damned apartment for sound," and every word was subsequently recorded. But, the American adds: "Even dead drunk, he didn't give anything away. The only thing I can brag about is that I was just as drunk--and I didn't blow anything either."

A grimmer case involving efforts to compromise an enemy concerns former

British Naval Commander Anthony Courtney. A onetime chief of the Soviet section of naval intelligence, Courtney retired, began a successful business as a consultant on East-West trade, and won election as a Tory Member of Parliament. In Commons, Courtney seized on the dangers of Soviet spying as one of his big issues. That irritated the KGB. Before he came up for reelection, the KGB reached into its files and produced a 1961 photo showing Courtney in compromising positions with a comely, blonde, hazel-eyed Intourist guide named Zina, a "swallow" he had met on a business trip to Moscow following the death of his first wife. The photos were widely distributed and Courtney soon lost his second wife, his business and his seat in Parliament. He is now remarried and running a touch-typing school in Wiltshire.

The cases of four Soviet agents in Britain, all attached to the Soviet embassy or trade delegation, illustrate the range of routine intelligence activity.

All four were asked to leave Britain within the past three years. One, a collector of industrial documents, was caught picking up material left for him by another agent in a dead-letter box. Another specialized in obtaining embargoed goods, and attempted to bribe engineers to give him electronic and computer equipment. A third promised a Briton S money if he would get a job in the Ministry of Defense, and a fourth tried to ac? quire a classified telephone directory r from a Defense Ministry employee.

Hits and Misses

Qualitative comparisons between spy systems are difficult to make. The CIA, which receives input from all parts of the U.S. intelligence establishment, is probably more expert, but Western intelligence officials give the KGB high marks for its professionalism and discipline. Despite the famed defections of the postwar period, British intelligence is highly regarded by most of its U.S. counterparts; so, to a somewhat lesser extent, is French intelligence. Many experts agree that man for man and dollar for dollar, the Israelis have the best intelligence service in the world--possibly because of their sense of community and beleaguerment. Among the Israeli achievements: learning the substance of Nikita Khrushchev's 1956 destalinization speech at the 20th Soviet

Party Congress well in advance of U.S. intelligence; and knowing the location of every plane in the Egyptian air force and where nearly every pilot would be (at breakfast) when the Six-Day War was launched in 1967.

Stolen Sidewinder

Both the CIA and the KGB have had their share of successes and disasters. The CIA prides itself on the Penkovsky case, which exposed the operation--and many of the personnel--of the .Soviet military intelligence network. In 1967, the CIA managed the skillful extrication from Moscow of KGB Colonel Evgeny Runge, who had led a spy network in West Germany. Until the Francis Gary Powers case, the U-2 operation was a major intelligence success. The CIA is also credited with obtaining superior information about Soviet military developments and Chinese nuclear-weapons progress, and with sound assessments of the situation in Viet Nam (which were frequently ignored 6y policymakers). Among its setbacks: the Bay of Pigs, although this was a failure of decision making as well as intelligence, and the failure to warn of the Berlin Wall's construction in 1961 or Khruschchev's fall from power in 1964. In some cases, the agency was plagued by the ever-present problem of drawing the line between operations and intelligence; the line became unrecognizably blurred in places like Laos and Guatemala.

One of the KGB's most notable successes was the Burgess-MacLean-Philby case, a classic example of successful infiltration aided by the refusal of the British Foreign Office's "old boys" to admit that one of their class could betray the country. Colonel Rudolf Abel spent nine years in the U.S. running a spy network that may have covered all of

North America. In Bonn, Freelance Photographer Heinz Suetterlin wooed and won the plump secretary of a high Foreign Ministry official and sent nearly 1,000 secret papers to Moscow before a defector blew his cover and prompted the ill-used Mrs. Suetterlin to commit suicide. Heinz Felfe, who held a key position in the BND, the West German equivalent of the CIA, for ten years was a double agent who supplied the Soviets with the names of West German agents in the East, codes, dead-letter drops and courier routes. He all but wiped out BND operations in the Soviet orbit. To keep him above suspicion, Moscow regularly gave him important secrets concerning East Germany to feed to his unsuspecting West German employers; he was so valuable that the KGB even allowed him to betray a lesser Soviet spy to Bonn.

Perhaps the weirdest case in the KGB's history--and one of its dizziest triumphs--occurred in 1967, when three men stole a Sidewinder missile from a supposedly well-guarded NATO base at Zell and drove 300 miles along the autobahn to Krefeld with the 9 1/2-ft. rocket sticking out a window. When their leader, Manfred Ramminger, inquired at the Duesseldorf airport about the best way to get a shipment to Moscow, KLM suggested air freight and Lufthansa assured him that nobody at the German customs office would bother about the contents. Ramminger followed the advice, then boarded a jet for Moscow, with the missile's ignition switch in his hand luggage.

On arrival, he was dismayed to learn that something had gone wrong; the box containing the missile had been off-loaded in Copenhagen by mistake and sent back to Duesseldorf. When the box finally arrived in Moscow after a ten-day delay, the Soviets could hardly believe their eyes. "Bruederchen [Little Brother]," roared Ramminger's contact in the KGB, shaking with laughter, "You're a superman!"

Not all KGB exploits are so successful. There was, for example, the case last March involving Mexican students sent through Moscow to North Korea for guerrilla training. But the war goes on in every part of the globe. Items:

>In September 1969, KGB agents in Beirut tried to steal a French-built Mirage 111-E fighter from the Lebanese air force to test against Soviet MIGs. They offered a young Lebanese fighter pilot $2,000,000 to fly his plane to Baku in the Soviet Union. The officer reported the offer to his superiors, and the two Russians, caught red-handed with a $200,000 down-payment check, were wounded in a shootout with Lebanese police and were quickly deported.

> Even though they suspected Communist agents of stirring up university students to oppose the regime, Congolese officials agreed early this year to permit a 15-man Soviet football team to visit the country. A few days after the team ended its tour, however, the Kinshasa government discovered that only eleven players had departed; the remaining four, quietly at work in the Soviet embassy, were subsequently expelled.

> In Japan, the Soviets' chief interest is the U.S. military hardware. A month ago, police arrested Kazuo Kobayashi, 41, after catching him trying to buy the plans for a Phantom-fighter missile and radar systems from an American G.I. for $555. Then, with Kobayashi's help, they confronted his contact, who had identified himself only as "Ed" but proved to be Lieut. Colonel Lev Konokov, assistant military and air attache at the Soviet embassy in Tokyo.

How to Save Money

Most of the world's governments are becoming increasingly bureaucratic and secretive. A case in point is the Pentagon's passion for classifying every document in sight. If those SECRET stamps were used less frequently, spies would be a lot less busy trying to grab often totally unimportant material.

The Soviets, moreover, are inclined to accord greater respect to information that has been acquired deviously--even if it is as accessible as a Sears, Roebuck catalogue. In The First Circle, Novelist Solzhenitsyn scathingly described a prison research institute run by Soviet intelligence where American magazines that were sold to anyone in the U.S. "were here numbered, bound with string, classified and sealed up in fireproof safes, out of reach of American spies." The result, for the CIA as well as the KGB, is an astonishing amount of make-work and the accumulation of vast amounts of material that simply cannot be digested--even with computers reminiscent of Len Deighton's The Billion Dollar Brain constantly whirring.

Is it all necessary? During his 1959 visit to the U.S. Khrushchev told Allen Dulles, then director of the CIA: "We should buy our intelligence data together and save money. We'd have to pay the same people only once." There is undeniable appeal in that proposal, but the world simply does not run that way. For the foreseeable future and probably forever, there will be unremarkable-looking men poking around English factories or East-bloc offices, busily ferreting out farm reports, industrial blueprints and highway maps, while British or Hungarian agents keep an eye on them. From the tons of material they gather, occasionally--but only very occasionally--something will emerge that will make the head man in Langley, Va., or Dzerzhinsky Square in Moscow reach for his direct line to the White House or the Kremlin.

* The others: The Atomic Energy Commission, for all nuclear activities; the National Security Agency, for codes, cryptographies and military communications satellites; the Department of State's Bureau of Intelligence and Research, for political and economic trends abroad; the Federal Bureau of Investigation, for keeping track of foreign embassies, as does the KGB's second chief directorate; the Defense Department's Defense Intelligence Agency, for assessing the worldwide military situation; the Army's G2, the Air Force's A-2 and the Navy's Office of Naval Intelligence, which evaluate the world's land, air and /5ea forces.

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