That's how illegals work, and that's the sacrifices they make
In the largest prisoner exchange since the Cold War, twenty-four people crossed borders in a carefully negotiated swap that reunited journalists, dissidents, and security consultants with their families in the West, while Moscow welcomed home intelligence operatives it had never before publicly claimed. The Kremlin's rare candor about who it was reclaiming — an FSB assassin, deep-cover spies, officers from Putin's most sensitive security services — revealed the depth of what Russia was willing to trade for, and what it believed its people were worth. That such an exchange could occur at all, amid the bitterest rupture in US-Russia relations in decades, suggests that even in the coldest diplomatic winters, certain back channels never fully close.
- Evan Gershkovich, Paul Whelan, and Vladimir Kara-Murza — held on charges their governments called fabricated — finally stepped off a plane onto free soil, ending ordeals that had stretched years.
- The Kremlin broke with its own tradition of silence by openly confirming that the Russians it received back were FSB operatives, assassins, and deep-cover spies — a rare and pointed admission of state-sanctioned covert activity.
- Among those returned to Moscow was Vadim Krasikov, a man convicted of executing a Chechen dissident in a Berlin park on orders from the Russian state, now embraced personally by Putin and promised state honors.
- A couple who had lived for five years in Slovenia as fake Argentine expatriates were revealed as Russian 'illegals' — their own children learning mid-flight, somewhere over Turkey, that their parents were Russian nationals.
- Despite war in Ukraine, crushing sanctions, and years of frozen diplomacy, intelligence officials from both sides had been quietly negotiating for months, using Turkey as neutral ground to execute the most complex swap in a generation.
On a Thursday night in Maryland, families stood on a tarmac as a plane delivered people they had feared might never return. Wall Street Journal reporter Evan Gershkovich stepped onto American soil. Security consultant Paul Whelan followed. Russian-British dissident Vladimir Kara-Murza walked free. President Biden and Vice President Harris bore witness to reunions that had taken years of quiet diplomacy to make possible.
In Moscow, a different homecoming was underway. Putin stood at Vnukovo Airport to personally embrace eight Russians returning from Western custody, promising state awards and a conversation about their futures. For the first time, the Kremlin was willing to say out loud who these people were.
Among them was Vadim Krasikov, convicted by German courts of executing a former Chechen fighter in a Berlin park in 2019 — a killing carried out, the court found, on Moscow's orders. Kremlin spokesman Dmitry Peskov confirmed what Western intelligence had long maintained: Krasikov was an FSB officer, once part of the elite Alpha unit that guards Putin himself. The warmth of Putin's greeting left little to interpretation.
Also returning were Artem and Anna Dultsov, a couple arrested in Slovenia on espionage charges after five years of living as Argentine expatriates, quietly managing a network of sleeper agents across Europe. Their children had traveled with them. Those children did not speak Russian. They did not know their parents' true identities until the plane was somewhere over Turkey. They did not recognize Putin when he greeted them at the airport. Peskov described this as the nature of the sacrifice illegals make.
The exchange was historic in scale — twenty-four prisoners in total, the largest such trade since the Cold War. Moscow released fifteen people, including Americans, Germans, and Russian dissidents held on charges widely condemned as politically motivated. The West returned eight Russians, most of them intelligence figures. Turkey served as neutral ground for the handoff.
That the swap happened at all was its own kind of statement. Putin's 2022 invasion of Ukraine had driven relations between Washington and Moscow to their lowest point in decades. Yet for months, diplomats and intelligence officials had been working in the background, threading together an agreement that neither side could publicly pursue and both sides ultimately needed.
On a Thursday night in Maryland, families waited on the tarmac as a plane touched down carrying people they had feared might never come home. Wall Street Journal reporter Evan Gershkovich stepped onto American soil. So did Paul Whelan, a security consultant holding Irish and British passports. Vladimir Kara-Murza, a Russian-British dissident, walked free. Vice President Kamala Harris and President Joe Biden stood witness to the reunion—a moment of relief in a relationship between superpowers that had grown colder than it had been in decades.
Thousands of miles away in Moscow, another kind of homecoming was unfolding. Vladimir Putin stood at Vnukovo Airport to greet eight Russians returning from captivity in the West. He embraced each one. He promised them state awards. He told them they would "talk about your future." The Kremlin, for the first time, was ready to say out loud who these people actually were.
Among them was Vadim Krasikov. In 2019, Krasikov had walked into a Berlin park and killed a former Chechen fighter. German courts found that he had done so on orders from Moscow. He had been serving a life sentence. Now Kremlin spokesman Dmitry Peskov confirmed what Western intelligence agencies had long asserted: Krasikov was an officer of Russia's Federal Security Service, the FSB. More than that, he had once served in the FSB's elite Alpha unit, the same outfit that supplied some of Putin's personal bodyguards. When Krasikov arrived in Moscow, Putin greeted him with particular warmth. The message was unmistakable.
The swap also brought home Artem Dultsov and Anna Dultsova, a couple who had been arrested in Slovenia on espionage charges. They had posed as Argentine expatriates for five years, living in Ljubljana since 2017 and relaying Moscow's instructions to other sleeper agents scattered across Europe. Peskov described them as "illegals"—the Russian term for deep-cover operatives who live under false identities for years, sometimes decades. Their two children had traveled with them from Slovenia. Those children, Peskov noted with a certain pride, did not speak Russian. They did not know their parents were Russian nationals until somewhere over Turkey, mid-flight to Moscow. They did not recognize Putin when he greeted them. "That's how illegals work," Peskov said, "and that's the sacrifices they make because of their dedication to their work."
The exchange itself was historic in scale. Twenty-four prisoners moved across borders in what amounted to the largest such trade since the Cold War ended. Moscow released fifteen people—Americans, Germans, and Russian dissidents who had been held on charges that Western governments widely viewed as politically motivated. In return, the West released eight Russians, most of them intelligence operatives or people accused of serious crimes. Another German national was freed by Belarus as part of the arrangement.
That such a swap could happen at all was remarkable given the state of relations between Washington and Moscow. Putin's invasion of Ukraine in February 2022 had sent those relations into a deep freeze. The war was still grinding on. Sanctions were in place. Rhetoric was harsh. Yet for months, diplomats and intelligence officials had been quietly working behind the scenes, negotiating the details of who would go where, how the exchange would unfold, where it would take place. Turkey became the neutral ground where the actual handoff occurred.
The freed dissidents and journalists represented a different kind of victory for the West. Gershkovich had been detained on espionage charges that his employer and the U.S. government said were baseless. Kara-Murza had been imprisoned on treason charges after speaking out against the war in Ukraine. These were people held, in the Western view, for their words and their beliefs. Their families had campaigned for their release. Now they were home, and the Kremlin's acknowledgment of who it was trading away—assassins, deep-cover spies, operatives from its most sensitive security services—underscored just how much Moscow valued getting its own people back.
Citas Notables
That's how illegals work, and that's the sacrifices they make because of their dedication to their work.— Kremlin spokesman Dmitry Peskov, on the Dultsovs' children not knowing they were Russian
They would talk about your future.— Putin's promise to freed Russian prisoners at Vnukovo Airport
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why would Putin personally greet these returnees at the airport? That seems like an unusual show of public attention.
Because these weren't ordinary prisoners. Krasikov was an FSB assassin—a state asset. The Dultsovs had spent five years undercover in Europe. For Putin, this wasn't just a prisoner exchange; it was a homecoming for his own people. The personal greeting was a signal that they had done their duty and were being honored for it.
The Kremlin's acknowledgment that these were intelligence operatives—why did they finally admit that?
They'd been denying it for years. But once the swap was done, there was no point in maintaining the fiction. By confirming it, Peskov was actually celebrating what had been recovered. He was saying: these are our people, and we got them back.
What strikes you about the children of the Dultsovs not knowing they were Russian?
It's the logical end point of that kind of life. If you're going to live as an Argentine in Slovenia for five years, your children have to believe it. They can't know the truth. But it also means those children grew up in a kind of exile without knowing it—separated from their own language, their own country, their own identity. That's the cost Peskov mentioned.
How does this swap change the relationship between the U.S. and Russia?
It doesn't change it fundamentally. The war in Ukraine is still happening. But it proves that even in the deepest freeze, there are channels that stay open. Both sides needed something from the other, and both sides were willing to negotiate. That's not reconciliation—it's just the minimum requirement for coexistence.