Dark Origins of the Term ‘Grifter’

James Bond carried a license to kill. The grifter was a target—one whom any operative seeking to earn the glory of The Party effectively possessed a de facto license to kill

In stark contrast to James Bond, who carried a license to kill, the grifter was a target—one whom any operative seeking to earn the glory of The Party effectively possessed a de facto license to harm or eliminate.

Bolsheviks, in particular, are creatures of predictable habit—their symbols, their slogans, their targets, returning like a bear to the same kill throughout the long winter. Each year, they forget anew, blind to the abject failures of the last season, and so the same worn-out play takes the stage once again.

The Last Grift of Georges Agabekov

The rain slicked back alleys of Paris shimmered under the pale glow of gas lamps, their light distorted by the chaotic aura of a wind-carried mist. Georges Agabekov, once a man of influence within the Soviet intelligence apparatus, now walked as a fugitive under an oppressive nightfall. He adjusted the brim of his hat, his English wife’s scent—lavender and some undertones of spice—still clinging to his shirt. She had begged him not to go. Georges attempted to placate her by making love to her, but this only intensified her sense of foreboding and despair.

The potential of this lure was too great after all. A final payout—recompense for the decades of filth and abuse incumbent in Agabeko’s line of work. A lucrative smuggling deal involving artifacts from the Spanish Civil War, arranged by a discreet but promising contact. Enough to buy freedom, to vanish forever.

The safe house in the 18^th arrondissement was a humble affair, the sort of place where whispers carried through thin walls and desperation hung like the curling of cheap wallpaper. Pavel Sudoplatov’s warning lingered in Agabekov’s mind—”They will never let it go, Georges.” Once inside, you can never truly leave. He dismissed the gnawing notion, brushing away the paranoia that had dogged him since his defection.

Inside, the scent of damp wood and stale tobacco thickened. A single candle flickered in the center of the room, its feeble glow illuminating the silver glint of a cigarette case. Across the table sat Panyeleimon Takhchianov, his expression unreadable, a polite, disarming smile playing on his lips. A man of the shadows, Agabekov knew him well, but not well enough to anticipate the swift glint of steel that followed.

Pain seared his abdomen, hot and immediate, as the knife slid between his ribs. He gasped, stumbling backward, his hands pressing against the wound, warm blood soaking through his fingers. He looked up in shock, attempting to speak, but another figure emerged from the darkness. Aleksandr Korotkov—a familiar face that regarded him with stoic curiosity amidst the encroaching dimness of his perception.

“Du hast deine letzte Hand gespielt, alter Freund,” Korotkov muttered, taunting his Comintern languages classmate to the bitter end.

Agabekov collapsed to the floor, the candle flickering wildly as his breath rasped against the silence. He was dragged across the room, his body crammed into a waiting suitcase, the brass clasps snapping shut like the final punctuation to a life spent in such shadows.

The Seine lay still that night, its surface like black glass, the ripples only disturbed by the splash of something heavy sinking into its depths. In the morning, the river would continue its endless course, unburdened by the weight of its secrets, while the world moved on, unaware of the fate of one more discarded soul in the game of nations.

Korotkov wiped his hands with a silk handkerchief, inspecting his handsome visage under a titled fedora in a nearby shop door glass. His was the satisfaction of a man who had done what was necessary. He adjusted his tie, lighting a cigarette with the same dispassionate ease that had seen him rise through the ranks of the Illegals Directorate. “Yeshche odin moshénnik popadayet v reku,” he murmured before stepping into the Parisian night, his silhouette soon lost in the mist, already thinking of Berlin.

~ The Last Grift of Georges Agabekov, Historical fiction. Inspired by Nigel West’s Encyclopedia of Political Assassinations, 2017¹

Historical and Etymological Habits

The real life operative, Georges Agabekov, had been known inside the Soviet People’s Commissariat for Internal Affairs (NKVD) throughout the mid 1930’s as ‘The Grifter’.² Just as history often repeats itself, so too do the habits of those who navigate its darkest corridors with reckless abandon. Bolsheviks, in particular, are creatures of predictable habit—their symbols, their slogans, their targets, returning like a bear to the same kill throughout the long winter. Each year, they forget anew, blind to the abject failures of the last season, and so the same worn-out play takes the stage once again.

To The Party member, every soul who opposes them is a Nazi. Therefore, their demise, either individually or as a group, is a cause of bureaucratized virtue.

Grifter (n., 1906, Eastern Europe) – Emerging from Bolshevik Marxist-Leninist rhetoric of the time, this term was used to label anyone suspected of turning state secrets for personal gain. In stark contrast to James Bond, who carried a license to kill, the grifter was a target—one whom any operative seeking to earn the glory of The Party effectively possessed a de facto license to harm or eliminate.³

The term grifter has its roots in early 20th-century Communist revolutionary slang, possibly an eastern European corruption of the word graft, which itself originates from British and American criminal slang referring to fraudulent schemes, bribery, and dishonest gain. The term gained prominence in the early 1900s, particularly in reference to traveling con artists and swindlers who made their living through deception and trickery.

By the mid-20th century, grifter had expanded in meaning, encompassing not just small-time con artists but also larger, more sophisticated fraudsters who exploited systems and institutions for personal gain.

The association of grifter with organized deception and subterfuge makes its historical use in intelligence circles particularly noteworthy. The Soviet People’s Commissariat for Internal Affairs, or NKVD’s labeling of defectors and double agents as grifters aligns with the broader perception of such individuals as opportunists willing to betray for personal benefit, much like Agabekov’s ill-fated final gamble in Paris.

The word has been re-adapted by global socialists for similar employment today, most often in biased political and economic contexts, highlighting individuals who engage in discourse which is not favored by The Party. The implication however, remains the same—the term grifter is assigned by apparatchiks of The Party to identify anyone who has been designated as a target for justifiable harm, for the glory of both assailant and Party alike.

The Ethical Skeptic, “Dark Origins: The Term ‘Grifter’”; The Ethical Skeptic, WordPress, 12 Feb 2025; Web, https://theethicalskeptic.com/2025/02/11/dark-origins-the-term-grifter/