That Time Chinese Intelligence Tried to Recruit Me
How I found myself on the receiving end of a Chinese spy recruitment pitch and stumbled into the strange new frontier of AI-assisted espionage.
All posts are free for the first 30 days—then they move behind the paywall. If you value independent journalism that takes a hard look at the military and intelligence worlds, consider becoming a paid subscriber for just $5/month. Your support makes this work possible.
Paid subscribers get full access to the archives, plus The Ice Man—a deeply reported Substack book about a Navy SEAL platoon that took the fall for a CIA killing.
Original investigative journalism is a labor-intensive and expensive endeavor. Please consider a paid subscription to this Substack. If you're already a paid subscriber, consider a gift subscription for a loved one, colleague, or friend.
If you've ever thought your inbox was full of suspiciously good offers—say, a Nigerian prince asking for your bank details—you may be missing out on another opportunity: being recruited by a foreign intelligence agency.
Yes, I’m here to report that I was pitched by what can only be described as a Chinese intelligence operation masquerading as a hedge fund consultancy. After 20 years of writing about foreign intelligence operations, I found myself in the middle of one.
Let me set the stage: it all began innocently enough on May 21, with a direct message on X from "Mary Taylor." Her firm, the Visionary Advisory Group, was exploring the possibility of conflict between China and Taiwan, and I was just the guy whose opinion they wanted to hear about it.
Now, I’m really not that guy. I have at best a rudimentary understanding of the tensions in the Taiwan Strait. Don’t ask me to explain the “One China” policy or “strategic ambiguity.”
I certainly wasn’t well-versed in the things “Mary” wanted to know about, like China’s investments in Type 075 assault ships and lengthy amphibious landing infrastructure that can deliver troops and vehicles on the beaches of Taiwan. But if someone was willing to pay $500 to hear me spout BS for an hour, I wasn’t about to disabuse them of the notion that I might actually know what I’m talking about.
So I gave my email address. A week later, a Protonmail message from “Mary” landed in my inbox. The first clue that something was amiss was the shift in the nature of the outreach. The Visionary Advisory Group was now interested in “internal deliberations within the Trump camp.”
In a polished, professional tone, “Mary Taylor” wrote, “If you have access to any non-public information related to China — including internal signals or background insights on U.S.-China policy, strategic communications, or security mechanisms — we would greatly value your input.”
“Non-public information” was a red flag. What “Mary Taylor” was really asking for was secrets.
China has a long record of using front companies, phony job offers, and seemingly innocuous research solicitations to lure Americans into disclosing sensitive information.
“We’ve seen China’s intelligence services doing this on a mass scale,” William Evanina, the director of the National Counterintelligence and Security Center, told The New York Times. “Instead of dispatching spies to the U.S. to recruit a single target, it’s more efficient to sit behind a computer in China and send out friend requests to thousands of targets using fake profiles.”
Sometimes, these shotgun approaches pay off. Korbein Schultz, a 25-year-old Army intelligence analyst, is serving a seven-year sentence for sending more than 90 sensitive military documents to a Chinese agent posing as a geopolitical consultant. Even seasoned intelligence veterans have fallen for it: Kevin Mallory, a former CIA officer, was sentenced to 20 years after passing classified information to Chinese operatives who first contacted him through a fake LinkedIn headhunter.
When I dug deeper, I discovered the whole thing was a farce. The filename of one of Mary’s coworkers included the Mandarin word 男, which Google Translate rendered as ”male.” Another filename included 同性恋, which translates as “gay.” It showed all the care and precision of a college student rushing to finish a term paper at 3 a.m.
The site’s creator had also helpfully left behind a link to Beacon Global Strategies, a real Washington consultancy whose site clearly served as inspiration. Some of Visionary Advisory Group’s copy was lifted word-for-word from Beacon’s site, including the boilerplate: “We represent global enterprises and industry disruptors across government services, technology, energy, and financial sectors.” Apparently, espionage now comes with a cut-and-paste button.
ChatGPT had generated many, if not all, of the team photos. How did I know? The image file for “Mary Taylor” on the company website—who, notably, looked different from the woman in her X profile—included the basename “ChatGPT Image May 22, 2025, 11_33_56 PM.avif.” The same was true for several others.
Well, two can play that game. With help from ChatGPT, which I had asked to impersonate a veteran CIA counterintelligence officer, I crafted a response to “Mary.” I was trying to glean specifics on the information Visionary Advisory Group was seeking and whether there were any particular reports or internal discussions they were hoping to gather insight on.
It felt like a glimpse into the future — a future where intelligence tradecraft is increasingly shaped by artificial intelligence. Clumsy as the Visionary Advisory Group’s site was, these AI-driven fronts will only grow more sophisticated and harder to detect. And AI won’t just be a tool for espionage. It will become central to counterintelligence as well. The age-old contest of spy vs. spy may soon morph into something stranger: AI vs. AI.
“Mary Taylor” got back to me later that evening (10 a.m. Beijing time). Her new list was more explicit:
“How the Trump camp is currently assessing Taiwan-related risk
Whether there have been changes in internal communication channels or policy positioning regarding China.
Early signals or informal deliberations emerging within the White House, NSC, State, or DoD.
Interagency coordination or divergence on China-related issues.”
She also wanted to “build a high-trust, ongoing relationship.” That phrase is straight out of the intelligence playbook.
The most troubling line came next: “We particularly value signals that haven’t yet surfaced in public reporting — insights drawn from internal briefings, cross-agency meetings, or staff-level dialogue, even if discussed in general terms.” It was a request for actionable intelligence, which would of course be of enormous value to China’s spies.
The FBI once published a list of telltale signs. Let’s see: Too good to be true? Check. Excessive flattery? Check. Vague affiliations? Check. No interest in verifying my expertise? Check.
But still, why me?
Much as I’d like to flatter myself into believing they chose me for my incredible insights and deep knowledge, the more likely explanation, given the poor tradecraft, is that it’s the product of laziness and bureaucratic makework—scraped bios, buzzwords, and a wide net cast by a bot pretending to be “Mary Taylor.”
Targeting a moderately successful Substack writer—putting it kindly—has to rank among the least efficient uses of Chinese intelligence resources in recent memory. One can only hope our own spies aren’t out there trawling Weibo with the same level of desperation.
If this was a test, I’m still not sure who was giving it—or whether I passed. I had spent years observing the spy game from the bleachers. Suddenly, I was on the field—or was I?—with the ball in my hands, and no idea what to do with it.
In the end, I did nothing. I didn’t leak secrets. I didn’t take the money. I didn’t hear from “Mary” again. But maybe somewhere in an ops center in Beijing, there’s a file with my name on it — labeled Almost.
They liked the way you write.
I noted also "Patricia Davis" under a clearly male photo.