When I lived in Mali, West Africa in 1976-78 one of the great parlour games we played was: guess who the CIA agents attached to the American Embassy are.
I had a certain advantage here -- I'd once read that the CIA heavily recruited in Ivy League schools, employing bright young men, degreed in economics.
So I had him nailed: xxxx xxxxx, from Princeton, an economics major, with some vague title, like, "economics advisor to the Ambassador."
And it turned out that xxxx xxxxx was indeed with the CIA.
I teased that out of yyyyyy yyyy, after a very long evening of drinking.
What surprised me was the identity of the station chief. He didn't fit the profile at all.
And, no, I didn't run down to the Soviet Embassy and rat on them, or on my informant.
Fun's fun; but then someone gets their eye poked out, and mama's worst dreams come true.
Besides: the Americans are the GOOD guys; the Soviets were MASS MURDERING SCUM.