Death of a Dissident (38 page)

After spending an evening with melancholy Sasha and loyal Marina, Felshtinsky came up with an idea: approach the source of the trouble, the Kontora itself, to see what it would take for them to leave Sasha alone. Boris and Putin had not yet publicly split. Felshtinsky figured that he might be able to get access by exploiting Boris’s reputation, while it was still worth something.

A couple of days later he sat down for dinner with none other than Gen. Evgeny Khokholkov (Retired) in a classy restaurant on Kutuzovsky Prospect that Khokholkov owned.

Khokholkov not only accepted Felshtinsky’s suggestion to meet
and talk; he even closed his place to other customers for the night. He clearly viewed his guest as Berezovsky’s emissary, and thus two steps removed from Putin.

Years later, Felshtinsky, as meticulous as a historian can be, gave me an account of that conversation. It was on May 22, 2000, from 7:30 to 12:30. Khokholkov was friendly and self-confident. He made no secret that he maintained a close relationship with Kontora. Moreover, it appeared that he had cleared the conversation with his contacts; he kept using “we” to articulate his positions.

Yes, “we” understand that Boris is an important and resourceful man, and agree that there is no reason to continue hostilities between him and the FSB. There is nothing wrong with letting bygones be bygones, although some past injustices could still be reversed. For example, perhaps Boris could help reinstate a certain group of three hundred officers who had been placed on unpaid leave in the aftermath of the URPO scandal.

But as for Litvinenko, sorry, Yuri Georgievich, this is nonnegotiable. He is ours, not yours. He betrayed the system and he has to pay for it. There can be no statute of limitations. I personally would break his neck if I met him in a dark alley, as any of “us” would do—figuratively speaking, of course. I hope you enjoy Moscow, after all these years in America; it must be so pleasant to breathe the air of one’s homeland.

A couple of days later, Felshtinsky went to see Sasha again. He did not tell him about the split between Boris and Putin, but he did recap his conversation with Khokholkov.

“I don’t believe that Boris will be able to protect you for long, Sasha,” he said. “You yourself said that Putin should not be trusted. I suggest you consider leaving the country. Think about it seriously. Emigration is not a picnic, but it is better than sitting in jail, not to mention lying dead in a ditch.”

“What am I going to do abroad? I don’t speak any languages.” “With your talents … you can at least drive a cab … or we could write a book together. All your stories, they deserve to be told.” Sasha was hesitant, but they agreed that if and when he was
ready to go, he would let Felshtinsky know, and Felshtinsky would come help him flee on short notice.

Moscow, September 7: At a press conference on the occasion of the first anniversary of the Moscow apartment bombings, the head of antiterrorism at the FSB says that investigators consider the “Chechen version” to be the most likely explanation of the attacks. He names as principal suspects Achemez Gochiyayev, Yusuf Krymshamkhalov, Timur Batchayev, and Adam Dekkushev. All four are believed to be hiding in Chechnya. They are “members of a radical Islamic sect.” Their ringleader, Gochiyayev, is named as the man who had rented basement apartments in the buildings where the bombs were planted. He was allegedly paid $500,000 for masterminding the blasts by a Wahhabi warlord named Amir Khattab
.

By September 2000 Felshtinsky was deeply absorbed in a new project, hopefully a book, about the role of the FSB in provoking the second Chechen War. He had collected everything that had been printed about it, in English or Russian. The commonly accepted version was that the war had been provoked by the invasion of Dagestan by Wahhabi warlords in August, followed by the apartment bombings in September 1999. Felshtinsky was pretty convinced that the bombings were the work of the FSB. But there were some loose ends in the story that had never been resolved.

First, there was a statement by Prime Minister Stepashin that the planning for the war had begun in March. Second, there was the “transcript” of Berezovsky’s conversation with Udugov, in May, about Wahhabi plans to invade Dagestan. Third, there were speculations concerning whether Boris himself could have been involved in the blasts. Most of them appeared in Russian tabloids and could be discounted. However, one such statement came from none other than George Soros, who, in an article in the
New York Review of Books
earlier that year, wrote, “I could not quite believe” Boris was
involved in the bombings, but “still, I could not rule it out.” Soros referred to a conversation he had with Boris about Chechen terrorists that gave rise to this speculation. Felshtinsky called me, as someone who could shed light on Soros.

His call was not completely unexpected; sooner or later, I figured, I would be dragged into the squabble between George and Boris. I worked for George and yet was a friend of Boris’s. I was in an awkward position, but somehow I had managed to avoid loyalty conflicts. Perhaps I should not have introduced them to each other, I thought, but it was too late. Soon I would have to choose between them.

“It is sheer nonsense,” I told Felshtinsky, when he asked about Soros’s speculation. “The conversation with Boris was in my presence. The only thing Boris told him was how he got some hostages from Raduyev in exchange for his Patek Philippe. He was in the government at the time. But why don’t you ask Boris himself? He’s in New York.”

Felshtinsky flew from Boston to New York to catch Boris, who was giving a talk at the Council on Foreign Relations. It took him two days, chasing Boris between New York and Washington, to grab his attention. On the way to the airport to fly back home, Felshtinsky finally managed to get him to focus on the events of the previous September.

It is true, Boris said, that the war was planned for six months before the Dagestan events, over his objections. It is false that he conspired with Udugov. It is true that Udugov came to see him. It is also true that Udugov and Basayev conspired with Stepashin and Putin to provoke a war to topple Maskhadov and install the Islamist government, but the agreement was for the Russian army to stop at the Terek River. However, Putin double-crossed the Chechens and started an all-out war.

As for the apartment house bombings, Boris said, it is inconceivable that Putin would have done it. It is too convoluted to suggest that some rogue elements did it to help Putin without his knowledge. It is illogical to suggest that Basayev, Udugov, Khattab, or any sane Chechen did it.

“There are Chechens who are insane. Raduyev, for example, or Arbi Barayev,” Boris said. “Madmen like them are capable of anything,
but I cannot explain irrational behavior. In short, you need some concrete evidence.”

“And Ryazan?” Felshtinsky asked.

“What about Ryazan?”

“The FSB ‘exercises’ in Ryazan.”

“It is totally plausible that the FSB would stage drills on civilians without telling them,” said Boris. “It perfectly fits their style.”

“But the bomb was live.”

“What do you mean, ‘live’?”

As Felshtinsky later told me, it turned out that Boris, like most Russians, had missed the stories in Novaya Gazeta and the NTV report on March 24. He had never heard about Private Pinyaev and his sour tea.

It had never occurred to Boris that it was on September 23, the morning after the Ryazan incident, that the massive bombings of Grozny began. And he had never considered the fact that after the Ryazan episode, the terrorist attacks, which had occurred roughly one per week, had abruptly stopped.

Most important, until that very moment, Boris had tended to discount talk of the bombing conspiracy as a smear directed at him. Now, with a fellow traveler laying out the known facts, he paid attention, and a lightbulb flicked on.

“I am such a fool!” he yelled suddenly. “They did it! Lena, did you hear, I am an idiot!” he cried out to his wife, sitting in the front seat next to the driver. “They did it! That explains everything! What a fool I am!”

By the time they arrived at the airport, Boris had cooled down. He listened intently to Felshtinsky’s plan on how to investigate the plot. The problem was that Yuri was an academic, not a detective. He was an amateur in matters of this sort. There was only one man, a professional, who was qualified to do it.

They looked at each other, and said in unison, “Sasha!”

When Felshtinsky took the Boston–New York shuttle to see Boris, he had planned to be away for a day or two. It was now already his fourth day away from home. He called his wife to ask her to retrieve their car from Logan Airport and to explain that he would be away for
a few more days. He was going with Boris to Nice, to catch a connecting flight to Moscow.

The next afternoon, he walked with Sasha through the empty alleys of Neskuchny Sad (literally, the Not Boring Gardens), a park that runs along the riverbank in central Moscow. Sasha spoke first. He was ready to flee. He had made up his mind about a month earlier, right after Putin attacked Boris in the aftermath of
Kursk
. He had everything prepared. It was now September 23, exactly one year after the Ryazan incident.

As the autumn leaves crunched under their feet, Sasha gave Yuri his take on the apartment bombings. There was no doubt in his mind that it was a Kontora job.

“It’s the signature,” he said. “Every crime has a signature. I have worked long enough in ATC to tell you right away, this was not some fringe Chechens. The sophistication, the coordination, the engineering expertise needed for bomb placement—all point to a highly professional team. Have you heard about Max Lazovsky?”

Yuri had not.

“He is the kind of FSB guy who could pull off such a thing. I would start the investigation with him.”

The next morning Felshtinsky took a plane to London, to meet up with Boris. As for Sasha’s escape, there was nothing more to do but wait for Sasha to call. From London Yuri went back to Boston while Boris flew to Malaga, Spain, for a peace-making meeting with Goose.

Even before Felshtinsky’s visit, Sasha had begun preparations for escape. His major concern was surveillance, which he was sure he was under. So, for nearly three months, he painstakingly tried to lull potential watchers and relax their vigilance. He was an ace at surveillance himself, and he found it amusing to be in the role of object to his oper. He had a fairly good idea of who his oper might be at Internal Affairs; he knew them all. He was also pretty sure which one of his friends was reporting to the oper; there was only one who seemed to want to be his guardian, patronizing him about being careful, growing extremely concerned when he came home late or did not
call. Marina complained about having a logistical “threesome,” but Sasha played along. The suspected scout was his old friend Ponkin, his loyal subordinate who had stood by him at his first trial. Sasha did not hold it against him. In a way, he was happy for Ponkin if it meant he had been able to work things out in this way.

Sasha took special care to make Ponkin’s life easy. He fed him accurate information about what he was up to. He also made sure that whatever data were picked up by electronic surveillance—phone monitoring, bugs at his home—matched what Ponkin reported.