Farewell (27 page)

Ludmila is a bright woman with a rigorous mind. She would have had no difficulty putting together a flawless story in which her actions would have been all innocent. She did not. She never skated over obvious points, and if she left a lot of questions unanswered, it was because she was, herself, still searching for answers. And because she did not want to lie. She thought lying was a disease. Besides, she couldn’t care less about whether others believed her or not. She saw for herself that human stupidity, meanness, and cowardice had no limits. She believed that she knew the truth. As for others, they were free to believe what made them happy; and this went for the persistent journalist as well. All she asked for was for her real name not to be used, because of her daughter who did not really know the ordeal Ludmila had gone through. This is why she is among the few individuals whose last name has been slightly altered, as was done in Marcel Chalet’s book.

Lastly, and most importantly, we lean in Ludmila’s favor as far as credibility is concerned because she appeared to be the opposite of the persona described to us. After just a few minutes of conversation, one could understand why, at some point, Vetrov wanted to leave his pretty Svetlana for Ludmila. She has a very appealing personality. She is quick-witted, rigorous, and a tease. She is also very tactful and makes sure not to hurt feelings. Her sincerity and naïveté added to her attractiveness. In spite of all her suffering, she had managed to remain cheerful and lighthearted.

Likewise, although described as a greedy woman, Ludmila was one of the rare individuals among our witnesses not to ask for compensation. In fact, she truly intended to leave after asking that her name be changed. She had not liked the way Kostin had talked to her on the phone. She gently described as “maximalist” his way to hold a gun to her head. She had imagined him short, fat and old. She noticed he was tall and thin, and she thought he was young. She generously forgave his “maximalism.”

She told her story without preparation, by spontaneous and painful strides. She paid a high price for her affair with Vetrov. She miraculously survived the murder attempt. For months, Ludmila struggled to recover. She stayed in the KGB hospital for three months. In the fall of 1982 she was declared severely handicapped. For two years, she tried to cope with the help of huge amounts of sedatives. She had nightmares every single night, but those were not necessarily the reenactment of that fatal evening. Then she gradually decreased her pill consumption; ten years later, her nightmares stopped. However, each year on February 22, her subconscious takes over with a vengeance. On that day, Ludmila still experiences an almost unbearable anxiety attack.

Since Kostin’s phone call she had been back on tranquilizers. Before going to the rendezvous with him, she had taken a stronger pill, the equivalent of a Valium. Her edginess was obvious. When certain topics were brought up, her hands started shaking. On two or three occasions during the conversation, she had tears in her eyes. Kostin hurried to change the subject, and after a while, her smile was back. In fact, they were able to discuss certain issues only because Ludmila had been willing to bring them up herself.

Through her ordeal, Ludmila got great support from her husband. He wanted to accompany his wife to the meeting in order to have a man-to-man talk with that journalist and tell him to leave his wife in peace. Ludmila was quite embarrassed at having spent over four hours talking with the man she had promised she’d dispatch in no time.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to tell him the truth,” she said with a look of mock annoyance. “I am not good at lying. As soon as I say a lie, I blush; my face, my neck, even my arms turn red. You can imagine what I endured all that time when I was with Vetrov.”

Back in the subway, before parting with Kostin, she added a last thing: “I haven’t gone into details. I never will; it is too painful for me. But I assure you that the broad lines, the overall story, all that is true. Do whatever you want with it. I have no illusions. I understand that with all the material you have gathered, you’re dealing with one camp, and with what I told you, with another. And in that other camp, I am alone. And I have no proof.”

Intuitively, however, one is tempted to believe Ludmila told the truth on the essential points.

As he was thanking her for her help, Kostin said jokingly, “I believe that the best way for me to show you my gratitude is not to intrude in your life ever again.”

Tactful, Ludmila encouraged him to call again if needed. They had a good meeting; she knew Kostin would not abuse the situation. Indeed, he does not believe for a moment that he could find the courage to ask her to replay the film of her life, more harrowing than a Hitchcock movie.

Furthermore, she is not likely to give an interview to somebody else. This is why her version of the facts is presented in full, as told, in the next chapter. Chances are neither Ludmila nor the authors will still be around when the KGB is ready to open its archives. Since it is likely that the disclosed documents will be as biased and flawed as Vetrov’s investigation file, it is a good thing that tomorrow’s historians get both sides of the story.

Ludmila sat confidently in Vetrov’s car. Not only was he her lover, but she had known him for years. Actually, their paths had crossed twenty years earlier.

After Vladimir graduated from the KGB school in 1962, he was appointed to the State Committee of Electronic Technology (GKET), where Ludmila was already working as a translator from English and Spanish. A graduate in 1957 from the Department of Languages and Literature at Lomonosov University, she went to work as a translator for the Merchant Marine Ministry (Morflot). She had been working at the GKET since 1959.

Ochikina and Vetrov were both part of the foreign relations department, and their interactions were formal. They greeted one another, nothing more, and did not have time to get better acquainted. In that same year, 1962, Ludmila left the GKET.

The GKET was deeply infiltrated by the KGB. One of her superiors offered Ludmila an interesting job at the Lubyanka. Ludmila thought it over. Her current position gave her the opportunity to travel abroad from time to time with the GKET delegations as their interpreter. These occasions were rare, and her monthly pay was pathetic. Going to work for the KGB meant a civilian contract. She would no longer be allowed to leave the country, but she would receive better pay. She took the job.

Ludmila met Vetrov again in 1975, after he had been recalled from Canada. She remembers that his career at the KGB was hanging by a thread. Vetrov was running the risk of being expelled from the Party and fired. A powerful protector, some said a KGB vice president, saved him. Vladimir was appointed to the Information Department of Directorate T. As noted, this was a dead-end where operatives having blown their cover, serious offenders, or alcoholics were shelved. The department also included a translation service employing a dozen contract translators. Although not having a higher rank in the service, Ludmila was the most senior employee.

The translators occupied three offices. The one Ludmila shared with two colleagues was two doors from Vetrov’s office.

Contrary to what is widely believed, the KGB was pretty much like any other Soviet organization. Whether working hard or not, everyone was assured a salary—not a big one, but it was guaranteed. As it was customary to say in those days, “People pretend to work, the State pretends to pay them.” The first order of the day, when arriving at the office in the morning, was to plug in the kettle for tea. Then it was gossip time. There were also the orders for food parcels to take care of, composed of foodstuffs as scarce as butter, cheese, salami, canned food, and chocolate; in short, everything one could not find in regular stores. Coupons were distributed for spa vacations, and excursions were organized. An hour before the end of the work day, there was often a birthday to celebrate, somebody leaving on vacation or coming back, a university competition exam passed by the son or the daughter of a colleague. Those were occasions for parties where even the boss would stop by briefly and everyone had a drink. Work was done in the remaining time.

Vetrov used to have tea with the translators. Not necessarily with Ludmila. He found women’s company more agreeable. He preferred their company over his colleague’s in the office across from his, a man with whom he often polished off a bottle of Armenian cognac. Every once in a while, Vladimir would bring cookies, chocolate, or a bottle of champagne to celebrate some event.

When the party was lively, it would often continue at someone’s place. Several times the merry group ended up at Ludmila’s. She thus remembers that, one day, Vladimir came to Flotskaya Street. A few colleagues were with their spouses; he was not. Ludmila introduced him to her husband, and they had a drink together. In Russia, this matters. It implies friendship and trust; toasting and drinking to one another’s health seals a code of honor of sorts between people.

Those innocent interactions lasted until the spring of 1981. Vetrov had just taken the plunge: he was seeing Xavier Ameil. Solitude weighed heavily on him. He needed affection.

Romancing a stranger is easier than seducing a woman one has known for twenty years and seen almost every day for the last ten. When potential love relationships do not develop right away, one is viewed as belonging to the “asexual colleagues, relations, friends” category from whom nothing is expected, and who are considered safe. This is why Ludmila was sincerely surprised when Vetrov’s attitude toward her suddenly changed.

The first signs were on March 7, 1981. On the eve of International Women’s Day, a holiday and a day off, men traditionally congratulate all the women in their service. Vetrov arrived in the translators’ office with a beautiful bouquet. Instead of offering a few flowers to each of the three women there, he gave them all to Ludmila, in an effusive gesture that fooled no one.

Soon after, Vladimir went on the offensive. He took her to the cafeteria for lunch and waited for the moments when Ludmila was by herself in the office. He waited for her after work and invited her for a drive or for dinner in a restaurant. He told her that he had fallen in love with her the minute he saw her at the GKET in 1962, that it was torture to see her every day at work without being able to declare his love. He had been telling himself that they had both made a life for themselves, and he did not have the right to question the status quo. But, he said, he could not go on that way. He did not care about what could happen to him, and he was ready to leave everything behind. He could not imagine his life without Ludmila.

At first, Ludmila was embarrassed at this sudden assault. She had a home, she was getting along fine with her husband, and she had a thirteen-year-old daughter. Still, Vladimir was a passionate man. Ludmila started wondering: “What if it were an uncommon love?” Today, she is more down to earth: “One says no a thousand times. At one thousand and one, one gives in. And, naturally, one makes bad decisions.”

Their affair started in June. Moscow was not a friendly town for lovers. It was difficult to find a quiet coffee shop where you could chat for a couple of hours. It was impossible to get a hotel room. Luckily, Vetrov had a car. After office hours, they would go swimming, walk in a park, or have dinner in a restaurant. Summer came and it was time to go on vacation; nothing had been decided, and each went his own way. Vetrov left for the countryside, and Ludmila traveled to the south to relax by the Black Sea.

They met again in September. Separation had kindled their love. Vetrov even took Ludmila, her daughter, and a translator friend to Kresty. Incidentally, Ludmila does not believe for a minute that he could envision spending his retirement years in the countryside. Vladimir was a city dweller who appreciated comfort. She had a dozen opportunities to see it for herself during that weekend in the village with no electricity.

Vetrov insisted even more on their living together. He’d had enough of those secret dates, having to hide like teenagers. They would rent an apartment where they would be happy together. Those humiliating situations and the necessary lying were even harder on Ludmila. But she wanted Vladimir to take the initiative—all the more so since he often told her that he detested Svetlana.

Ludmila did not know about Svetlana’s affairs which had hurt Vladimir deeply. She thought he was simply rebelling against a dominating wife. She was really shocked one day when he told her, “Guys at work keep saying the solution is to kill that slut.” Ludmila did not approve of using such words when talking about a woman, even less if she was your wife. In her opinion, such ideas were sick, even if there was no intention to implement them.

Vetrov was, however, in no hurry to leave Svetlana. This was disconcerting to Ludmila. If Vladimir was determined to live with her, he had to act accordingly. If he did not have the willpower to break away from his family, why was he urging her to leave her husband? She eventually realized that he probably wanted to keep both women, the one he was used to as the homemaker, and the one he was in love with.

Ludmila did not appreciate his duplicity at all. The more she thought about it, the more often she observed this trait in Vetrov’s words and deeds. He was running down everyone he knew. He often made unpleasant comments about a person he had just left with a big smile, a hug, or a warm handshake.

She especially hated his hypocrisy when she was the victim of it. She witnessed it daily. A love affair at the office is not easy to hide. Ludmila understood perfectly that Vladimir did not want to expose their relationship, but in her opinion he did not need to pretend indifference either. Yet, he would come to her office as a regular colleague, nothing more. He would have tea and joke with the other translators.

As soon as they were alone in the room, though, he rushed at her like a vampire. He kissed her with passion, holding her tight.

“When am I going to have you just for myself? What are you waiting for to decide?”

Ludmila was struggling with him.

“Well, it all depends on you! As soon as you find an apartment to rent and move in, I’ll join you.”

He kept repeating the same thing.

“No, you’ve got to leave your husband first. Can’t you see I’m crazy about you?”

Then footsteps could be heard in the corridor. Vetrov would immediately stop caressing her, and in one jump would sit at the desk across from hers, and when someone came in, he was there, quietly sitting with his chin in his hand, chatting about this and that. This acrobatic behavior was offensive to Ludmila. She grew increasingly aware that Vladimir had no intention to break up with Svetlana. He simply wanted her to leave her husband so he could come see her when he felt like it.

Two trivial but significant events opened her eyes about what Vetrov was all about.

One day in October he came back from the countryside. The Ochikins’ apartment was on his way; he stopped by, unannounced. Ludmila was not home; her husband opened the door. Vetrov appeared unabashed. He declared he came to have a man-to-man talk with him.

Ludmila’s husband told him to come in. Vetrov announced that everything had been settled with Ludmila. They loved one another and were going to live together. He had come to ask him not to oppose their plan. After all, such was life—one had to accept things the way they were. All that was expected of him was to let Ludmila go without making her life miserable.

One can easily imagine the welcome Ludmila got when she came back home. She was furious at Vetrov. He had not even told her in advance he intended to talk to her husband. She would have known how to talk him out of his plan.

On second thought, she understood this was not a decision made on the spur of the moment as Vladimir claimed it was. On the contrary, it seemed like a calculated decision. Such an initiative was expected to trigger a scene between Ludmila and her husband. Vetrov might have imagined that Ludmila would have been left with no choice other than leaving voluntarily or being thrown out of the apartment by her husband. She would then have been forced to live by herself, giving Vetrov the opportunity to see her regularly and comfortably. In this way, he would have kept his marriage and his home, while having a mistress on hand, entirely at his pleasure. Separated from her husband and left to herself, she would be unable to make any more demands on him.

Later, Ludmila thought that there might have been another explanation, some kind of “minimum commitment.” Understanding he could not keep both Svetlana and Ludmila at the same time, Vetrov might have decided to break up with his mistress and did not have the courage to tell her. So he had resolved to act in such a way that their relationship would necessarily diminish. A separation would have followed by itself.

Another incident confirmed Ludmila’s suspicions. They had gone out for dinner. Back in the car, Ludmila realized that her wallet was gone. She was certain she did not leave it at the restaurant and did not lose it anywhere. She concluded that Vladimir, most likely, stole it from her. There was very little money in the wallet. However, it contained her passport and, more importantly, her KGB pass. Losing this document inevitably meant endless troubles for the holder. A few days later, the police gave her back her passport. The pass was never found. It was especially strange because, when a thief wanted to get rid of ID papers after taking the money, he would have thrown away both IDs together.

Ludmila does not think that Vetrov needed her pass for the French. He could have easily stolen a dozen of those on his colleagues’ desks and in drawers had he wanted to. Ochikina is convinced that all Vetrov wanted was to get her into trouble because of this missing document, maybe even hoping she would be fired.

After these strange events, she lost all desire to live with Vetrov or continue the relationship. She did not want to deal with two different men in one body. She did not know where she stood with him. All she wanted was to be left in peace. Vetrov was aware of the change, which made him even more pressing when alone with Ludmila in her office. She dreaded his appearances, and the word “vampire” came more and more often to her mind when she thought about Vladimir.

This was all merely a backdrop for a passionate drama and a trivial event. Ludmila categorically denies having had any knowledge of Vetrov’s spying activities. As explained previously, it would have been suicidal on his part to confide in another KGB member, even if it was his mistress, a civilian contract employee.

Incidentally, as far as she is concerned, Ludmila condemns treason in no ambiguous terms. Whatever the regime, she finds it hard to understand how people can betray their country, unless it is out of strong ideals, which was not Vetrov’s case. When asked if she could in one word explain Vetrov’s actions, she said something often heard during the authors’ investigation: “It was his revenge.”

Just as he did in the Rogatins’ presence, one day Vladimir uttered a prophetic sentence that did not make sense at the time. Ludmila understood it later, after Vetrov’s espionage activities were uncovered. It was a time when their relationship was still a happy one; Vladimir was chatting with Ludmila, telling her about his house in the country, describing his paintings and the antique furniture. He suddenly added, “I carefully explained to Vladik which objects he will be able to sell, and which to keep as long as he possibly can.”