It’s always a chance meeting, it’s never planned and always catches you unprepared. Rashid Mohamed Asadi, my No. 1, was on the Metro in the same carriage as me, obviously lost having arrived in Moscow by air and changed onto the wrong line. He was dressed totally inappropriately for the weather but was unmistakably trying to appear as a lost tourist, fumbling with a map. He had asked several people to help with directions, but his pidgin English was too mixed up with Arabic to make sense. My stop was the next one which would take me along my route past the Lubyanka. I stood up and asked him in English if he needed help. He was surprised but relieved and asked for directions to Lubyanka Square in the Meshchansky District. I took the opportunity and invited him to walk with me to a café near the square where I was meeting fellow students and from which he could get a warm drink and then make his own way. He agreed and looked to his friend, who nodded in approval, so we got off the tube and chatted all the way to the café. Just tourist stuff but enough to learn that his friend was from Sarajevo and was called Nasser Tamei.
After a very quick coffee, I watched them go towards the main entrance of the Lubyanka, the KGB building (later reorganised FSK, then FSB in 2003), but they were directed to a side door, where Alex met them to take them inside. I really needed a photo which necessitated me to stay at the café. It didn’t happen. I remember waiting almost till midnight pretending to study in that café. I limped home to the apartment just in time for a hot drink before bed. I couldn’t sleep. I now had three from the list all in the same place – seen together the link was made – but nothing to substantiate any activity that would be of any use. It was a long night and then a whole wasted week looking in vain trying to get anything more. Fucking so close but I’d lost the trail, let it go cold. Alex meeting with Rashid Asadi and Nasser Tamei was priceless intel. This was the KGB meeting with the frontman of finance, possibly the Saudi regime (which was suspected of funding arms to numerous groups, watched by London and the US), with a known arms dealer, Nasser Tamei from Eastern Europe, possibly Yugoslavia. Alex was sure to be the middle man here, setting up the transaction with Russian interests at heart. I had to call this one in soon but knew there had to be more information to make any risk worth taking.
The rest of the week was slow, no movement and nothing to substantiate any theories I may have made up in my head. It was eating me alive that I could be so close to establishing a direct link to the funding and supply of weapons with ‘on one’ direct intel. I was bound by my brief and continued as normal attending class and following a normal routine. It paid off as I bumped into Anatoly on my way home and he introduced me to Asad, a friend who had just started studying nuclear science with Anatoly at the Nuclear Research University. He had just arrived with his father earlier this week and they were really excited as we were all to be going hunting at the weekend with the whole family, friends and guests. Anatoly took great delight in explaining the wolf story Erik had told us three boys before his arrival. We were all very excited and talked about how good we all were at hunting, none of us ever actually having any idea what to expect or any experience of a hunting weekend. Coincidence doesn’t exist in the real world and there was without doubt a gathering of the families; the whole cartel was in town and I had a front row seat to the show.
We arrived home and there was great excitement and joy in the apartment. The whole family was gathered and packing for the weekend; we would leave Friday morning just as soon as we had finished attending our studies. We were bound for a small settlement outside of Yaroslavl, a small town in the heart of Russia, between Moscow and the Ural Mountains. Yaroslavl is around 300km north-east of Moscow where the landscape is reasonably hilly and predominantly covered by forest, occasionally interrupted by large meadows and fields, making it an ideal habitat for game and bear. Heck, the excitement was infectious, and I think Natalia was packing up the whole flat. We had each been given chores to do, and Evgeny, Asad, Anatoly and I were given a pile of money and a very extravagant food shopping list to get that night and tomorrow before we departed.
Friday morning was a true test of my nerve and upfront engaging abilities as I met Rashid and Nasser when they arrived at the apartment with Alex. Looking very surprised when it became quickly apparent I had met his friends already, he was quick to ask how I had met Rashid as this was his first visit to Moscow. I had to give him the whole story of our meeting on the Metro by accident on my way home from university and how I had seen Rashid struggling with a map and thought he was a lost tourist. It was an easy deception as I was dealing in truth and the Metro line was my everyday commute to school. The awkward moment I was expecting didn’t materialise as it was probably too much of a coincidence for Alex to flag as anything other than good fortune that we had met in such a way. I can’t say if Alex ever suspected anything because he was probably much more skilled than anyone I have ever met at hiding his true feelings or thoughts. His pantomime, if indeed he had one, was a polished act and one I would come to admire and later try to emulate.
A true Russian holiday experience, a hunting trip to Yaroslavl for moose and bear – seriously, this was a dream come true, a trip not to be missed. It was easy to get sucked into the excitement and the whole family thing. I felt like I was family, one of the young wolves, accepted and incorporated by everyone into the family. Alex was keen to keep us all on side for this trip; it was to be a true show of Russian hospitality. I never felt that Alex had any reason to watch me or to suspect anything after the whole meeting of Rashid on the train episode but I had stepped up my own game in my mind none the less. He was actually becoming quite close to me and Anatoly. I don’t know if this was truly genuine or if he wanted to get through Anatoly to the real me in some way. This is the paranoia of espionage, double guessing and adding layers to the already implanted layers and paper-clippings that have an already established grip on your life. Cognitive dissonance and insomnia make homes in such places of the mind if you let them in when working with what could have potentially been a serious if not dangerous situation of possible discovery.
Being with the whole family was like nothing I could compare with, belonging to such an intense close nit family, I was almost proud to be a part of it all, they felt like my family and it was a pleasant distraction away from my actual reality. I think I fell into the role very well as it was like having part of my childhood back, being in a family that was accepting and even loving towards me, as we prepared to go on holiday together. It was like I had been adopted like Moses into the Royal family and Anatoly was my Rameses; I don’t think the Steering Group would have approved of my way of thinking. Anatoly shared everything with me, confided in me and trusted me. I remember seeing Alex and Erik standing back laughing and watching all the family dash around in a state of euphoria. Friday lunchtime everyone had gathered with all the luggage in the downstairs hall, the family as usual – Alex, Evgeny, Nasser, Rashid Asadi and Asad and his father Mohammed bin Shaban Al Zidjali. We were all set and piled out of the apartment block into the pouring rain under a very heavy grey sky to a waiting convoy of Mercedes cars for the 300km trip north. It was obvious the cars had been funded or authorised by someone in authority, someone Alex was working with; the state was clearly onside.
I travelled with Anatoly, his new friend Asad and his father Mohammed Al Zidjali, and Alex. We had just over a five-hour journey ahead of us as conditions weren’t exactly great for the drive north. We talked about killing a bear and eating moose that night or at least tomorrow, lots of bravado and boyish laughing, until conversation eventually subsided and gave way to the sound of the rain banging on the thin metal roof of the car as we boys fell asleep. I awoke to overhear some conversation in Arabic between Alex and Mohammed Al Zidjali, a bit broken but all to do with finance and the expectations of a guy called Ahmed Haddad from Saudi Arabia who apparently was growing impatient with the progress Nasser was making. I deliberately sank back and tried to listen into the conversation as much as possible. Nothing entirely convicting o
r damning, but general requirements that necessitated a change in the movement of goods before payments from Ahmed would be made. There was discontent from some generals that I hadn’t heard of, Leon Antunovich and Otto Meiser; fucking had no idea who they were but needed to make some notes mentally and make sure I got it all down for a possible transmission. It was as if the whole purpose of my being there was interfering with my new family life. I loved being with the family; I guess it made things easy in some respects.
We arrived later than expected at the log hut, which was about 30 miles outside of Yaroslavl, a comfortable distance for everyone to relax and be at one with nature and to make as much noise as we wanted. The house was deep in the woods near Lyubim (Yaroslavl Oblast). We were greeted by paid housekeepers, local peasants if you like, who had been paid to prepare the house. The fires were lit and the stacks of firewood made inside and outside, as convenient as possible for us the guests. Lanterns hung from the overhanging veranda, guiding us to the front door that led us into a main living space where riverbed stone fireplaces roared with welcoming dancing flames and a warm light to draw us in closer. The log cabin was exactly that, great big logs formed into a timeless home away from home. Big wooden floors and handmade wooden furniture, including all the kitchen cabinets, showed off a local carpenter’s skill of hand as we explored all the rooms. There were five bedrooms upstairs and a huge living space and dining area downstairs. The living space was littered with odd chairs and sofas that didn’t match but were befitting of the house. Everything was a little worn and ragged but it gave a nice at-home feel. This, together with two bathrooms and a separate toilet, was very lavish compared to the Moscow apartment. Our guests would have the spare bedrooms to themselves whilst we young wolves shared a bedroom together with the family.
The evening meal was simply nothing short of phenomenal. We had all gathered for drinks prior to dinner, wearing our best shirts and dresses. The meal was prepared by the local staff who had dressed in local costume and awaited Erik’s every instruction. The local costume was very elegant and beautifully bright in colour. The ladies’ dresses resembled something from India, like a wedding outfit but heavier and more robust, lots of bright blue, all part of what is called an Olenka, added to which all the ladies wore a tiara-like hat. The men had open coloured shirts in the style of a matryoshka (Russian doll) and big baggy black trousers and boots. I think the occasion presented itself as almost a little formal because of all the attention the waiting staff were displaying, yet the atmosphere remained relaxed as everyone was a little tired after the drive but eager to eat and drink.
The conversation was electric, with all the new faces amongst the family eager to meet each other and become quickly acquainted. Alex and Erik wanted Evgeny and me to look after Asad as Anatoly was fully engaged with Mohammed Al Zidjali in some very technical conversation regarding something to do with centrifuges. I tried as best as I could to pick up as much of the conversation as possible, deliberately trying to move closer with Asad and Evgeny, but not really succeeding too well at understanding or getting close enough to engage in the conversation in any way.
For me the main aim was to piece together the diaspora of individuals and all the family in the assemblage and figure out how that made up any sort of organisation or cell group within or under a wider umbrella of the Russian Government, then to try and establish if any such organisation was or was not funded from the Middle East in support of the ‘whos’ and ‘wheres’ that had the UK in a state of almost controlled but obvious panic. There would be more questions than answers to come out of this hunting holiday for the Steering Group back in the UK and I knew this wouldn’t be the last time I would have dealings with all those present on this seemingly innocent hunting trip.
We drank some local beer before sitting at our places, set beautifully upon a handmade tablecloth. Very old place mats, each with an image of a Russian city, were symmetrically placed around the table upon which stood china plates and bowls ready for the meal to come. We were served several courses: soup, a fish dish, lamb, pheasant and then ice cream. I think the whole meal took over four hours and the conversation didn’t slowed its pace at any point. Attention drew away from the food to the spectacular finale of the evening where we all sat together to watch the locals perform some local dance accompanied by the balalaikas and domras played by the male locals who had been serving us dinner. The evening was called to an end quite early after that as we were assigned quite formally our hunting groups for the next day.
We were up at 5am and I was with Alex, Anatoly and Mohammed, who were super keen to get up into the hills. We had dressed in heavy coats and hats accompanied by long boots bound to our legs by long green gaiters. We met Vadim, a local man who was simply as big as a bear himself, unshaven and of very heavy build, slow but powerful and laden with four rifles, a backpack and four fully laden leather bullet belts. He gave a very short and to the point introduction and showed us where he had laid bait for the bears on a map. Then he showed us all how to load and fire the weapon, make it safe and how to hold it, then passed out the supplies and we set off in our different groups. We walked for maybe four hours in complete silence and in the dark through a light frosty mist that hung around us as we made our way through forest and up into some hills. Nothing so strenuous that we struggled but enough to know we had walked a few miles, and our stomachs cried out for breakfast.
We eventually stopped and Alex said he would take me on alone as it would be better to hunt in smaller groups. I was nervous for the first time since I had arrived in Russia. My mind was working overtime. We both had loaded rifles and were totally in the middle of nowhere. Was this a test of nerve or just a friendly gesture from a man who enjoyed my company? It was hard to separate all my thoughts from the situation at hand. Calmly we climbed together further and further into the hills. Daybreak had released the forest from the dark of night and we came to rest at the top of a rocky outcrop. Alex signalled me to sit with him behind a large boulder. We could see an open field below amongst the trees, an open space half enveloped in the remaining morning mist. He pulled out a flask of water and explained we needed to drink cold water as he didn’t want our breath to be seen in the cold air, that we needed to breathe slowly and calmly and await the bear. The field below was evidently where Vadim had laid the bait. I could almost hear my heart in my chest as I sat with Alex sipping water, waiting for something to happen, and not from the field below.
He whispered to me to lie down and rest and as he laid next to me showed me how to hold the rifle. It was an old bolt-action un-scoped Mosin-Nagant M91/30 – a weighty, nearly indestructible bolt-action battle rifle capable of carrying five 7.62x54mm rounds. It would be easy to bring a bear down with such a rifle. We waited and, as we did, he started explaining to me how happy he was that Evgeny had found a friend in me, how he had been bullied and hadn’t made many friends, and how I had become his best friend, a friend that Evgeny loved as a brother. He explained his regret as a father for being away from home so many times when Evgeny had needed him. Evgeny was a happy boy now, and Alex wanted me to know he was grateful. It was sincere and I was half able to breathe a sigh of relief but scared to release a cloud of hot breath into the air. It was true, Evgeny and I had connected. Bullying and rough times had struck a chord between us and we had shared many intimate moments together revealing our pain, building our friendship and helping each other do life together in Moscow, both of us missing a true family life.
Now, Alex switched into concentration mode – a tree was waving, you had to look at the treetops, a bear was close. He whispered in my ear, like a father to his son, ready for the moment I would squeeze the trigger and release the powerful cartridge and feel the kick of the mule inside the rifle against my shoulder. Patiently we waited, the cold ground pushing up against my chest, his warm breath whispering in my ear as the bear came out of the mist, sniffing the air, scanning for danger – the moment had come to become part of the Khanty. The Khanty was
an old Russian indigenous group who lived in Siberia and believed the bear to be the son of Torum, master of the most sacred part of heaven. According to legend, the bear lived in heaven and was allowed to move to earth only after he promised to leave the Khanty. To shoot a bear here would mean the locals would accept me as a member. It had to be a clean shot. I gently released the bullet from the rifle and simultaneously moved into a whole new world, a world with Alex as a new member of the Khanty and as an accepted friend and guardian of his son who simply loved me so very much. I think it was because of my time at DECAF that I found listening and understanding simple. I knew what it was to need a friend and to be treated well, be able to trust and not be afraid. At that time in Russia I don’t think there was too much room for sympathy or understanding, just a cane to drive you to success despite all other human needs, as failure was not an option in a fast-changing and sometimes harsh country.
There was much celebration that night at the log cabin, with all the locals coming to the house. I think everyone was drunk. In a state of drunkenness alliances and friends were unveiled, and Alex’s third wolf was without doubt Mohammed Al Zidjali, meaning I had no further work to do in Moscow – my jigsaw was all but finished. The puzzle was complete. I was able to enjoy the family holiday without further distraction, relaxed and content in every way, a feeling that I think has escaped me now for over 30 years. I think that night was very special – it was safe, it was family, it was freedom and warmth, and above all I slept with no fear or thought interrupting my peace that night.
The Steering Group Page 15