It seems it's Churchill that this saying belongs to: «Politicians think about the next elections, and statesmen, of the next generation.» Which are there more of in this world, statesmen or politicians? The question is incorrect. Mr. Rivilis, look all around you. Politicians are extending their hands to be shaken.
IN MEMORY OF YUROCHKA DUBOVTSEV
An anxious feeling had not left me for several days. Three weeks-from Gulya, neither letters, nor phone calls. I didn't know whether she'd called the children-they live in dormitories, and I hadn't thought to ask for their addresses. But if there had been any news at all, they would have called me themselves or left a message on my answering machine. That meant there had been none. Might not the silence be related to her being in places from which letters aren't written? There was nobody to ask. And not knowing is the worst of conditions. The equivalent of feebleness.
Colin Powell's speech at the UN Security Council was the point from which the beginning of the war with Iraq could be read. What we had achieved was that an arm's length away, the troops had been deployed and were awaiting orders from the Commander in Chief. No, the expected news of the start of the war ought not to alarm me.
On the twentieth of February things became clear-I received an e-mail from Natasha Dubovtsev. A dagger in my heart: «February 18 Papa died. A stroke.»
I phoned Sveta, Yura's widow. In a toneless voice, she told me the details. A neighbor woman called, and she, dropping everything, rushed home from work. He was immobile, but still alive. The ambulance arrived. She went with him to the hospital. On the way, Yura tried to say something, but all that came out was «bu-bu-bu.» In farewell, he gently squeezed her hand.
All his life, he had feared only one thing-to die helpless from a stroke. His forebodings were borne out. Birches bend and adjust to new surroundings. Oaks are torn out by the roots.
My favorite inflexible oak, Yurochka Dubovtsev. We saw each other for the last time at Sheremyetovo Airport. Now, and for all eternity, the meeting place is: Odessa, Second Christian Cemetery.
In my memory there is always the same short film-Karolino-Bugaz, an endless day, chess, Chabo wine; Odessa, a sauna, chess, champagne. Our strolls and arguments. And the invariable third traveling companion, chess.
From birth, he had everything. In his hands were ten tricks without a «widow.» Robust health; strength; brains, unselfishness; honesty, respectability, reliability, in addition to an athlete's figure-it's not to everyone that the cards are dealt so generously. And in «widow,» which might cancel out everything-but not in his case-had been programmed (it could not be otherwise) Love and Family.
How could it be? Who switched the decks? He didn't notice it, and continued to toss aces around; to live as though he had his unchangeable ten tricks, as before.
Yurochka Dubovtsev. Pardon me, today I haven't the strength to continue my memoirs.
IN SADDAM HUSSEIN'S PALACE
The reason for Gulya's silence became clear after two months, when she, unexpectedly and un-foretold, gave her daughter a present: she flew into New York for her birthday. She called it, «A week's vacation in the peaceful life.»
Over the past months, another page of history had been turned. Events that had not been caught by the cameras of war correspondents were explained on the second night after Gulya's arrival in New York.
A week prior to the day when the President of the USA completed the last step in protocol, and officially notified Congress of the failure of diplomatic efforts to settle the conflict with Iraq, a personal representative of the President of Azerbaijan visited Baghdad.
This representative's arrival was preceded by intensive secret negotiations between Washington and Baku. The newly-elected President of Azerbaijan, in gratitude to America for its care of his father, decided to show diplomatic initiative and offer Saddam Hussein and the members of his family political asylum in exchange for voluntary renunciation of power.
I don't know whether such a scenario was in the plans of White House strategists, or whether they decided to make use of the proposal that was unexpectedly made-a chance was offered. With only one condition: Ilhan Aliyev's personal representative must be a person who enjoyed the trust of both Baku and Washington. This person turned out to be a citizen of both Azerbaijan and the USA, personally known to Saddam Hussein's son Qusay: journalist Gulnara Kulieva. And, as a second job-this, Ilhan Aliyev did not know-a CIA operative.
Officially, she was in Iraq on a mediation mission. Behind the screens, she was on a CIA assignment to establish the exact whereabouts of Saddam Hussein and his sons.
Pleading his busy schedule, Hussein did not wish to meet with Aliyev's envoy. Apparently he considered it humiliating] to discuss delicate topics with a woman, and he turned the task of dealing with the journalist over to his son.
The meeting with Qusay, Commander of the seventy-thousand-strong Republican Guard, took place in one of Saddam's palaces on the south side of Baghdad.
Qusay recognized her, in spite of the fact that he had last seen her fifteen years before, at a gala reception given by the Soviet Embassy in Baghdad. At that time, Qusay had barely reached his twenty-first year.
Over the intervening years he had grown to manhood and become a person trusted by his father-and his probable successor. At thirty-seven, Qusay was the second man in the nation, a member of the Central Committee of the Ba'ath Party, and head of the Military Committee. His father's personal security guards and the Secret Services were under his supervision. Saddam had entrusted him with the defense of Baghdad. That fact spoke to the level of trust being shown to his younger son.
The meeting lasted only briefly. Qusay entered with an escort of councilors and security guards. Gulya asked him to let them be left alone together, pleading the secrecy of the information which she was supposed to pass on to him. Qusay gave an order. Everyone except the head of the personal security force left the room.
She passed on the offer from the President of Azerbaijan, emphasizing that unofficially, it came from the White House and its acceptance would allow them to avert a war. Qusay silently heard her out, smiled, thanked her for coming to Baghdad at such a difficult time for his country, and said that the Saudi Ape-referring to the King of Saudi Arabia-had already made the same sort of offer, and had not received an answer. After that, he ceased to restrain himself and added gruffly, «The same kind of answer is waiting for all the apologies for mediators who have the nerve to proffer initiatives about surrender.»
Gulya repeated that she was transmitting an unofficial offer from the USA-a side immediately involved in the conflict. This was something different from the King of Saudi Arabia's announcement.
Qusay thought a little, grimaced wryly, and barked, «The answer will be given in the next few days.» He turned and left the room. Without even taking his leave.
The Chief of Security saw her to the door, dryly shook her hand, and handed her over to an officer of the escort, who was waiting for Gulya behind the door. The latter deferentially stepped back a pace, and, with a gesture of his hand, indicated the exit through which she was supposed to leave the room.
Gulya went-the officer followed a half-pace behind-and rejoiced: she had managed to partially complete her assigned task. The hall was enormous-half the size of a soccer field, which had to be crossed on a diagonal. Almost at the exit she caught the sound of muffled Russian. Without turning her head, out of the corner of her eye, she made out the speakers-two stately, sturdily built men. Of the powerful lineage of retired generals.
She took an awkward step and pretended her foot had slipped; said «ouch,» almost squatted-the officer politely caught her under her elbow. She thanked him, rubbed her seemingly injured ankle-the officer stood patiently beside her. Without hurrying, she pulled a pair of glasses from her purse, put them on, fixed her gaze on the generals for a second, and-the trick had been polished to a shine-pushed a button on a remote control camouflaged under the button of her coat. The micro-camera mounted in the rim of
the glasses noiselessly took a picture.
She was unable to take a second shot. Whatever came out, came out. The operation was risky, spontaneous, hanging only on the fact that the vexed officer-he didn't look after an important person well enough-would look under her feet. She didn't manage to think about whether there were surveillance cameras around. She adventurously followed the hereditary principle, «Here goes!»
She left the palace, got into the automobile awaiting her, and went to the hotel.
On the same day, by a courier-taxi-driver, driving between Baghdad and Damascus, she sent the microfilm, which was taken on a passenger plane the next day to Qatar, to the Headquarters of the Central Command of the Armed Forces of the USA.
As later became clear, the photo taken by Gulya «exposed» retired Russian Colonel-Generals Vladislav Achalov and Igor Maltsev.
From the Generals' dossiers: both were dismissed from military service in 1991 for supporting the GKCP. Achalov finished up his military career as Deputy Minister of Defense of the USSR, Commander of the Air-Borne Troops and Commander-in-Chief of the Rapid Reaction forces. Maltsev, before he retired, occupied the post of Chief of the Main Staff of the Soviet Air Defense.
The photo that had been obtained gave the State Department grounds to address an inquiry to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Russia-wasn't the Kremlin supporting retired Russian generals' secret contacts with the dictator's regime? After receipt of the inquiry, the Kremlin reacted quickly: on the very same day, both generals were recalled to Moscow.
But Gulya managed to get two more photographs. She bought them from an Iraqi documentary photographer who remembered her as the wife of a Soviet diplomat and sincerely believed that he was selling his photos to a colleague from a friendly nation. In one photo: Iraqi Defense Minister General Sultan Hashim Ahmed is presenting Achalov and Maltsev with exalted government awards. The other photograph commemorating the event features the decorated Russian generals with Head of the General Staff of the Iraqi Army Izzat Ibrahim and his deputies.
Washington wasn't about to start a major quarrel with Moscow over retired generals. It is much more pleasant for the diplomats to conduct secret negotiations with an additional trump card in hand-material evidence revealing their partner in a not entirely honest game. Softening an uncompromising position under such circumstances is made significantly easier.
While Qusay reviewed the Azerbaijani President's offer, Gulya continued collecting operational information. Her status as a journalist from a friendly country allowed her to revive old connections and acquire new acquaintances without hindrance.
An aide to the Press Secretary of the Iraqi Ministry of Foreign Affairs explained the cause of Iraq's obstinacy to her in secret. Russian and French representatives had assured Hussein that, through delays and the threat of using their veto at the UN Security Council, they would succeed in blocking a war from beginning. And, if a war still did start, it would be limited to an air raid. Using the authority of the UN, Russia and France would achieve a cease-fire. For the journalists who had turned the Hotel Palestine into an international press-club, this sort of scenario was no secret. Some of them still thought this, counting on the concentration of American troops along the Iraqi border's being a psychological attack calculated to make Hussein pliable under pressure from the USA. In their opinion, the time for haggling with Bush had not yet ended.
On the morning of the eighteenth of March, the phone rang in Gulya's hotel room. She was being invited to Saddam Hussein's palace. No time was allotted for preparations. She descended to the lobby of the Hotel Palestine, where they were already waiting for her. Accompanied by two officers in an armored vehicle, she was taken away to the southwest of Baghdad.
Besides Saddam, Qusay and Vice Premier Tariq Aziz attended the meeting. Behind their backs were ranged security officers.
Saddam was calm. He spoke softly and persuasively.
He said that, to begin with, he did not understand the nature of the conflict; for, had it not been for the war in Kuwait twelve years before, Iraq would still have been America's ally. He informed her that, in order to achieve peace, he was prepared to make significant concessions. Among their number would be offering Western companies advantageous conditions for working new oilfields. But, for the conflict to be patched up, it would be necessary for a personal emissary from Bush-for example, Colin Powell-to visit Baghdad for a day. The concessions, he repeated, would be significant. And he asked her to recall that, ever since the days of the Iranian war, Iraq had been America's ally. He threatened: the majority of Iraq's population were Shiites. They were bellicose and aggressive. Iraq without Hussein would get out of control and quickly turn into a second Iran. Was the USA really striving toward the creation of yet another Islamic state?
Gulya promised to inform Ilhan Aliyev of the meeting that had been conducted immediately. She repeated that he would, without delay, tell the President of the USA of Iraq's peaceable intentions. Qusay politely saw her to the door. Just as though, a few days before, he had not replied to the offer being made by reminiscing about the «Saudi Ape» and exiting without taking leave.
She left Saddam's office and, accompanied by security officers, headed for the palace exit. Along the way, she addressed the senior officer with a request to show her to a restroom.
Their course was altered then and there. The guards remained outside the door. Gulya walked into the restroom and got a surprise. Next to the mirror, on a little chair, sat a middle-aged woman clothed in a soldier's uniform. Seeing Gulya, the woman jumped up and became officiously nice, prepared to fulfill any simple request-spray on perfume, hand a towel or a napkin. That her function was not limited to such things-her carriage and figure smacked the well-trained civil servant. Even in the restroom, the regime needed eyes and ears.
Gulya smiled in greeting and entered a stall. Looking around-she observed no surveillance cameras-she pulled a pack of chewing gum out of her purse, and from it, a little pack that was in no way distinguishable from its fellows to the uninitiated eye. This she tore in half. One half of the wad was placed in her mouth; the other half-this could not be seen even by the most qualified detective-was neither more nor less than a radio beacon hidden under the wad. She placed a micro-battery in it and stuck the gum to the rear wall of the toilet. The whole procedure took about thirty seconds.
Gulya waited, flushed, and left the stall. She turned unhurriedly before the mirror, washed her hands, allowed the Secret Services woman to fuss over her in a touching manner, and, with the feeling of a duty fulfilled, went out to the officer awaiting her.
If nothing unexpected happened, for the next twenty-four hours-the period for which the microbattery would work uninterrupted-a radio signal would go out from Saddam Hussein's palace to a satellite, indicating its location.
Saddam Hussein's next guest was his old friend Yevgeny Primakov, who flew into Iraq at the behest of Russian President Vladimir Putin.
In Gulya's opinion, the failure of Primakov's mission was dictated by the fact that a great many people were getting rich off the UN's «Oil for food» program. Moreover, Saddam sincerely believed in the USA's willingness to begin secret negotiations regarding conditions for surrender that would allow him to remain on the throne.
Primakov's revelations, which he shared with journalists after the overthrow of Hussein's regime, confirmed her guess. To Putin's proposal that he voluntarily go into retirement, Hussein answered with a refusal, while Tariq Aziz clapped Primakov on the shoulder and said, «We'll meet up ten years from now and see who was right, you, or our President.»
Hussein believed the misinformation, and took no steps at all that could possibly interfere with American plans for war. Even when the first bombs fell on Baghdad.
On the twentieth of March, an hour and a half after the expiration of the time given in the ultimatum, a powerful missile strike was inflicted on Baghdad. Simultaneously, two one-ton bombs were dropped on Saddam Hussein's supposed shelter.
According to an announcement by the head of the Pentagon, the strike hit the shelter in which, according to absolutely precise intelligence data, Saddam Hussein was to be found-and he, apparently, like the whole military-political administration of Iraq, was buried beneath the ruins.
Whether this was so or not, nobody knew for sure. Iraqi television reported that neither Saddam nor his closest circle had suffered as a result of the air raid, and showed a little documentary of Saddam holding a strategy meeting. Certain journalists treated the broadcast skeptically, insisting that it was a double on the screen, and that it would not have taken much trouble to alter a film made prior to the start of the war.
Gulya knew one thing-a day before the air strikes, Saddam Hussein had been in the shelter. The rest was for the Almighty to decide. Whether He had given Saddam a reprieve, or summoned him to Hell.
I listened to Gulya's story with mixed feelings. In spite of working for the FBI, of which I was secretly proud (what boy does not dream from childhood of the exploits of a hero-agent?) my work was for the most part routine-the collection and analysis of information within the USA. Not counting the incident with Ted, it wasn't all that dangerous. Before me sat a professional, about whose secret life not that much was known. And the fact that she was calmly sharing her experiences with me; that, a few days before, risking her life, she had been at work in the enemy camp, at the headquarters of a middle-eastern Hitler, raised her to an unprecedented height in my eyes.
In jest, I had often expressed my readiness to marry the Queen of England-adding that Britain would be pleased-in the event, I wouldn't make a bad king. There remained only one small problem, I would say-getting Her Majesty's consent.
Napoleon Great-Great-Grandson Speaks Page 16