by Eric Raynaud
CHAPTER 12
The Adventurous Knight
Born on January 7, 1923, in Paris, Xavier Ameil transcends class and social status categorization. He is a remote descendant of colonel Ameil, who served in the twenty-fourth regiment of cavalry (Regiment de Chasseursa-Cheval) and was made a general and a baron of the Empire by Napoleon after the battle of Wagram. But Xavier Ameil went through his active life without flaunting his peerage, only using his title of baron when retiring in Touraine, a place where belonging to nobility has its importance. Xavier Ameil’s father had studied at HEC (Ecole des Hautes Etudes Commerciales) and worked as a salesman for a large hardware company, Japy, in the Paris area. He died young, when Xavier was only twelve years old. His mother was the granddaughter, daughter, and sister of graduates from Polytechnique, one of the most prestigious French engineering schools. A widow with six children, she taught them to fend for themselves.
Xavier grew up in Paris. After graduating from high school, he was also admitted to Polytechnique. After two years, he interrupted his studies. It was 1944, and France was being liberated from German occupation. Xavier joined the Leclerc Division and was in Strasbourg when the war ended. A local enterprise, the Société Alsacienne de Constructions Mécaniques (SACM), funded him for two years to study at Ecole des Télécommunications. The company did even more for Xavier; the Alsacienne is the place where he met an adorable executive secretary who became his wife.
Claude Goupil de Bouillé was the daughter of a squire living in Bourgueil. She was educated in a Catholic school, graduated from high school, and then studied law and secretarial work in college. She married Xavier in 1951 and quit her job, becoming a housewife with two children, a boy and a girl.
In 1953, Xavier Ameil was hired by CSF (Compagnie Générale de Télégraphie Sans Fil), where he became deputy director of the research lab. His greatest success happened in the years 1963–1965, when he put together an excellent team of engineers and manufacturers who created a technological wonder, the Myosotis teleprinters. Those encrypting machines would eventually equip all the French embassies worldwide. This was a huge market for CSF, amounting to over a billion francs. The French government viewed those machines as a valuable achievement and therefore made Xavier Ameil Knight of the Legion of Honor.
The design of these teleprinters was so innovative that a special version was developed to be integrated in the RITA system (military telecommunication integrated network) in 1982–1983. It was an emitter-receiver allowing the transmission of voice commands in an encrypted form. It was considered as a high-performance system, and the U.S. Army bought it.
In 1978, in order to manage a big contract involving the modernization of Soviet television for the Moscow Olympics, Thomson-CSF put in place a significant office in the facility of the Soviet-French Chamber of Commerce, located at 4/17 Pokrovsky Boulevard in Moscow. The company already had a representative there, but for this important contract, a new team was needed, headed by an experienced and competent general delegate, so they offered the position to Ameil. Ameil had stayed in the Soviet Union twice before, two weeks in June 1969, and five weeks in November and December of 1978. He liked the country and was not afraid of taking on responsibilities, so he accepted the offer and moved to Moscow with his wife on January 5, 1979.
The Ameils moved into the basic three-room apartment occupied by their predecessors, on Vavilov Street. Claude was fairly unhappy to have to live in a mere housing complex. Finding another apartment was not so simple, and Xavier was totally absorbed by his work. Further, the budget he had available was for the office, which he equipped increasingly better over time.
The couple did not have much of a social life. Xavier had quite a few British acquaintances, but Claude did not speak English. Every once in a while, the Ameils would invite French people over, especially after Claude started working as a volunteer at the embassy library. They both appreciated Russian culture and never missed a performance at the Bolshoi Theater. They knew very few Soviet citizens, the political climate being unfavorable to relations with foreigners. Being overly cautious, they would see a French-speaking Russian friend with the utmost prudence.
Xavier Ameil, Vetrov’s first handler (this photograph is the one used on his visas, kept in the KGB archives).
Xavier traveled to Paris often to discuss ongoing business issues. According to his KGB file, he went back and forth seven times in 1979 and six times in 1980. After the Olympics television contract, Thomson-CSF landed two more large contracts, one for the building of a telecommunication system (PBX) manufacturing plant in the Ural, and the other for the installation of a monitoring system and computerized remote control for gas transportation. For this reason, in late February, not even two weeks after his previous trip, Ameil went back once more to the Thomson headquarters.
In a previous chapter, we discussed the exchange of services between Thomson-CSF and the DST, and the role played by Jacques Prévost. Prévost always denied any involvement with the DST to his subordinate and friend. Xavier Ameil, who was not that naïve, was therefore not surprised when his boss introduced him to a DST representative waiting in the office. The man who stood up to shake hands with him was a certain Rouault. Ameil would later learn with amazement that Rouault’s nickname was “the killer.” He was a handsome man with dark hair and fine features, with the look of a Spanish grandee. Reality was less glamorous: Rouault was Raymond Nart’s assistant.
Prévost explained the affair to Ameil, telling him only what was absolutely necessary. He said that one of his Soviet contacts, Volodia,1 a KGB member, had sent him an SOS claiming a matter of life or death. Prévost asked if Xavier would call Volodia in Moscow to transmit a verbal message.
Ameil answered yes immediately. When asked, fourteen years later, why he accepted so fast, he recognized that he never had a second thought about it. He explained very simply, with an ingenuous smile, almost embarrassed, “Because I wanted to be helpful.” As he was saying those words, he did not have in mind his boss Prévost, nor the DST, nor his country. He only thought about a man finding himself in difficulty, a friend of Jacques’, a human being in trouble in the Soviet Union, a situation that could happen to so many people.
With respect to the choice of the messenger, Ameil had given some thought to that question. In his opinion, the DST had a blind belief that it was a call for help, but did not suspect for a minute that something “big” could come out of it. So they preferred to send a lamb rather than a wolf to check out the situation on the ground.
As it turned out, the DST was certainly right to act that way. “An amateur has the disadvantage of not being trained for the job, but the advantage of not being suspected by counterintelligence services,” explains expert Igor Prelin. “All things considered, it was a net advantage here. Ameil was never monitored nor even suspected of anything.”2 In contrast, we know today that Jacques Prévost had indeed been identified by the KGB as an agent of French counterintelligence as early as 1974. Ameil’s watch file was blank. As far as routine civilian surveillance was concerned, his “guardian angel” at the UPDK sent very flattering reports about him; the Thomson representative used to tell the UPDK staff about the slightest difficulties he was encountering in everyday life. Soviet counterintelligence informants described him as an innocent daydreamer, a nice fellow, well-read and courteous.
Incidentally, the KGB did not change its mind about Ameil, even after his role in this espionage case had been clearly established. Ameil had not been playing the part of an agent with its inherent deception, always being himself, which earned him the respect of the KGB.
By chance, in early 1980, Sergei Kostin met the couple in Moscow. Claude Ameil and Kostin happened to take part in the shooting of a comedy called One Day, Twenty Years Later. Claude was playing a Frenchwoman, a member of a delegation visiting a large Soviet family; Sergei played the interpreter of the delegation. The script called for him to drive the Ameils’ car, a white Renault 20, the very car used in the beg
inning of this incredible espionage adventure.
Fourteen years later, in September 1994, Kostin called the Ameils while he was in Paris. He had with him the videotape of the film the couple had never seen. In spite of all those years with no contact between them, Claude was delighted to hear from him, inviting Kostin to come spend the weekend with them in Touraine. He thus had the opportunity to stay in the lovely property where the couple spent most of the year, a former priory in the middle of the woods.
Kostin had no indication that Xavier would agree to reminisce about his adventure. However, the couple was glad to oblige their guest. They spent a morning and most of the afternoon talking into a recorder microphone, recollecting the various episodes of their Moscow years. Xavier did the talking first, while Claude was attending Mass. Then it was Claude’s turn to tell her story while Xavier went to church.
Their testimony as a whole exuded authenticity. Xavier is a phenomenally cultured man, knowing technical subjects, but also having an interest in history, economics, arboriculture, and no doubt in many other fields they did not have the time to talk about. From his point of view, the Farewell case was definitely an exciting adventure, but without significant impact on his life. Similarly, Claude’s remarks revealed the same integrity as her husband’s, with a lot of common sense and a strong sense of humor.
The Ameils never tried to be dominant central characters. When memory failed, they did not make something up. If they thought they should not answer certain questions, such as how to contact the Ferrants, the couple who took over the handling of Vetrov in Moscow, they would say so. There is no evidence that they hid anything. The part they played in this story was such that they certainly had nothing to hide. They gave an account of those events from the perspective of people who considered it their duty to do what they did, who had nothing to reproach themselves with, and nothing to gain from their participation. The authors consider this side of the story as truthful and complete, short of involuntary omissions made by them.3
Having accepted the DST mission, Xavier Ameil went back to Moscow on March 4, 1981. He did not want to call Vetrov from his apartment, believing their home phone was tapped. So he promptly called Vetrov’s home from a phone booth.
He first got Svetlana, who told him to call back in the evening, which he did.
This time, Vladimir answered the phone.
“Hello!”
“Bonjour! C’est Volodia?” asked Ameil.
“Yes.”
“I am a friend of Jacques Prévost. I have a message for you.”
Vetrov understood right away. He told Ameil to meet him the next day in front of the Beriozka, a store open only to foreigners, located on Bolshaya Dorogomilovskaya Street.4 Ameil knew the place and agreed.
It was in front of this grocery store for foreigners that Vetrov initially met with his first French handler. The apartment building where Vetrov lived is visible in the background.
He went to this rendezvous without the slightest anxiety. He was convinced he would meet with a poor fellow in difficulty, and that he would help him out by transmitting the message from the DST. His role would stop there.
Ameil parked his Renault in front of the store. Vetrov walked to the rendezvous. Both men shook hands and got in Ameil’s car. Remember, March in Moscow is still the middle of winter.
To prove he truly came on Jacques Prévost’s behalf, Ameil showed Vetrov his boss’s business card. Then he delivered the message:
“Jacques asked me to tell you that the borders of all the European Community countries are open to you. France is ready to welcome you if you can get out of the USSR.”
Vetrov’s answer astonished Xavier.
“I don’t want to leave! I want to work with the DST for three years; I have volumes of information to provide.”
Vetrov checked furtively around, through the car window. The location was not ideal for a clandestine rendezvous, as a foreigner like Ameil shopping at the Beriozka could be tailed by the KGB.
“Let’s drive around for a little while, alright?” the Russian said.
Ameil drove off. He went around the nearby restaurant and turned on Kutuzov Avenue. Before reaching the river embankment, he turned into the side road and parked.
“Here!” said Volodia, handing Xavier a folded piece of paper. “For a start, please remit this to them.”
“To whom? To Jacques Prévost?”
Vetrov was at a loss.
“No, to your superiors.”
“Precisely, my superior is Mr. Prévost.”
“You mean that…you’re not from the family?”
“No, I am not.”
“You’re not?”
“Not at all, I can only remit this piece of paper to Jacques Prévost.”
Vetrov could not believe his ears. In his mind, a secret service from the other side could only respond to the call of a KGB member by dispatching one of its best officers. Come to think of it, though, if Ameil was a professional, he would naturally deny belonging to that secret service. In any case, Jacques would know who was supposed to receive the document.
“Alright then. Here,” said Vetrov.
Ameil took the sheet of paper and read it rapidly. The note was handwritten. Regardless of what Vetrov might have thought, the world of intelligence services was truly foreign to Xavier. To him, the note was just some kind of worthless scribble. Ameil thought to himself, “OK, so he is taking me for a ride!”
“Listen, sir,” he said out loud, “there is nothing new in all this.”
He had said those words just as some kind of a game or perhaps because of his commercial training he wanted an upper hand, particularly if money would ultimately be involved. Further, he was French, and he thought he was being taken for a fool. But now it was Vetrov who was cut to the quick.
“Fine! Next time you’ll receive much more interesting material, you’ll see.”
“Alright! We’ll see.”
And so, imperceptibly, Ameil crossed over the demarcation line separating the ordinary go-between, who had brought a fairly friendly message, from a liaison agent into an espionage affair. He was suddenly aware he was getting into a very risky business, since as a businessman he was not covered by diplomatic immunity. He would go to jail if caught by the KGB.5 And yet, he did not hesitate. When asked years later about the reasons, he laughed: “Well, I always liked slightly risky situations. I said to myself, ‘It’s fun, a real thriller. And since he is about to give us interesting stuff, I might as well see it.’”
For the next rendezvous, Vetrov, who seemed to have thought out the operational side of the arrangement, asked Ameil to meet him in the small park located behind the Borodino Battle Museum.6 Ameil did not know the place. The Russian explained how to get there. It was indeed only three minutes away by car, just before the Triumphal Arch on Kutuzov Avenue. He set the next meeting for the following Friday, March 13, at seven o’clock in the evening. Ameil accepted, and both men went their own way.
That same evening, Ameil wrote a letter to Jacques Prévost, which he sent the next day using the diplomatic pouch, along with the handwritten notes from Vetrov. In his letter, Ameil described his meeting with Vetrov. The first sentence summarizes his overall personal impression: “It is like being in a thriller.”
When they met again in Paris later on, Prévost told Ameil, “If I had been in your place, I would have stopped right there.” He did not mean by this remark that he thought Ameil was terribly foolish to have agreed to meet again with Vetrov. He was still pretending that he was not part of the DST. Prévost even told his friend that the first letter from Volodia had put him in an awkward position. He also admitted that he was amazed at how valuable Vetrov’s notes were.
The DST’s initial offer to Vetrov remains nevertheless a troubling puzzle. Was the DST lying when asserting that the borders of all European Community countries were open to him? If the DST was sincere, what measures could it have put in place without endangering its mole? To this day, thi
s remains a mystery.
One can also wonder why Vetrov had set a three-year limit to his collaboration with the French secret service. After interviewing several people close to Vetrov, the authors concluded that the date corresponded to the time when he expected to retire. A lieutenant colonel, he could have retired at forty-five, provided he had reached a total of twenty-five years of active duty. In March 1981, Vetrov was already forty-eight. Since he had started working for the KGB in 1959, he could not retire before 1984, i.e., three years later.
This was quite a distant future. For time in the life of a mole cannot be measured in years, but in days if not hours.
CHAPTER 13
An Espionage Robinsonade
As early as the second rendezvous, Ameil stopped wondering whether he should continue or not. From that moment on, he considered meeting with the Russian spy as his duty. Volodia had mentioned the names of two KGB agents in France. Ameil knew one of them personally, Pierre Bourdiol, a Thomson-CSF engineer.
The French businessman instantly grasped the scope of the damage one KGB mole could inflict to his country. He knew that Bourdiol was in charge of the spare parts for the European Symphonie satellites to be launched from the Kennedy Space Center in collaboration with the USA. He was traveling often to the USA, and would bring back huge amounts of data—not to mention the kind of information he had access to in France.
Later, when Vetrov’s colleagues at the PGU learned about the disclosure of Bourdiol, they were even more shocked than Ameil, but for a different reason. To an intelligence officer, the agents he personally recruits are sacred. He can betray his country, transmit confidential documents, and disclose the sources of others. But to betray an individual who put his trust in you is the lowest form of low. After such an act, Vetrov could no longer count on the sympathy of his former colleagues.