by Eric Raynaud
“Still, we need a liaison plan,” insisted Ferrant.
“No, that’s precisely the point—we don’t. We must stay away from all those techniques,” answered Vetrov. “What we must do is stay natural. Your dead drops thing, it works in the West because no one pays attention to what others are doing. Here, a guy shows up and drops a package, it’s not natural, and he would be spotted right away. What we must do is have fun, stand around, pat one another on the back, then walk to a bench while laughing. No one will find that unusual.”
Ferrant did not insist, and he accepted one by one Vetrov’s instructions. For information exchanges, “natural” simplicity was also the motto. Vetrov would hand over documents on Fridays, in the park behind the Borodino Battle Museum. At each meeting, they would set the date for the next one. If something cropped up, the third Friday of each month would be the backup meeting date.
As a good professional, Vetrov organized all the clandestine contacts on the route of his everyday comings and goings. The market once a week would be useful to have in his agenda. If he were to be tailed by KGB agents, the tailers should not wonder why he was in such place at such time. Since his wife worked at the Borodino Museum, it was normal for him to go there to pick her up after work, following his excursions in the Lada with his handling officer. Furthermore, he parked his car every evening in a covered parking garage three hundred meters away from the rendezvous spot.
The Borodino Battle Museum (circular building)…
…and the corner of Year 1812 and Denis-Davydov streets, behind the museum (see map in chapter 17). Vetrov approached Ferrant where a white Lada is parked on the sidewalk in this picture.
For his part, Ferrant did the same and worked out various ready-to-use explanations for his whereabouts. He found a shoe store, for instance, not far from the meeting point. He placed an order for very specific custom-made shoes. As a picky customer, he rejected the various models he was proposed, thus having a reason to visit the store once a week for a while. What else could be expected from a fashion-conscious Frenchman?
This first rendezvous had all the characteristics already noted by Ameil and Madeleine Ferrant, which stayed the same throughout the operation in Moscow. It was Vetrov who imposed his style of doing things. He essentially favored physical encounters over the use of dead drops, and he refused to go by traditional spying techniques. Ferrant never tried to impose anything on him. Volodia was the professional and, furthermore, he was playing on his turf, “at home.” Whether interacting with Ferrant or Ameil, the operation kept the same profile. It was a “self-operation.”
If Vetrov insisted on meeting his handlers in person, it was for a reason that had nothing to do with the operating mode of a master spy. The reason was his psychological state. Vetrov simply wanted to have the opportunity to talk with his handler, and not just to discuss the material he was transmitting. There were all those other subjects that would cross his mind, and he sure had a lot on his mind during that period. Vetrov was very frank about it during the first meeting with Ferrant. “What I want is being able to speak French with you. So, all this business with the dead drops, it’s not for me!”
As time went by, Ferrant realized that these diversions had actually become the most important aspect of their meetings. “They seemed to lift his spirits and help him momentarily get out of the schizophrenic state he was living in,” he explains. This opportunity to talk freely was a luxury Vetrov had gotten accustomed to already with Ameil. As the operation evolved, he very reluctantly gave it up.
Many weeks later, for instance, the DST was eventually able to correct a serious shortcoming the operation had in its first phase. The use of a Minox, a miniature camera, put an end to the necessity of making photocopies or taking pictures of the documents transmitted by Farewell before returning them to him. This process doubled the number of encounters and, therefore, doubled the risks. The Minox, on the other hand, allowed Vetrov to hand over films instead of documents, which minimized the risks. This technical progress and the convenience of its use was very poorly received by Vetrov since it meant cutting in half the opportunities to have conversations with his handler. Fortunately, certain technical documents required explanations, which justified additional meetings; Vetrov got the technical details over with rapidly so he could move the conversation to the difficulties in his personal life.
The French embassy in Moscow, where Ferrant worked. The French flag is peacefully floating in this administrative district, with the Soviet Ministry of Interior nearby. In the Western Bloc, France was a privileged partner of the Soviets.
Actually, Ferrant did not mind. Naturally curious about everything, congenial and accessible, Patrick Ferrant had the ideal psychological profile to handle a character such as Vetrov. In contrast with most Western diplomats posted in Moscow, and American diplomats more specifically, he was not living with an obsessive fear of the KGB. He favored direct contacts with the local population, in a way reminiscent of the colonial tradition of the French military. He viewed living in Moscow as a fascinating experience and a great opportunity. He made conversation with Muscovites every time he could, with the embassy guards, hitchhikers, even policemen. He knew Russian literature well, and he always had questions for the Russians he was talking to, whether about Gogol’s characters or the intrigue of a famous novel, showing his cultural attraction for this “Slavic soul” Russian people are so sensitive to. He also had a genuine affection for the people, admiring their legendary resilience. “I believe that these people deserve respect. They are so tough in the face of adversity and suffering,” he confided.
Besides Vetrov, Ferrant befriended the embassy chauffeur. The man had been the chauffeur for Marshal Rokossovsky, one of the greatest Red Army commanders during WWII. Ferrant would go with him for long drives through Moscow during which the old man recounted the time of “the Great Patriotic War.”
The House of France, the apartment building where the Ferrants lived with their five daughters. Patrick Ferrant used to stop at the sentry box to chat with the guard on duty.
His congeniality also helped place Ferrant above suspicion on the part of those who were keeping watch on him. As the person in charge of the building where the French embassy staff was living, Ferrant had a privileged relationship with the Soviet guards for any question regarding the security and tranquility of what was called the House of France. He never missed an opportunity to deepen his relations with them.
One evening, for instance, the Ferrants went out to have dinner with friends who had invited them over. The Soviet policeman scrupulously wrote down the time they left, but when they returned home, he was no longer at his post. The next day, Ferrant asked to talk to the officer on duty.
“Officer, I need to talk to you about a problem. I do not intend to file an official claim, but last night when I came back with my wife, the guard was not here. So he could not write down the time at which we returned. Which means, viewed from your perspective, my wife and I spent the night away from home, and as we speak, we are who knows where in the city.”
“I see…”
“Yes, but I do not like the idea that your superiors could believe it, do you understand?”
“I do, of course, sir. We are short on staff at the moment—it’s been difficult.”
“I understand, but I would appreciate if it does not happen again.”
Over the duration of his stay in Moscow, Ferrant never changed his attitude. Combining the natural and the casual, he always tried to establish some kind of a rapport with the person in front of him. “Coming home with my briefcase packed with the Farewell documents, I used to stop to say hello and joke with the guards. I think it was easier for them to monitor me that way. Their reports would have probably been more negative if I had been scornful or constantly suspicious of them.”
Ferrant also knew how to combine business with pleasure. When he was walking up Kutuzov Avenue, on his way to the rendezvous with Vetrov, he often offered his help to elde
rly women, carrying their heavy bags. This made a perfect cover in case the KGB was tailing him, and it gave him the opportunity at the same time to get acquainted with those “babushki” Vetrov dreaded so much, famous for their denunciation skills.
During June 1981, Ferrant and Vetrov met six times, always at the same place, in the small park behind the Borodino Battle Museum. On Fridays June 5, 12, and 19 at seven p.m., after work, Vetrov handed over the documents. Ferrant made the photocopies in the military attaché’s office. The next day, on Saturdays June 6, 13, and 20 at eleven a.m., he returned them to his mole.
The new element introduced by Ferrant was the compensation of Vetrov. Vladimir never said he wanted to be paid, but the DST insisted. “Seriously, you need to be paid. Any effort should be rewarded,” was Nart’s message relayed by Ferrant.
On June 5, Ferrant gave Vetrov a thousand rubles.6 Although not negligible, the amount was modest. It was about twice Vladimir’s monthly salary. The KGB would later sneer at the legendary stinginess of the French services. What the DST had in mind, though, was to give Vetrov a reasonable compensation that would not change his standard of living to the point of being noticed by KGB counterintelligence. According to Ferrant, over the entire duration of the operation, the financial side of it seemed secondary to Vetrov compared to the satisfaction of getting revenge on his service and the opportunity to confide for hours, in French. He never made any direct request to Ferrant explicitly asking to be paid. Ferrant gave him the money in a very informal way, a little like friends would help out one another. He then showed the corresponding amounts on his expense reports to Nart. Clearly, we are far from the extravagant salaries imagined by the KGB. Vetrov, on the other hand, did not hesitate to ask, at times with insistence, for gifts intended for his son or for Ludmila. Ferrant remembered it very well since it was Madeleine who one day tried on a synthetic fur coat bought for Ludmila. Also, it was difficult to forget the Sharp hi-fi system bought for Vladik. “The stuff weighed a ton and barely fit in the trunk of the car. I really had a hard time bringing this thing to Moscow,” remembered Ferrant. But both men were ready to do anything to please little Vladik.
Ferrant’s annual vacation was scheduled for July. Should he stay to the last day his agent could meet him and then come back to work on the first day Vetrov had new information he could hand over? Many, former KGB agents included, would have answered yes without hesitation. They would smile patronizingly: “Yes, but for the French, vacations are sacred!” Igor Prelin, who has handled dozens of agents in various countries, had the same condescending smile, but in reaction to the critics of this behavior. “In the case of a valuable agent, we could meet him once every six months, even once a year, as American and many other services did,” he explains. “Each rendezvous was high-risk business, particularly if the agent was handled by an amateur. Besides, there was no panic, we were not at war! The VPK report? It was published only once a year. The list of KGB officers? Alright, Vetrov had five or six new names to add to it. Couldn’t this wait? When working in Africa, I had an agent who was ready to deliver new material every day. His motivation? He was fed at my house and would leave with a small fee. But this was not Vetrov’s case.”7
This was probably the way the DST saw the situation, too. Ferrant had already put in his request for leave; changing the dates might have looked suspicious to Soviet counterintelligence. Furthermore, as explained by the French officer, the volume of documents supplied by Farewell was expected to decrease drastically during that same period; the KGB top brass was going on vacation, too. In conformity with one of the operation’s rare operational principles, Ferrant and Vetrov thus decided to change nothing in their routine, and the Frenchman took his vacation as scheduled.
The largest family of the French colony left Moscow on June 26. Patrick came back from vacation on July 29, Madeleine and their daughters on August 22. The KGB machine was running smoothly, and all this data was meticulously recorded in Ferrant’s file. No one at the KGB, though, had any idea that this obscure deputy attaché was the most dangerous foreign resident in Moscow.
CHAPTER 16
Three Presidents: Mitterrand, Reagan, and Victor Kalinin
During those same months, while the Farewell operation was running its course in Moscow, the affair acquired an international dimension, linked to François Mitterrand coming to power.
Mitterrand, the new head of state, elected on May 10, 1981, played a major role in this story. He did not trust secret services, and he paid close attention to recent criticisms of the DST. Also, he had just appointed communists to serve as ministers in his first administration, and he knew he would have to pay the political price for this decision at the international level.
It is public knowledge that the newly elected president viewed the French special services very unfavorably. In 1953, while he was minister of the interior, he was the victim of a police conspiracy that caused his name to be dragged through the mud as an alleged “traitor” and a “Moscow agent.” Generally speaking, the socialists accused the DST of being “an instrument of the political right wing rather than a tool to defend the Nation.”1 Therefore, from the DST’s perspective, the election of Mitterrand was not exactly good news.
Moreover, a few recent scandals added to the DST’s bad reputation. There was the case of planted mics discovered in the offices of the weekly satirical newspaper Le Canard enchaîné, which had everybody laughing in France. There was also the Curiel dossier, which owed its name to the Egyptian businessman assassinated in Paris on May 4, 1978, in circumstances that remain mysterious to this day. This affair caused the DST’s chief Marcel Chalet to be summoned to the office of an investigating magistrate.
“We knew that the existence of the service would be challenged since there were people in the Socialist Party coming to power who were even saying that it was urgent to get rid of the DST,” Marcel Chalet remembers.2 “In the days following the arrival of Gaston Defferre as minister of the interior, I had to answer questions on affairs in which the DST was accused of wrongdoing. I could sweep away those rumors with no difficulty.”
Thus, the DST chief had his work cut out for him to find an administrative person who would both listen carefully and be well-disposed toward him, in order to deliver the “bomb” he had quietly been keeping in his hands for almost three months. “I proceeded slowly and cautiously, trying first to figure out what the political agenda could be, and what would eventually be the concerns of the people I would be dealing with.”3
Chalet first approached Maurice Grimaud, principal private secretary to the minister of the interior. Yet, Grimaud shared the views of his socialist comrades regarding the DST. “We arrived to power with a lot of preconceived ideas and grudges, and a huge mistrust of the police,” he admits. “To us, the DST was the epitome of all possible horrors. This was an extreme opinion, but unto those that have shall more be given.”4
The beginning of the first meeting between Maurice Grimaud and Marcel Chalet was laden with hidden meaning. Grimaud eventually decided to bring up, head-on, allegations such as the ongoing rumors about the DST’s borderline illegal activities against the ETA, a Basque separatist terrorist organization: “And then, you’ll have to put an end to a certain type of operations,” he stated. Marcel Chalet protested vigorously and assured Grimaud that those rumors were pure fantasy and that it was out of the question for the DST to violate its own rules. Chalet realized then, in the course of the conversation, that with serious arguments he was able to convince Grimaud that the accusations against his service were unfounded. Thus, a certain level of trust was established between the two men. “Very rapidly,” Chalet says, “Maurice Grimaud became much more cooperative with me. I could feel that all the reservations he may have had at some point had disappeared, and that it was now possible to have a frank and direct dialogue with him. This gave me the opportunity to pour out the Farewell story, which had been weighing heavily on me, and to explain to him that it was urgent to alert the presi
dent, while taking all the necessary precautions.”5
The purpose of such precautions was to limit the disclosure of the affair as much as possible. This was also Gaston Defferre’s very first concern, which he voiced a short while later, when they had their first meeting. The new minister of the interior, a former partisan during WWII, perfectly understood how critical it was not to leak the facts. Chalet would, nevertheless, take the precaution to put him discreetly to the test: Patrick Ferrant, as a military attaché at the French embassy, reported in theory to the Ministry of Defense, where another long-standing fellow traveler of François Mitterrand’s, Charles Hernu, had been appointed. It so happened that Hernu was well known by the DST, which had a file on him indicating that he was an occasional collaborator of the Bulgarian, then the Romanian intelligence services for at least two years, in 1956 and 1957. Chalet also knew that Hernu had been mentioned in a note written by the Securitate in 1962. Ceausescu himself asked, to no avail, that the contact be renewed with Hernu when he became minister of defense.6
After having stressed the urgency of alerting the head of state, Marcel Chalet added blandly, “And also, it is important not to forget to inform the minister of defense.”
Defferre sat up straight in his seat and said, “Certainly not, he is a Soviet agent!”
Entirely reassured by those words, Chalet proceeded to discuss the way they would inform the president of the Republic. From that moment on, the collaboration between the DST and the Ministry of the Interior rested on mutual trust and survived all the obstacles born of the case. They did not dwell on the presence of communists in the left-wing union government, since it was understood that prudence was required.