by Eric Raynaud
“For a long time, we did not know the results of this maneuver,” explains General Guyaux. “So we thought the Soviets had not risen to the bait. Then came the coup attempt in 1991. The KGB was dissolved. The entire Soviet Union imploded. To our amazement, all of a sudden large quantities of osmium-187 showed up on the Russian market of rare materials, along with the too famous red mercury! It was as if the Russians did not know what to do with osmium anymore! This was the sign that, at the time, they had fallen into the trap.”
The major DST operation, however, was meant to address the DST’s main concern about the disproportionate presence of the KGB in Paris. This operation resulted in the spectacular expulsion of Soviet “diplomats” identified by Farewell as KGB agents. It was launched soon after Ronald Reagan’s Star Wars speech, causing a rift in French-Soviet relations, thus sealing the fate of Vladimir Vetrov, whose departure for prison camp 272/3, near Irkutsk, was already scheduled.
CHAPTER 29
The Gulag Prisoner
After his first trial, Vetrov spent a surprisingly long time in Lefortovo, almost six months. The fall and then the long Moscow winter were gone, and Vetrov was still in his prison. Vladik even let himself hope his father would serve his sentence in Moscow. Even though he later regretted his naïveté, it was not so far-fetched.
In the case of Valery Rechensky, for instance, the PGU did everything to keep him at Lefortovo as long as possible. He had been sentenced to five years imprisonment. According to Soviet law, one day in prison counted for three days in a camp. Rechensky had already spent several months in Lefortovo first when charged, then when convicted, but his KGB friends insisted he serve his whole sentence in prison. The prosecutor had this to say to them: “Listen, guys, keeping him here until the end of his sentence would be in serious breach of the law. We can’t do it!” The PGU did its absolute best for Rechensky to stay six months in Lefortovo, the equivalent of a year and a half in the Gulag. He was then transferred to a penitentiary; he was released on parole a year later. Which is to say, he served only an eighteen-month sentence for homicide.1
Everyone viewed Rechensky’s case as an unfortunate situation that could have happened to anybody. Vetrov’s case was different—above all, because of his shocking crime, but also because he was under serious suspicion.
“Decent” people were usually not sent to camps for common criminals. The mobsters would have needed no time to take care of convicted policemen, magistrates, prosecutors, or KGB members. There were three prison camps (or “zones” as they were called) for those “accidental” criminals: in Perm, in Nizhny Tagil in the Urals, and in Irkutsk, Siberia. The further away Vetrov was from Moscow, the more difficult it would be for him to send or receive secret messages during visits with his family or through food parcels. So they chose Irkutsk.
By transferring him to this Siberian camp, the KGB was by no means renouncing its intention of digging deeper into Vetrov’s suspected collaboration with a Western secret service. Quite the contrary. The Irkutsk KGB directorate asked its colleagues who were policing the penitentiary to closely study the prisoner. In short, this was now a task for informers.
One day in March 1983, as she met with Petrenko for one of those not exactly allowed visits, Svetlana felt something new had happened. Her protector asked her, “Sveta, could you buy lard and prepare warm clothing?”
“Today?”
“Yes. He leaves tomorrow morning.”
At that moment, not knowing why, Svetlana broke down. Since the evening of the murder, she had held herself together. And now, as she traveled by tram to the Baumansky market, the closest to the prison, she felt tears running down her face, unable to stop them. “I was like a geyser,” she said.
The drama had once more put their relationship to the test. It was no longer a question of who was wrong and who was right. It was a matter of survival. This last year did not square with the twenty-five they’d spent together, in perfect harmony Svetlana assured. This was to her an inexplicable, painful, but brief episode. The tragedy that had taken place that evening in February made her forgive. Svetlana knew Vladimir had truly loved her. She was ready to wait for him and fight for his early release. Vetrov left Moscow with this certitude in his heart. Despite his fifteen-year sentence, he had a chance, with exemplary behavior in the prison camp, to go back home after seven years.
Svetlana received the first letter from her husband in April 1983. In the letter, Vetrov told her about the journey to get to the camp, the most terrible ordeal he ever underwent in his entire life. After Lefortovo, considered a paradise by those who had the opportunity to compare it to the rest of the Soviet prison system, it was a descent into hell—cattle cars, an unbelievable mixed bag of characters, the guards’ brutality, and the ruthlessness of the underworld mobsters. Svetlana even called Petrenko to repeat to him the kind words written about his facility. Ivan Mitrofanovich asked her to give him the letter; he was proud of his smooth running of Lefortovo.
Irkutsk was five thousand kilometers from Moscow. As far as he was from home, and as horrified as he was in this new reality, Vetrov could still be considered a privileged prisoner. Prison camp #272/3 was indeed reserved for criminals with nothing in common with the underworld. Its residents were corrupt policemen, prosecutors, and magistrates or, on the contrary, people of integrity convicted on false accusations made by powerful enemies, and unit directors who implemented unusual management methods; there was even a deputy minister.
Vetrov wrote often, at least once a week. Apparently, the camp rules were not that strict. He described the prisoners’ lives, his companions in misfortune, their stories and memories. He asked Svetlana to keep all his letters; after his release, he hoped, he would write a book about his jail experience.
Penitentiary 272/3 inmates, or “zeki,” were kept busy felling and logging trees. It was hard work, even for men in good physical shape. Vladimir had been growing a beer belly, and drinking had significantly undermined his health. He was assigned to making crates for the transportation of fruit and vegetables. The camp management, as well as the other prisoners, knew he was a former KGB officer. Vetrov was able to make a good reputation for himself. He was put in charge of educational and cultural activities, and he was about to be appointed warehouseman, a promotion that may sound dubious for a KGB lieutenant colonel, but in the camp that was one of the most sought-after jobs.
Large parts of his letters were about family. Vladimir wrote about his love for Svetlana, his concern and worries for Vladik. He asked his wife to come visit. She would have done it, but visits were not allowed before a certain time had elapsed. Svetlana managed to send him a parcel with a Muscovite woman who went to see her husband, befriended by Vetrov. Another time, one of Vetrov’s companions came to see Svetlana after his release, along with his wife. He could not stop singing Volodia’s praises for he was respected by all and liked by many. This visit, though, caused Svetlana to be scolded by Petrenko, who continued to act as her protector: “I told you to meet with no one from the camp! How would you know who those rascals are?”
Unfortunately, the letters were not all saved. Svetlana and Vladik lent Sergei Kostin five letters and three postcards. Vetrov’s handwriting is striking: it does not correspond to a tormented man full of contradictions who had an exceptional fate. It is the handwriting of an ordinary man with no asserted personality. The reading of those letters had other surprises in store. Although, come to think of it, there was nothing that surprising; everything they brought out was perceptible, in a more latent state, in the deeds and words of the hero of this book. These letters are the only opportunity given to Vetrov to speak for himself. This is why they are reproduced here in their entirety; their analysis will be helpful later on. We added excerpts from letters that were confiscated during the second investigation and archived in the new investigation file.2
Greeting card for the New Year 1983 (given to Svetlana during a visit in Lefortovo)
Dearest Vladik, Sveta, Babush
ka [His mother-in-law, who lived with them]:
Sending my best wishes to you, and to Lev, Lila and Nastenka [Lev Barashkov, Svetlana’s brother, his wife and daughter], for the New Year, this wonderful holiday. Wishing you a happy, bright and warm New Year. Sweep away boredom, disappointments and gloom. Be merry, live your lives fully, stay peppy and healthy.
Time is a healer. In life, things come and go, nothing lasts forever, and we forget the bad moments. I want you to believe that our life goes on. It’s on purpose that I say “our,” because I am still with you, my loved ones who are the closest to my heart.
Once again, my best wishes of happiness to you all.
Happy New Year!
Hugs and kisses
Volodia
April 18, 1983-Postcard sent from Irkutsk
My dearest!
Wishing you a Happy Spring Holiday. Be merry and stay healthy. Life goes on. Those are not just words for a song, but the harsh, crude reality. We’ll be happy together again.
Gathered around the festive table, have a symbolic tiny drink to my health.
Once again, hugs and kisses to all.
(Signature)
Letters from Irkutsk
April 6, 1983
Sweetheart, my girl: I have no idea how long I’m going to be here. With a sentence like mine, article 102 of the penal code, you have to serve your fifteen years to the bitter end. Volodka Shevch. [Shevchenko] must have kept contacts in the MVD [Ministry of the Interior], or at the CC [CPSU Central Committee]. Can’t he attempt something? Half of the sentence is a long time away!3 Will I be able to survive?
I think of you all the time, you and Vladik. There are so many things we’ve not had the time to do! And yet, it was all so real; I can only imagine this reality, now. In my mind, our apartment turns into a museum.
May 4, 1983
Svetik!
Sweetheart, I received your letter telling me you got my first message. I am here, nowhere to go to evade punishment and regrets. You’re my smart girl, you do everything you can to console me, calm me down and appeal to my reason. I am being reasonable, don’t worry. Everything is normal. How awful life is here, I already wrote about that. There is no point adding to it. First, that would upset you, secondly, it’s impossible to describe everything. You’ve got to live it to understand. How does a good writer work? Before starting writing, he needs to immerse himself in the atmosphere he wants to re-create. You have to feel reality by all the pores of your skin. The curse here is going hungry all the time, like all my companions; and boredom day in, day out. We don’t know what to do with ourselves.
Currently I have a cold. God forbid! You don’t want to get sick here! They give you the same medicine for everything. The same as in Lefortovo.
Sweetie, don’t panic, please, keep your cool. They say nerve cells can’t repair themselves, true, but how to escape the blues? I understand. In any case, take good care of yourself.
Why are you selling things? I am asking you not to. Keep the objects I like; selling them is not a solution, and you too need them to be able to live as if nothing changed.
The main thing is for me to be released earlier, the rest will follow, I think.
For the car: call Youri Khaj [Yuri Khazhomia, an Abkhaz friend of the Vetrovs], he’ll find a solution. Don’t forget to tell Alexei Ivanovich about it, the garage president [Vetrov’s garage was a cooperative managed by a president]. In fact, it would be better if Lyova [Lev Barashkov] could talk to him, Alexei knows him. I’m glad to hear that Lyova will be on tour and come to Irkutsk; too bad it won’t be before next year. Maybe he’ll manage to come visit me here. Probably through the local philharmonic society.
By the way, the director of this society was imprisoned in our camp for his funny business with Pugacheva, Leshchenko and the others [Alla Pugacheva, Lev Leshchenko, Soviet stars, singers]. Those entertainers had come here, but left scot-free.
Svetik, you mentioned that you might come with Lyova. I am expecting you in August, but if you can’t take the time, let’s wait until next year. It’s not an obligation. My only desire is to see you both again, you and Vladik. Once again, I say to you: take care of yourselves, this is the most important thing.
Congratulations to Vladik; I feel he is trying his best. That’s what he needs to do. I don’t want to labor the point, but he must stay focused on research. Research is what will propel him into professional life. Vladka, you’re a smart kid, good job! Your accomplishments help me endure, if not the hardships, at least the burden of my situation. Don’t worry, son, I’ll come back, and we’ll implement my ideas. You’ll help me, you’ll be my support.
Svetik, give my love to the girls, and tell them I really appreciate them helping you. Stick together, it helps in life. What’s the latest with Sasha Dementiev, is he back? How is Nina doing? Write to me, and tell them to write, too; it is permitted. How is Grekova? Shevchenko? Did he disappear or not? Give me all the details. When writing, pretend you are talking to me.
Why doesn’t Mila want to go to our village with Nastya? It’s great there.
I wish Vladik success in his studies, with excellent grades on his exams, nothing less. I’m glad he doesn’t struggle with colloidal chemistry, it’s a tough subject.
I’ve got to stop writing now. Say hi and wish good health to all who still remember me. Talk about Yasnov4 with G. Vasilev. [Galina Rogatina] You never know, something may come out of it.
Love,
(Signature)
Little fox, I send kisses to you and Vladik. And also to grandma.
May 10, 1983
I assure you I’m hanging in there, I am not resigned to my fate. I’m simply exhausted, tired to death. But if I were told to start all over again, I would not change a single minute of my life, and would not want to live a new life.
May 1983
Svetik, our life is not over. I’ll come back, and everything will be fine again. We’ll be happy, enormously happy, like everybody else. It would be great to go to…you know what I mean, but we have to be a little more patient.
#9
June 6, 1983
Svetik! Vladia! Babushka!
As I said in my previous letter, I received everything. Turns out Elena brought a lot of news. Volodia [Vetrov’s fellow inmate who had a visit from his wife Elena] transmitted everything, while warning me about what you wanted to tell me. We could and should have expected it, it’s not for nothing that I had suggested in one of my last letters to send the mail to Galka. Well, it doesn’t matter. Adversity strengthens courage and character, it sharpens the mind and focuses one’s thoughts.
I haven’t solved the job issue yet. They promised I’ll get it by the end of the month; it is still taken. Ah, one more thing: do not write about your reactions to some of the information I send you to avoid feeding the gossip here. Don’t worry, for God’s sake, everything will be OK. I’ve had the feeling recently that I was here temporarily, that I would soon go home. Mirage, illusion, but it certainly raises my spirits.
Svetik, for the pants, could you dye my light-color German pair? They’re strong, I could wear them here. Send them to me, no point to spend more money to buy new ones. I’ve caused you enough needless expenses. Anyway…
A thought crossed my mind: what about, indeed, asking Yu. Khazh. to write to his parents about me and the parcels? I think they’d know how to find an arrangement. Don’t even think about coming this year. You’ve had enough to worry about as it is, you went through a lot of bad moments because of me. The best would be to come with Lyova. He could stay a week or two, and you could stay a few days, three maybe, like Elena did. It would be great. Call her, she’ll explain to you how it works.
How are you all doing, over there? What’s new? How is Vladik doing? I worry a lot about him. He got his share of misfortune too, and has to go through trials that will give him a sturdy character. I hope he’ll hang in there, he is a lot like me in everything, and me, I know I’ll overcome this ordeal and will be with you
again. But you must wait for me with all you’ve got. “Wait for me, and I’ll return. Only wait very hard.”5
If the misfortune that hit you added wrinkles to your face, Svetik, I won’t notice them. They suit you, they “enhance” the beauty of your intelligent and noble face. I kiss your lips and your eyes…remember? “It was not long ago, it was…a long time ago.”6 Don’t forget, my darling little kitten.
Figure 7. Two pages of a letter sent to Svetlana from the Gulag. “Everything will pass. The darkness surrounding me will open and, like Christ, I will walk toward you crossing a sea of blood.”
How come Vladik doesn’t write? I know he is busy, but is it that impossible to find just five minutes? Just one minute would bring me so much happiness. I wrote you before that I kiss the lines in your letters; they are sacred to me.
Here, I read “Prometheus” by G. Serebryakova. K. Marx was a unique and remarkable man in his own right, and boy was he right on the money when he wrote about the toadying and the bowing and scraping around him, etc. No such personalities today among our leaders, and it is too bad. Turns out, his wife Jenny had had smallpox, which disfigured her. I did not know that. Overall, a great, intelligent book. Vladik would be well advised to read it. It tells about the workers’ movement, and Marx the man.
Did you have a nice trip on the cruise ship? You must have brought back wonderful, unforgettable memories. That’s the right thing to do. Life goes on, one has to live and fight. Only the brave survive in this life. Courage is not simply to throw yourself onto a pillbox like Matrosov did.7 That was an impulse, a gathering of the highest, maybe stupid, spiritual strength; but I am talking about a different kind of courage, the courage of facing every second of daily life hardships, when banging one’s head against a wall of silence and indifference, when sensing a lack of sincerity piercing through words of condolences. Seeing all of it, but ignoring it, calmly and coldly, that’s what courage is. Well, my dearest ones, chin up! Everything will pass. The darkness surrounding me will open and, like Christ, I will walk toward you crossing a sea of blood. I’ll survive. [see Figure 7]