by Eric Raynaud
Apart from the fact that Vetrov’s letters are totally deprived of any sense of regret, there is no deep or original thinking either about the exceptional destiny he had lived. Could it have been possible to express such thoughts in censored mail? Each time he touches upon a more profound subject, it is with an accumulation of platitudes that do not let his personality shine through. A wise man said, “What we think, we become.” Apart from his bitterness towards imprisonment, Vetrov’s thoughts are very mundane: eating, killing boredom, and organizing his life in the camp as comfortably as possible.
His favorite topic is the same as for all convicts, the longing for freedom. Vetrov seems to have understood from the outset that only idiots serve their complete sentences. So, despite his loathing of the guards, he wastes no time in being on the best terms with camp management. He becomes responsible for educational and cultural activities. He is already expecting to get the most sought-after job, warehouseman. Vetrov relentlessly bombards his wife with requests to find so-and-so, who might be able to get him out of the camp; the example of Yasnov is the most telling. He keeps building projects for after his release. This is why he is so insistent Svetlana sell nothing of their precious assets. If he can stick to the line of conduct he set for himself, he has a chance to be released on parole after serving seven years.
He forgets the most basic prudence. Imagine the expression on the face of the KGB investigating magistrate who is convinced, despite the lack of evidence, of Vetrov’s treason, when he reads these words: “It would be great to go to…you know what I mean, but we have to be a little more patient.”
The most shocking letter, though, is probably the one about the cross-claim. The murderer, who has a thousand times enough money to pay the full allowance, counts each ruble he owes to the victim’s child. Where is the man who impressed everyone with his liberalities? What happened to Svetlana’s attentive escort? To the generous and affluent KGB officer?
And in general, what happened to this perfectly normal, even nice individual, to this good patriot, albeit critical of the regime? What happened in Vetrov’s life for the nice student, the lover, the young father to have become this amoral, selfish, hypocritical character? A question too far-reaching and too difficult for a definite answer.
Could the answer lie in a mental disorder? It is common knowledge that psychopaths have a real talent to behave as normal people for very long periods of time. The pathology affects only a specific segment of their personality, and it reveals itself only at an advanced stage. Until conditions are met that expose the subject’s pathology, even people who are intimate with the individual may not notice alarming signs. Often such pathologies make the patients very cunning. Maybe Vetrov was experiencing the early stages of a mental disease, which would explain everything that does not square in his case. A psychiatric examination performed during the investigation by the Serbsky Institute of Judicial Psychiatry had attested to Vetrov’s criminal responsibility. However, in the presence of an apparently normal individual, the procedure was often a mere formality, as in the cases of perfectly sane people who filled the KGB psychiatric wards on this institute’s recommendations.
All things considered, in Vetrov’s case, there was no sign of psychopathology. At the most, there was irrationality, mood swings, and impulses—often unmotivated—being amplified by alcoholism.
Many witnesses tend to attribute Vetrov’s behavior to his drinking and, incidentally, this weakness is part of the Russian culture. Vetrov operated in countries like France and Canada where drinking hard liquor is not condemned by public opinion, and an extrovert, Vetrov enjoyed parties and feasts. Finally, this behavior compensated for the stresses that are part of an operative’s job. In fact, wherever we look, everything in Vetrov’s life was leading him to seek refuge in alcohol.2
This being said, Vetrov was was never diagnosed as a chronic alcoholic, he was never sent to rehab, and there had been no threats to fire him on this account. Be that as it may, at that stage, drinking accentuates certain personality traits, such as impulsiveness, imprudence, or presumptuousness. This explains many of the foolish things Vetrov did while being handled by the French—the need to show off, the image given to others and to oneself being much more important than the risks involved. This explains also the secretsharing with his son, whose age and experience were not suited for the role of confidant, and for whom the moral burden was undoubtedly too heavy. Likewise, being still a kid, Vladik could say imprudent things to others, which might have caused his father’s ruin. This explains Vetrov’s certitude that his own professional abilities could compensate for his partners’ shortcomings or for bad luck.
In addition, excessive drinking leads to a diminishment of personality; emotions become simpler and cruder over time. The individual becomes less and less self-critical and loses the ability to censor his actions and to regret them. An alcoholic bothers less and less about choosing the means to solve his problems. Actions lose their moral dimension, as in the cheap lies he told to both women, hypocrisy, scorn for one’s uniform, betrayal of the homeland, and a murder attempt on a woman he once loved.
It would be too simplistic, however, to blame it all on the drinking. It appears that many shocking elements in Vetrov’s behavior can be explained by his duplicity. The ability to put oneself in someone else’s shoes or to pretend to be somebody you are not is part of every intelligence officer’s acquired knowledge. Vladimir must have experienced the strange feeling many actors experience, no longer knowing exactly who it is in them who is crying, who is laughing, even when in the presence of close friends. Is it their inner self, or a character they can chase away in an instant? Like them, Vetrov probably knew how to win his audience over, be it only one person, by getting into the part of the character he could have been or wanted to be, with this feigned sincerity that draws on the depth of his imagination where any transformation is possible. Incidentally, there are so many gifted amateurs who spend their lives pretending to be what they are not and whose true identity is nearly impossible to grasp.
Different from trivial hypocrisy, this power, which is the operative’s required skill of “psychological mobility,” had not been used by Vetrov for years, since his unfortunate return from Canada. Vetrov put it back to use for his long plunge into the abyss that was his collaboration with the DST. Actually, it may be what slowed his fall down the most. Exacerbated by the intensity of his suicidal adventure, Vetrov’s duplicity is increasingly more reminiscent of a dual personality syndrome. Was he ever aware of it? The fact remains that, for an observant outsider, the duality of his life during the last years was obvious. Double agent working for the KGB and the DST. Double life between Svetlana and Ludmila. Double standards in his actions: Vetrov was generous in public, but pathologically stingy in his private life; he spoke kindly of people in front of them, but unkindly behind their backs. Yet all this is perfectly in line with the psychological norm, including what is called symbolic behavior, aiming at projecting a good image of oneself.
As a more general rule, the double thinking system inherent in a totalitarian society, described by authors such as Orwell or Zinoviev, creates an environment conducive to schizophrenic behaviors. What to say then about a man who was in a constant double life—privately, professionally, and politically?
Likewise, it does not take a PhD in psychology to understand Vetrov’s blunders in the presence of close friends and relatives, all his remarks alluding to a life more substantial and exciting than people around him could ever imagine. Ambitious, with very high self-esteem, former champion, former brilliant operative, for the first time in many years he was again somebody…and not anybody! His existence, in his own country, must not have been known by anybody above the PGU Directorate T chief. The PGU head, Vladimir Kryuchkov, discovered his existence only during the investigation. And yet Vetrov was considered highly important by the president of a powerful country like France (he did not know that Ronald Reagan knew about him as well). A lot ensued f
rom this, even if only in his dreams. He could on a moment’s notice receive a French passport, have a car of his choice delivered to him, or buy an island. Even if certain consequences of his collaboration with the DST were likely to have been pure inventions (like the banquet organized in his honor at the French embassy), this hero could not be content with remaining anonymous. He had to show others and himself how important he was, one way or the other. He could barely contain his need to drop his mask. This is why he confided so much in his son. Getting ready for a departure was much less interesting to Vetrov than an opportunity to express his emotions freely. He needed an audience. Vladik, who admired his father, was the ideal spectator. It was his son who had to know that, far from being a lieutenant colonel sidelined by his service years ago, he was a first-class figure in the world of intelligence.
In fact, Vetrov’s problem was that he was an extrovert. He found self-realization in the outside world. He liked women, good food, and showing up unannounced at home with a group of friends. Discipline, reflection, self-control, and simple calculation were not his strong points. The episode of the board he had to saw was very revealing in that regard. All he had to do was get a measuring tape and measure the board; instead, he cut three boards before he got one of the right length.
Impulsiveness and extroversion are a mole’s two worst enemies. Without a doubt, independently of the DST’s own mistakes, Vetrov’s behavior would have caused his downfall, sooner or later. An introvert like a colonel Abel, the famous KGB “illegal” operating in the United States from 1948 to 1956, could have remained for decades in hiding, needing no other satisfaction than knowing he was serving his country.3 In Vetrov’s case, the fundamental characteristics of his personality were at odds with the situation he was in. He was not allowed to present the image of this important character he had become. For an extrovert, this constraint was unbearable, and this probably explains a lot.
On the other hand, some facts are difficult to understand.
Even if Vetrov initially had no intention of killing his mistress, he certainly meant to be “tough” with her. Consequently, why did this clandestine action specialist not carefully prepare and control the execution of his plan, and why did he not choose a more isolated place? Vetrov and Ludmila both mentioned that a bus stop was nearby, and people likely to be getting out of the bus. If he was planning to kill her, he needed a place to hide the corpse. How to explain the fanciful tales Vetrov told Rogatina, an hour after the murder? According to this account, he had killed Ludmila with a hammer, blinded her in one eye, and mowed her over with his car, sending her flying several meters.
There is a hypothesis that sheds light on the blatant contradictions observed in the execution of the crime. It was suggested by the eminent Russian criminologist Dr. Mikhail Kochenov, whom Sergei Kostin consulted about his doubts. This hypothesis, at first, shocked Kostin, then filled him with enthusiasm, and then made him uncomfortable again. Tested on many contacts at the MUR (Moscow Department of Criminal Investigations), on former convicts and on KGB members, it seems an attractive assumption. Let’s look at it in more detail.
When it all started, Vetrov intended to collaborate with the French for three years, until his retirement, providing a comfortable life for his family until the end of their days and an enviable future for his son. However, the game turned out to be much riskier than he thought. Furthermore, Vetrov knew that, in case of danger, he was on his own. It soon became clear to him that it was only a matter of time before they identified him as a Western mole.
It is also possible that Vetrov thought the French were not likely to let him get out of the game that easily. He himself knew very well how to use the spiral into which he attracted his foreign agents, starting with seemingly innocuous actions. Now he would be the one to experience it. The French had too much proof of his treason and, therefore, too many means of pressure.
It may have become urgent for Vetrov to find a way to make the DST lose all interest in him. There were not that many possibilities. He had to leave the KGB, which was easier said than done. As with all secret services, the KGB had a lot of entries, but very few exits.
It was out of the question for an officer to resign without a valid reason, because he no longer thought his job was useful, for instance, or because he had discovered a new passion in life, like cucumber growing, and intended to devote the rest of his life to nurturing it. It had to be an objective, external reason, beyond his control, like a health issue.
Vetrov could, in theory, pretend he was sick and needed a prolonged treatment that would prevent him from working. In practice, it was much trickier. The very idea of leaving the KGB on his own initiative was dubious, especially three years from retirement, and taking into account that he would lose 75 percent of his future pension. This is why the candidate for resignation was hospitalized for a period that could last several months, during which time the patient could undergo all the necessary tests. It was impossible to simulate a disease, except for the immeasurable side effects of a head injury, for instance. The general conclusion, however, was that the whole thing was a pretext; the second phase of the hospitalization was then performed even more thoroughly. It was the examination under a microscope of the entire life of the “patient”: friends, relations, adulterous affairs, and contacts with secret holders, and individuals meeting with foreigners. Such an investigation could collect a testimony proving there was something going on. For both reasons, this solution was not an option for Vetrov, a healthy man with forbidden relationships.
Vetrov must have thought about divorce as a way to leave the KGB; he would petition for divorce and declare his intention to marry Ludmila. Members of Soviet secret services could not be divorced, and they had to be Communist Party members. Men who have served in the KGB for over twenty years are convinced that the PGU did everything in its power to prevent members from satisfying their longing for freedom through divorce. An officer divorcing while on active duty, even though he was fired, would have set a bad example, encouraging affairs at work; in short, it would have damaged the moral climate within the collective, a collective which was supposed to be beyond reproach.
What else could be done to be excluded from the KGB without arousing the suspicion of internal counterintelligence? Vetrov appears to have found a way. Although he might have hesitated at first, an alarming sign identified by him alone, or a strong intuition, prompted him to seek refuge without delay.
Paradoxical as it may seem, a criminal is nowhere more secure than behind bars. This is a basic rule of the underworld. In case of imminent danger, the first concern of the individual who, for example, committed two rapes and three murders is to get himself arrested for a minor offense like the theft of a suitcase in a railroad station. He would get three years of imprisonment, during which time no one would look for him in jail. By the time of his release, the investigation file for the rapes and the murders would have been closed. In addition to the policemen, magistrates, lawyers, and former convicts interviewed, this was also confirmed by Vladimir Kryuchkov, who thought Vetrov was in a hurry to be tried and sentenced so he could lie low in the Gulag, praying to God for the KGB to forget about his existence.
Vetrov had to know about these tactics. In the first place, he had studied law at the “School in the Woods.” Studying the penal code was among the most interesting of topics because this dark side of life had no place in the Soviet press. Moreover, instructors made a point to provide examples from real cases in order to make the dry and lifeless articles of the code more palatable. A trick of this nature had good chances to strike Vetrov’s imagination and not be forgotten. It is also possible that such a topic was covered during special studies. After all, an operative abroad, with no diplomatic cover, was running the risk of finding himself in a situation where it would be in his interest to be thrown in jail for something less serious than espionage. Of particular importance is the short note in Vetrov’s evaluation file stating that he “served as a military ex
amining magistrate.” Consequently, not only could he have known about those things, it was his duty to know them.
It would have been ludicrous for a KGB officer to snatch purses in the subway or burglarize his neighbors’ apartment. Nobody would have bought the story. The only option left was a crime of passion. It could not have come at a better time considering that Vetrov’s romantic problems seemed equally unsolvable. In this way, he could escape the DST stranglehold, who would have nothing more to expect from him and could not blackmail him since he would be in Siberia, while putting an end to his troubles with Svetlana, whom he clearly did not want to lose. Ludmila Ochikina had the profile of the ideal victim.
Carefully read, the Russian Federation Penal Code has enough in it to remove the last hesitations of anyone planning to take someone’s life away. In Vetrov’s time as today, there is article 104, “Homicide perpetrated in a state of intense psychological agitation,” in a sort of temporary dementia. To punish this kind of crime, the legislator envisioned loss of liberty up to five years, or forced labor up to two years. Dr. Kochenov mentions the case of an officer who, coming home for lunch unexpectedly, found his wife in her lover’s arms. On that day the military man was on duty in his unit and was carrying a weapon. He pulled his Makarov out and killed his rival. He was given a three-year suspended sentence. Naturally, he was expelled from the Communist Party and dismissed from the army. However, apart from the duration of the investigation, he remained free. Vetrov could have known about other such cases.