Farewell

by Eric Raynaud

  Since Vetrov was the one under the most serious suspicion, his handwriting was the first to be analyzed by a graphologist. He had come full circle.12

  In all truth, the exploitation of the treasures supplied by Farewell had started as early as 1981,13 without necessarily threatening his safety. William Bell, a radar specialist at Hughes Aircraft, was on a list of over seventy foreign KGB informers. He was the first to be arrested. There were certainly other very targeted operations of which we are not aware. Finally, in April 1983, the sudden wealth of information available to French counterintelligence came out in the open.

  In particular, at that time the DST warned West German secret services that a major mole was operating at Messerschmitt, FRG’s main weapon manufacturer. The mole was no small fry. Manfred Rotsch was head of the planning department of the aviation firm Messerschmitt-Bolkow-Blohm (MBB). Over seventeen years of collaboration with the KGB, he had transmitted top secret information to the Soviets regarding the Tornado supersonic aircraft, and the Hot and Kormoran missiles. The Germans acted cautiously. Rotsch was arrested only in October 1984.14

  The trap also closed on Pierre Bourdiol. After Vetrov left France, he had been handled by Evgeni Mashkov, Alexander Kamensky, and Valery Tokarev, the Rogatins’ friend. Mashkov was expelled in 1978, and Kamensky in 1983. Despite the DST being hot on Bourdiol’s heels since Farewell had denounced him in March 1981, Tokarev left France on his own in April 1982. Later, the PGU decided to end the Bourdiol operation. The explanation given to the few officers who knew about it was the following. Pending a criminal investigation, Vetrov might talk to other Lefortovo inmates. He would not refrain from telling them about his KGB work, including during his posting in France. It was not impossible that he would mention recruiting and handling Pierre Bourdiol. A few Jewish prisoners were supposed to be released soon. That made them candidates for emigration, since they were, in those years, the only Soviet citizens who had the right to legally leave the communist paradise. So, in order not to blow Bourdiol’s cover, it was decided to leave him dormant. Our witness always thought this explanation was dubious. It seems it was meant only for internal consumption, to feed the rumors in Yasenevo hallways. As was established, the PGU had grounds to suspect Vetrov’s treason. In case of uncertainty, the first measure was to ensure the agent’s safety.

  Bourdiol was arrested a year after he had ceased his espionage activity, in November 1983, and imprisoned in Fresnes on December 1. Being concerned with Bourdiol’s family’s well-being while their agent was in jail, the KGB decided to send money. In December 1983, Bourdiol’s last handler, Valery Tokarev, was included in a delegation representing the organization Intercosmos, scheduled to go to Paris; but the DST denied him the visa. Did French counterintelligence suspect that Tokarev’s mission had little to do with the conquest of space?

  As far as Bourdiol was concerned, he had known for a long time the behavior to adopt. In case of his arrest, the KGB had fine-tuned a “legend” he had to stick to during the investigation. He could admit to transmitting documents to Soviet “specialists,” but those documents would be described as reference material and catalogs, stamped “confidential” but not “secret.” Apparently, Bourdiol followed his handlers’ instructions. He was also smart enough to collaborate with the investigators. For those two reasons, the French justice system showed some clemency. Sentenced to five years’ imprisonment (three with suspended sentence) for “intelligence with a foreign power,” Bourdiol was released soon after the trial because he had already served over two years in remand prison.

  Bourdiol’s example is a good illustration of the different approaches adopted respectively by the PGU and the DST regarding their agents. The difference was not only in the precautions taken by the former to spare his sources an arrest or a severe sentence. Even when a source was “burned” and, therefore, was no longer of any use, Soviet intelligence made it its moral duty to assist, if not the agent himself when impossible to do so, at least his family. Here again, this is the difference between a powerful external intelligence service and a small counterintelligence agency like the DST, which had neither the culture nor the means for such practices. Vetrov knew the system inside out. During his long sleepless nights in his cell, was he disappointed or, on the contrary, relieved by the fact that his silent French partners obviously applied another line of conduct?

  After the expulsion of “the forty-seven” by France, other Western countries that had been informed by the DST of KGB activities on their territories made a clean sweep too, especially considering the fact that the Soviet Union had not retaliated by expelling French diplomats in return. In 1983 alone, a total of 148 Soviet intelligence officers had to pack and go home; eighty-eight of them were expelled from Western Bloc countries.

  It is unlikely that, behind the barbed wire fence of his prison camp in Irkutsk, Vetrov ever got wind of his former colleagues’ true exodus, and of the outcome of his efforts at destroying Soviet technological espionage. Too bad for him: he would have been pleased to learn that his revenge on his service was a done deal, and that 1983 was an annus horribilis for the KGB. For Vetrov, though, each new consequence of his betrayal could only increase the bill.

  On August 30, 1983, the criminal investigation department of the KGB launched a trial procedure based on article 64, paragraph A of the penal code.15 Vetrov was charged with betrayal of the homeland.

  CHAPTER 32

  The Game Is Up

  The Farewell case was doubly paradoxical. This important mole was handled not by an intelligence service, but by counterespionage. Conversely, when his covert activities were discovered, the inquiry was not entrusted to counterespionage, but to an intelligence service. Convinced of Vetrov’s culpability, the PGU had no intentions of letting others stick their noses into its files, and that included the KGB Second Chief Directorate.

  In fact, two services were investigating this unparalleled espionage case. Officially, the KGB investigation department (independent from the PGU and headquartered in Lefortovo) was in charge. Valery Dmitrievich Sergadeev1 led the investigation. He was the very man who waited for Svetlana on that day when she set off again to Lefortovo, a route she had come to loath; he also conducted the search in her apartment. Treason also directly concerned the PGU 5K department, whose mission was to prevent any infiltration of Soviet intelligence services.

  Thanks to Igor Prelin, who had studied the case and discussed it with many of his colleagues involved in the dossier, we were able to learn the main points. As was established, the investigation magistrates had gathered three “watertight” pieces of evidence against Vetrov. In the end, they were not even used. But let’s proceed in order.

  It took time before Vetrov was transferred back to Moscow. It would be naïve to believe that, the KGB being a state within the State, the system pandered to its every desires and whims. Like anywhere else, there was the bureaucratic process. The PGU sent the KGB investigation department a letter signed by Vladimir Kryuchkov, requesting an examining magistrate be dispatched to the Irkutsk camp to investigate a new crime. Sergadeev, the appointed magistrate, did not feel like spending months in Siberia, so he persuaded his superiors (and he was right) that having the accused in Moscow would facilitate everyone’s work. The KGB referred the request to the Ministry of the Interior, responsible for transferring the convict from Irkutsk to Moscow. It was now September 1983.

  We are able to describe Vetrov’s first interrogation in detail because for Sergadeev this was an unusual investigation, and he told his colleague Igor Prelin about it.2

  It was a “five-o’clock teatime,” with all the nuances existing between the Soviet and British ways of life. Vetrov was escorted to an office in Lefortovo. He was wearing the same suit he had on at the time of his arrest eighteen months earlier. Five months in the Gulag had left their mark. Vetrov was very docile, abundantly punctuating his words with “That’s right, citizen magistrate!” or “Not at all, citizen magistrate.” He was now denied the p
rivilege of calling everyone “comrade,” since a convict or a suspect could only address others as “citizen.” The interrogation was conducted in an almost relaxed atmosphere. Both men were having tea. The conversation was about life in the Gulag. Sergadeev had already read Vetrov’s positive evaluation from Irkutsk: no breach of camp rules, good relations with camp management and other inmates. The tone was fairly benevolent.

  When the magistrate asked him whether he had any idea of why he was transferred back to Moscow, Vetrov replied, “I believe, citizen magistrate, that it is related to my case. They must have found mitigating circumstances. Maybe they’ll shorten my sentence…?”

  Vetrov was about to be disillusioned.

  “No…you see, the murder was investigated by the Military Prosecutor’s Office. This time, you’ve been transferred at the KGB’s request, and I am a KGB investigating magistrate. As you well know, the KGB is not interested in ordinary crimes. Our job is to investigate crimes against the State.” He added before Vetrov had a chance to react, “That’s it for today. Go back to your cell and have a good think about what might have triggered a new investigation. Think hard, and I hope you’ll decide in the end to tell us all about it, candidly. It is extremely important. Your fate, your life even, will depend on your sincerity. If I can give you a piece of advice, it’s this one.”

  The first interrogation was over.3

  The next morning, preliminaries were much shorter.

  “You thought about what I told you yesterday?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Are you going to talk?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what do you have to say?”

  Vetrov made a confession. There was no need to contradict him and present him with incriminating evidence. That very morning, he wrote a long confession wherein he characterized his action as treason, deserving capital punishment. According to his investigation file, this was on September 24, 1983.

  The examining magistrates admitted that they would have had their work cut out for them if Vetrov had decided to deny the whole thing. His case was a very peculiar one. There were no suitcases filled with rubles hidden in his dacha attic, no odd containers shaped like, perhaps, a piece of coal. There was only the miniature camera Vladik had thrown away, but it was never discussed. Vetrov, however, had made up his mind. He would fight for his life with the investigation, not against it.

  Vetrov was no fool, and he did not overdo it. He never mentioned his hesitations before being repatriated from France. Supposedly, everything started when he contacted Alexandre de Paul, during that trade show in Moscow. No Canadian story ever surfaced during the investigation. Vetrov often tried hedging. When he knew the investigation could not refute them, he made up stories. Thus, he assured them that the rendezvous with “Paul” occurred on Lenin Hills and happened only from September to December 1981. It was not before October 26, 1983, that he mentioned Xavier Ameil and “Marguerite.” He delayed talking about their role, he said, “to spare them.” In fact, to the very end of the interrogations—the last one with a summary being dated April 20, 1984—Vetrov kept changing and correcting his statements. The Ferrants remain convinced to this day that Vetrov postponed his confession as long as he could to protect his handlers.

  The investigation was controlled by two divisions of the PGU, the first one being Directorate T itself. Its role was to accurately determine the kind of information Vetrov transmitted to the DST and to evaluate the damage done. The other one was Directorate K, internal counterintelligence, interested in the operational aspects of the affair, including contacting method, the handing over of documents, and relations with his French handlers.

  Contrary to the common belief regarding the interrogation process of the KGB, the investigation took place informally, over tea. On November 5, 1983, Vetrov identified Patrick and Madeleine Ferrant from pictures and then, on November 9, Jacques Prévost. One day, they took him to the Borodino Museum area to go over the safety route he followed with Ferrant.

  Vetrov strived to convince the examining magistrates that his collaboration with the DST was not at all the result of a thought-out plan or a determined resolution. He was simply a disgruntled bureaucrat, poorly treated by his service, who acted on impulse. “I worked with the French in a sloppy way, giving them information indiscriminately,” he said one day. Another time, they pointed out his carelessness. Vetrov answered, “If I ignored the rules of clandestine action, it’s because I didn’t care.” Whether the thought crossed his mind or not, by those words he continued taking revenge on his service. By being unable to catch a spy who could not care less about his safety, counterintelligence services—the PGU 5K department, and the KGB Second Chief Directorate—had indeed demonstrated their incompetence.

  Vetrov’s prosecutors within the KGB, less gullible than DST’s “Monsieur Maurice,” had some difficulties understanding his motivations and his relations with his handlers.

  “The French are asking you why a man like you, who had everything in life, could, overnight, gamble his life away. You answered, ‘Because I like France too much.’ And so they concluded at the DST, ‘Hmm? No shadow of a doubt, then, his collaboration is sincere.’ Is that what you want us to believe? Surely they aren’t that stupid?”

  “They’re French,” Vetrov tried to explain. “To French people, it is natural for anyone who visited their country to put France above any other. They won’t believe you if you tell them you don’t admire France.”4

  Sergadeev shook his head doubtfully. He had to consult with PGU colleagues who had lived in France in order to accept Vetrov’s argument. Yet it would have been enough for the examining magistrates to ask themselves about the image the Soviet Union projected abroad. Most Soviet citizens were indeed convinced that foreigners could only be impressed by a country where milkmaids were sent to parliament, veterans visited schools once a month to tell children about their feats of arms, and black people were not persecuted.

  Another significant aspect of Vetrov’s defense strategy was his resentment towards his service. Amidst the general climate of stagnation, he wanted to act. His suggestions were forgotten in a drawer, his analysis declared erroneous by Directorate T. Seeing his efforts treated with contempt, Vetrov would have decided to take revenge on his superiors. He named, in particular, his department head, Vladimir Alexandrovich Dementiev, and the director of scientific and technical intelligence, Leonid Sergeevich Zaitsev.

  It goes without saying that if Vetrov could voice his grievances towards his immediate superiors, it would have been extremely imprudent on his part to extend them to the regime as a whole, the way he used to do with the French. At this point in the investigation, Vetrov must have believed he still had a chance to survive.

  After hours of interrogation, Sergadeev drew the following profile of the prisoner: Vetrov was an impulsive man. He was easily overcome by his emotions and thoughtlessly embarked upon actions that he would later pay for dearly. Thus, bearing grudges against his superiors, he made the decision to betray his country, costing him his life. Likewise, when he killed an unfortunate witness in the heat of the action, he did not imagine that such a serious crime could trigger a more thorough investigation, eventually exposing his treason.

  This second investigation did not spare Ludmila Ochikina either. She had to give new depositions. In the fall of 1983, she was feeling better and was able to go to Lefortovo by herself.

  The hearings with the investigating magistrates were exclusively about Vetrov’s espionage activities. Ludmila had always claimed she knew nothing about it. From the magistrates’ insistence, she understood that her former lover claimed the contrary. The investigation brought them face to face. Vetrov tried to convince her that she had given him such and such documents. “True,” she said. “I am the one who gave them to you, but I was giving them to a man close to my heart, whom I wanted to help in his work. How could I have suspected you would pass them to foreigners?” Ochikina strongly defended herself, and the exam
ining magistrates were forced to declare she was innocent.

  Ludmila realized that the PGU was, above all, eager to protect the honor of their uniform. One day, as she was reading her interrogation report before signing it, she ran into a sentence stating she had threatened Vetrov to tell the Party committee everything. She was outraged. There had been no such question during her deposition. Reluctantly, the magistrate struck out the sentence.

  Similarly, the theme of the gifts resurfaced. It was only during the second investigation, eighteen months after the murder attempt, that the new investigating magistrates, from the KGB this time, searched Ochikina’s apartment. Ludmila could not help being sarcastic. “Because you believe that if I had compromising items at home, I would not have dared getting rid of them before your visit?”

  Ludmila still had the pendant and the ring in a drawer. The perfume bottles were already empty, though.

  “Why do you need this? They were bought in Moscow,” said Ochikina.

  “Don’t worry,” answered the magistrate taking the items away, “we’ll return them to you.”

  In substance and in details, this whole search business was ludicrous. To cap it all off, the magistrates kindly requested she give them back the search warrant they presented when they arrived.

  During the months that followed, Vetrov was authorized to have visits from his family. Here is the account of a visit in an atmosphere that does not square with the idea one has of such circumstances.

  It was the first and the last time Vladik saw his father since he had returned from Irkutsk. He went to Lefortovo with his future wife, Svetlana “junior,” who had been told everything. They did not let her go in. Vladik entered the investigation building alone. Previously, the visits took place in a room on the first floor, but this time, the guards took him upstairs.