Did you yourself get to the bottom of this story?
No. Frankly, I didn’t even know the details. Later, I looked into it for myself.
And did you find it interesting to dig into the details of this case because you wanted to know the kind of person you were working with? Or did you never have doubts at all?
You know, I was absolutely convinced that he was a decent person—100 percent decent—because I had dealt with him for many years. I know how he thinks, what he values, what he doesn’t value, what he is capable of, and what he is incapable of.
Remember the episode in the film The Sword and the Shield, when the Germans are trying to recruit the Soviet officer? They say, “You think we’ll let you die a hero? Here’s a photo showing you in a German uniform. That’s it, you’re a traitor.” The Soviet officer grabs a chair and tries to hit the recruiter. Then the recruiter shoots him and says, “It was the wrong idea from the start. There was no sense in blackmailing him. Obviously, that officer’s reputation in his homeland is flawless.”
The same is true of Sobchak. He is a decent man with a flawless reputation. Furthermore, he is very bright, open, and talented. Even though we are very different, I really like Anatoly Aleksandrovich. I really like people like him. He’s real.
Few people know that Anatoly Aleksandrovich and I had very close, friendly, confidential conversations. We used to talk a lot, especially on our trips abroad, when we were left virtually alone for several days. He was a friend and mentor to me.13
Lyudmila Putina:
That summer of 1996, right after the elections, we moved out of the city to the house that we had been building for six years, about 100 kilometers outside of Petersburg. We lived there about six weeks. We sewed curtains, cleaned, settled in, and arranged the furniture. As soon as we had finished all this, the house burned down. It is a sad story. It burned to the ground.
Marina Yentaltseva:
We drove out to the Putins’ dacha. They had just finished building it. We got there quite late, toward evening. My husband and I had wanted to go back the same day, but Vladimir Vladimirovich and Lyudmila Aleksandrovna started in: “What are you saying? Let’s heat up the banya and have a steam bath!” And their daughters chimed in, “Let Svetulya stay!” Svetulya is our daughter.
Our house was made of brick, but finished with wood inside. On that day I was out at the dacha with my wife and kids. We had just moved in. Marina Yentaltseva, my secretary, had just arrived with her husband and daughter. We men went into the sauna, which is right inside the house on the first floor. We steamed ourselves for a while, then had a dip in the river and came back to the sauna rest room. Suddenly, I heard a crack. I saw some smoke, and then a flame came shooting out. In my loudest and most commanding voice, I yelled for everybody to get out of the house. The sauna was on fire.
Katya was in the kitchen, eating something. She turned out to be the most disciplined. When I shouted “Everybody get out of the house!” she dropped her spoon on the table and leapt out of the house without asking any questions. Then she stood outside the house and watched. I ran upstairs.
My older daughter, Masha, was another story. She was floundering around on the second floor. . . . I took Masha by the hand and brought her out to the balcony. Then I tore the sheets off the bed, knotted them together, tied them to the balcony railing, and said to Masha: “Climb down!” She got scared: “I’m not going, I’m afraid!” I threatened her: “I’m going to pick you up right away and throw you off here like a puppy! What’s with you? Don’t you understand that the house is about to burn down?!” I took her by the scruff of the neck and tossed her over the railing, and they caught her at the bottom.
Then I suddenly remembered there was a briefcase in our room with cash in it—all our savings. What would we do without that money? I went back and started looking, feeling around with my hand. I thought, well, I’ve got a few more seconds of this and then I won’t be able to . . . I stopped looking for the stash. I ran out to the balcony. Flames were shooting upward. I clambered over the railing, grabbing the sheets, and began to lower myself down. And here’s an interesting detail: I was stark naked from the banya. I had only just managed to wrap a sheet around myself. So you can imagine the scene: the house is burning, there’s a naked man wrapped in a sheet, crawling down from the balcony, and the wind is blowing the sheet out like a sail. A crowd had gathered on the hill, and they were watching with enormous interest.
The two cars were parked next to the house, and they were heating up pretty rapidly. But the keys to them were inside the house, and the doors were locked.
Marina Yentaltseva:
We were left without keys. Everything was inside the house. Lyudmila Aleksandrovna said, “Let’s push this one.” We had a Model 9 Zhiguli. I shouted in hysterics, “To hell with the car! The house is on fire!” She looked at me with great surprise and said, “That’s okay, we can still use it.” She took a stone and threw it at the car window. Then she moved the gearshift out of “park,” and we somehow managed to push the first car and then the other one.
Then I stood silently staring as the house burned. It was a total shock for me. Lyudmila Aleksandrovna was the first one to say, “Thank God, everyone is alive and well!”
The house burned like a candle. The firemen arrived, but they ran out of water right away. There was a lake right there. “What do you mean, you’re out of water? There’s a whole lake right here!” I said. “There’s a lake,” they agreed, “but no hose.” The firemen came and went three times. Our dacha burned to the ground.
The girls suffered the most from this incident. They had brought all their treasures from home to the dacha—all their toys and Barbie dolls, which they had been accumulating their whole lives. Masha told me later that she couldn’t sleep for several months after that. They had lost everything that was familiar to them.
When the firemen later analyzed the fire, they concluded that the sauna builders were to blame for everything—they hadn’t put the stove in the banya properly. And if they were to blame, then they had to compensate us for the damage.
The first way they could compensate us would be to pay us money. But it wasn’t clear how much the dacha was worth. The house burned down in 1996. We had been building it for five years. I remembered clearly that back in 1991, I had bought bricks for three rubles a piece. Later I realized that I didn’t have enough and had to buy some more, but by then they cost seven rubles a piece. The prices since that time had risen further, and we had no idea how to index them.
So I liked the second option for compensation better—to force them to restore everything as it had been. And that’s what they did. They erected the exact same frame, then hired a Polish firm to put on the finishing touches. They completed the job after a year and a half of work. Everything was as it had been before the fire, and even better. We only asked that the sauna be taken out completely.
Lyudmila Putina:
I was philosophical about the loss of the house. After that experience, I realized that houses, money, and things shouldn’t add stress to your life. They aren’t worth it. You know why? Because at any minute, they could all just burn up.
It’s a national custom that all important matters are decided in the banya: What will you do now, without one?
Banyas are really just for bathing. Even that last time, we weren’t trying to resolve any questions. We were just holding a wake for my former job.
Part 7
THE BUREAUCRAT
After a couple of false starts, Putin finally goes to Moscow in 1996. Government work suits him perfectly and he rises from post to post at dazzling speed. Then he is commanded to take over the FSB—the former KGB. This comes as a blow. Putin and Lyudmila do not want to return to the closed, stifling, stressful life of the secret services. Putin refuses the rank of general, becoming the first-ever civilian director of a security organ. Thankfully, the post doesn’t last very long. Out of the blue, Yeltsin names Putin prime minister. Meanwhile
, tension in the Caucuses is rising as Chechen rebels demand independence. Fearing a potential domino effect, Putin takes a hard line. He is willing to sacrifice his own political career to crush the Chechens and thereby avoid what he sees as a devastating, large-scale war.
What did you do for work after leaving Yakovlev’s office, when no ambassadorial post materialized?
After we lost the elections in Peter, a few months passed and I was still without a job. It really wasn’t very good. I had a family, you know. The situation had to be resolved, one way or another. But the signals from Moscow were mixed; first they were asking me to come to work, and then they weren’t.
But who did make you an offer?
Borodin, as odd as it may seem.
Chief of Staff Pavel Borodin brought me into the presidential administration. I don’t know why. We had met several times. That was essentially the extent of our relationship. Borodin talked to the chief of the presidential administration, Nikolai Yegorov, about me. Yegorov summoned me to Moscow and offered me a job as his deputy. He showed me a draft presidential decree and said that he would take it to Yeltsin’s office for a signature next week and I could start work. I agreed, saying “Good. What am I supposed to do?” He said, “Fly home to Peter. When he signs it, we’ll call you.”
I left, and two or three days later Yegorov was removed from his post and Anatoly Chubais was made chief of administration. Then Chubais eliminated the job that had just been offered to me. So I ended up not moving to Moscow.
Some time passed, and there was another change of administration, now under Chernomyrdin. Aleksei Alekseyevich Bolshakov was his first deputy. He was a fellow-Petersburger. Bolshakov ran into Borodin at a reception, and said to him, “What are you doing? You promised the guy a job and then you dropped him, and now he’s sitting there without a job.” Borodin was insulted. “I didn’t drop him. It was our little pal Chubais who ruined it.” “Then take him on at your office,” Bolshakov said. But Borodin thought I wouldn’t go to the General Department because I had grown accustomed to other kinds of work. Bolshakov insisted: “Well, then think up something else.” On that note, they parted, and Borodin promised to think of something. And so he did, but I only found out about it later.
Aleksei Kudrin called me. At that time he was chief of the president’s Main Control Directorate.14 He told me to come over and they’d see what they could do. Although the one post had been eliminated, there were other possibilities. I flew to Moscow and met with Kudrin, and he talked to Chubais. Chubais, before leaving to go on vacation, offered me a job heading the Directorate for Public Liaison. That really wasn’t my cup of tea, but what could I do? If I had to work with the public, then I would work with the public. The job would still be in the president’s administration. So I agreed to take it.
Kudrin and I got into his car and took off for the airport. On the way he said, “Listen, let’s call up Bolshakov and congratulate him. He’s one of us, from Peter, and he’s been promoted to first deputy.” “Well, alright,” I said. We dialed Bolshakov’s phone number right from the car and were transferred through to him. As head of the Main Control Directorate, Kudrin could get through to anyone. Aleksei congratulated Bolshakov, and added, “Here’s Volodya Putin, and he’d like to congratulate you as well.” Bolshakov said, “Put him on the phone.” I took the phone, and Bolshakov said, “Where are you?” using the familiar form of address. “What do you mean, I’m right here in the car. I’m going with Aleksei to the airport.” “And where were you?” he said. “At the Kremlin. They were deciding which job I should have. I’m going to be the head of the Directorate for Public Liaison.” “Call me back in 30 minutes,” said Bolshakov. But the car was getting closer to the airport.
I was all ready to board my plane, when at the last minute Bolshakov called us back. “Listen, can you stay in Moscow?” he asked. “I’ll go see Borodin tomorrow.” I didn’t understand what he was talking about, but I stayed. It never occurred to me that Bolshakov remembered me. I didn’t know why he was doing this, but I didn’t feel comfortable asking him.
I could think of only one explanation. You see, Aleksei Alekseyevich Bolshakov was a prominent person. At one time, he was the first deputy of the executive committee of the Leningrad City Council, the person who really ran the city. There were good reports about Bolshakov—that he was a can-do, energetic, hard working man. Though he had never really been an orthodox Communist, the tide of democracy had swept him away. Sobchak decided that he had to go.
Bolshakov wound up almost on the street. He got some work, but no one imagined that he would land himself a good post again, much less in Moscow. From time to time, Bolshakov would appear in Smolny on business. I never forced him to wait in the reception area. I would always stop what I was doing, kick everybody out, come out into the reception area myself, and say, “Aleksei Alekseyevich, right this way.” We were never close, but maybe he remembered me.
The next morning, I went to Borodin, and he offered me a job as his deputy.
That is how, in August 1996, I ended up in the government building on Old Square in Moscow, as deputy to the head of the president’s General Affairs Department. I was in charge of the legal division and Russian property abroad.
Lyudmila Putina:
It wasn’t a question of whether or not to go to Moscow. It was understood that we had to go. And I wouldn’t even say that Volodya and I discussed his new appointment very much. Volodya said that although they had offered him a new job that wasn’t quite suitable for him, there were no other options. Then he got the other offer.
I didn’t want to leave St. Petersburg. We had just started living in our own apartment, and now everything was going to be government-issue again. But how could I complain? We got a dacha in Arkhangelsk. True, the house was old, but it had two floors and six rooms—two below, and four on the second floor—fancy! And I fell in love with Moscow right away. The city just suited me. Maybe it was the atmosphere, or the bustling streets, or the fact that it’s well kept. I was wild about Petersburg, but when I came to Moscow I got over it. My husband took longer to get used to Moscow, but he also grew accustomed to it. Here, you really get the feeling that life is in full swing.
I wouldn’t say that I didn’t like Moscow. It’s just that I liked Peter more. But Moscow is a truly European city. It has its problems, of course, but life is bustling. I have to admit that Peter is provincial, at least politically.
You have had an incredible career in Moscow. You got a promotion practically every year. In 1997, head of the Main Control Directorate; in 1998, first deputy head of the presidential administration, responsible for the regions; in 1998, director of the FSB, and later, secretary of the security council. In August 1999, prime minister, and since December 31, acting president. Have all of these positions held equal interest for you?
Not at all. In fact, there was a moment when I thought about leaving the presidential administration.
When was that?
When I worked in the Control Directorate. It was not very creative work. It was important, it was necessary, and I understood all that. But it simply wasn’t interesting for me. I don’t know what I would have done if I had left. I probably would have opened up a law firm. It’s hard to say whether I could have lived on that, but it would have been interesting. Many of my friends are in private practice, and it’s working out for them.
So why didn’t you leave?
While I was still thinking about it, I was appointed first deputy to the chief of the presidential administration, responsible for the regions and contacts with the governors. To this day I think that was the most interesting job. I developed relationships with many of the governors at that time. It was clear to me that work with the regional leaders was one of the most important lines of work in the country. Everyone was saying that the vertikal, the vertical chain of government, had been destroyed and that it had to be restored.
But do the governors themselves need that? Are they ready to line
up under the vertikal?
They are. After all, the governors are part of the country, and they also suffer from management weaknesses. Not everyone is going to like everything. You can’t please everybody, but you can find some common approaches. I was also interested in learning more about the country. I had only ever worked in St. Petersburg, apart from the time I spent abroad. . . . Of course, my seven years of experience in Peter was good experience, both administrative and managerial. But Peter isn’t the whole country. I wanted to travel and see things.
So, why did you drop that interesting job and go to work as director of the FSB? Do you have some affinity for the agencies?
No. I wasn’t asked whether or not I wanted to go, and they had given me no inkling that I was even being considered for such an appointment. The president simply signed a decree. . . .
But the chief of administration was Valentin Yumashev?
Yes. I was sitting in my office, when the phone rang. “Can you get out to the airport and meet Kirienko?” Kirienko was prime minister, and he was coming back from a visit with the president, who was on vacation in Karelia. I said, “Alright.” What was this all about, I wondered. I was already suspecting something bad. I got to the airport and Kirienko came out. He said, “Hi, Volodya! Congratulations!” I said, “What for?” He said, “The decree is signed. You have been appointed director of the FSB.” Well, thanks a lot, guys. . . . I can’t say I was overjoyed. I didn’t want to step into the same river twice.
First Person Page 11