State Secrets: An Insider's Chronicle of the Russian Chemical Weapons Program

The KGB Arrests Me

Since there was no public reaction to my article “Inversion”, the feeling of dissatisfaction haunted me. From conversations with my colleagues, I realized that they were continuing to test chemical weapons at the Nukus site, even though Uzbekistan had declared independence. This was completely absurd and beyond my comprehension. The leadership of the VPK was wasting money on testing chemical weapons that no one needed, while a lot of military people were being laid off, industrial production was plummeting at a breakneck speed, and people were doomed to struggle for their basic survival.

I was disappointed with the results of my first public statement, so I didn’t write a second one. I thought that times were too tough for people to get interested in the problems of chemical weapons. The country had other business to attend to.

I felt that way until one day when I accidentally stumbled across an article devoted to chemical weapons, in the weekly Sovershenno Sekretno (translates as “Top Secret”) written by Lev Fedorov.[80] The author was a dilettante and there were a lot of mistakes. I immediately realized, judging from the text, that Fedorov had only a vague conception about the fundamental nature of the problem, because he wasn’t a specialist in this field.

In any case, the problem was raised again and people began to call me to ask what I thought about it. As a specialist and a person who had put forth considerable effort to create this evil, I understood that I had no right to keep silent. I asked myself, “If not me, then who would speak as a professional to prevent the next deception?” There were and there are scientists in the VPK who are unquestionably more talented and knowledgeable than I am. However, I knew that none of them would ever risk speaking publicly on the problem of chemical weapons, because they had already become part of the totalitarian system.

I asked for Lev Fedorov’s telephone number in the editor’s office of Sovershenno Sekretno, called him, and we agreed to meet in my apartment. Our meeting took place in the middle of August. Fedorov had graduated from Kostroma Military Chemical School, but he had only a weak notion about the problems of chemical weapons. I also had the impression that he was a bit too curious. Probably I told him too much, for example about the essential difference between the new chemical agents and the ones that were known up until that time. We agreed that each of us would prepare for future publication our own version of an article on the problem of chemical weapons in Russia. Then we would work on an agreeable coordinated text and would try to publish the material in one of the popular papers.

Two days later I wrote an article called “The Chemical Sharashka in Moscow Expects Help from America.” The day after that, I met with my co-author in the subway and handed him my version of the article. However, Fedorov didn’t bring his version, and I wasn’t very happy about that. On the other hand, I realized that he simply had nothing to write about.

At the end of August and in the beginning of September, Fedorov had to participate in a conference in Finland. When he returned, he called and said that he had reached an agreement to publish the article in the weekly paper Moscow News. We met again shortly after that, and I handed him the manuscript of a different article, one about the ecological aspects of chemical weapons production at the Volgograd plant. This plant had been constructed with materials and equipment brought in from Germany after the Second World War.

This factory was created so that we had something to poison our former allies (like the United States) with, because the U.S.S.R. was already preparing for a war with them. Later that plant started producing soman as well. GOSNIIOKhT opened a branch there for experimental industrial production, and at first it produced Substance 33, then “Novichok,” and components of binary weapons. For many years the plant had also been a “training school” for top managers for the VPK. I wrote about this in my article. But this article was never published independently. Later, after I was released from Lefortovo Prison, I was surprised to read it in “The Bulletin of the Social and Ecological Union”. It was published in the form of an interview, which I allegedly gave along with Lev Fedorov. However, no such interview ever took place.

In September, Fedorov called to tell me that he had arranged for me to meet Will Englund, a journalist for the Baltimore Sun. The interpreter was Andrei Mironov, a famous dissident, who had served a prison term for anti-Soviet propaganda. I told Will Englund what I had written about in my article for Moscow News. I had the impression that he had a sharp mind and could quickly grasp the essence of the problem. However, it bothered me a little that Fedorov obstinately tried to impose a discussion of dioxins in Ufa on Englund, and that distracted us from our main issue for a long time.

At the end of our conversation, Englund asked me how I could verify my story, and I replied that the strength of my convictions would never allow me to disclose any secrets – technical or otherwise. I recommended that he get in touch with my colleague Edward Sarkisyan, an activist in the Democratic Russia Movement. Probably he would confirm what I had told Englund. Edward and I didn’t discuss this beforehand or have any kind of understanding or preliminary agreement, but I hoped that he could meet with the American correspondent, and he did. Edward told me about it later over the phone. He also added that he had made a recording of the conversation with Englund and they agreed that Englund would show him the material before publication. A few weeks after that I asked him to call to Andrey Zheleznyakov who agreed to answer the reporter’s questions.[81]

Just before Moscow News released the article, Leonard Nikishin from that paper called to read me the text. Although Fedorov had made a few insertions that did not sit well with me, I agreed to the article’s publication, since Nikishin insisted there was little time for changes. Moscow News published “A Poisoned Policy” on September 16, 1992 with a joint Mirzayanov-Fedorov byline and dressed it up with a landmark photograph of GOSNIIOKhT’s administrative building. That was the first published image of a secret Post Office Box.[82]

From its opening lines, “A Poisoned Policy” left the readers no illusions, asserting that Russia was continuing to test and produce chemical weapons despite international pledges to the contrary. It also stated that this activity threatened the health of Muscovites, and that the generals operating the chemical weapons complex were running amok. The article warned that Russian military authorities had already approved new chemical weapons and stockpiled a large amount of them. GOSNIIOKhT, the article specified, had developed a new toxic agent that was much more powerful than VX and had also successfully developed and produced a new binary variant of that agent. The first production of the binary agent had occurred at Volgograd, and in the spring of 1991 former Soviet President Mikhael Gorbachev had rewarded those involved with the prestigious Lenin Prize. The new binary had been field tested in the first quarter of 1992 at the Nukus test site, perhaps without the knowledge of Uzbekistan’s new President, Islam Karimov. The article further pointed out that these binary tests had occurred on President Yeltsin’s watch, after his January 29, 1992 statement committing Russia to a 1990 bilateral agreement with the United States to eliminate chemical weapons and no longer produce them.[83] In other words, five years after Soviet leader Gorbachev pledged that the country had stopped making chemical weapons, Russia had just tested the most powerful chemical weapon ever.

“A Poisoned Policy” painted a very grim picture, reporting that GOSNIIOKhT had been literally poisoning Moscow’s citizens by releasing toxic agents directly into the air. Furthermore, the article stated that it was nearly impossible to prevent such dangerous pollution, and that the decontamination solutions that GOSNIIOKhT developed and employed were really not all that effective. GOSNIIOKhT was storing toxic chemicals unsafely, even in open barrels, and the barrels were transported on regular trains to the Shikhany test site, where they were dumped into open pits. GOSNIIOKhT’s leaders knew but had not informed the public that environmental analyses had proved that the facility’s grounds and the water beneath it were contaminated with toxic chemicals. For these reasons, Russians should not trust the important task of destroying chemical weapons to those who made and continued to make them, for these very people had every intention of maintaining their dangerous and deceptive practices.

Even though “A Poisoned Policy” in Moscow News did not name any of the binary agents or give any formulas, I felt that the public and the government would surely take notice this time. Serendipitously, Englund’s article in the Baltimore Sun[84] appeared on the same day, stating that Russia had developed a new chemical agent that was 10 times more toxic than the well-known nerve agent VX. The article also reported that US government officials and independent experts in chemical weapons arms control were surprised and skeptical about these new chemical weapons.[85]

I was preoccupied with trying to feed my family, unaware that GOSNIIOKhT set in motion the process which culminated in my arrest only five days after “A Poisoned Policy” appeared. The institute’s Permanent Technical Commission assembled to consider whether my article contained secret information. On September 25^th, these five senior officials passed a Top Secret resolution[86] claiming I had revealed state secrets learned during the course of my career. GOSNIIOKhT’s Director Petrunin[87] sentthis resolution to the KGB with a letter asking it to decide whether or not to initiate criminal proceedings. The KGB, in turn, forwarded a letter which stated that my actions indicated a “criminal offense” along with my case materials to its Investigation Department.[88] Russia’s Deputy Attorney General, Ivan Zemlyanushin, issued a warrant for my arrest on October 19, 1992, “for prevention of further divulging of state secrets and possible intervention in an investigation”.

The Chekists did a lot of work before I was arrested. Later a well informed Russian newspaper reporter told me that two events preceded my arrest. First, at an executive meeting convened in the office of Barannikov, who at that time was the chief of the MB RF (the Ministry of Security of the Russian Federation – the successor to the KGB), four generals out of seven spoke out in favor of my arrest. Second, President Boris Yeltsin visited the MB RF on October 18, 1992. Brief information about this appeared in the press, mentioning that the president had a talk with employees of the MB RF and this talk grew into an expanded meeting of the ministry’s board.

That is why I have reason to suppose that President Yeltsin himself gave “the green light” to the generals for my arrest.

The patience of the Chekists was completely exhausted when, at Lev Fedorov’s invitation, I went to the editorial office of a popular Russian weekly magazine to give an interview on the problems of chemical weapons.

On the morning of October 20, 1992, I met with Fedorov at the Pushkinskaya Metro Station, and we went to meet with Oleg Vishnyakov, from the paper Novoe Vremya (New Times). The handsome young correspondent met us in a cramped room, and he got right to work without wasting any time. At first, it seemed to me that he didn’t know very much about the problem of chemical weapons, but during our conversation he got to the heart of the matter quickly, and by the end of the interview we were discussing problems almost on the same level. As we were leaving the Novoe Vremya editor’s office, I noticed a blond man and a blond woman without any characteristic features, next to the bulletin board which displayed the current issue of this magazine. Both blonds were discussing something in a lively manner, and I also noticed that they attentively looked at me…

The interview was published when I was already in Lefortovo Prison.[89] Oleg was pressured and even interrogated in the Investigation Department of the MB RF. However, he wasn’t afraid to publish this material, although this article wasn’t supposed to see the light of day, according to the calculations of the Chekists, because it was confiscated and was among the material evidence exhibits of my “crime.” But that was later…

On October 22, 1992, my friend Edward Sarkisyan woke me with an early morning telephone call. Edward said that a few people identifying themselves as KGB agents rang his doorbell and had demanded he open his door. Fortunately, Edward refused and called the police because at that time, criminal gangs roamed the city posing as policemen and KGB. They were forcing Muscovites to open their doors, then robbing and killing them.

Later that morning, with my sons off to kindergarten and school, I was getting ready for my usual trip to the street market near the Sokol Metro Station, where I was selling jeans and sneakers to support my family, when my doorbell rang. I asked who it was, and the answer was devastating, “We are from the Ministry of Security. Open the door!” I remembered Edward’s call earlier that morning, and at first I thought that it was a strange coincidence of fate, so I shouted, “Get out of here at once! I am calling the cops!” To sound more convincing, I added that I had an axe and would defend myself. And indeed, I called the police.

Meanwhile, I already guessed that these people really were from the MB RF, and that they had come to arrest me. They were knocking more insistently, and I was dialing up Mironov and Englund.

I had just enough time to call to the journalist Englund from the Baltimore Sun and tell him that the KGB had come to get me.[90] From behind the door I could hear these men tell my wife Nuria that they were arresting me because of the article in Moscow News. Outraged, Nuria shouted that they were mad, that someone couldn’t be arrested for a newspaper article. At this point, I realized they had already shown Nuria the arrest warrant. As the verbal volleys escalated, the local police arrived and demanded that I open the door immediately. Then they threatened to break it down. They advised me that police in the West would not be so patient. It was clear I could not stall until the media arrived. So, I opened the door because I did not want to have it broken by force.

The apartment was instantly so full that nobody could even move. Some sturdy guys settled comfortably into the kitchen, and one of them handed me an arrest warrant that said my apartment would be searched. I stood calmly, suddenly amazed at the simplicity of the proceedings. My only worry was Nuria, who was very upset and angrily venting at me, telling me they were tearing up the place and that I would have to clean up the mess. Trying to save the apartment from being torn to bits, I complied with a sharp command to produce everything that had to do with the Moscow News article, showing them where my manuscripts, scientific articles, and different papers were kept.[91]

The senior KGB officer ordered me to get dressed, and a few minutes later we left with two agents walking in front of me, two behind, and another two holding me by the arms. I felt like a big-time gangster in a movie. I made a wise crack that the officers shouldn’t hold me so tightly, because I could easily poison them all, and to my amusement they loosened their grip. They put me into a yellow Zhiguli that took off along the Highway of Enthusiasts, and then the motor died as the car was crossing the tramway tracks right in front of a tram. Two of the burly escorts jumped out to push the car as I started joking that they weren’t even properly prepared to capture a state criminal. Glaring back at me, the lead officer said they had lost their form a bit lately, but he assured me that it would all come back. Looking out the window as the Zhiguli passed GOSNIIOKhT, I knew as it turned to the right near the Aviamotornaya Metro Station that they were taking me to the notorious KGB prison, Lefortovo.

Lefortovo Prison

In Lefortovo I was immediately taken to the second floor of a thoroughly guarded three-story building that housed the Main Investigation Department. A young, tall, and slightly overweight blonde man with bright blue eyes “took me in” upon receipt into one of the offices off the long corridor. He declared that his name was Victor Shkarin and that he would be in charge of my case.

Investigator Shkarin briefly explained the reason for my arrest and solicitously asked me if I had any complaints. He did his best to demonstrate proper and polite behavior. After a brief formal procedure for establishing my identity, I resolutely refused to say anything or give any testimony without the presence of a lawyer. Probably this was a trifle theatrical, but it seemed to me that it was the best way to proceed, since many of our dissidents described their arrests with details like this in their memoirs.

Right away the captain started calling for a legal consultation. It was obvious that the system worked smoothly and everything was anticipated. He told me politely, “We will have time for everything.” He made it seem as if we were working for the same company and pursuing some common cause.

I was sitting in Investigator Shkarin’s small office for a long time, while we waited for the lawyer. The room was furnished with three chairs, a huge safe, a wardrobe, and a writing table with a squeaky computer.

I didn’t know yet what hardships were in store for me. Investigations, another arrest, imprisonment, closed legal proceedings, and long days full of bitter disappointment – all of this would blend into a long terrible ride in the Maelstrom.

I was getting over my original overwhelming apathy and started taking action. First, I asked for a pen and paper to write a declaration and protested against my detention. I wrote that I would go on an indefinite, dry hunger strike until the moment of my liberation.

The investigator read the text, but he didn’t react. Once more I declared that I would not answer any questions or participate in the interrogation without the presence of a lawyer. At that time it wasn’t easy for me to hire a lawyer, because I had no money. I felt anxious about causing a huge loss to the family finances, when life was so tough and every kopeck counted. I was particularly sorry for my sons, whom I had doomed to perpetual poverty. In despair, I even thought about why it hadn’t happened to me before they were born, when I wasn’t so vulnerable. Now, I could only count on the free services of the public defender.

The investigator quickly typed up the “detainment transcript”, where my rights were mentioned along with the reasons why I was under suspicion. It was written in the transcript that I was detained at 12.15 P.M., on October 22 of 1992.

Later Investigator Shkarin set about finishing up the “transcript of interrogation of the suspect”, because an elderly man with a beat-up old suitcase joined us. He introduced himself as a lawyer from Legal Advice Office N 150, Leonid Grigorievich Belomestnykh.

I seized the moment when Shkarin stepped out, to ask the lawyer to call my wife and give her the message that I had gone on a hunger strike. I was certain (how naive I was!) that if the Belomestnykh told my wife about this, I could ask him to defend my interests in the future. Skipping ahead, I can say that Belomestnykh didn’t fulfill my request, but I can’t rebuke him. At the end of the day, I am sure that he was at least a temporary KGB employee.

Finally, we started with the interrogation proper. I wasn’t so detached and unfeeling about it then, as I am these days when I am describing what happened. Probably I was a bit wound up and too obstinate. Shkarin said I was accused of revealing state secrets in the article “A Poisoned Policy,” which was in violation of Article 75, Part I, of the Russian Criminal Code. We got down to business after I agreed to answer in Russian (Tatar is my first language) and accepted Shkarin as the interrogator and Belomestnykh as my lawyer, even though I knew that any attorney that the KGB provided would not work in my interests.

From the start, I insisted on my complete innocence. I stated that the article was based on the facts as I knew them from my work at GOSNIIOKhT, given my direct involvement in the binary program. I had wanted to expose the hypocrisy of the leaders of the chemical weapons complex, because they were simultaneously developing new weapons while pretending to work towards chemical weapons disarmament. While I knew that information about the binary weapons program was secret, it was clear to me that the binary program served only the interests of the leaders of the chemical weapons complex. The article dealt conceptually with the binary program, but I gave no specific data about it. In fact, I had not used a single line from any classified document and therefore I believed that I had not disclosed any state secrets in “A Poisoned Policy.”[92] Furthermore, I never gave any concrete information about the composition or properties of any of the new chemical agents or the binaries.

Captain Shkarin did his best to create an impression in the transcript, that I had thoroughly confessed and that I had disclosed state secrets entrusted to me at my work. I must admit that sometimes I enjoyed his game, because I eliminated the obstacles he presented, while trying not to show that I had guessed about them. By this time I had already realized that my investigator had no idea about the essence of my research, and I enjoyed leading him on a bit.

Today I can honestly say that I have nothing to reproach myself for. Looking back, it seems to me that I managed to distance myself from the investigator’s position, starting with the very first interrogation, in spite of the truly extreme pressure. My position was that my actions were based exclusively on moral considerations and the aspiration to save the world community from danger caused by the hypocritical policy of the leaders of the military-chemical complex. I remember that several times I had to insist on this very wording, although the investigator tried time and again to grossly distort it. I understood immediately what he was getting at. He wanted my very first testimony to lead to the certain conclusion that everything I published in the mass media was known to me through my responsibilities at work.

In reality, the situation was different from what Shkarin wanted to present. For example, I wasn’t allowed to work on the development of binary weapons. This is why I made a mistake in the article “Poisoned Policies”, when I wrote that the leaders of the military-chemical complex received Lenin Prizes for creating binary weapons based on a new chemical agent.

I couldn’t have known that the binary weapon was based on “Substance 33”, which had been produced for a long time at the Cheboksary Chemical Plant, and had already been tested and added to the arsenal of the Soviet Army. The investigator, his bosses, and even more so his consultants from GRNIIOKhT knew about this very well, but this didn’t prevent them from deliberately hurling false accusations at me. Their scheme was simple: the jailed suspect can’t properly defend himself. This is why Shkarin stubbornly stuck to the basis of the accusation – “the conclusion of the Permanent Technical Commission” at GRNIIOKhT.

A little later I understood the tactics of my investigator and made amendments to my answers on binary weapons. As for the rest, I had no intention of renouncing what I had written based on information I knew from GRNIIOKhT. The articles were conceptual and they didn’t disclose any technical or other kinds of details.

When Shkarin finished taping the investigation protocol, somebody knocked on the door and in came a lieutenant colonel with the happy face of a man who has accomplished something very important. Later I found out that he was investigator N. Fanin, who had arrested and brought Lev Fedorov to Lefortovo. Fanin told Shkarin that he and his man had “finished the job very well”. I discovered from my case materials, events that were some developments which I came to understand as the downfall of my co-author.

The Downfall of Lev Fedorov

The idea of renouncing the articles I published in the press in order to save myself seemed monstrous to me. Theoretically I could do this, especially since the investigator encouraged me to pass the blame to my co-author Lev Fedorov.

I could have claimed that he had written the largest part of “A Poisoned Policy” and a lot of problems would have been settled, but Fedorov, unlike me, didn’t work in a secret area, and he wasn’t legally liable for that. This was unacceptable because of moral considerations. Sadly, Fedorov proved to be not quite up to the same high mark when he appeared before his interrogator that same day.

On October 22, 1992, Lev Fedorov was brought to the Investigation Department of the MB RF. Before that, his apartment had been searched, and the report of the search says that he voluntarily produced all the materials that the investigation was interested in, so the Chekists didn’t have to search his apartment. These materials were three manuscripts of my articles. Other papers belonging to Fedorov were not confiscated.[93]

It seems that Lev Fedorov was not so uncomfortable with his investigator in Lefortovo. Ten months later, Lev Fedorov renounced his testimony after I showed the transcript of this report to Mironov and distributed it among my friends along with a copy of the entire case materials. Even so, it remained an enigma to me and many others that he didn’t do it the day after he was released, right after his interrogation.

According to the transcript of Fedorov’s interrogation[94] that day, he refused to have anything to do with the information which was the basis for the main idea of his published articles. In his conversation with the Chekists, my co-author reduced his role to that of a literary editor of the material presented by me.

To top it all off, Lev Fedorov signed a confidentiality contract on the subject of his interrogation, thereby entering into secretive cooperation with the investigation. However, there is some reason to doubt that his cooperation only began at this time.

I can confirm that Fedorov kept his promise in full. After I was released from prison, he never said a word about his confessions at the interrogation. Moreover, for a long time Lev played the role of a hero, who had suffered from persecution by the Chekists.

Unfortunately, I found out about this too late – only after the interrogation phase of my “case” was concluded and I could read through all the materials. No one can ever guarantee that spiritually weak people won’t attach themselves to a noble cause, or that they won’t prove to be agents of “our valiant Chekists”.

Obliging readiness to give such detailed and pejorative testimony shows that Lev was ready to betray everybody. How else can we explain why he even told the Chekists the full name of the secretary of the Editor in Chief of the newspaper Argumenti i Fakti? How else can we understand his detailed description of meetings with Starkov, Vishnyakov, and other people? And why did Fedorov tell the investigators that there were two versions of the prepared article in the editor’s office of Argumenti i Fakti? It all looks like undisguised cooperation with the Chekists. God forbid if they confiscated only one copy of that article!

Lev’s coached testimony was in fact followed by searches of the editors’ offices of the newspapers Moscow News, Argumenti i Fakti, and Novoe Vremya. In addition, Oleg Vishnyakov from Novoe Vremya was immediately brought to Lefortovo for interrogation. It is curious that there is no time registered in the transcript of that interrogation. In summer of 1993 when I was reading over my case materials, I asked Investigator Cheredilov, who had interrogated Vishnyakov, about it. He said that he had forgotten to do this but he added “You can write a complaint about my error”. Isn’t such forgetfulness a strange oversight for an investigator of special cases? However, I already knew that Vishnyakov was interrogated about 4 P.M., shortly after Fedorov had spoken to the Chekists.

During the following two days, the Chekists processed information received from Fedorov’s interrogation, and Lieutenant Colonel Cheredilov toiled away thinking that he was on the right track. After a successful catch in the editor’s office of Novoe Vremya, he hurried over to the editor’s office of Argumenti i Fakti, where, according to my co-author, there were two prepared versions of the article about chemical weapons. The investigator, along with other civilian employees from the MB RF who acted as official witnesses, produced an injunction for the confiscation, and as before, he received the papers he wanted without any interference (it never occurred to anyone to refuse to hand over the articles!)

In a Prison Cell for the First Time

After I signed my transcripts of interrogation, Shkarin called a guard who ordered me to get up and follow him, while holding my hands behind my back. I obeyed and we walked down the corridor to a door which a constable opened, after receiving a light signal in response to his ringing of the buzzer.

The prison made no particular impression on me. It smelled of fresh paint and it was quiet. There was not a soul around. We descended to the first floor and came to a door where another guard was waiting for us. He opened the door and we went to the basement, where I was ordered to take off my clothes and have a shower.

After that, they took me to one of the cells on the first floor. It was a narrow room about six meters long and two and a half meters wide. There was a barred window across from the door, at the height of about two meters. Three iron beds were tightly fastened to the floor. On one of the beds there were two sheets, a mattress, and a quilt. In the middle of the cell, a sink was attached to the wall with a pipe and a valve for water. Nearby there was some kind of a lavatory pan without any water tank or similar device. Above the door there was an iron grating, from which protruded the handle of a radio-loudspeaker. I recognized the voice of the announcer as that of Radio Station Mayak.

Finally I was completely alone and nobody disturbed me from sorting out my feelings shaped by everything I had suffered through that day. It’s remarkable that I wasn’t sad there, in that stone sack. Difficult work awaited me, and I knew that the struggle against injustice would drain me of my strength. I started thinking about different options for my defense. Clearly I couldn’t consult with anybody in the jail, so I had to rely entirely on myself. I had already started my struggle by declaring a dry hunger strike. When the window in the door opened, and a head in a white cap suddenly popped in and said “dinner,” I politely refused.

I didn’t sleep at all, the first night in jail. All through the night, a bright electric light in the middle of the ceiling blazed out from behind iron bars. I had no watch, so I simply lost track of the time, which dragged on endlessly. When I heard the call sound of Radio Mayak from the loudspeaker, I understood that it was already 6 A.M. Almost immediately, I also heard a command from behind the door, “Get up!”

I spent the whole morning being photographed and “playing the piano.” This is what prisoners call the fingerprinting procedure. A lone guard performed this job for all of Lefortovo Prison. He worked under the diligent supervision of a portrait of “Iron Felix” Dzerzhinsky hanging above his desk.

Eventually, it was time for lunch, which I also refused. Soon after that a window in my door opened again and the command was given, “Get ready to exit!” I got ready immediately, but I only had my old lightweight overcoat, a ski cap, and the winter shoes I was wearing when I was brought there.

This time the jailer led me in a different direction. Along the way he was loudly and constantly snapping his fingers. Probably he was giving the signal that he had a prisoner with him.

Investigator Shkarin was waiting for me in the familiar office. He said that Nuria had called and asked him to tell me that everything was fine at home, and that she promised to do everything she could to help me. She also promised to settle the question of a lawyer. I felt relief at once when I saw my little Sultan in my mind’s eye.

Shkarin inquired politely about how I was doing. I thanked him for asking and replied that I was continuing with my dry hunger strike. The captain remarked that he didn’t recommend this because it was very dangerous at my age. For that reason, they would do everything to keep me from dying of hunger. Then he began his interrogation. I didn’t object, because I decided that under those severe circumstances, I could still do without a lawyer. I was curious to test myself in lone combat, especially since at some point during the previous night’s reflections, I had decided that it would be a battle of intellects, and I should not be afraid of dirty tricks. Maybe I was overly self-confident, but I felt already that the investigator had only a vague idea about the essence of my case. This particular interrogation was a pure formality, to confirm that the two manuscripts which Lev Fedorov gave to Chekists were mine. Shkarin also asked me whether I gave anyone else information about the topics of those manuscripts.[95]

I realized that the prosecution would work exclusively with my manuscripts in the future, so I couldn’t refer to the editor’s or other revisions or amendments. I didn’t care because I was certain that I didn’t give away any state secrets either in my manuscripts, or in the articles.

I read the transcript and was taken back to my cell accompanied by an escort. I was beginning get used to this. Although according to the law, the suspect can only be detained for 72 hours without being shown an accusation, they made an exception for me. The explanation was that weekends didn’t count. You might have thought at this time that I was at some spa or resort. A brilliant invention by our Chekists! I now had more than enough time, and I was still on a hunger strike.

Those were the days when the world’s super powers were poised to sign the Convention on the Prohibition of Chemical Weapons (CWC). In all clauses of the “resolution” that the investigator showed me, there was nothing serious enough to serve as a basis for the accusation, except for the clause about binary weapons. Did it make any sense to accuse me of allegedly disclosing the locations of the production and testing sites of chemical weapons? Foreign specialists and correspondents had been visiting Shikhany for a long time. The Nukus test site had become the property of the independent country of Uzbekistan. I knew that the operations of chemical weapons production had already been discontinued at the places Russia had declared. It’s true, that I had pointed out the places of production of the new weapons in my article, but I thought that under the political conditions that were taking shape then, that this couldn’t be considered a serious criminal offense. Therefore, it was only by a great stretch of the imagination that I could be accused of discussing a new chemical agent and binary weapons.

I spent the second night in my three-man cell in the same way, without any cellmates, and I didn’t sleep that night, either. When the radio started blaring and the head of the jailer appeared in the window and commanded “Get up!” I was already on my feet.

At some time later “the head” appeared again and asked, “Are you going to eat?” I answered that I wasn’t. “It’s up to you,” said the head and the window closed.

Around 10 o’clock I was taken to Shkarin again. He said that Nuria had called once more, and was asking him to tell me that the kids were alive and well and that she would hire a lawyer for me. “There is an uproar building in the press on your account,” added the Chekist.

I admit I felt my spirits lifting, but I asked no questions. After all, everyone who wished to could read my article and see that the KGB had fabricated the case. However, the captain hadn’t called me in there to discuss what the press wrote about. Shkarin handed me the arrest warrant (it turned out that I had only been detained before that) which was signed by First Deputy Attorney General, Ivan Zemlyanushin.

I Move to Another Cell

After all the formalities were completed, the captain pressed a button and an escort entered the room. We went back to my cell following the familiar route. After lunch, which I refused as usual, the door of the cell opened and I was given the command, “Get up! Take the quilt and the sheets and exit!” I understood that I was moving to another cell. I was taken to the second floor, and the escort stopped near cell number 81, opened the door, and told me to enter the cell.

Two young men were standing there. They pointed to an empty bed and I put my things there. One of the inmates said at once, “You are, of course, Vil Mirzayanov. I figured it out. They said on the radio that you were arrested for high treason. I guessed that you would end up here at Lefortovo.” The name of this young man was Aleksander Yavitsky. He had been in Lefortovo for more than a year, on charges of illegal foreign currency operations. I immediately recalled a recent television report from Lefortovo Prison. A correspondent was interviewing Yavitsky, who was saying that conditions in the jail were actually quite good. I remember that when Yavitsky was asked how he managed to end up in such “comfortable” conditions, he answered in the same tone as the reporter: “I had to deserve it.” Could I have supposed then that I would manage to find myself in the same KGB jail cell with the hero of a TV report?

Aleksander told me about his “case.” It turned out that he was involved in a sensational episode involving the theft of three million dollars from Sheremetyevo Airport. The government of Russia had borrowed this money from some American bank. After the money was brought to Russia, the money bags containing dollars were dumped on the airfield, where they lay for almost two days before airport workers got interested in the contents of the bags.

Aleksander played a part in the handling of these dollars. According to his story, he bought the dollars for Soviet money at a discount, from some people who had successfully “domesticated the money bags” for themselves. He hid some of the dollars at different dachas and decided to take some of them abroad. Everything finished with that. He was caught on the Western border, with his dollars stuffed in gasoline cans. He said he handed over all the hidden dollars to the investigation; however, a few hundred thousand dollars were never found despite the fact that Aleksander cooperated with the investigation.

My other new comrade was called Victor D. He slept on a bed near the head of my bed. Victor was imprisoned in Lefortovo for killing his drinking buddy – a KGB lieutenant colonel – in a drunken brawl. I established reasonably good relations with my cellmates. Aleksander quickly talked me out of continuing with my hunger strike. He explained that nobody would know about it, but within five days I would be force fed, which is a cruel and humiliating procedure.

How could I argue with that? Prisoners locked up in Lefortovo were almost completely isolated. There was no connection with the outside world, and no meetings were allowed. Food parcels could be sent in once a month, and they were thoroughly searched. It was unlikely that anyone could outwit the Lefortovo jailers and send out news about himself, or get news from the outside world.

Later when I was reading up on my case, I came across a report by one of the jailers. He reported to his bosses that he found a note from my son Iskander in the food parcel. It was written on the inner side of the soap wrapper. “Dad, stand firm, we love you,” wrote Iskander…

The toughest trial I had to face in the cell was when I had to use the toilet. It was completely out in the open, and I had to sit down before the eyes of my cellmates. Aleksander saw what I was going through and settled the problem quite easily. “Vil Sultanovich!” he said. “Stop being ashamed. This regime which treats us like beasts should be ashamed!”

He was right, but I was never able to get used to such an inhumane attitude toward people under investigation.

My Cellmates – My Lawyers

I am grateful to my cellmates for a few lessons in “life.” If not for them, I would probably still be in jail and my life could follow the script written for me by the KGB.

Their situation was no better than mine, but my cellmates supported me as much as they could and tried to help. Although the investigator had shown me the Criminal Code and pointed out clauses that stipulated my rights, I could hardly comprehend what I was reading there.

A few months later, during one of my numerous meetings with Shkarin, he admitted that people under investigation usually gave up about 90 percent of the information about themselves during the first three or four days. At this time they are simply deeply stressed and helpless.

During my entire stay in Lefortovo Prison I had practically no defender. From the very beginning, I realized that the defense attorneys whom the investigator offered me were not real lawyers, though I made a great effort not to tell them to their faces what I thought about them.

I told my cellmates honestly about my “case” and what I was accused of. They immediately advised me to write an appeal to the district court, asking to be released. As neither my “case” nor I were dangerous, there was no need to keep me under detention until my trial. However, it was completely up to me how to write this appeal, and I had no lawyer to help me. So I spent all my weekends (the investigator does not work on weekends or holidays) in creative work. I tried to substantiate the arguments for my release. My friends advised me to send my appeal through the prison administration, because they said I couldn’t trust the investigators when it came to any serious business.

I felt uncomfortable about this because the investigator had asked me to give to him my appeal requesting release, if I ever decided to write such a document. Yavitsky, who then advised me like a lawyer, wisely recommended that I write two copies of the appeal. I could send one copy to the People’s Court through the Lefortovo Prison Administration and give the second one to the investigator, if he wanted it so much. That is the way I did it.

In the morning we were taken through two corridors for a walk in the yard. A few security guards were sitting at a large table with TV screens, at the intersection. The promenade ground was a large jail cell, 20-30 square meters in size. This room was different from the other cells because there was sky above our heads, although it was screened off with barbed wire. A guard was pacing back and forth on a special platform above the door to the promenade ground. Sometimes the voices of other prisoners from the neighboring promenade ground reached us, but it was impossible to make out what they were saying. Their voices were muffled by the Russian folk songs, which were constantly playing on the radio.

The radio in the cell was terribly obtrusive, but it was our only connection with the outside world. It drove me crazy to have to listen every day from 9 A.M. until our 10 P.M. bedtime, to Radio Station Mayak broadcasting the sermons of Asahara Shoko in poor Russian. He was the head of the Japanese religious cult “Aum Shinrikyo”, which later gained notoriety for its unspeakable sarin gas attack on Tokyo subway commuters.[96] He was talking such trash that I had to ask my cellmates to let me lower the volume, but my young friends were used to this voice and they even needed this nonsense. Aleksander easily imitated the fanatic preacher’s voice and recited his sermons by heart in unison with the radio.

I suppose that introduced some variety into our prison life. Food was brought to us three times a day, and I must admit the food wasn’t that bad compared with what my family could afford to put on the table at that time. I remember on the fourth day of my detainment, we were given boiled buckwheat kasha with meat and a meaty borsch soup for lunch. At that time this was a delicacy for most Russians. Alexander remarked that he was eating such a dish for the first time, and he was sure that it was prepared in my honor.

We were given the newspapers Vechernaya Moskva, Sovetskaya Rossiya, and Izvestia, and we took turns reading them. For a few days they didn’t give us Izvestia. Evidently some materials were published about me during those days. Vechernaya Moskva of October 23, 1992 published an article with the title “Detained for Disclosing a Secret that Doesn’t Exist”, which discussed a report circulated by the Ministry of Security. The newspaper wrote that employees of the MB had arrested one of the authors of Moscow News article “A Poisoned Policy” on charges of divulging state secrets. The Ministry of Security didn’t disclose the name of the person detained, but the newspaper wrote that his name was Vil Mirzayanov and he was threatened with a 2-5 year jail term. Also, according to the article, the prisoner was being kept in solitary confinement at Lefortovo. The article concluded with the remark that since according to international agreements Russia didn’t produce chemical weapons, what was there to disclose?

Three days later we were brought some more papers, and we read them from cover to cover, because it helped us to pass the time. On the morning of Monday October 26, when a special team from the prison administration was collecting different appeals and letters to the judicial authorities, I submitted my appeal to the People’s Court with a request to release me. It was almost an exact copy of my application addressed to the investigator.

Of course my appeal was written incorrectly from a legal point of view, because I was supposed to ask the court to set me free, since I didn’t present a danger to the public; holding me under arrest wasn’t in the interests of an unbiased investigation, etc. Instead of saying that, I stated the case from my point of view. But what could I do if my cellmate was my only lawyer at that time?

Three more days passed. The investigator kept silent and didn’t call me in for any interrogations. My cellmates remarked that it was a tactical move on Shkarin’s part, as he wanted me to be in the agony of suspense and relent. However, I found out later that my appeal had caught the Chekists off guard. They hadn’t expected me to decide to write my appeal for release from arrest so quickly, so they had to urgently prepare documents for the forthcoming hearing in court. They didn’t even have time to show me the official indictment. With a little delay, my cellmates asked the security guard to bring the October 23, 1992 issue of Izvestia. I later took that copy with me when I left the prison.

The journalists Andrei Illesh and Sergei Mostovschikov wrote an article titled “Each Journalist Can Now Become a Traitor to the Motherland”. They wrote that a month after the article “A Poisoned Policy” was published, the editor’s office of Moscow News was searched, and copies of the article were confiscated. The authors summarized the original article and analyzed the problem of defining state secrets, which in the end amounted to bureaucratic secrets. They suggested that the specialists from GRNIIOKhT, who they had criticized in their article, had most probably prepared the resolution of the “expert commission” on the article. According to the authors, my arrest gave reason to suppose that I could disclose the creation of stockpiles of binary weapons in Russia, which were completely concealed from the public eye, and probably even Boris Yeltsin had no knowledge of it. Under the sub-title “Arrest-1992” the authors described what happened on October 22, 1992 in the Lev Fedorov’s apartment. My co-author told journalists from Moscow News in an interview that about twenty employees of the MB RF arrived at his apartment and produced a search warrant. However, according to the journalists, this was useless because all the Ministry of Security found in Fedorov’s apartment, was a huge pile of folders with scientific works, mostly in English. The article in Izvestia goes on to say, “Finally, the men from the Ministry of Security confiscated two copies of Moscow News for a reason that only they know and took Lev Fedorov to the Investigation Department of the Ministry of Security at Lefortovo.”

When Fedorov delivered a speech at the annual conference “The KGB, Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow” in February of 1993, he entertained his audience with an embellished version of this story about how a crowd of stupid Chekists arrived to search his apartment and spent a long time fiddling around with English language books and articles. But since they had to take something, they confiscated two copies of the article “A Poisoned Policy.” This colorful story of the fighter against the KGB and chemical weapons received peals of continuous laughter from other conference participants, while Colonel Kandaurov, who was there from the Ministry of Security, turned red and then white. Obviously he had good reason for that. Unlike everybody else, he knew that the reality had been very different from the scene the speaker-actor painted up for his audience.

On the morning of October 28^th, I was taken to the investigator, and once more he told me that Nuria had called and said that she and the children were alive and well. She also said that Moscow News had hired a lawyer for me, Aleksander Asnis, and they had assumed the financial responsibility for his services, for working on my case.

I was very pleased to hear this. Now I had a defender and my family wouldn’t suffer financially from that. However, the investigator added that Asnis couldn’t work on my case because he had no clearance for classified documents. Shkarin also stated that Asnis was offered such access, but the lawyer had refused. I understood, however, that he had made the right decision. He didn’t want to make any commitments that would limit his freedom in the future. Then the investigator changed the subject and said off the record, “The stir in the press is growing. Today Moscow News published Fedorov’s and your portraits on the front page.”

I asked Shkarin to let me have a look at this issue of Moscow News. He replied that he had given it to someone, but he would give it to me as soon as he found it. I saw this colorful issue for the first time, with the wonderful materials of the journalists, only after my release. It still makes me feel excited even today.[97] Then Shkarin started the interrogation. From the beginning, I declined the services of lawyer Leonid Belomestnykh. The investigator’s goal was to confirm that all the information in the article “A Poisoned Policy” was given by me. Certainly, he also wanted me to confirm that this information was known to me because of my work.

The transcript of the interrogation[98] was compiled in such a way that they would be able to charge me with disclosing information that constitutes a state secret, according to some secret lists, which I knew nothing about at that time. I guessed about that, but didn’t try to change anything before signing the transcript. Why? It was because I had no intention of renouncing what I had written in my articles. All of this was more than obvious. So it wasn’t the “psychological gingerbread” of the investigator (his revelation that the press supported me) that made me “compliant.” It simply never occurred to me that I could or should deny the obvious facts. Several times the investigator hinted that perhaps I wanted to share the responsibility with someone in this case. This idea was completely unacceptable to me. I assumed all the responsibility, because I deliberately initiated and wrote my articles with the goal that is stated in the transcript of the interrogation (and I insisted on this wording).

At that time I couldn’t even dream that one day I would copy and publish this transcript. Back then I imagined my future as imprisonment stretching out for long years. Internally, I was ready for such an outcome. I even told the investigator with emotion, that one day people would know about my actions, and my sons wouldn’t turn red with embarrassment because of their father. I must admit that his “psychological gingerbread” inspired me and I became cocky. Shkarin good-naturedly included all of this in the transcript. After all, even in his worst nightmare he couldn’t imagine that some time would pass and all his work that was stamped “Top Secret” would be open to public scrutiny.

After I signed the transcript of the interrogation, the investigator asked me to look through the materials that would be sent to the People’s Court, to consider my complaint about my illegal arrest. I already knew everything in the transcript about “the suspect getting acquainted with materials to be submitted to the court” (Case N 62, volume 1, p. 186-187), except for the letter of the Investigation Department to the chairman of the court.

The Indictment is Ready

On October 30 the investigator called me in again. There were two other people in the office besides Shkarin. One of them was relatively young, with an intelligent face. He was obviously embarrassed that he had come to such a terrible place, since he was such a well-bred and decent person. I rather liked him. The investigator introduced him as Prosecutor Belash, and it was his job was to monitor and oversee the legality of the KGB’s actions.

The second person who appeared was a corpulent elderly man with gray hair and reddish veins on his face, which showed that his life hadn’t been boring. The captain said that this was the lawyer Vasiliev, who would be present at that day’s presentation of the official indictment, if I had no objection. Vasiliev said that he had served in the military all his life. He had been a military prosecutor, and currently he worked as a defense attorney. Frankly, I can say that right from the start I didn’t like him. Even outwardly he seemed to be a strict proponent of Soviet ways. Still, I thought it would be awkward if I objected to his presence at the procedure, since he had come all that way. I would be showing distrust without even knowing him. I knew that in any case I wouldn’t use his services. I knew already that any time the KGB was offering me something, it would be necessary to refuse it. Otherwise, I would fall into another one of the Chekists’ traps.

At the end of the interrogation, when the investigator was finishing up the transcript, Vasiliev took the latest issue of the Communist newspaper Pravda out of his briefcase and started reading it. Then I clearly understood who they were trying to palm off on me.

My lawyer Asnis wasn’t allowed to be admitted to my case which dragged on, because he flatly refused to sign any nondisclosure agreement about state secrets. That was obligatory for getting access to classified documents such as my case materials. Shkarin told me about this in a hurt voice, as if he were complaining that Asnis was too capricious. Taking advantage of the presence of a young prosecutor, I delivered a monologue for about five minutes. I said indignantly that it was a serious provocation against the democratic forces in the country and that the disgusting old KGB still reigned in society. I voiced my exasperation about my arrest and imprisonment, which were absolutely unjustified. After all, everything could be investigated without keeping me in jail.

I think it was a good way for me to vent my feelings. The lawyer Vasiliev tried to calm me down by saying that as time passed I would become accustomed to jail, and I would feel better. “Son of a bitch!” I said to myself, and I was sorry that I couldn’t say it to his face.

During my monologue, the prosecutor nodded approvingly as if encouraging me to use even harsher expressions. He even took out a notepad from his huge briefcase and wrote something down. Finally he won my sympathy. Later when I was taken to my cell again and told my cellmates about this prosecutor, Yavitsky burst out laughing. He said that I understood nothing about people, as the prosecutor had his job only because he was a good actor. I was shocked! Incredible! Was it possible to win somebody’s favor in these jungles of lawlessness without saying a single word, by “talking” only with your gestures? Yes, evidently Belash was a real professional.

Later Shkarin said that he would present me with an indictment that day. Consequently, my status “was elevated”, because up to that point I was considered just a detained suspect. The indictment repeated the text of the resolution of the Permanent Technical Commission at GRNIIOKhT almost word for word. This meant that there wouldn’t be anything new from the prosecution. In fact, what else could they invent? The investigator had to build my “case” around this resolution. He had nothing else to work with. That’s how it turned out in the end. However, at that time Shkarin had been elaborating the formal aspects of my case, to give some weight to his creation. As Professor Kurochkin liked to say, he was “making candy from shit.”

I will cite a passage from the transcript of the interrogation that followed after the indictment was pronounced:

All the formalities were completed and I could only wait for the scheduled court session that would settle my fate on Monday. By that time I finally realized that if I wasn’t released from the prison, my fate had been decided beforehand. There was nothing I could count on without a reliable lawyer and the support of the people. This is why I was agitated, counting the hours left before the court session.

Different jail procedures like morning walks and going to the shower added some variety to the isolation experience and the cramped space surrounded by four walls. Of course you might think that reading would be a welcome diversion from the gloomy surroundings, but for some reason you quickly got tired of it in jail.

The shower rooms in Lefortovo Prison are in the basement. When you are on your way there, it seems as if you are being taken through some passage from which there is no return. Probably almost everyone in Russia has read or heard about the numerous executions by shooting that were carried out on a massive scale in Lefortovo, especially in the 1930s.

My cellmate, Yavitsky once asked a security guard who was taking us to the shower, “Tell me, Kolya, has anyone been shot here?” The guard gently nodded to the right, pointing downward somewhere. Probably the execution basements were on a level even lower than the shower rooms. My cellmate told me some very curious things. In particular, in May of 1991, capital repairs were started at Lefortovo Prison, which were completed by the middle of August. The daily routine and rules of behavior for prisoners signed by the Superintendent of Lefortovo Prison on August 16, 1991, were found posted on the wall. So everything was ready there for large groups of prisoners – opponents of the coup, which took place on August 21, 1991.

If the wheel of fortune had turned just a bit differently, the leaders in power could have found themselves in Lefortovo instead of in the Kremlin.