Farewell Read online

  Kostin had been introduced to Svetlana through a close friend of the Vetrovs, Alexei Rogatin. This character appears sporadically throughout this story. Although he was very well prepared after some twenty years of investigations, Sergei Kostin was nevertheless impressed when he entered the building where the man he had been thinking about constantly for over a year had lived. He rode the same old elevator Vetrov had himself ridden; he rang the doorbell and stepped into the living room still decorated with the Tamerlane-themed wallpaper that the couple had brought back from their stay in France. The moment was intense since Kostin did not know whether he would be able to come back to this place.

  During the two months to follow, he found himself every week sitting on a luxurious couch, surrounded by paintings and antique furniture. On the first visit, he joked to Svetlana, “I was told that you were working in a museum. I assume this is it, right?” As they became better acquainted with each visit, Kostin realized that this was indeed not so far-fetched. Svetlana, a woman with taste, had surrounded herself with rare and precious objects she had managed to save through the most difficult times of her life. This corresponds to her perception of herself, a rare and precious item needing good care. She certainly was very successful at it: no one could guess her age.

  It became clear that Svetlana would only tell a personal version of the story. Like most of us, having gone through a traumatic experience, she had probably replayed the most painful moments over and over in her mind until they formed a more or less coherent and acceptable picture. Significant events are sometimes omitted because they are not flattering for the narrator, and little self-serving details are overly emphasized. There was no need to explain the unavoidable obstacle facing the journalist, as Svetlana is an intelligent woman. It was enough to give her the assurance that her words would not be distorted. It was agreed that Kostin would be free to keep his version of facts and events, and to use another version altogether if it was closer to the truth. This basic agreement turned out to be productive, and we believe we never betrayed its terms.

  The reconstruction of the facts could not be comprehensive. There are topics a woman would never address on her own initiative, and there are questions you do not ask. Overall, Svetlana told Kostin much more than could be expected at the time, including things she is reproaching herself about to this day. Sometimes, in the excitement of the interviews, she went so far as to reveal certain points that she later on asked us not to mention in the book, a request which was respected. The fuzzy silhouette of the mythical Farewell was gradually becoming more precise; the character was becoming the man.

  Vladimir Vetrov was born on October 10, 1932, in Moscow, in the well-known Grauerman maternity ward, where so many generations of native Muscovites came into this world. Visits were not allowed in this sanctuary of hygiene. Vladimir’s father, Ippolit Vasilevich, just stood there, in front of the building, to see his wife holding his son in her arms through a distant window. His first and only child, little Volodia would have no siblings.

  Ippolit Vasilevich Vetrov was no aristocrat, old or new style. He was born in 1906 in a village in the Orel region. During World War II, he was a private first class, then a corporal, and he was among the very few drafted in the summer of 1941 who came back. He served as a cook on the Volkhov front in the middle of the Battle of Leningrad. After months spent in swamps, he developed a chronic chill. But Ippolit Vasilevich was strong and cheerful. He ended his career as a supervisor at a propane plant, filling canisters. He was a brave soldier, a model worker, and a good family man—a straight and honest man.

  The master spy had modest origins. His father, Corporal Ippolit Vasilevich Vetrov, was among the lucky 5 percent still alive on Victory Day from those mobilized in the summer of 1941.

  With little education, but a lot of strength and good sense, his mother Maria Danilovna ran the household.

  Vladimir’s mother, Maria Danilovna, grew up in the Simbirsk region (later renamed Ulyanovsk) in a farming family having a hard time making ends meet. She had the same first name as one of her three older sisters because she too was born on a day dedicated to the Virgin Mary and to Maria Magdalena. To change a first name, the church required a symbolic fee that the family could not afford. So she kept the same first name as her mother and her sister.

  She went to Moscow in search of work. Because she was illiterate and had no skills, she got a job as a maid. She had plenty of good sense and willpower. During the war, she was a team leader at a gauze manufacturing plant. Others would tell her, “Maria, if you had gone to school, you could have been our director.” She was also the head of her household, managing it masterfully without ever hurting her husband’s self-esteem.

  The couple’s relationship was touching. They were very affectionate and caring toward one another. After their son’s birth, Ippolit Vasilevich would never call his wife any other way than “little mommy” or “sweet mom.” He would never leave the house without kissing her goodbye, and he liked to tease her. Alluding to the fact that Maria Danilovna was three years older than him, he would joke about the fact that “she never told me anything, naughty girl, she had me without saying a thing!”

  Volodia grew up in this atmosphere of perfect understanding. As long as he was living with them, his parents never had any serious conflicts. The couple adored their boy, an intelligent and serious child. Volodia got along just fine with his father, but he was closer to his mother. He had what could be summed up as a happy childhood, essential to the psychological development of a well-rounded individual.

  The only childhood photograph of Vladimir (left). Although a little shy in front of the camera, the boy has an inquiring look compared to his companion.

  On the material front, things were difficult. The 1930s and 1940s were tough years for ordinary citizens who did not have any of the perks that Communist Party and government officials (apparatchiki) were enjoying, and who did not have their own plot of land to grow vegetables. Vladimir always remembered that every extra slice of bread was a feast, even more so with a little bit of sugar.

  The building located at 26 Kirov Street where Vladimir Vetrov lived with his parents. In this neighborhood near the KGB headquarters, top members of the Soviet nomenklatura (ruling class) were living next to working-class people. Vladimir belonged to the latter while dreaming of joining the former.

  The family lived at 26 Kirov Street, in a half-century-old commercial building, next to the post office. For the three of them, the Vetrovs were allocated one single room, long and narrow like a corridor, in a communal apartment where they had to share the kitchen and the bathroom with several other families. For most citizens, this was the normal way of life, and nobody would have thought to complain about it.

  After the war, many teenagers were left without a father. In the labyrinth of yards, passages, and mews of downtown Moscow, gangs would form, soon to be on the slippery road to delinquency. Some of Vladimir’s schoolmates and neighbors ended badly. Some were sentenced and sent to jail for shoplifting. Others became alcoholics. There was a liquor store close by, which attracted easy trafficking of all kinds. Vladimir, however, benefited from a double protection—his family and sports.

  He devoted all his free time to athletics. Sports were given a high priority in the education of Soviet youth. Sporting events helped promote a positive image of the Soviet Union abroad. Athletes enjoyed many significant benefits. Training sessions, totaling several months a year, often took place in resort towns by the Black Sea and in other sought-after destinations. During the training season, as well as during competitions, athletes were entirely taken care of by their sports club. The rest of the time, they all received food vouchers they could use to pay for meals anywhere they wanted, except in fancy restaurants. In addition, beyond a certain level, athletes received a sports grant from the government. While still in school, Volodia was receiving 120 rubles a month, the salary of an engineer or a physician. Proud not to be a burden for his parents, the boy gave all of tha
t money to his mother. This was more than what she earned.

  Most of all, Volodia was a good sprinter. He reached the peak of his athletic career when he became the USSR champion, junior division, in 100-, 200-, and 400-meter races.

  His school was a five-minute walk from home, on Armiansky Alley. Pupils were a mix of the nomenklatura’s offspring and ordinary citizens’ children. It was an elegant neighborhood where quite a few members of the NKVD (the precursor of the KGB) lived, since the headquarters were close by. In fact, attending this school is what opened the boy’s eyes about the inequalities of Soviet society. Years later, Volodia would remember the subservient attitude of teachers toward the children of those Communist big shots. Other kids like him, whose parents never brought gifts to teachers, were viewed as future delinquents, with a sense of morals bound to fall apart the minute they left this temple of education.

  His schoolteacher could not believe that the Vetrov kid had been admitted to the Bauman Moscow Higher Technical School (MVTU). This institution was probably the most prestigious engineering school in the Soviet Union, comparable to what Lomonosov University was in the humanities and research. The competitive entrance exam was draconian, and for each available opening for a student, with or without a scholarship, there were between ten to fifteen applicants. Vladimir was admitted in 1951, at a time when the country was still very enthusiastic about industrialization and the design of ever more intelligent and better performing machines. Engineers were the future, and the acronym MVTU resounded a little like MIT in the U.S.

  USSR junior division champion, Vladimir was considered so technically correct that he was the reference in training other athletes.

  A good student in school, a national champion, admitted to the MTVU—Volodia’s parents were always very proud of their only son. To let him know how impressed she was by his intellectual abilities, his mother gave him, as a term of endearment, the nickname “Lenin’s forehead.” To them, their dear Volodia accomplished everything parents wish for their children; he flew higher than they did, and he built for himself a life better than theirs.1

  Vladimir could not be happier to have been admitted, without any connections or protection, into the elite circle of the builders of the future. He liked everything technical, he was very good at mathematics, and he was about to study in a brand-new department where the faculty was teaching electronic device design. Thus he would be among the first students to graduate as high-tech specialists. They were destined to design what was called at the time, before the shorter term “computer” was adopted, “machines and devices for mathematical computations.” Getting admitted to that prestigious institution was one thing—graduating from it was another. In order to remain a good student, Vladimir had to give up athletics.

  Vladimir (right) with a teammate. Serious and persistent, he was considered an Olympic hopeful of his athletics team.

  Vetrov’s parents after they retired…

  Here again, Vetrov was faced with the reality of Soviet society where some were more equal than others. In his group, for instance, there was Oleg Golosov. He was a nice guy who liked to party, with no aptitude for such difficult studies. But he happened to be the grandson of one of the last Mensheviks who jumped on the bandwagon of bolshevism as it was on the fast track to power. Teachers were instructed to do everything possible to ensure Golosov received his diploma. He barely made it. Although Vladimir would gladly help his classmate write his term papers and his finals—Oleg was not a bad guy, after all—he could not observe with indifference the staggering career of this perpetual dunce. The string-pulling Oleg benefited from all of his life would propel him all the way to the top of the Central Statistical Administration, where he had the rank of a federal minister.

  The degree plan at MVTU took five and a half years to complete. In the winter of 1957, Vladimir presented his work in front of a State commission and passed the comprehensive exams. By the end of February, he received his diploma of higher education with a degree in mechanical engineering (see Figure 1). He may have been a good student, but he had no patronage, nobody to pull strings for him. So he got a modest engineering job in a secret plant, the SAM plant, manufacturing calculating machines.

  …and their pride and joy. Here, a Bauman Institute student.

  As mentioned, Volodia was fortunate to have grown up in a loving, tight-knit family. He had a talent for both intellectual and physical activities, and he had enough will and determination to be successful in his studies and in athletic competitions. However, from the very start, he struggled with the inner conflict that would play a fatal role in his life. The feeling of being a victim of social injustice and his aversion toward string-pulling would be the thread of his life story, typical for a Soviet-style self-made man. Many of his peers put up with this basic fact of social life under communism. For others, this conflict grew out of proportion. Vetrov never accepted the fact that people born with a silver spoon in their mouth, or who benefited from the right connections, were promoted to a better life, while brilliant individuals without connections, like himself, were not. The deep wound he received in school would be slow to heal and quick to reopen.

  Figure 1. Vetrov’s higher education diploma, a necessary but insufficient key to starting a successful professional life; one also needs to know the right people.

  In the spring of 1957, life was good, though, and the future looked promising. After the Twentieth Congress of the USSR Communist Party and the condemnation of Stalinism, the social climate improved rapidly, reviving the most unreasonable hopes. Khrushchev opened the gates of the Gulag and launched a campaign for democratic reforms. In the summer of 1957, there was the first significant breach in the iron curtain; Moscow was about to welcome the International Youth and Students Festival.

  Vetrov’s personal life also promised a “radiant future.” After studying so hard for his diploma, he was about to enjoy a two-month vacation. He wanted to use this opportunity to play sports again. Friends of his managed to convince him to join the Dynamo Club. The Ministry of Internal Affairs and KGB sports society was happy to reinforce its athletics team with a former junior USSR champion, especially in a year expected to be full of prestigious competitions. First, there was the traditional relay race on May 2 for the prize sponsored by the Vechernyaya Moskva journal, and then, more importantly, the sporting events which were part of the International Youth and Students Festival.

  Dynamo had a training camp in Leselidze, Abkhazia, by the Black Sea. Every spring, selected athletes spent five to six weeks there before the summer season. At the end of March, Vladimir was invited to the meeting preceding the departure for the camp, organized at the Dynamo stadium, in a room located under the box seats. Among some fifty future comrades who had gathered there, he soon noticed a cute little blonde with a playful expression; she looked like a kid. He did not know yet that she would become the biggest influence in his life.

  CHAPTER 2

  Svetlana

  Vetrov’s future wife was of humble birth, too. Her father, Pavel Nikolaevich Barashkov, was born in 1905 to a family of poor peasants in the prosperous and well known village of Krasnoe Selo (which means “beautiful village” in Russian). Located on a hill overlooking the Volga River near Kostroma, the village was famous for its handcrafted silver and gold jewelry. This land belonged to the then reigning Romanov family. The Barashkovs’ house was located next to the manor house, and Svetlana’s great-uncle looked like Nicolas II’s double. Of course, people in the village connected those two things.

  In 1916, as he was cruising on the Volga River, the Emperor of All Russia was expected to visit his estate in the area. In anticipation of the event, a local revolutionary hung a red flag at the top of a long pole towering over the village. At first, the tsar thought it was the sunset that had given this color to the flag. Realizing his error, he ordered the captain of the steamboat to turn around and swore never to come back to this seditious village.

  Svetlana, who had been evacuated
to Krasnoe Selo with her mother and brother during the war, met an offspring of the imperial family who had remained in the village. Half crazy, he had not been recruited by the army, and he would come out of his house swearing, insistently showing the passersby his spoons adorned with the Romanov family monogram.

  In the village, Svetlana’s father had received the nickname of Turgenev, because he could never be seen without a book under his arm. Drafted into the army, he chose the career of political officer, responsible for ideological propaganda and boosting the morale of the troops.

  Svetlana’s mother, Anastasia Yakovlevna, was born in 1909 in the Tula region. Her parents died young. With her grandmother, she moved to Moscow in search of work. To be allowed to apply for work, she added three years to her age. She then got married to a pilot, who died soon after from measles. Their only child would die later in tragic circumstances at the age of five.

  When she became Pavel Barashkov’s wife, the couple settled in Sokolniki, which in those days was on the outskirts of the capital. In 1930, their son Lev was born there, and six years later, Svetlana. Not long before World War II, Pavel was transferred to Liubertsi, near Moscow. From there, he was sent to the front. After the war, his family followed him everywhere, to territories annexed just before or after the war, such as Königsberg in the former Oriental Prussia, Jelgava in Latvia, and Mukachevo and Stry in Western Ukraine. As soon as Svetlana got used to a new city, to a new school, and made a few friends, it was time to move again.