Farewell Read online

  Intelligence officer under the cover of a trade representative, Vetrov (second from left) regularly visited French research labs and engineering firms.

  Moreover, the Soviet “merchants” had much more freedom in their everyday life than did their diplomatic colleagues. They were pampered by the French, since the most modest delegate had the capacity of awarding them a potentially lucrative contract. Overnight, the Vetrovs discovered the true meaning of the French expression “faire la tournée des grands-ducs” as they were routinely invited to go out on the town.

  One of the businessmen who helped them discover all the glamour and the glitter of the City of Lights was Albert Gobert. He was a Jew from Odessa, owner of a large chemical company and a perfume plant. He also brokered deals, mainly with the USSR. In particular, he was negotiating with Vetrov for the purchase of Soviet helicopters. Both of his older brothers were also industrialists and businessmen; one lived in the United States, the other in Great Britain. One day, Albert invited the Vetrovs to a family dinner with his brothers, a distinct mark of friendship.

  Vetrov’s business card showing only his name and Paris address, not giving false information.

  Gobert was married to an extravagant beauty, Marguerite, a former model for Christian Dior. She owned a Russian restaurant, the Kalinka, where both couples shared memorable meals. Above all, Gobert enjoyed inviting his Russian friends to the most elegant restaurants and cabarets—Maxim’s, Ledoyen, the Lido, the Alcazar. At tables next to theirs dined the Duke of Windsor, the movie star Jean-Paul Belmondo, the fashion designer Nina Ricci, and other celebrities of the time. These evenings were enough to give these Russians memories for the rest of their lives.

  Dinner conversations were often about ongoing business but soon moved to small talk and more intimate topics. Gobert, being warm-hearted, took pleasure in pleasing others. The company of the Vetrovs, an open-minded couple with no ideological blinders, was often a plus to him when he was taking out Soviet delegations. There is an anecdote illustrating their significant role.

  As a generous host, Gobert wanted to show “Paris by night” to an important delegation led by a Mr. Kazakov, deputy minister of aeronautics. He invited them to the Folies Bergère. At the sight of so much exposed bare skin, the deputy minister got nervous. What if somebody reported on him to higher-ups revealing that he enjoyed the charms of the decadent West? Therefore, he scowled and kept repeating to whoever was listening that Soviet shows were of a much higher standard. At intermission, Kazakov wanted to leave and go back to his hotel. Gobert was on the verge of fainting; the contract for the purchase of helicopters hung by a thread. Svetlana stepped in and saved the day: “As far as I am concerned, I am really enjoying the show,” she said with a charming smile. “You do what you please, but I am staying until the end.” A woman can say things that are off-limits for the men caught up in the business protocol. Kazakov had no choice but to stay. When they left the music hall after the show, he was all smiles.

  Gobert was grateful for Svetlana’s intervention, and from that moment on, the Vetrovs became his emergency backup team. Vladimir could not be more pleased. His friend, who had no link whatsoever with either French or Soviet intelligence, introduced him to a lot of interesting people.

  Especially gifted at communicating, Svetlana accompanied her husband to all social events with French businesspeople.

  The Vetrovs led a fairly expensive lifestyle, even when they were away from their French business partners. At their arrival in Paris, Vladimir was provided with a car, a black Peugeot 403, with a French license plate ending with SR 75. As reported by Marcel Chalet,1 this detail greatly amused the DST tailers; SR is the common acronym for “service de renseignement” (intelligence service) in France. Later on, he obtained a dark green, almost-black 404. Vladik Vetrov remembers to this day the plate number: 4048 FG 75. A regular French license plate was a big advantage over diplomatic cars, which had a plate with CD (corps diplomatique), since they could go anywhere without attracting official attention.

  Vetrov also enjoyed the car for private use. Weather permitting during the warmer season, they took family trips almost every weekend to visit the Paris area, the Loire castles, or the Atlantic coast. They often stayed overnight in Normandy or in Brittany, by the ocean.

  The Vetrovs were not the only ones indulging themselves in such treats. Three or four other families of intelligence officers enjoyed the same freedom. They would even take really long trips all together. One year, they had a four-day vacation for May Day celebrations. Four KGB member families left Paris, heading south to the Mediterranean coast. Near Lyon, the Vetrovs “lost” the convoy and toured the Riviera, Nice, and Monaco.

  A radiant future is smiling at Vetrov, who is smiling back at it. His Paris posting promised him a brilliant career within the KGB.

  After hard work in a demanding and sometimes risky job, Vetrov is pictured spending a few peaceful and happy moments with Svetlana.

  On the way back, they traveled through the Alps. Not far from Grenoble, they stopped for lunch in a small restaurant where no Russian had ever set foot. The owner made them taste his wine. Vetrov pulled out a bottle of vodka from the car trunk. The patrons of the restaurant pushed all the tables together, and for a few hours, everybody present celebrated French-Soviet friendship in style, a moment Svetlana still remembers vividly.

  In the summer, civil servants’ families lived in the countryside. The trade mission owned a dacha, much nicer than the embassy’s second home. Actually, it was a castle that used to belong to the finance minister of the Vichy government. At the Liberation, the collaborator fled to Germany, and the communists, who formed the new municipal council of Montsoult, sold his property to the Soviets for a bag of occupation money. It did not take long before the Russians ruined this little corner of paradise, just the same way they let the once luxurious estates of their own country fall into complete disrepair. In 1969, when the castle’s former owner saw the state of her lovely property, she broke into tears.

  In any case, that is where the Vetrovs spent a significant part of their time. Montsoult is located in the Val d’Oise, twenty-four kilometers north of Paris. Men commuted back there every evening after work. On Sundays, they played volleyball. Often, Svetlana was the one active on the field, while Vladimir babysat their son. Then, the losers would go get a case of beer at the local grocery store, and it was time for picnics and joke telling, with the children playing nearby.

  Those who liked volleyball and country life had another place they could go to, a small town called Mantes-la-Jolie, where the Soviet ambassador generously opened the secondary residence to the embassy staff and, in fact, to the entire Paris-based Soviet colony. It was in this official dacha that all the major receptions were organized to celebrate the Great October Revolution, Soviet Army Day, and May Day. Guests would come from other cities, like Marseille. Ambassadors and advisers from “brother countries” were also invited. However, there were never any French guests. Besides, the Soviets, except for higher posts, such as ambassador, military attaché, or adviser for cultural affairs, were not allowed to invite French people to their place, probably because they could not let the outside world see their Soviet-style communal life.

  As in Montsoult, country life would start in earnest with the return of warm weather. Stanislav Sorokin met with the Vetrovs for the first time on the volleyball field.2 Sorokin belonged to the First Chief Directorate (PGU) and worked in internal counterintelligence. He was in charge of monitoring intelligence officers in particular, and Soviet citizens living abroad in general, to prevent intelligence services of the opposite side from recruiting them. He was operating under the cover of the USSR permanent delegation to UNESCO.

  “They would not go unnoticed, the Vetrovs,” he recalls. “They made such a lovely couple. Svetlana looked like a model—very pretty, slender, with long legs. Most men, including me, could not take their eyes off her. She was, however, above suspicion. She was sociable but kept her di
stance. She never gave ambiguous looks. Besides, she was always with her husband and her son, Vladik, who was treated, I would say today, like a male Barbie doll. Always dressed up to the nines, he would change clothes twice a day. It was clear that his parents adored him, spoiling him rotten. As for Vladimir, he was tall, handsome, smiling, with an open face. The three of them looked as if they were coming straight from People magazine. As I go back and try to remember him at the time we started socializing, even knowing what kind of man Vetrov was in reality, I cannot find a drop of black paint on the picture they offered together. They were perfect.”

  It should be noted that by the end of the Vetrovs’ stay in France, the climate had changed significantly within the Soviet colony. In the mid-sixties, it was still fairly rare to get a job abroad thanks to useful connections. However, little by little, the nomenklatura (ruling class) grew more aware of the opportunities offered by living abroad, particularly in Paris. The newcomers were, for the most part, son or son-in-law of Mr. so-and-so. They spent most of their time lazing about, leaving the real work to those who could not claim a high birth or an influential marriage. The latter were often too happy to fill one of those rare positions abroad reserved for the draft horses. They were needed because the KGB residency had to yield some results.

  The new arrivals had a more modest standard of living. They wore Soviet clothes and saved their Paris purchases for later, to impress their Moscow acquaintances back home. They shopped in low-end stores like Monoprix or, not telling anybody, Tati (equivalent to Walmart or Target). They counted every penny. The cheerful Sunday picnics were becoming a thing of the past, and the grocery by the Montsoult castle eventually went out of business.

  Against this backdrop, the Vetrovs were more and more noticeable since their lifestyle was clearly above the average standard of living of their compatriots. Svetlana was shopping on Avenue Victor-Hugo, where she soon became a regular. Vladimir would often go with her. It made him feel good to be able to buy her the clothes and accessories she deserved, and to realize over and over that he was married to a beautiful and elegant woman. Svetlana bought her shoes and her leather goods at Christian Dior; her suits and coats were from the designers Ted Lapidus or Pierre Cardin.

  Generous by nature, Vladimir, like many Russians, tended to act on impulse. In spite of their seemingly lavish lifestyle, the couple was trying to save money to buy a car for when they would be back in Moscow. But on the day of their wedding anniversary, as they were celebrating, Vladimir declared, “The hell with the car! Come, I’ll get you a nice suit!” And he took his wife to Mersey and bought her an elegant red suit. Svetlana still has it.

  These ordinary details do count in the realms of intelligence gathering. The common view that the Vetrovs were living above their means dates back to their stay in France.

  Could Vetrov have accepted bribes from French industrialists who were in contact with him because of his position at the trade mission? A large company would have been glad to give a small commission to the Soviet delegate who would arrange a substantial contract to the detriment of a competitor, and still be profitable. More than likely, Vetrov did not play that game. First, as a KGB officer, Vetrov was already enough at risk—he did not need the additional risk of venturing into murky deals with his official French business partners. Second, at the beginning of the Brezhnev era, foreign trade civil servants preferred to receive an expensive gift—a hi-fi system, for instance—over money. The practice of getting a percentage on each transaction became widespread only later, under Gorbachev’s more market-oriented rule.

  The explanation is somewhere else. In Paris, Vetrov was in contact with numerous merchants and was in a position to buy, at a discount, merchandise in very high demand among Soviet citizens (portable radios, TV sets, recorders, hi-fi systems, blue jeans, furniture, and so forth). He could buy the very best Western brands, exactly the same as those sold in the most fashionable stores in Paris. Vladimir, who had a good manner with people, understood right away the benefits he could get from the situation. He had all of the Soviet colony’s major players in his pocket. The KGB resident, his deputies, the deputy chief of the trade mission, and even the ambassador himself knew that all they had to do was to ask Vetrov to obtain a satellite radio for instance (all the rage at the time) for half the price.

  The trade mission store, on the other hand, limited to the Soviet colony, could have greatly benefited from Vetrov’s connections. Besides vodka, caviar, and other Russian treats, the store sold Western merchandise. Those products were purchased wholesale in impressive quantities, duty-free since they were considered exported goods, and qualified for other advantages granted to foreigners. The Soviet colony in Paris included several thousands of people, so French resellers and wholesalers were fighting over these important regular clients. Commissions could be very substantial, too. Compared to industrial companies, the risk was significantly lower with merchants. Striking “deals” with them could be viewed as “clever management” of resources which benefited everybody, rather than corruption. However, in the Soviet system, it was a crime to make money “on the side.”

  For the most part, it was Vetrov’s generosity that neutralized envious feelings from others. In fact, generosity was the trait that distinguished Vladimir from the new group of young and ambitious operatives. With him, there was no need to ask who would pay for the drinks. Overall, the Soviets abroad had a modest lifestyle and were panic-stricken when converting the price of an ice-cream cone or a Coca-Cola from francs into rubles. They were all grouped in the same neighborhood. Besides the trade mission, there was the military mission, located at the corner of Rue de la Faisanderie and Rue de Longchamp; a little further, there was the embassy school and two residential buildings, Rue du Général-Appert and Place de Mexico. Stanislav Sorokin’s apartment was located at 52 Rue de la Faisanderie, almost across from the Vetrovs’. In the evenings, Vladimir with Stanislav and a few friends would get together at the brasserie downstairs for a beer (euphemistically speaking) and to play pinball. Pinball was all the rage within the Soviet colony. Even the deputy resident would join his subordinates and participate in the game. They played by teams, two against two or three against three. The losers had to buy one round of drinks. Vetrov made it a point of honor to pay for the beers, even when he arrived late and just watched the game.

  A part of his generosity was more official. For instance, when the embassy team was invited to Montsoult for a volleyball competition, the trade representative would put together a prize for the winning team. “Two cases of white wine and two cases of red wine was already viewed as a princely gesture,” Stanislav Sorokin remembers. “However, it could just as well turn into two cases of champagne, or a bottle of vodka per person with caviar. Our team was head and shoulders above the trade mission’s team, and there was no sportive challenge in beating them. So we would go to Montsoult essentially for ‘grocery shopping.’ It was like going to a free store. In theory, it was the prize organized by the head of the trade mission, but everybody knew Vetrov took the initiative for it and was taking care of it. I even wonder whether he was not paying with his own money for it. But maybe it is an exaggeration.”

  Nevertheless, little by little, Vetrov acquired the reputation of being a big shot who could do a lot through secret connections and who spent lavishly while remaining a likeable and friendly fellow.

  A fishy story for a spy operating abroad? Even more so from Sorokin’s perspective, since he was a counterintelligence officer. “Today, I agree,” he admits. “Including the fact that Vetrov was part of every party, big or small, and of every sport competition. He did want to play this role of generous factotum. As far as we were concerned, we thought that, being part of the trade mission, he had possibilities to buy half-price things we could not dream of having in the Soviet Union. Vetrov wanted everybody to benefit from it. Of course, this was a cover, too. Many high-ranking diplomats or civil servants, residing in Paris or part of a delegation on a trip to Paris
, would buy TV sets and stereos only through this competent, helpful young man, who was not counting every cent. His colleagues or even vague acquaintances did not see anything wrong with it since they too were taking advantage of his generosity. However, in those days, we were educated in such a way, and the overall atmosphere was such, that I would never have imagined Vetrov capable, for instance, of receiving a commission on purchases made by the trade mission store, or, later on, by the embassy store. We were under the impression that with our salaries, more than comfortable compared to those in the USSR, we could be as hospitable in Paris as we were in Moscow. That’s the way the Vetrovs were living.”

  By 1968, the ground shook under Vetrov’s feet. Whether it was a mistake on his part or a denunciation, Vetrov was accused of trafficking. The whole affair happened behind the scenes, and the witnesses we could interview were not able to give any details, but it is undeniable that some murky business deals were involved. A man less clever than Vetrov would have been sent back to Moscow on the spot, and if not brought before the criminal court, at least ousted from the KGB and the Communist Party. Those who were indebted to Vetrov, and the resident Krokhin in the first place, stood up for him resolutely. The scandal was quickly hushed up, to the extent that Vladimir stayed two more years in France.