Farewell Read online

  Well rated by the KGB, Vetrov is on the right track. Vladik, dressed in Pierre Cardin designer clothes, inspires the same confidence as his father.

  Vetrov’s comfortable monthly salary was approximately five hundred rubles. Their purchases were rather expensive; the Louis XV desk cost twenty-five hundred rubles, and the armoire thirty-seven hundred rubles. Yet, the couple always came up with the money they needed for each of those acquisitions. This could be explained in part by the fact that they had an account in Vnesheconombank (Bank for Foreign Economic Affairs).4 On the other hand, officially, the Vetrovs could not have saved that much money when they were in France. By comparison, one of the individuals interviewed for this book, who had spent seven years in Paris at the KGB residency, told us that he had not been able to accumulate more than fourteen thousand rubles during that time. In his opinion, though, this was a huge amount of money. This leads us to believe that part of the Vetrovs’ wealth had a hidden origin.

  In the winter of 1971, Stanislav Sorokin, Vladimir’s colleague during his entire stay in Paris, together with his wife, ran into the Vetrovs in a huge furniture store on Lenin Avenue in Moscow. The Sorokins were hesitating in front of a three-panel mirror they thought was too expensive at one hundred and eighty rubles. They looked around the store while thinking it over. They stopped in awe in front of a complete bedroom set. The pieces of furniture were white, which, at the time, was as extravagant as a white grand piano or a white Mercedes. The price was exorbitant, around three thousand rubles. At that moment, they saw the Vetrovs coming their way.

  “Great stuff!” said Vladimir after having greeted the Sorokins. “Do you like it?”

  “Not bad,” conceded Svetlana.

  “You want us to buy the set?”

  Svetlana shrugged.

  “OK, that’s settled, we’ll take it!”

  In a March 2007 interview, Sorokin told Kostin that he remembered this episode for years to come. This was the overall impression left by Vetrov on his former colleagues of the Paris residency. It was like a leitmotif: “Vetrov made a tidy little sum with all his dealings in Paris!”

  However, besides the small amount of capital they built in France, there may be another valid explanation of the Vetrovs’ financial resources. The largest Soviet art collections owe their existence to individuals who knew where to buy low and where to sell high. For instance, one could get a piece of artwork for next to nothing from a defenseless old woman, from the impoverished daughter or wife of a painter, actor, even of a top-ranking civil servant. The artwork would then be sold back to a nouveau riche eager to invest his illegal rubles, which could not be spent overtly. With each object they handled, collectors received a more than comfortable margin, perfectly legally. There were plenty of clever ways to make money. One had to become a regular at the Moscow antique shops, the number of which could be counted on one hand. Their managers were too happy to put aside a beautiful piece of furniture or a fine painting, and to call a loyal client who knew the ropes; especially since they were rewarded, too. The system was mutually profitable. When a private individual brought in an object he or she wanted to sell, the shop expert gave a minimal estimate for the object, or even a figure significantly below the real value. Then, without putting the object on display, the store staff would sell it to a regular client who would compensate them generously in cash.

  We are deliberately spending some time reviewing these various points because they are not mere details. On the contrary, they allowed us to invalidate, among other things, the version that, later on, would be widely shared by PGU personnel, spreading the rumor that Vetrov would have been from the very start, as early as during his Paris days, a well-paid agent working for the French intelligence services.

  Although no longer living in France, Vetrov did not sever the bonds uniting him to that country. He kept in contact particularly with his friend Jacques Prévost.

  In 1972–1973, Prévost traveled regularly to Moscow on business, representing Thomson-CSF. One day, Vetrov called him up in his hotel room at the Rossia and asked if they could meet. They met in the lobby a few minutes later and left together in Vetrov’s car. Vetrov was driving when, suddenly, he pulled out his KGB card of lieutenant colonel and showed it to Prévost. “Now you know,” he said. “Do you still want to be my friend?” Prévost, who, without knowing exactly Vetrov’s rank, knew that his partner belonged to the KGB, assured him that it did not change a thing as far as he was concerned. Instantly, Volodia, as Prévost used to call him, invited him for dinner at their place. As a KGB officer, Vetrov could meet with foreigners only for professional reasons and only after having received the official green light from his superiors. Since Prévost was considered to be his “target of study,” it was probably not difficult to obtain such an authorization. Prévost visited the Vetrovs two or three times more.

  The Russians enjoy entertaining at home. Svetlana and Vladimir made it a point of honor to fill Prévost with caviar, salmon roe, smoked sturgeon, and other local delicacies. Everything was presented on silver plates, items that could be found for little money in antique stores. The Frenchman seemed to appreciate the display of luxury. One day, as an intended compliment, he told his hosts that in France only a member of the Rothschild family could afford to own such precious furniture as theirs.

  On his part, at the end of the very first dinner, Vetrov felt an obligation to confirm his gratitude toward Prévost regarding the car accident: “Jacques, I did not forget what you did for me, you know…and the day will come when I will pay my debt.”

  On the next visits, Prévost traveled with his wife. Svetlana showed her around in Moscow, taking her to the Tretiakov Gallery and the Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts. One Sunday, the Vetrovs picked their French friends up at their hotel, the “Leningradskaya,” and drove to Sergiyev Posad (renamed Zagorsk by Soviet authorities) to show them one of the most impressive and renowned monasteries of the Russian Orthodox Church.

  His friend Jean-Paul was there too, accompanying Jacques Prévost, but it is primarily the presence of his wife that leads us to believe that no new attempt was made to approach Vetrov. Prévost, who knew that the KGB was aware of his status of DST “honorable correspondent,” was not keen on his wife coming to Moscow with him. With his wife present, it is difficult to imagine the Thomson correspondent offering defection to a KGB operative. Besides, Vladimir did not mention anything to his wife, and Svetlana is certain that he would have told her about it if a formal approach had taken place.5

  Another event convinced Vetrov that the DST had lost interest in him. In 1972, the PGU considered sending him as the KGB branch manager in Marseille under cover of the consul post. Besides the consul general post in Marseille, part of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs (MID), there was also a consul post traditionally filled by a KGB member, with a second one reserved for the military intelligence (GRU).

  This would have been, in all respects, the needed promotion to heal Vetrov’s bruised ego. This move from the PGU was also proof that his troubles linked to the promised (but never awarded) decoration were forgotten for good. Unknowingly, the KGB was about to do the DST a big favor, providing it with the opportunity to continue the surveillance of its old target. More than in any other field, patience is required from anyone willing to succeed in the art of intelligence gathering. The return of Vetrov in France would have given the DST a second chance to recruit him. To everyone’s astonishment, however, his visa application was rejected by the French.

  Raymond Nart, who had given his staff clear instructions to accept any visa application for Vetrov, claims that he had not been informed of the request for a visa. It is probable that the information was not transmitted to his service. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs, who was instructed by the DST to keep the number of Soviet residents to a minimum, was responsible for delivering diplomatic visas. Painfully understaffed, the DST did not want too many Soviet diplomats in French territory since it did not have the means to control the comings and go
ings of those individuals considered to be intelligence agents. In that regard, reducing the number of Soviet residents was a constant concern for the DST until the massive expulsion of diplomats in 1983, closely related to the Farewell dossier, as we will see later on.

  It is somehow ironic that this very concern was probably the source of the confusion within the administration, resulting in denying Vetrov his visa. In addition to the new consulate in Marseille, another one was opening in Strasbourg, providing the KGB with even more opportunities to multiply the number of its correspondents. The negotiations were heated between the French Foreign Office and Soviet authorities, and it ended with the limitation of visas according to strict quotas; Vetrov’s visa was a victim of these new quotas.

  Vetrov must have interpreted this visa denial in a very different way: If the French were closing their borders to him, it must be because the DST wrote him off. Since Vetrov refused to be their mole, the DST did not want an active and dangerous intelligence officer on its territory. This was the way he explained the situation to his wife. The fact that Jacques Prévost had stopped calling him on the phone confirmed this hypothesis.

  Conversely, this shows in a convincing way not only that Vetrov had not accepted collaboration with the DST, but also that he did not offer them hope that he would change his mind. Otherwise, the doors would have been wide open for him to get this consul post in Marseille.6

  The fact is that, after his departure from France, Vetrov did not travel outside of the USSR again until 1973. That year, he spent a week in Switzerland, on behalf of the KGB. This neutral country probably did not ask the DST for its permission to deliver a visa to Vetrov.

  CHAPTER 7

  In the Shade of the Maple Trees

  In both the Western and Eastern Blocs there is an intelligence exchange system between secret services of countries belonging to that bloc to inform one another about their common adversaries. In the West, this information exchange is called “Totem.” When a KGB member was identified in any NATO country, all other countries in the alliance were notified. Thus, as soon as a request came in for an authorization or for a visa, if Paris, Washington, or Bonn were listed among the previous places of posting, then any NATO counterintelligence service was assured to get information about the individual.1

  This is why when, by the end of 1973, the KGB proposed to post Vetrov in Canada, Vetrov was not optimistic about the outcome. But surprisingly, he obtained a Canadian visa. This mystery remains unresolved. It is not likely that the DST hid from its RCMP colleagues (Royal Canadian Mounted Police Security Service, the main Canadian counterintelligence agency) the fact that Vetrov belonged to the KGB. While informing them about Vetrov, could it be that the DST minimized the risk represented by this gifted and aggressive officer? Did the French want to continue their study of Vetrov on the territory of their “Quebec cousins” rather than in France? Maybe they considered the possibility of a French-Canadian approach? All the same, the fact is that although informed by the French, the RCMP authorized Vetrov’s stay in Canada.

  On April 1, 1974, Vetrov resigned from Minradioprom to be nominated to the post of chief engineer at the Soviet trade mission in Montreal. In the years since his stay in Paris, his status had not changed—same cover post, same rank of lieutenant colonel. Vetrov must have been acutely aware of this state of stagnation.

  He was, nevertheless, happy to go work abroad again. Canada was highly rated by the nomenklatura in the list of the most profitable countries. This meant that the Vetrovs would have several years ahead of them to lead a comfortable life and prepare their “material” future. This assignment also proved that Vladimir was still part of the active staff. Furthermore, the risks and successes in the life of an operative are a strong stimulant.

  Vladimir left Moscow alone, leaving Svetlana behind to wait until the end of the school year so Vladik, who had started middle school, could complete his course work. They both arrived in June, together with a cheerful group of schoolchildren who were coming to spend the summer vacation with their parents. Because the Russian colony in Canada had only an elementary school, Vladik had to go back to Moscow for the next school year, which started on September 1.

  The Vetrovs lived in Rockhill, 4850 Chemin de la Côte des Neiges. This was an affluent, even luxurious, residential housing complex, bordering a magnificent park extending all the way up to the top of Mount Royal. Yet Svetlana did not like the place, which she found gloomy. Many Canadians would have been envious of her, though.2 The residence comprised five high-rise buildings, with retail shops and services within the housing complex (see drawing on next page). There was a convenience store, a cleaner, a hair salon, underground parking, a swimming pool—in short, everything that is needed to be self-sufficient. This was very convenient in the wintertime, when snow blocked roads and TV and radio messages advised people to stay home.

  The Vetrovs’ two-room apartment was charming and comfortable, with a balcony, air-conditioning, lots of closet space, and a well-appointed kitchen with low, saloon-type doors opening either way. The furniture was woefully outdated, showing that the Soviet trade mission had been renting this flat for years.

  The Rockhill neighborhood also was far from downtown Montreal, and Vetrov needed to go regularly to two different places for work. The KGB residency was housed in the general consulate of the USSR, located at 3655 Avenue du Musée, two and a half miles away. His official place of work, the Soviet trade mission, 4370 Boulevard Pie IX, was about eight miles away, close to the Olympic stadium, still under construction at that time. But Vetrov did not have a company car, and the situation infuriated him. Not only had he not been promoted since Paris, but on top of it, he was not given proper means of transportation. In Canada, considering the need to cover great distances, and the American-like worship of cars, it was essential to have one. Still, Vetrov must have known what the Canadian spy hunters knew. The residency car had been involved in an accident just before he arrived in Canada. To replace it, one had to follow a bureaucratic procedure that took time,3 but Vetrov kept ruminating over what he felt was a personal humiliation.

  Rockhill residential housing complex in Montreal. The Vetrovs lived on the fourth floor in the right tower. There was only one other Soviet couple in the whole neighborhood.

  To go downtown, he had to ride the bus. So what? The neighborhood was served by four smoothly running bus services, and another Soviet family was living in Rockhill. It was the GRU resident, representing the military intelligence service. Since his office was also located in the general consulate, he did not mind carpooling with Vetrov when he needed to go to the KGB residency. Sometimes, one of his colleagues would even detour to give him a lift. All the same, Vladimir would not quit complaining about his superior. Three or four months later he bought, at the service’s expense, a blue Ford with a metallic finish.

  In Canada, Svetlana found a job. There were less than ten children, ages seven through eleven, among the Soviet families posted in Montreal. The only Russian primary school was in Ottawa, three hours away by car, and not a practical option. The solution was to find a schoolteacher for the pupils in Montreal. With her diploma from a Moscow teacher training college, Svetlana was deemed the best candidate for the job. And so, five days a week, she had to go to the trade mission where she had been given a classroom. As in a single-room rural school, she taught a class in arithmetic, another in reading, and a third in history while other students did their homework.

  Her monthly salary of five hundred Canadian dollars was a welcome supplement to Vladimir’s. The Soviets were indeed paid ridiculously low sums, based on the cost of living as it stood in the 1950s. Thus, Vetrov’s monthly salary was four hundred and forty Canadian dollars while unemployment benefits were, at the time, at the seven-hundred-dollar level. Contrary to what was widely believed, KGB members did not receive supplemental currency in addition to their net salary as government employees.

  The Vetrovs felt the Canadians were friendlier than the Fre
nch. People in the street spoke to you easily. Drinking a Coke with somebody was enough for him to start calling you “my friend,” even though the next day he might not remember you. Compared to France, the standard of living was significantly higher in Canada, with more cars, bigger cars, and bigger and more elegant homes.

  It was a nation of healthy, robust, and beautiful people. Men were tall and well groomed. You could see more men than women in beauty salons. Some were sitting under the hairdryer while others were getting a manicure. And Montreal had as many hair salons as there were flower shops. Also, the Canadians liked gaudy colors as in the red and green Prince of Wales jackets. Shocked at first, Svetlana quickly adjusted and started buying colorful clothes for Vladimir.

  The Soviet colony in Montreal was much smaller than the one in Paris. The embassy and other delegations were in Ottawa. In the capital city of the Quebec province, there were only a few dozen civil servants working at the trade mission, the general consulate, and the ICAO (International Civil Aviation Organization).

  Self-made men such as Vetrov were even more rare here than when he was about to leave Paris, in the Brezhnev era at its zenith. The ICAO Soviet delegate, for instance, was the very own son of Georgadze, secretary of the Soviet Parliament, a typical example of the clever and greedy mobsters commonly encountered in the corridors of Soviet power. His wife was the daughter of an admiral. They settled in their two-story luxurious apartment as a normal situation for the new Communist aristocrats. A characteristic trait was the fact that Vladislav Georgadze lived in Canada under an assumed name, not because he was a member of the KGB or the GRU (he was “clean”), but to avoid any “provocation” against him.