Farewell Read online

  The trade mission had a very small staff. Vetrov was in charge of business relations with several import-export companies, including some in areas very remote from his specialization, such as medicine and cinema. As in Paris, he did everything from A to Z that was part of the trade representative’s job description.

  Operating for the KGB in Canada was a real challenge! Division B (counterintelligence) of the RCMP was “one of the most advanced and the most aggressive of all Western counterintelligence services.” Coming from Peter Wright, one of the toughest officers at MI5 (the British counterintelligence agency), such an opinion was of great weight.4 The Canadians managed, indeed, to monitor virtually every move of every Soviet citizen. This was Svetlana’s interpretation, most likely an exaggeration. However, this was probably a valid observation when it came to the six Soviet intelligence officers, identified as such, who were operating in Montreal.5

  Vetrov in Canada. A friendly chat over a bourbon with a Soviet colleague. Not a word about work: the two men know they are closely watched by Canadian counterintelligence.

  In Paris, the Vetrovs were living in buildings owned by the Soviet embassy. Here they knew their apartment was bugged. One day, a fixture lighting the dining table exploded with a loud noise, sending glass fragments all over the room. Svetlana was convinced that the fixture was hiding some kind of monitoring device. When they needed to discuss a sensitive issue, they went outside, and right away, a man or a woman would start tailing them, not even trying to hide.

  In stores, the nosiness of the people in charge of carrying out the surveillance led to comical situations. In a supermarket, Svetlana, a kind soul, always tried to make it easy for the individual tailing her to see what she was putting in her cart. Another time, as they were buying a fairly expensive English leather coat for Vladimir, the shadow was circling around them, twisting his neck. Irritated, Vetrov showed him the tag with the price and read it out loud to him.

  In their bedroom, there was a huge closet, some kind of a cubbyhole. Often, the Vetrovs had fun attaching threads across the door so they would fall if the door were opened. Several times, they did find the threads on the floor when they came home. The building manager was a pal. From time to time, Vetrov gave him a bottle of vodka bought at the Soviet trade mission store. Sometimes, the manager would whisper to the Vetrovs after greeting them, “You were paid a visit.”

  In another characteristic event, one day in August Vladimir left on business to Toronto. A few hours after his departure, in the afternoon, the apartment intercom rang.

  “Mrs. Vetrov? We are the police. We know you’ve been assaulted.”

  “Me?” Svetlana asked, surprised. “Nothing happened to me!”

  “That’s what was reported to us. Can we come up and see you?”

  Svetlana accepted but immediately made a phone call to the trade mission to inform them of this unexpected visit.

  Two strapping fellows, about six feet tall, rang at the door; one had dark hair, the other red hair. They were both neat and well dressed. Svetlana invited them to sit down, offered them a drink (which they declined), and presented some Cuban cigars (they helped themselves). The policemen explained that it was reported to them that Svetlana and Vladik had been assaulted during a walk. Svetlana assured them that it was untrue. Then the Canadians asked a few trivial questions. After fifteen minutes, they left.

  During all that time, though, they never stopped looking around surreptitiously as if they wanted to remember the layout of every object in the room. Svetlana believed that they were planning to install a bugging device, or it was because she had muted one unknowingly.

  Any trip to another city had to be reported to the Canadian authorities forty-eight hours in advance, even for non-diplomats, as was Vetrov’s case. The notification had to indicate the number of individuals traveling in the car and their names. Svetlana made two or three trips to Ottawa. Each time, a police car started passing them, then stayed for a short while at their level, enough time to look at each passenger in the car.

  Vladik remembers how his father and one of his friends from the KGB, Anatoli D., took him with them to a clandestine rendezvous. (That is his understanding of the event now. He was only twelve at the time and did not even know that his father was a KGB officer.) They left in Anatoli’s car, which had a local license plate. Instead of driving on the freeway, they took small country roads, at times not paved. They got lost, but since they had been driving for two hours, Vladik suspected that they had gone past the authorized travel limit.6 In fact, the little boy thought they were already in the United States. Then, in a fast-food restaurant by the road, Vetrov went to talk to some guy while Vladik and “uncle Tolia” played a pinball machine.

  Faced with such draconian surveillance, the KGB station in Montreal had adopted a low-profile policy, not waving the red flag in front of the Canadian counterintelligence. Leading a quiet life was better than being expelled from the country, considering the nasty consequences an expulsion would have in Moscow. In spite of the reality on the ground, the tone of the messages sent to the Center in Moscow was triumphant. The most ordinary operation, such as a rendezvous with an agent or the reception of a confidential document, was blown out of proportion and presented as a big success.

  The rich kids of the nomenklatura who were posted in the KGB residency had everything to lose in case of failure, and little to gain from working hard. As for Vetrov, he remained motivated to work productively and with energy. Nobody was protecting him, and he knew that nobody would give him a promotion or his colonel star. His attitude was the source of numerous altercations at the residency. Over time, he would be in open conflict with his superior.

  The KGB resident in Montreal was Igor Bolovinov. He was a handsome blond-haired man in his fifties, very careful about his appearance. Both men had operated together during three years in Paris. Back then their relations were not exactly warm, but in France at least they had the same status. Svetlana was convinced that Vladimir was noted as an excellent operative, while Bolovinov had no special merit apart from writing self-serving reports. Obviously, this is what Vetrov was telling her. Canadian counterintelligence, who made it a point of honor to build a psychological profile as complete as possible for each Soviet resident in Montreal, described Bolovinov as a military-type man, rather strict but respected by his subordinates.7

  In Canada, Bolovinov was now Vetrov’s boss, and this by itself would have been enough to make Vladimir’s life miserable. The situation, as he would describe it to Svetlana, was typical of Soviet intelligence at that time. For one man, the post in Canada was almost like a pleasure trip, and for the other, it was a constant struggle requiring him to be the best. Also, Bolovinov was afraid Vetrov would go after his job. Svetlana neglected to mention that, in Canada, her husband was drinking heavily—maybe too much, for that matter, since the RCMP knew about it.8

  It is certainly true that, in KGB stations abroad, the resident was the only master after God. The reputation and promotion of his subordinates were ninety percent dependent on the appreciation he gave them in his review report. As a general rule, he had only to ask for the recall of an operative for the Center to answer his request positively. Naturally, the resident in charge would not go after the “connected” individuals. Officers without useful connections to protect them, on the other hand, were reduced to subservience. They were the ones sent to the front lines, taking all the risks, and in addition, they were subjected to their “lord’s” whims. A typical example is provided by a KGB resident in Helsinki who was building a sauna in his dacha near Moscow. For months, all the officers traveling to the capital had to carry large stones in their luggage to contribute to the project.

  This illustrates clearly the risks Vetrov was exposing himself to by coming into conflict with his boss. He had to be aware of it, but he was too proud to give in.

  At the beginning of 1975, around February, an executive from the Center came to Montreal on an audit mission. Vetrov spent an
entire night talking with him in the “bubble,” a specific soundproof room in which they could talk without the fear of microphones. They mostly discussed the work methods to implement in the face of Canadian counterintelligence. It is not out of the question that the conflict pitting Vetrov against Bolovinov had already leaked beyond the walls of the residency, either indirectly or because Bolovinov had complained about Vladimir in a dispatch. Based on this hypothesis, the inspector could have been asked, among other things, to sort out the situation at the residency.

  Vetrov did not know yet that he had only a few weeks left in Canada.

  CHAPTER 8

  A Puzzling Affair

  In March 1975, less than a year after his arrival in Canada, Vetrov was recalled to Moscow for reasons not yet explained, even to this day. Here is Svetlana’s version.1

  Svetlana owned an old piece of jewelry bought in an antique shop in Moscow. It was a magnificent gold brooch with sapphires and diamonds. The brooch needed repair because two small diamonds had become loose. Svetlana also had an antique ring missing a small diamond. Back then, there were very few goldsmiths in Moscow. You had to put your name down on a waiting list, you had to come back regularly to confirm your position on the list, and sometimes it could take the whole day standing in line just to bring an item for repair. So, she took her jewels with her to Montreal, she said, to have them restored. Soviet citizens were not allowed to take too many precious objects when traveling abroad: Soviet customs officials were very suspicious about this. However, the needed restoration of the jewelry must not have been urgent because Svetlana waited several months before deciding to take her pieces to a goldsmith.

  In the winter of 1975, she went to a big jewelry store in downtown Montreal. This was a family business with the owner running the store with the help of his wife and his adult son, who had one leg in a cast. A German shepherd walked around the counters, keeping an eye on the patrons.

  At the sight of the brooch, the jeweler’s eyes lit up.

  “But those are genuine sapphires! Do you know, madame, that there are virtually none left like these?”

  Svetlana did not know. But the jeweler was so excited that she worried that she would never see her brooch again. She was so upset that she barely heard the jeweler’s explanation as he was now inspecting her ring and suggesting replacement of the missing diamond by a small ruby. Another question forced her out of her thoughts:

  “Are those pieces insured?” the jeweler asked.

  “No, they’re not.”

  The man shrugged, adding, “You should insure them, it is your responsibility.” He then asked Svetlana whether there was anything he could help her with. She slid an ornate ring with a beautiful emerald off her middle finger. “Like an idiot,” she said as she commented on these events, since, initially, it was not her intention to have this ring modified. She would rather wear it on her ring finger, but it was too big around for that one.

  The jeweler took the three items and gave her a receipt. The pieces would be ready a week later, the following Saturday.

  But that Saturday, the Vetrovs needed to meet a friend at the airport. They went back to the store the following Monday.

  When they got there, they found an eerie scene! The window cases were empty, and everything was chaos inside. The jeweler saw them and pushed the button that unlocked the door. Pale and still shivering with emotion, he told them that last Friday, an elegant woman had come to the store. Of course, he had let her in. He had started showing her jewelry pieces when he heard noises in the back. His wife went there to check but reappeared immediately with two men wearing masks, who had just killed their dog. It was a holdup.

  Well informed, the woman showed her accomplices where the most valuable pieces were. While they were at it, the criminals emptied the cash register and the counter drawers containing, among other things, Svetlana’s repaired jewels.

  At first, the owners did not even think about the damage done to their store. They knew that a violent gang was operating in Montreal. It was their fourth break-in, and during the three previous ones they had gunned down all the witnesses.

  Strangely, the bandits left without harming the family. It was discovered later that the gang leader was living in the neighborhood and had known the jeweler’s family for years.

  The goldsmith reported all the stolen jewels to the police, including the Vetrovs’ pieces for which he even provided a drawing.

  “Too bad they were not insured,” he added. “In the case of antique jewels, the insurance can reimburse several times the actual price of the item.”

  “How lucky you are that they did not kill you and your family!” said Vetrov with empathy.

  “You silly, it’s for him to comfort us, not the other way around!” said Svetlana in Russian. “Their insurance will pay for everything. As for us, we lost everything.”

  The gang was captured in a resort town a few weeks later. They had settled in an empty villa. A neighbor, who knew that the owners never stayed in their villa during the winter, saw light at night and called the police. The burglars opened fire and were all killed during the skirmish. The police found a few pieces of stolen jewelry in the villa.

  The Vetrovs read about it in the paper and went back to the jewelry store. Meanwhile, the jeweler had been summoned to the police station, where he identified several items. However, the Vetrovs’ jewels were not in that batch.

  According to Svetlana, only at this point did Vladimir find out that Soviet citizens were not allowed to bring jewelry for repair. They could only buy jewelry. She then told her husband, “Not a word to anybody about this. Too bad, but since we lost the pieces anyway…otherwise we’ll be in trouble.”

  As we will see later, she did not know how right she was.

  Peter Marwitz, then officer of the Canadian counterintelligence, researched the facts which confirmed, roughly, a story seemingly out of a cop movie.2 The reported holdup did take place on January 17, 1975, at the Ernest Robert jewelry store, 536 East Rue Beaubien. This holdup got a lot of media attention because it had been perpetrated by two known criminals, already wanted by the police for the murder of thirteen people at the Gargantua nightclub in Montreal. Their names were Fernand Beaudet and Richard Blass. The third man who took part in the break-in was Richard Blass’s brother, Michel. In order to divert the goldsmith’s attention, the criminals used a woman, Ginette Charron. Soon after, the jewels, worth an estimated fifty thousand Canadian dollars, were partially recovered, during the arrest of Michel Blass at his home in Boucherville. On February 23, Fernand Beaudet was also arrested, probably in the same empty villa mentioned by Svetlana. As for Ginette Charron, she chose to give herself up to the police. Richard Blass was gunned down by the police later that same year, 1975. For the most part, the account given by Svetlana appears to be accurate.

  In any case, it is rather strange to see, for the first time in this story, a common crime intertwined with an espionage case.

  But let us go back to the Vetrovs. One evening in late February or early March, Vetrov invited his wife to go for a walk. Svetlana did not ask questions. From the expression on Vladimir’s face, she understood that he needed to talk far away from the RCMP’s big ears.

  The couple went for a walk in the big park next to Rockhill, as they often did to enjoy the beautiful surroundings. The place radiated peace and harmony, maybe because of the tombstones of the Notre-Dame des Neiges cemetery that could be seen through the bare branches of the trees. They walked up Chemin Remembrance toward the Lac des Castors. In a deserted alley, Vetrov gave the bad news to Svetlana. Based on information gathered by the KGB residency, the Canadian counterintelligence was about to arrest him. Although an intelligence officer, Vetrov was not covered by diplomatic immunity. The source of the information must have been reliable since it had been decided to recall him to Moscow without delay.

  Moreover, in order not to arouse suspicion within the RCMP, the KGB planned to have Vetrov travel alone, as if it were a regu
lar business trip. Svetlana had to stay in Montreal a bit longer to allay suspicion.

  This plan required carrying off a well-organized operation at the Montreal Dorval Airport. Vladimir pretended to accompany an official delegation which was flying back to Moscow. As he often did in similar circumstances, he boarded the plane to make sure the delegates were comfortably seated, but this time he did not reappear. He traveled with only a small bag containing toiletry items and gifts for Vladik and his mother-in-law. According to Svetlana, over a dozen Soviet individuals had been asked to participate in the airport operation to come to the rescue of the KGB members in case of difficulties, and they all heaved a sigh of relief after the Aeroflot plane took off and disappeared in the clouds.

  Peter Marwitz insists that this version of the story about Vetrov’s departure for Moscow is overdramatic. In his opinion, Vetrov boarded the plane in the sole company of one member of the Montreal residency. Canadian counterintelligence expected Vetrov to hush the scandal within the First Chief Directorate, then to come back to Canada. We will see later in the story why the RCMP had such expectations.

  Svetlana denies any link between the jewelry story and their premature recall to Moscow. According to her, in those days her husband was telling her everything. If there had been a link between the recall and the stolen jewels episode, Vladimir would have said to her, “See the mess I am in because of your damned stones!”