Farewell (36 page)

As a more general rule, the double thinking system inherent in a totalitarian society, described by authors such as Orwell or Zinoviev, creates an environment conducive to schizophrenic behaviors. What to say then about a man who was in a constant double life—privately, professionally, and politically?

Likewise, it does not take a PhD in psychology to understand Vetrov’s blunders in the presence of close friends and relatives, all his remarks alluding to a life more substantial and exciting than people around him could ever imagine. Ambitious, with very high self-esteem, former champion, former brilliant operative, for the first time in many years he was again somebody…and not anybody! His existence, in his own country, must not have been known by anybody above the PGU Directorate T chief. The PGU head, Vladimir Kryuchkov, discovered his existence only during the investigation. And yet Vetrov was considered highly important by the president of a powerful country like France (he did not know that Ronald Reagan knew about him as well). A lot ensued from this, even if only in his dreams. He could on a moment’s notice receive a French passport, have a car of his choice delivered to him, or buy an island. Even if certain consequences of his collaboration with the DST were likely to have been pure inventions (like the banquet organized in his honor at the French embassy), this hero could not be content with remaining anonymous. He had to show others and himself how important he was, one way or the other. He could barely contain his need to drop his mask. This is why he confided so much in his son. Getting ready for a departure was much less interesting to Vetrov than an opportunity to express his emotions freely. He needed an audience. Vladik, who admired his father, was the ideal spectator. It was his son who had to know that, far from being a lieutenant colonel sidelined by his service years ago, he was a first-class figure in the world of intelligence.

In fact, Vetrov’s
problem
was that he was an extrovert. He found self-realization in the outside world. He liked women, good food, and showing up unannounced at home with a group of friends. Discipline, reflection, self-control, and simple calculation were not his strong points. The episode of the board he had to saw was very revealing in that regard. All he had to do was get a measuring tape and measure the board; instead, he cut three boards before he got one of the right length.

Impulsiveness and extroversion are a mole’s two worst enemies. Without a doubt, independently of the DST’s own mistakes, Vetrov’s behavior would have caused his downfall, sooner or later. An introvert like a colonel Abel, the famous KGB “illegal” operating in the United States from 1948 to 1956, could have remained for decades in hiding, needing no other satisfaction than knowing he was serving his country.
³
In Vetrov’s case, the fundamental characteristics of his personality were at odds with the situation he was in. He was not allowed to present the image of this important character he had become. For an extrovert, this constraint was unbearable, and this probably explains a lot.

On the other hand, some facts are difficult to understand.

Even if Vetrov initially had no intention of killing his mistress, he certainly meant to be “tough” with her. Consequently, why did this clandestine action specialist not carefully prepare and control the execution of his plan, and why did he not choose a more isolated place? Vetrov and Ludmila both mentioned that a bus stop was nearby, and people likely to be getting out of the bus. If he was planning to kill her, he needed a place to hide the corpse. How to explain the fanciful tales Vetrov told Rogatina, an hour after the murder? According to this account, he had killed Ludmila with a hammer, blinded her in one eye, and mowed her over with his car, sending her flying several meters.

There is a hypothesis that sheds light on the blatant contradictions observed in the execution of the crime. It was suggested by the eminent Russian criminologist Dr. Mikhail Kochenov, whom Sergei Kostin consulted about his doubts. This hypothesis, at first, shocked Kostin, then filled him with enthusiasm, and then made him uncomfortable again. Tested on many contacts at the MUR (Moscow Department of Criminal Investigations), on former convicts and on KGB members, it seems an attractive assumption. Let’s look at it in more detail.

When it all started, Vetrov intended to collaborate with the French for three years, until his retirement, providing a comfortable life for his family until the end of their days and an enviable future for his son. However, the game turned out to be much riskier than he thought. Furthermore, Vetrov knew that, in case of danger, he was on his own. It soon became clear to him that it was only a matter of time before they identified him as a Western mole.

It is also possible that Vetrov thought the French were not likely to let him get out of the game that easily. He himself knew very well how to use the spiral into which he attracted his foreign agents, starting with seemingly innocuous actions. Now he would be the one to experience it. The French had too much proof of his treason and, therefore, too many means of pressure.

It may have become urgent for Vetrov to find a way to make the DST lose all interest in him. There were not that many possibilities. He had to leave the KGB, which was easier said than done. As with all secret services, the KGB had a lot of entries, but very few exits.

It was out of the question for an officer to resign without a valid reason, because he no longer thought his job was useful, for instance, or because he had discovered a new passion in life, like cucumber growing, and intended to devote the rest of his life to nurturing it. It had to be an objective, external reason, beyond his control, like a health issue.

Vetrov could, in theory, pretend he was sick and needed a prolonged treatment that would prevent him from working. In practice, it was much trickier. The very idea of leaving the KGB on his own initiative was dubious, especially three years from retirement, and taking into account that he would lose 75 percent of his future pension. This is why the candidate for resignation was hospitalized for a period that could last several months, during which time the patient could undergo all the necessary tests. It was impossible to simulate a disease, except for the immeasurable side effects of a head injury, for instance. The general conclusion, however, was that the whole thing was a pretext; the second phase of the hospitalization was then performed even more thoroughly. It was the examination under a microscope of the entire life of the “patient”: friends, relations, adulterous affairs, and contacts with secret holders, and individuals meeting with foreigners. Such an investigation could collect a testimony proving there was something going on. For both reasons, this solution was not an option for Vetrov, a healthy man with forbidden relationships.

Vetrov must have thought about divorce as a way to leave the KGB; he would petition for divorce and declare his intention to marry Ludmila. Members of Soviet secret services could not be divorced, and they had to be Communist Party members. Men who have served in the KGB for over twenty years are convinced that the PGU did everything in its power to prevent members from satisfying their longing for freedom through divorce. An officer divorcing while on active duty, even though he was fired, would have set a bad example, encouraging affairs at work; in short, it would have damaged the moral climate within the collective, a collective which was supposed to be beyond reproach.

What else could be done to be excluded from the KGB without arousing the suspicion of internal counterintelligence? Vetrov appears to have found a way. Although he might have hesitated at first, an alarming sign identified by him alone, or a strong intuition, prompted him to seek refuge without delay.

Paradoxical as it may seem, a criminal is nowhere more secure than behind bars. This is a basic rule of the underworld. In case of imminent danger, the first concern of the individual who, for example, committed two rapes and three murders is to get himself arrested for a minor offense like the theft of a suitcase in a railroad station. He would get three years of imprisonment, during which time no one would look for him in jail. By the time of his release, the investigation file for the rapes and the murders would have been closed. In addition to the policemen, magistrates, lawyers, and former convicts interviewed, this was also confirmed by Vladimir Kryuchkov, who thought Vetrov was in a hurry to be tried and sentenced so he could lie low in the Gulag, praying to God for the KGB to forget about his existence.

Vetrov had to know about these tactics. In the first place, he had studied law at the “School in the Woods.” Studying the penal code was among the most interesting of topics because this dark side of life had no place in the Soviet press. Moreover, instructors made a point to provide examples from real cases in order to make the dry and lifeless articles of the code more palatable. A trick of this nature had good chances to strike Vetrov’s imagination and not be forgotten. It is also possible that such a topic was covered during special studies. After all, an operative abroad, with no diplomatic cover, was running the risk of finding himself in a situation where it would be in his interest to be thrown in jail for something less serious than espionage. Of particular importance is the short note in Vetrov’s evaluation file stating that he “served as a military examining magistrate.” Consequently, not only could he have known about those things, it was his duty to know them.

It would have been ludicrous for a KGB officer to snatch purses in the subway or burglarize his neighbors’ apartment. Nobody would have bought the story. The only option left was a crime of passion. It could not have come at a better time considering that Vetrov’s romantic problems seemed equally unsolvable. In this way, he could escape the DST stranglehold, who would have nothing more to expect from him and could not blackmail him since he would be in Siberia, while putting an end to his troubles with Svetlana, whom he clearly did not want to lose. Ludmila Ochikina had the profile of the ideal victim.

Carefully read, the Russian Federation Penal Code has enough in it to remove the last hesitations of anyone planning to take someone’s life away. In Vetrov’s time as today, there is article 104, “Homicide perpetrated in a state of intense psychological agitation,” in a sort of temporary dementia. To punish this kind of crime, the legislator envisioned loss of liberty up to five years, or forced labor up to two years. Dr. Kochenov mentions the case of an officer who, coming home for lunch unexpectedly, found his wife in her lover’s arms. On that day the military man was on duty in his unit and was carrying a weapon. He pulled his Makarov out and killed his rival. He was given a three-year suspended sentence. Naturally, he was expelled from the Communist Party and dismissed from the army. However, apart from the duration of the investigation, he remained free. Vetrov could have known about other such cases.

Having made the decision to murder Ludmila in order to jump off before the disastrous train wreck, Vetrov would have started the groundwork. Since he had told anyone who would listen about his troubles with the two women, he did not have much more to do. His PGU colleagues would all testify in his favor. Vetrov wanted to prepare Vladik, though, since what his son thought of him mattered a lot. It was important to him not to lose his son’s love and respect. To prevent leaks, however, Vetrov did not tell Vladik the truth; if one does not know, one cannot betray inadvertently. Besides, he did not want to drag Vladik into the crime he was planning, so he only prepared him to cope with the upcoming drama. He told him about the documents Ochikina allegedly had stolen, about the blackmailing, and the February 23 ultimatum. To his relief, Vladik reacted mostly favorably to strong-arm tactics.

Vetrov realized that he needed to create a quarrel to take advantage of the “state of intense psychological agitation” clause. To that aim, Ludmila had to provoke him, to make him wild with rage. He might have known, since it was common knowledge, that the Military Prosecutor’s Office, which would be in charge of his case, was very sensitive to issues of hurt masculine pride. The military court, composed almost exclusively of men, also took those mitigating circumstances into account. One can thus assume that Vetrov prepared the following scenario.

He invites his mistress for some romantic moments in his car. To prove he wants everything to be for the better, he buys champagne. After drinking together, the lovers move on to some fondling. However, at the critical moment, Vetrov cannot rise to the occasion, a common but extremely humiliating situation. And Ludmila chooses this mortifying instant to make a biting remark, or even giggle at the wrong moment. Vetrov loses control and goes into a blind rage, explaining why this gentle and easygoing man behaved like a butcher; he was not himself anymore.

Viewed from this angle, it would have been very smart on Vetrov’s part to give Ludmila the first blow to the temple with the bottle. In a state of temporary dementia, one does not pick a weapon, but hits with whatever is at hand. Yet, a bottle of champagne is a formidable weapon. Strong, Vetrov probably hoped Ludmila would be killed outright. With that in mind, he had not thought about the fact that the car’s low ceiling would not give him enough room to hit hard. The pique could then be envisioned as a backup weapon from the start. Many people could confirm the pique had always been in the glove compartment. The first blow having failed, the pique became naturally the main weapon.

To prove that a murder was perpetrated by someone temporarily irresponsible, witnesses are needed. That is why Vetrov would have chosen a parking area next to a bus stop. After killing Ludmila with the bottle or the pique, all he would have had to do was get out of the car and scream. “Help! Please, somebody help me! What did I do? Oh, my God, it’s awful!” The passersby who would have rushed up to the car would have seen a half-mad man uttering incoherent sentences while trying to resuscitate the woman he had just killed. All the testimonies would be in his favor because the main witness, the victim, would not be there to invalidate his account of the events.