Red Notice: A True Story of High Finance, Murder, and One Man's Fight for Justice (34 page)

When Irina Perikhina, one of those junior lawyers, heard the knock on her door, she was sitting at her vanity. Like any self-respecting thirtysomething Russian woman, she wouldn’t be caught dead talking to anyone without her makeup on. Instead of answering, she continued to brush on mascara and apply lipstick. When she was finally done and went to the door, no one was there. The police had given up and left, thinking the apartment was empty.

Boris Samolov, another of Sergei’s lawyers, was luckily not living at his registered address when the knock came. He avoided the police altogether.

Sergei, however, was at home with Nikita, his eight-year-old son. Sergei was getting himself ready for work and Nikita for school. His eldest son, Stanislav, was already gone. Sergei’s wife, Natasha, hadn’t been feeling well that morning and had gone to see the doctor.

When the knock came, Sergei opened the door and was faced with three officers. He stepped aside and let them in.

The Magnitsky family lived in a modest two-bedroom apartment on Pokrovka Street in central Moscow. Over the next eight hours the officers turned the apartment upside down. When Natasha returned from the doctor, she was shocked and scared, but Sergei wasn’t. As
they sat in Nikita’s bedroom, he whispered, “Don’t worry. I’ve done nothing wrong. There’s nothing they can do to me.” The police were still there when Stanislav returned home from school. He was angry, but Sergei, in his calm voice, assured him that everything would be fine.

The police finished their search at 4:00 p.m. They confiscated all of Sergei’s personal files and computers, family photos, a stack of children’s DVDs, and even a paper airplane collection and sketchbook that belonged to Nikita. They then arrested Sergei. As he was being led away, he turned toward his wife and children, forced a smile, and said he’d be back soon.

•  •  •

Thus began the tragic ordeal of Sergei Magnitsky. I learned about it in fits and starts over several months, but it’s an ordeal that I have never stopped thinking about.

I learned about the search of his home in real time. In the midafternoon of November 24, Vadim rushed to my desk with a panicked look on his face. “Bill, we need you in the conference room now!”

I followed him. I knew what he was going to tell me. Ivan, Eduard, and Vladimir were already there. As soon as I closed the door, Vadim said, “Sergei’s been arrested!”

“Shit.” I fell into the nearest chair, my mouth suddenly dry. Dozens of questions and images ran through my head. Where was he being held? On what grounds had they arrested him? How did they frame him?

“What’s going to happen next, Eduard?” I asked.

“He’ll be given a detention hearing where he’ll either be granted bail or put into a detention center. Almost certainly the latter.”

“What are those like?”

Eduard sighed and avoided my eyes. “They’re not good, Bill. Definitely not good.”

“How long can they hold him?”

“Up to a year.”

“A
year
? Without charging him?”

“Yes.”

My imagination launched into overdrive. I couldn’t help but think of the American TV show
Oz
, about a Harvard-educated lawyer who gets thrown in jail with horrific and violent criminals at a fictional New York State correctional facility. It was only a TV show, but the unspeakable things that happened to this character made me shudder when I considered what Sergei was about to face. Were the authorities going to torture him? Would he be
raped
? How would a gentle, erudite, middle-class lawyer deal with a situation like this?

I had to do whatever I could to get him out of there.

My first move was to get Sergei a lawyer. He requested a well-known attorney from his hometown named Dmitri Kharitonov. We hired him immediately. I assumed Dmitri would share any information he learned about Sergei’s situation, but he turned out to be extremely guarded. He was certain his phone was being tapped and his email monitored. He wanted to communicate with us only in person, and that could only happen when he would be in London, in mid-January. I found this arrangement highly unsatisfactory, but if this was the lawyer Sergei wanted, I couldn’t possibly argue.

My next move was to see the new head of the Russia desk at the Foreign Office, Michael Davenport, a Cambridge-educated lawyer roughly my age. Unlike his predecessor, Simon Smith, I didn’t warm to Davenport. I’d met him several times before to brief him on our troubles with the Russians, but he seemed to view me as a businessman who’d gotten what he deserved in Russia and didn’t merit the attentions of the British government.

Now that a vulnerable human being was involved, I hoped his attitude would change.

I went to his office on King Charles Street and he ushered me in. He pointed to his wooden conference table and we sat opposite each other. He asked his assistant to bring us some tea, then said, “What can I do for you, Mr. Browder?”

“I have some bad news from Russia,” I said quietly.

“What’s happened?”

“One of my lawyers, a man named Sergei Magnitsky, has been arrested.”

Davenport stiffened. “One of your lawyers, you say?”

“Yes. Sergei discovered the massive tax-rebate fraud I told you about earlier in the year. And now the Interior Ministry officers who committed the crime have taken him into custody.”

“On what grounds?”

“We’re still trying to figure that out. But if I had to guess, it would be tax evasion. That’s how these guys operate.”

“That’s very unfortunate. Please, tell me everything you know.”

I gave him all the details as he took notes. When I was finished, he promised authoritatively, “We will raise this issue at an appropriate time with our counterparts in Russia.”

I’d met enough diplomats by that point to know this was standard Foreign Office speak for “We’re going to do jack shit for you.”

The meeting didn’t last much longer. I hurried out, hopped into a black taxi, and headed back to the office. As we drove through Trafalgar Square, my phone rang. It was Vadim.

“Bill, I just got some bad news from my source Aslan.”

“What is it?”

“He told me that the Interior Ministry has assigned nine senior investigators to Sergei’s case, Bill.
Nine!
”

“What does that mean?”

“A normal criminal case gets one or two. A big one might get three or four. Only a huge political case like Yukos would have nine.”

“Shit!”

“There’s more. He also said that Victor Voronin, the head of Department K of the FSB, was personally responsible for Sergei’s arrest.”

“Fuck,” I muttered, and hung up the phone.

Sergei was in big trouble.

•  •  •

Sergei’s bail hearing took place at the Tverskoi District Court in Moscow two days after his arrest. The police had no evidence of a crime and no legal basis for keeping him in custody. Sergei and his lawyers thought that with such a flimsy case, bail would be granted for sure.

As they assembled in court, they were confronted with a new investigator from the Interior Ministry, a thirty-one-year-old major named Oleg Silchenko, who was so boyish-looking that he didn’t even appear qualified to give evidence to a court. He could have been an intern in Sergei’s tax department at Firestone Duncan, or a graduate student at Moscow State University. But Silchenko was wearing a crisp blue uniform, and as he aggressively presented his “evidence,” he showed that he was every inch an officer at the Interior Ministry.

Silchenko argued that Sergei was a flight risk and waved around a “report” from Department K as his evidence, claiming that Sergei had applied for a UK visa and had reserved a plane ticket to Kiev. Both allegations were fabricated. Sergei pointed out that he hadn’t applied for a UK visa, which could easily be proven by contacting the British embassy. Sergei then addressed the made-up Kiev reservation, but the judge wouldn’t let him finish. “I have no reason to doubt the information provided from investigative bodies,” the judge said. He then ordered Sergei to be held in pretrial detention. Sergei was hustled out of the court, handcuffed, and put in a prison transport. He spent ten days at an undisclosed location and was then taken to the place where he would be held for at least the next two months, a jail known simply as Moscow Detention Center No. 5.

When he got there, he was put in a cell with fourteen other inmates but only eight beds. The lights were left on twenty-four hours a day and the prisoners slept in shifts. This was clearly designed to impose sleep deprivation on him and the other detainees. Silchenko probably thought that after a week of fighting hardened criminals for a mattress, Sergei, a highly educated tax lawyer, would do anything Silchenko wanted.

Silchenko was wrong.

For the next two months Sergei was moved again and again and again. Each cell was worse than the last. One cell had no heat and no windowpanes to keep out the arctic air. It was so cold that Sergei nearly froze to death. Toilets—which consisted of holes in the ground—were not screened from the sleeping area. Sewage often bubbled up and ran over the floor. In one cell, the only electrical outlets were located directly next to the toilet, so he had to boil water with the kettle while standing over the rank latrine. In another cell, Sergei fixed a blocked toilet with a plastic cup, but it was chewed away by a rat in the night, and so much sewage covered the floor by morning that he and his cellmate had to climb up on the bed and chair like monkeys.

Worse than the physical discomfort for Sergei was the psychological torture. He was a devoted family man, and Silchenko tormented Sergei by refusing to allow him any contact with his family. When Sergei applied for his wife and mother to visit, Silchenko replied, “I reject your application. It’s not expedient for the investigation.”

Sergei then applied for permission to speak to his eight-year-old son on the phone. “Your request is denied,” Silchenko said. “Your son is too young for you to have a phone conversation.” Silchenko also refused a request for Sergei’s aunt to visit because Sergei “couldn’t prove” she was a relative.

The purpose of everything Silchenko did was simple: to compel Sergei to retract his testimony against Kuznetsov and Karpov. Yet Sergei never would, and every time he refused, Silchenko made Sergei’s living conditions increasingly worse, further isolating him from the life he knew and the freedom he had so recently enjoyed.

•  •  •

It wasn’t until Sergei’s detention hearing in January 2009 that we learned of his horrible living conditions, his complete isolation from his family, and his mistreatment at the hands of Silchenko. It wasn’t until then that we heard of his steadfast refusal to recant. It wasn’t until then that a picture of Sergei’s strength began to take shape.

While most of the information we received that January was extremely grim, there was one bit of positive news. As Sergei was being moved around, he ended up sharing a cell with an Armenian accused of burglary. The Armenian was preparing for trial and desperately needed legal help. Without any law books or other resources, Sergei was still able to write a comprehensive defense for his cellmate. When the Armenian went to court, he was surprisingly acquitted and set free. As news of this spread, Sergei’s stock with the other prisoners shot up like a rocket. Overnight he became one of the most popular and well-protected inmates in the detention center.

The terrible images from
Oz
at least partially faded from my mind, and I slept a little easier after hearing that Sergei’s fellow inmates were not mistreating him.

Unfortunately, the authorities were.

In late February, Silchenko secretly moved Sergei to a special facility called IVS1. This was a temporary holding facility outside the main detention system where the police could do whatever they wanted to detainees. We suspected this was where Silchenko and the FSB were trying to coerce Sergei into signing a false confession. We had no idea what they did to Sergei there, but we assumed the worst.

For the next two or three months we didn’t hear much more. All we knew for certain was that no matter what Silchenko and the other officers at the Interior Ministry did to Sergei, he refused to sign anything that they put in front of him. When Silchenko told him to expose somebody, Sergei would say, “I will expose those officers who have committed the crimes.” Eventually Silchenko must have realized that he had seriously underestimated this gentle tax lawyer.

The more they did to Sergei, the stronger his spirit became. In a letter to his mother he wrote, “Mama, don’t worry about me too much. My psychological resilience surprises me sometimes. It seems as if I can endure anything.”

Sergei would not break. But while his will was unbreakable, his body was not. In early April he was moved again, this time to a detention center called Matrosskaya Tishina. There, he began to suffer
from acute pains in his stomach. The episodes would last for hours and result in violent bouts of vomiting. By mid-June he had lost forty pounds.

Sergei was sick. But with what, we had no idea.

•  •  •

As Sergei’s detention dragged through the spring, a part of me wished that he would just give the Interior Ministry what it wanted. His doing so might have increased my problems with the Russian authorities, but that would be nothing if Sergei could have gotten out of that hellhole and ended up back in the arms of his family.

As each day passed, I became increasingly desperate to get him out of jail. Since I had no capacity to do anything in Russia, my only option was to pull out all the stops in the West.

The British government had made it clear that it was going to do next to nothing to help Sergei, so I began looking for international organizations that might be able to help. The first solid lead came from the Council of Europe, a multilateral organization that dealt specifically with human rights issues. Headquartered in Strasbourg, France, it was composed of forty-seven European countries, including Russia. A German MP and former justice minister, Sabine Leutheusser-Schnarrenberger, had recently been appointed by the Council to conduct an investigation into Russia’s criminal justice system, and she was looking for high-profile cases for her report.