Death of a Dissident - Alex Goldfarb [136]
“The Danes will not send an innocent man to his death,” said Boris with his usual optimism. We were in London, discussing what to do for Zakayev. I wanted to get involved.
“When Russia slaughtered two hundred thousand civilians in Chechnya the West looked the other way. Why would they stand up to Putin over Zakayev?” I said. “He needs all the help he can get.”
For Boris, this was a serious dilemma. His asylum application was pending. Russian officials had ominously hinted that they could bring up terrorism charges against him, related to his Chechen connections. The last thing he needed was to associate himself with a man accused of terrorism. His lawyers strongly advised him to steer clear of Zakayev. His PR adviser, Lord Timothy Bell, who took it upon himself to explain what the British really meant, was extremely concerned: “You can’t imagine how vicious Whitehall may become if it believes that its real interests are at stake.”
But Boris sided with me: we had to put up a fight for Zakayev, both on principle and for pragmatic reasons. If we let Putin get him, Putin would come for us next.
On November 1, we announced that the IFCL would assist Zakayev’s defense and pay for his legal expenses. Four days after our announcement Russia submitted to the United Kingdom a request to extradite Boris—on fraud charges involving his auto business.
November 4, 2002: Russia demands that Qatar extradite former Chechen president Zelimkhan Yandarbiyev, claiming that he was in contact with the Moscow theater attackers. A Russian foreign ministry spokesman hails the cooperation of other Arab countries in fighting terrorism, saying, “Not a single Arab country supports the rebels in Chechnya.”
On November 9 I returned from Copenhagen to London and went to stay with Sasha and Marina in their Kensington apartment. The previous day I had accompanied Ivan Rybkin to the Danish Parliament, where he campaigned in defense of Zakayev. After the meeting, we visited Zakayev in jail. Rybkin was also putting his political reputation on the line by providing moral support to someone in custody on terrorism charges.
“They will kill Rybkin,” said Sasha over lunch. “Tell him he should come to London and ask for asylum. I know a good lawyer.”
I spent that night on the telephone, trying to add signatures on a petition to the Danish government not to give up Zakayev. Vanessa Redgrave originated the appeal, so it had an impressive list of names from the international left, from the Danish film director Lars von Trier to the American intellectual Susan Sontag. I was trying to rally a Russian constituency. It was easy for me to enlist dissidents: Elena Bonner, Vladimir Bukovsky, Boris Berezovsky, and Sergei Kovalyov. Then came a surprise.
As I was talking to Bukovsky in his home in Cambridge, England, he passed the phone to a visitor, Vladimir Kara-Murza Jr., a functionary in the Union of Right Forces (SPS), the centrist party of Chubais and Nemtsov.
“Have you tried Nemtsov?” asked Kara-Murza.
“He would never sign,” I said. “He’s in Putin’s pocket.”
“Why don’t we try? He is highly supportive of Rybkin and even wanted to join the negotiations.”
Twenty minutes later he called back: “We reached Nemtsov in Moscow. He is signing.”
Surprised, and pleased that I was wrong about Nemtsov, I faxed the list of Russian signatories to Vanessa Redgrave and went to see a movie.
When we walked out of the movie theater I had three messages from Kara-Murza to call as soon as possible.
“Nemtsov has recalled his signature,” he said. “They leaned on him, full force.”
Kara-Murza reported that within an hour after talking to Bukovsky, Nemtsov had received a call from Chubais, who yelled at him, “Borya, what do you think you are doing? They will cut the oxygen to SPS. We can forget about staying in the Duma after the next elections. Are you out of your mind?”
Chubais said that Vladislav Surkov, the Kremlin deputy chief of staff, had just