Death of a Dissident - Alex Goldfarb [99]
It is true, Boris said, that the war was planned for six months before the Dagestan events, over his objections. It is false that he conspired with Udugov. It is true that Udugov came to see him. It is also true that Udugov and Basayev conspired with Stepashin and Putin to provoke a war to topple Maskhadov and install the Islamist government, but the agreement was for the Russian army to stop at the Terek River. However, Putin double-crossed the Chechens and started an all-out war.
As for the apartment house bombings, Boris said, it is inconceivable that Putin would have done it. It is too convoluted to suggest that some rogue elements did it to help Putin without his knowledge. It is illogical to suggest that Basayev, Udugov, Khattab, or any sane Chechen did it.
“There are Chechens who are insane. Raduyev, for example, or Arbi Barayev,” Boris said. “Madmen like them are capable of anything, but I cannot explain irrational behavior. In short, you need some concrete evidence.”
“And Ryazan?” Felshtinsky asked.
“What about Ryazan?”
“The FSB ‘exercises’ in Ryazan.”
“It is totally plausible that the FSB would stage drills on civilians without telling them,” said Boris. “It perfectly fits their style.”
“But the bomb was live.”
“What do you mean, ‘live’?”
As Felshtinsky later told me, it turned out that Boris, like most Russians, had missed the stories in Novaya Gazeta and the NTV report on March 24. He had never heard about Private Pinyaev and his sour tea.
It had never occurred to Boris that it was on September 23, the morning after the Ryazan incident, that the massive bombings of Grozny began. And he had never considered the fact that after the Ryazan episode, the terrorist attacks, which had occurred roughly one per week, had abruptly stopped.
Most important, until that very moment, Boris had tended to discount talk of the bombing conspiracy as a smear directed at him. Now, with a fellow traveler laying out the known facts, he paid attention, and a lightbulb flicked on.
“I am such a fool!” he yelled suddenly. “They did it! Lena, did you hear, I am an idiot!” he cried out to his wife, sitting in the front seat next to the driver. “They did it! That explains everything! What a fool I am!”
By the time they arrived at the airport, Boris had cooled down. He listened intently to Felshtinsky’s plan on how to investigate the plot. The problem was that Yuri was an academic, not a detective. He was an amateur in matters of this sort. There was only one man, a professional, who was qualified to do it.
They looked at each other, and said in unison, “Sasha!”
When Felshtinsky took the Boston–New York shuttle to see Boris, he had planned to be away for a day or two. It was now already his fourth day away from home. He called his wife to ask her to retrieve their car from Logan Airport and to explain that he would be away for a few more days. He was going with Boris to Nice, to catch a connecting flight to Moscow.
The next afternoon, he walked with Sasha through the empty alleys of Neskuchny Sad (literally, the Not Boring Gardens), a park that runs along the riverbank in central Moscow. Sasha spoke first. He was ready to flee. He had made up his mind about a month earlier, right after Putin attacked Boris in the aftermath of Kursk. He had everything prepared. It was now September 23, exactly one year after the Ryazan incident.
As the autumn leaves crunched under their feet, Sasha gave Yuri his take on the apartment bombings. There was no doubt in his mind that it was a Kontora job.
“It’s the signature,” he said. “Every crime has a signature. I have worked long enough in ATC to tell you right away, this was not some fringe Chechens. The sophistication, the coordination, the engineering expertise needed