Swimming to Antarctica_ Tales of a Long-Distance Swimmer - Lynne Cox [119]
“Are those ships supposed to be our escorts? They may be a bit big for us,” I said.
“They’re just a staging area. They have smaller boats, and they’ll meet you on the border with them. Anything else you need?”
“Yes, a sleeping bag for rewarming and a babushka,” I said.
“A babushka?” Gene asked.
“It’s a brightly colored Russian shawl. In many ways it symbolizes the warmth and brightness of the Russians,” I said, still not knowing what the word meant in Russian.
What we didn’t know at the time was that Kozlovsky and Walsh had been certain that this project would glorify glasnost and Soviet relations with the United States. Kozlovsky had worked night and day, going through party channels; but somewhere along the line, key people in Gorbachev’s cabinet who should have known about the swim hadn’t heard anything about it.
That left an opening for the naysayers, and they had the power to move in and set up roadblocks. But Kozlovsky was used to navigating around them. At one time, he had been a world champion cyclist in the Soviet Union. He was still a national hero, and he had friends everywhere. Most people knew him simply as “Mischa,” like the popular bear mascot of the Moscow Olympics. Kozlovsky promised Walsh he would do his best to see that the project would happen, though it was very late.
Kozlovsky had less than two weeks to pull it all together, and in a country where the normal first, second, and third responses to anything were nyet, two weeks was very little time. He called his friends in the highest echelons of the Soviet government, in the military, and at the KGB. He knew how to package the proposal. He copied the American newspaper clippings and had them translated, along with the letter of support from Senator Murkowski, and he called his friend at the Foreign Ministry. He strongly suggested that Edvard Shevardnadze, the foreign minister, contact Ambassador Dobrynin in Washington. Kozlovsky knew that Ambassador Dobrynin’s endorsement would push the project along. He also gave the story to the Soviet Sports Committee’s public relations department, and they passed it on to the Soviet press. Then Kozvlosky had one copy of the ABC television video hand-delivered to the foreign minister, and another handed directly to Gorbachev’s assistant.
On Thursday, July 30, with less than a week to go before the proposed swim, a new answer came back from the Soviet government. Kozlovsky immediately wired it to Walsh’s office in Seattle. The telex read: “Your proposal is being reconsidered, and we will advise you of our decision later.”
Later? Kozlovsky fumed. How much later?
At 2:00 a.m. on August 1, a directive came from the central government for Kozlovsky to drop everything. He was put in command of the Bering Strait project. His office became the base of all operations, and he was given carte blanche. Everything was put at his disposal—ships, planes, helicopters, personnel, press, and funds, nearly a million dollars’ worth.
Nothing like this had ever happened to him before, and he was having the time of his life. It was like a chess game, and chess was Kozlovsky’s passion. He set up a series of meetings with top officials from the government, commanders in the military and the security forces, and immediately began implementing the plan.
On Tuesday, August 4, one by one the welcoming party began arriving on the Siberian mainland. Most of the group had never met, but they had plenty of time to introduce themselves. There was a world-champion boxer, the governor of Siberia, journalists from across the country, a military commander, the head of the KGB for the Siberian region, and one of Gorbachev’s assistants. More than fifty people had been sent to Siberia as part of the welcoming committee.
The fog that had prevented us from flying to Wales also grounded the welcoming committee on the Siberian mainland. The military commander called Kozlovsky and informed him of the Soviet team’s delay.
Meanwhile, the military commander on Big Diomede built special ramps so the American