Death of a Dissident (34 page)

In retrospect, Boris should have realized that Putin was not playing the limited war gambit developed by Udugov, but chose all-out war as the defining theme of his bid for the presidency. As the Russian army crossed into Chechen territory, Boris still believed that their aim was to go as far as the Terek River. He disagreed with Putin, but he had promised to steer clear of Chechnya. So he decided to leave this aside for a while. They were still part of the same team. They had an election to win, and Boris completely immersed himself in party politics. He was out to promote his new creation, the party of Russian regions called Unity, symbolized by a huge Russian bear, that he had dreamed of while in a fever in the hospital.

A key battle looming in advance of the presidential contest was the elections to the State Duma, the lower chamber of Parliament, scheduled for mid-December. Boris’s main concern was how to defeat a powerful coalition led by Primakov: the alliance of Moscow mayor Yuri Luzhkov with many regional governors from across the country.

Ever since the 1993 Constitution granted the provinces the right to elect local governments, provincial leaders had viewed the Kremlin with suspicion: they feared that the center would infringe on their self-rule. All eighty-six governors served on the Federation Council, the upper house of Parliament, and they often opposed the policies of the Kremlin.

However, the governors could not agree on a leader. From their perspective, all provinces of the Federation should be equal. Alliance with the powerful mayor of Moscow strengthened their group, but they were wary of naming Luzhkov to be a first among equals. So it seemed a natural solution to invite Evgeny Primakov, the deposed prime minister, to be the leader of their Fatherland All-Russia Coalition. He did not have his own regional base, yet he was the nation’s most popular politician. Primakov brought with him the backing of old-time Soviet apparatchiks and much of the national security and
intelligence community. Luzhkov had the support of NTV, Gusinsky’s network. The governors controlled the local media and political machines. Altogether it was a formidable political force.

The Duma elections became Boris’s obsession. He was running for a Duma seat himself, from the impoverished North Caucasus ethnic republic of Karachayevo-Cherkessia. He and his messengers flew from region to region, talking to apprehensive regional bosses and to their home clans, the provincial mini-oligarchs.

In every provincial capital they repeated the same spiel: “You have been plotting against Yeltsin because he stepped on your toes. But wasn’t he the one who gave you your rights in 1993 in the first place? Just wait until Primus gets into the Kremlin! He will bring back his Soviet cohorts, the old-time apparatchiks, the veterans of central planning, the bureaucrats. He will take away your local elections, your rights and privileges. And he will unleash federal cops and prosecutors, hundreds of little Skuratovs, on you. The Yeltsin era will seem like paradise in retrospect. Just look at Primus, the Politburo hack. Is this what you want?”

It was a masterstroke: to turn around the governors’ fears of the Kremlin by focusing them on Primus. And it worked. The governors scratched their heads and worried about Primus in the Kremlin. They did not want to go back to the USSR.

On September 22, thirty-nine governors released a document proclaiming a new, pro-Yeltsin political movement, called Unity—Boris’s last-minute creation. They would not run for the Duma themselves, but they promised to throw their weight behind Unity’s electoral list.

One after another, more governors joined the club. Several members of Fatherland All-Russia defected to Unity. All across the country, Duma candidates from the new party were nominated, supported by regional bosses.

Sasha’s trial began in early October. The hearing was closed; Marina had to wait in the hallway. All she could think about was how to catch a glimpse of Sasha as he was led in and out of the courtroom.

The prosecution’s claim was that in 1997, in an inexplicable rage, Sasha had beaten the driver of one of his organized-crime targets.

When the victim was called to the witness stand, he said, “All of them beat me with fists and rifle butts, and then they kicked me, taking turns.”

“Wait a minute,” said the judge. “In your preliminary testimony you said that only Litvinenko beat you. When are you telling the truth, then or now?”

“Now.”

“Why did you lie then?”

“Because the investigator told me that he had orders to put Litvinenko in jail. He asked me to single him out.”

The prosecution asked for an adjournment. The hearing was postponed several times. A whispering campaign suggested that Judge Kravchenko was under tremendous pressure. The FSB wanted a guilty verdict and the harshest possible sentence of eight years.

The trial resumed on November 26. Journalists and TV cameras packed the court building. The defense made its final argument for acquittal. The judge left the courtroom to deliberate. It took him four hours to reach a verdict. Marina waited in the hallway, “all frozen inside, feeling as if all this was not real.”

Finally, the judge returned and announced his decision: “Not guilty. Free to go.”

As the guard unlocked the dock cage to let Sasha out, there was a sudden commotion at the door. A squad of armed men in camouflage and masks ran past Marina and stormed into the courtroom, pushing the guards aside.

“Step aside! FSB!” To Sasha they yelled, “You’re under arrest!”

They produced an arrest warrant, handcuffed Sasha yet again, and took him away.

As Sasha was led past her, Marina reached out to him. One of the FSB men pushed her away.

“Don’t touch her!” Sasha yelled, and in response was hit with a rifle butt, as TV cameras recorded the scene.

The masked agents brought him to a room. His investigator Barsukov appeared, with a new question.

“Where were you on May 30, 1996?”

“I don’t remember,” said Sasha.

Barsukov read out another set of charges. It was the same offense, but a different episode: on that day, during an operation against a racketeering ring in a Moscow farm produce market, he was alleged to have beaten up a suspect and to have “extorted” a can of sweet peas from one of the vendors.

He refused to answer questions.

This time they took him to Butyrka, the largest criminal prison in Moscow.

The next morning, Boris went to see Putin at the White House. He was angry. The scene of Sasha being rearrested on live TV was grotesque. Putin should never have let it happen, Boris argued. It made their team look impotent. Why did the FSB come up with new charges, trumped up at the last minute?

Putin was apologetic. He simply did not have time to monitor the case, he claimed; after all, he had a war on his hands. He explained to Boris that the new arrest was a low-level initiative at the FSB, among Sasha’s many enemies. He needed a few days to correct the situation.

On December 16 the Moscow military court changed the restraining measure for Sasha. He was released, but ordered not to leave town. His passport was taken away.

Three days later, on Sunday, December 19, the Russians went to the polls in the Duma elections. Boris’s brainchild, the four-month-old Unity Party, finished in second place with 72 seats, trailing the Communists’ 113. Primakov’s Fatherland All-Russia Party came in third with 66 seats. Chubais and Nemtsov’s Rightist Union, Yavlinsky’s social democrats, and Zhirinovsky’s nationalists received 29, 21, and 17 seats, respectively. All things considered, it was a triumph for Boris. He became an independent member of the Duma from Karachayevo-Cherkessia. Primus’s presidential prospects were greatly damaged. The vote, combined with the war, sealed Putin’s position as the leading contender for the presidency in March. His popularity now stood at 45 percent, while Primakov’s sank to 11.

On the day the results were announced, Putin invited Boris to the White House. When Boris arrived shortly before midnight, Putin looked solemn. It may well have been the first day that he really believed that he would be Russia’s next president.

“I want to tell you, Boris, that what you have done is phenomenal,” Putin began, in his monotone. “No one believed you, and I know that you’ve been ill and worked out of the hospital. I am not given to melodrama, so what I am going to say is particularly significant. I do not have a brother, and neither do you. You should know that in me you have a brother, Boris. Coming from me, these are not empty words.”

For a moment, Boris was speechless. He had not expected an emotional outburst from Putin, the most controlled man he had ever met. In the past, albeit rarely, the displays of emotion that Boris had seen were restricted to bursts of aggression. Now, as Putin spoke from his heart, he turned pale, and his voice slightly trembled. Their eyes met. For a split second Boris glimpsed a vulnerable soul, unsure of his sudden success.

“Thank you, Volodya. You should know that I did not do it for you, but for all of us, and—forgive me for melodrama, too—for Russia. Now all eyes are on you. You will beat Primus and Luzhkov and continue the work that Boris Nikolaevich has started. Let’s have a drink to that!”

On December 31, 1999, Boris Yeltsin gave a nationally televised address, resigning the presidency and transferring his powers to Vladimir Putin, pending the March elections. He asked for forgiveness for just one mistake: the war in Chechnya.