Farewell (6 page)

On August 16, 1965, he was officially attached to the Ministry of Foreign Trade, which would be, for the next five years, his official cover. And so, at age thirty-three, Vetrov at last had the opportunity to establish himself in the career he had chosen.

France, and particularly Paris, has a very special place in Russian fantasy where the streets are crowded with poets and painters, men are chivalrous and witty, and women are beautiful and elegant. In this picture, all French people are wealthy and lead a comfortable life. People dance and sing in the streets, and lovers stroll through parks, exchanging passionate kisses every ten meters. “True” France is the country of tolerance where everybody is free to do as they please. It is also the opposite of Russia where nothing works, chaos prevails, and the fabric of life is interwoven with hardship and humiliation.

This romantic view of France dates back to the Age of Enlightenment, widely promoted by Catherine the Great in her illiterate empire. Russian nobility made a point to learn French, and everything coming from France was lauded as being the incarnation of beauty and reason. The war against Napoleon did not change a thing, in spite of the fierce battles and the high number of Russian casualties. Even the fact that the Soviet regime substituted social values for nationalistic ones, and was closer to Germany from an economic strategy point of view, did not succeed in weakening the attraction of French culture to the Russian mind.

At the end of August 1965, overwhelmed by emotion, the Vetrovs, with little Vladik, landed at the Bourget Airport, near Paris. They crossed town immediately—the grand boulevards, the Opera, Place de l’Etoile—so many familiar names that rang like a royal song to Russian ears. Finally, they arrived at their future home, the impressive residential building housing the Soviet colony, 16 Boulevard Suchet, in the elegant sixteenth district. Ecstatic, they got out of the car dispatched by the Soviet trade mission that had welcomed them at the airport.

They were in for a big surprise! What easy life in Paris? They received two rooms in a communal apartment. Their accommodations were even worse than in Moscow! Each floor contained ten rooms or so, for six or seven families. There were two toilets, one at each end of the corridor. There was only one kitchen. The first four floors were assigned to the Soviet citizens working in Paris, and the fifth floor was used like a hotel for those visiting on business; all in all, it was a busy anthill.

The inhabitants of this posh neighborhood, with wealthy families generally occupying an entire floor and sometimes even the entire building for just one household, referred to the Soviet building as the “miniature Renault factory.” In the morning, the men would walk to their office together. In the evening, they would all come back in a wave.

The Vetrovs’ life in Paris can be characterized by the contrast of two social systems, two cultures, two lifestyles. Nationals representing their country abroad try to bring with them their customs, and those cultural differences are often enough to lead to awkward situations. In the case of two hostile, irreconcilable ideologies, one can easily imagine the tension.

On the Vetrovs’ floor lived KGB members, GRU officers (military intelligence), and “clean” businesspeople, who were not paid by any Soviet intelligence agency. Everybody knew everybody. On average, the Soviet residents were not very sophisticated.

For example, the Vetrovs were struck, at their arrival in Paris, by the absence of drunks in the streets. Then one day they saw one and sighed in relief. So, Paris was not that different from Moscow. As they got closer to the man, they recognized their neighbor, a representative of the Soviet book import-export organization Mezhkniga.

Another example, under Soviet rule the expression “communal kitchen” became the euphemism for more colorful expressions used by people, such as “nest of vipers” or “spiders in a jar.” The communal kitchen was indeed a mix between a bazaar, a neighborhood coffee shop, a place where women competed for beauty and elegance, and a platform for intellectual contests. Vetrov never set foot in the kitchen. But Svetlana had no choice since this was the only place where she could prepare meals for the family and boil water for tea. She tried to use the kitchen at hours when there were fewer people. Otherwise, fights were quick to start. For this reason, Vladimir took his wife out as often as possible.

It was a big relief for them when, less than a year later, they could move to a two-room apartment located above the offices of the Soviet trade mission, in an elegant building located at 49 Rue de la Faisanderie, still in the sixteenth district. Their immediate neighbor was Valéry Giscard d’Estaing, who would become the twentieth president of the Republic of France in 1974. The Vetrovs could not believe that such a highly ranked public servant, then secretary of finance and economic affairs, could live such an unpretentious life. There were no security guards in front of his building. More than once, they saw him drive his family in a tiny Austin Morris, and they often observed him during his walks in the Bois de Boulogne, never under the protection of any security escort. What a contrast with Soviet ministers whose paths never crossed the paths of ordinary citizens!

The two places where the Vetrovs lived in Paris. The first one, 16 Boulevard Suchet, where they occupied two hotel-style rooms with a shared bathroom…

…and the second one, fully private, 49 Rue de la Faisanderie, above the offices of the Soviet trade mission.

From then on, Vladimir’s commute was just two flights of stairs. It was the same thing when he needed to meet with his immediate superior, the deputy resident for scientific and technical intelligence who, under the protection of a diplomatic passport, was
officially
the deputy trade representative in France. The head of the Soviet trade mission abroad was always a “clean” civil servant.

KGB members officially assigned to the embassy could easily neglect their official duties. Once protected by the heavy doors of the magnificent building built under Louis XIV, 79 Rue de Grenelle, they did not have to report to anyone except their resident. As for intelligence officers operating under the cover of various Soviet organizations, they were obliged to fulfill their official duties first before getting to their main function—espionage.

Vetrov held the post of chief engineer. He was in charge of the activities of several Soviet import-export companies specializing in electronics and instrumentation for measurement and control. It was no picnic. The job entailed managing the ongoing files, conducting negotiations with French industrial and commercial companies, escorting Soviet delegations, writing up analytical reports, and doing research to collect information on the international economic situation, pricing, and so forth. The cover of the trade mission had its advantages too for KGB personnel. Their French partners provided the most favorable environment to recruit agents.

Intelligence officer under the cover of a trade representative, Vetrov (second from left) regularly visited French research labs and engineering firms.

Moreover, the Soviet “merchants” had much more freedom in their everyday life than did their diplomatic colleagues. They were pampered by the French, since the most modest delegate had the capacity of awarding them a potentially lucrative contract. Overnight, the Vetrovs discovered the true meaning of the French expression “
faire la tournée des grands-ducs
” as they were routinely invited to go out on the town.

One of the businessmen who helped them discover all the glamour and the glitter of the City of Lights was Albert Gobert. He was a Jew from Odessa, owner of a large chemical company and a perfume plant. He also brokered deals, mainly with the USSR. In particular, he was negotiating with Vetrov for the purchase of Soviet helicopters. Both of his older brothers were also industrialists and businessmen; one lived in the United States, the other in Great Britain. One day, Albert invited the Vetrovs to a family dinner with his brothers, a distinct mark of friendship.

Vetrov’s business card showing only his name and Paris address, not giving false information.

Gobert was married to an extravagant beauty, Marguerite, a former model for Christian Dior. She owned a Russian restaurant, the Kalinka, where both couples shared memorable meals. Above all, Gobert enjoyed inviting his Russian friends to the most elegant restaurants and cabarets—Maxim’s, Ledoyen, the Lido, the Alcazar. At tables next to theirs dined the Duke of Windsor, the movie star Jean-Paul Belmondo, the fashion designer Nina Ricci, and other celebrities of the time. These evenings were enough to give these Russians memories for the rest of their lives.

Dinner conversations were often about ongoing business but soon moved to small talk and more intimate topics. Gobert, being warm-hearted, took pleasure in pleasing others. The company of the Vetrovs, an open-minded couple with no ideological blinders, was often a plus to him when he was taking out Soviet delegations. There is an anecdote illustrating their significant role.

As a generous host, Gobert wanted to show “Paris by night” to an important delegation led by a Mr. Kazakov, deputy minister of aeronautics. He invited them to the Folies Bergère. At the sight of so much exposed bare skin, the deputy minister got nervous. What if somebody reported on him to higher-ups revealing that he enjoyed the charms of the decadent West? Therefore, he scowled and kept repeating to whoever was listening that Soviet shows were of a much higher standard. At intermission, Kazakov wanted to leave and go back to his hotel. Gobert was on the verge of fainting; the contract for the purchase of helicopters hung by a thread. Svetlana stepped in and saved the day: “As far as I am concerned, I am really enjoying the show,” she said with a charming smile. “You do what you please, but I am staying until the end.” A woman can say things that are off-limits for the men caught up in the business protocol. Kazakov had no choice but to stay. When they left the music hall after the show, he was all smiles.

Gobert was grateful for Svetlana’s intervention, and from that moment on, the Vetrovs became his emergency backup team. Vladimir could not be more pleased. His friend, who had no link whatsoever with either French or Soviet intelligence, introduced him to a lot of interesting people.