*
‘Everyone forgot. Everyone thought that democracy would just be there. Everyone was thinking only about their own personal interests.’
Andrei Vavilov, former first deputy finance minister in Yeltsin government[1]
*
MOSCOW – It was summer 1999, and a deathly quiet had descended on the Kremlin. In the warren-like corridors of the main administration building, the only sound was the steady whirr of electric motors as cleaners polished the parquet floors. In the distance, the clopping heels of a lone presidential guard on patrol echoed down the halls. Offices once overflowing with petitioners queuing for favours now stood largely empty, their former occupants huddled far from Moscow in their dachas, nervously drinking tea. ‘It was like being in a cemetery,’ said Sergei Pugachev, the Kremlin banker who’d also happened to serve as an adviser to a succession of Kremlin chiefs of staff. ‘It was like a company that had gone bankrupt. All of a sudden there was nothing there.’[2]
For Pugachev and the other members of Yeltsin’s inner circle, widely known as the ‘Family’, who were the Kremlin’s few remaining occupants, a tense new reality had begun. Yeltsin had been in and out of hospital ever since October, and outside the walls of the Kremlin, it seemed, a coup was being prepared. Piece by piece, the foundations of Yeltsin’s rule were being dismantled, a consequence of the past summer’s disastrous rouble devaluation and default on $40 billion in government debt. The easy money, the free-for-all for the well-connected few that had defined the boom years of the market transformation had ended in a spectacular bust. The government had spent four years funding the country’s budget through issuing short-term debt, creating a pyramid scheme in which the only winners had been a handful of oligarchs, the young wolves of the Yeltsin era. For a time, the tycoons had used surging interest rates on government bonds and a fixed exchange rate to pocket the proceeds of a surefire bet, while the central bank burned through its hard-currency reserves keeping the rouble stable. It had all come crashing down in August 1998, and once again the Russian population had borne the brunt of the blow. Many of the oligarchs’ banks had collapsed in the crisis, but while they themselves had managed to funnel most of their fortunes away offshore, the general population’s savings were wiped out. The parliament, then still dominated by the Communists, was in uproar. Forced onto the defensive, Yeltsin had been backed into appointing a prime minister from the top echelons of the KGB, Yevgeny Primakov, the former spymaster who’d run the foreign-intelligence service and had long been a sentinel of the networks of the KGB. Racked by ill health, his regime in tatters, Yeltsin had retreated to the Black Sea resort of Sochi, while Primakov brought a string of Communist deputies, led by the former head of the Soviet economic planning agency Gosplan, into his government. Yeltsin was repeatedly hospitalised, and a Kremlin aide gently hinted that he was to take a back seat from then on.[3]
One by one, members of the Communist old guard had been settling on perches at the top of the government, and now that they were taking control of the cabinet, financial scandal after financial scandal targeting the excesses of their opponents in the Yeltsin ruling elite was beginning to emerge. Leading the corruption charges was Yury Skuratov, Russia’s rotund and seemingly mild-mannered prosecutor general. Until early that year, he had attracted more attention for his ability to quietly close down criminal cases than for opening them. Now, however, amid the widespread outrage that accompanied the country’s financial collapse, he’d begun to target top-level corruption. First, he’d launched a broadside against the central bank. In a letter to the Communist speaker of the State Duma, he zeroed in on how the bank had secretly funnelled $50 billion of the country’s hard-currency reserves through Fimaco, the obscure offshore company registered in Jersey[4] – a revelation that opened a Pandora’s box of insider trading and siphoned funds through the government debt market.
Behind the scenes, several more threatening probes were under way. One was a case that could lead directly to the financial accounts of the Yeltsin Family. It focused on Mabetex, a little-known company based in the Alpine Swiss town of Lugano, near the Italian border, which throughout the nineties had won billions of dollars in contracts to renovate the Kremlin, the Russian White House and other prestigious projects. Initially the probe, launched by Skuratov in tandem with Swiss prosecutors, appeared to focus on kickbacks apparently paid to middlemen close to Pavel Borodin, the jovial and earthy Siberian party boss who’d ruled over the Kremlin’s vast property department since 1993. But behind that lay a potentially bigger affair. And those in the Kremlin who were ruling in Yeltsin’s stead knew this only too well. ‘Everyone was scared about what was going to happen,’ said Pugachev. ‘No one dared to come to work. Everyone was shaking like rabbits.’[5]
The groundwork for the case had been laid quietly. Part of the old guard, particularly those waiting in the shadows in the security services, had been looking for ways to oust Yeltsin since the beginning of his rule. They had long viewed his overtures to democracy with disgust, and when he appealed to Russia’s regions to take as much freedom as they could swallow, they saw it as part of a Western plot to weaken, and ultimately destroy, the Russian Federation. Still set in the zero-sum thinking of the Cold War, they regarded Yeltsin as being in thrall to the US government, which they liked to believe had helped to install him and destroy the Soviet Union in the first place. They despised his apparent friendship with US president Bill Clinton, and believed the market reforms they themselves had developed, and which had helped bring Yeltsin to power, had been perverted to create the oligarchic rule of the semi bankirschina – the seven bankers who’d outrun their former KGB masters to take over much of the economy. They cared nothing for Yeltsin’s democratic achievements: in their view he was an addled alcoholic incapable of leading the country, while the Yeltsin Family, which included his daughter Tatyana, his chief of staff (and future son-in-law) Valentin Yumashev and various acolytes of the oligarch Boris Berezovsky, was an unholy alliance that had illegally taken power behind the scenes, and was leading the country towards certain collapse.
‘A certain group of people understood that things could not continue this way,’ said one of the participants in this plot, Felipe Turover, the former KGB operative who’d worked with Putin on the St Petersburg oil-for-food scheme. ‘The whole operation was started out of necessity. There was no other choice. It had to be done. Yeltsin was a drunk and a heavy drug addict. It is a matter of fact that the country was ruled by his daughter, by a bunch of idiots who were only looking after their own interests … The governors were disobeying the Kremlin. The regions were starting to almost become independent countries. We needed to get rid of that scum.’
Turover refused to disclose the names of the security officials in the group plotting to remove Yeltsin from power. But it was clear that they were angling to replace him with Primakov, who as a former spymaster was one of their number. From the start, the group was looking for evidence directly linking Yeltsin to financial corruption; for something that would taint the president irredeemably, overcoming the widespread and age-old Russian view that the country’s problems were due to the poor decisions and corruption of the courtiers, the boyars surrounding the tsar, and not the president himself. ‘Because he’d been praised as the great democrat, no one knew how to get rid of him,’ said Turover. ‘The only clear path was a legal path. It had to be clear to the people that it wasn’t the case that the tsar was good and without fault, while the boyars were the bad guys. When the president is a thief himself, then everything is clear. We needed to have something concrete.’[6]
Turover was the informant who found and then disclosed the material that formed the basis of the case. From his perch overseeing clandestine payments of Soviet-era strategic debt, he had been gathering and sifting kompromat – compromising material – on the inner financing of the Yeltsin regime for years, in the hope that the right moment would come. As a close friend of the former head of the KGB’s black-ops department for financing illicit operations abroad, he’d been a member of the KGB security establishment since the eighties. Turover was the same wisecracking, tough-talking foreign-intelligence officer who had helped Vladimir Putin set up the oil-for-food scheme in St Petersburg in the early nineties – the scheme that created a strategic slush fund for Putin and his allies from the KGB. He’d helped set up other clandestine schemes that he said were to ensure the payment of the strategic debts of the Soviet Union to the so-called ‘friendly firms’, but which were almost certainly also slush funds for the KGB.
Documents show that many of these schemes had run through Banco del Gottardo, a small bank hidden away on the outskirts of Lugano, at which Turover was appointed as an adviser.[7] Banco del Gottardo was chosen, Turover said, because ‘We needed a very small bank with a very dirty reputation.’[8] It had been the overseas arm of Banco Ambrosiano, the Vatican-linked bank that had collapsed in scandal in the eighties, with its chairman Roberto Calvi found dead, hanging from London’s Blackfriars Bridge. Now numerous Russian black-cash financing schemes were run through its accounts, including a web of barter and commodities-export schemes through which billions of dollars had been siphoned.
It was another sign that for all Yeltsin’s attempts at market reform, for all his efforts to build a new Russia out of the rubble of the Soviet collapse, the old ways of the komitetchiki, the KGB men, still prevailed behind the scenes. Although Yeltsin had tried to man the ranks of his government with so-called ‘young reformers’ who sought to liberalise the Russian economy from the control of the state and run the country along the transparent lines dictated by the institutions of the West, the rules of business were still skewed in favour of insiders close to the state, and to the foreign-intelligence community. It was through these schemes that the Yeltsin Family had been compromised, and it was all the more telling that the blow to the freedoms Yeltsin had sought to bring to Russia came from a member of the KGB foreign-intelligence establishment. Yeltsin had been unable to pull either his country or his own family out of the practices of the past.
Banco del Gottardo hosted the accounts of Mabetex, the obscure Swiss company which handled the Kremlin renovation contracts, and this was where the links to Yeltsin and his family appeared. When he’d first uncovered these ties, Turover said he’d initially objected to handling any cash flow related to Yeltsin or his family. ‘But then I stopped, because I decided that all this could come in handy for the future.’[9]
Among the Banco del Gottardo accounts he oversaw, Turover had discovered credit cards for Yeltsin and his family. They’d been issued by the founder of Mabetex, a pugnacious Kosovar Albanian named Behdjet Pacolli, who’d worked in the netherworld of financing and construction for the Soviet regime since the seventies.[10] Pacolli, once an aide to the Yugoslav Communist Party boss, had long been involved in black-cash financing schemes through the sale to the Soviet regime of embargoed dual-use military goods, said Turover.[11] On the face of it, the credit cards looked like an out and out bribe by Pacolli, paid directly into the pockets of Yeltsin and his family, while the fact that they were paid out of a foreign bank account was a direct breach of a law banning Russian officials from holding such accounts. Yeltsin’s daughter Tatyana had spent the most, running up bills worth $200,000 to $300,000 every year.[12] A further $1 million had apparently been spent by Yeltsin during an official visit to Budapest.[13]
By the standards of today’s multi-billion-dollar corruption scandals, the sums are almost laughable. But in those days the equation was absolutely different. The balance of power had already fast been shifting away from the Kremlin to Primakov’s White House. The old guard and the Communists were on the rise. In the aftermath of the financial crash, Yeltsin’s popularity ratings were at an all-time low of 4 per cent. The Communist Party, which still dominated the Duma, scheduled impeachment hearings to put Yeltsin on trial for everything they deemed as sins of his rollercoaster rule: the disastrous war in Chechnya that had taken the lives of so many Russian soldiers, the dissolution of the Soviet Union, and what they claimed was the ‘genocide’ of the Russian population – the market reforms that had led to plummeting living standards and, they believed, to early deaths for millions of Russians. Revelations about the credit cards were intended to be the final straw. ‘Primakov was meant to stand up in the Federation Council and tell the senators the president was a thief,’ said Turover.[14]
The investigation also threatened to draw uncomfortably close to the much bigger sums that had washed through an oil exporter called International Economic Cooperation, or MES, that held accounts in Banco del Gottardo and was inextricably linked with the Kremlin reconstruction contract. MES had been granted contracts from the Russian government to sell more than 8 per cent of the country’s total oil and oil-product exports, its annual turnover nearing $2 billion in 1995.[15] It had been active since 1993, when old-guard members of the Yeltsin government had sought to take back control of the oil trade, reinstating a system of special exporters, known as spetsexportery, through which all oil companies had to sell their oil.[16] It was an insider game that lined the pockets of a small and murky group of traders mostly close to the security services in the Yeltsin administration. MES had initially been created as a means of financing the restoration of the Russian Orthodox Church after decades of destruction and oppression under Soviet rule. But the billions of dollars in crude it was granted by the Russian government, export tariff-free, far surpassed any amount ever spent on the restoration of the Church.
MES was like a souped-up version of the slush funds created through Putin’s oil-for-food scheme. None of its operations were transparent, and the lines between what was strategic and what could be spent on personal needs and bribes had become conveniently blurred. Mostly, it generated black cash used to make sure politics went the way of a faction of security men in the Kremlin supporting Yeltsin. ‘The authorities always needed money. It would seem there is the state budget. But if you need finances to ensure a vote in parliament goes a certain way, you’re not going to get the cash from the state budget,’ Skuratov later told me.[17] MES’s activities were closely tied to Mabetex and the Kremlin reconstruction project. When Pavel Borodin, the Kremlin property department chief, initially asked the government for funding for the Kremlin reconstruction project, he was told the budget had no cash.[18] So he asked for oil contracts to be sold through MES to finance it instead. But the decrees issuing the oil quotas for MES – first for two million tonnes, and then for another 4.5 million tonnes – were all classified.[19] No accounting of how the proceeds were spent was ever published. And then, as if the oil sales through MES had never been granted, the government made an official announcement that it was going to finance the Kremlin reconstruction by raising $312 million in international loans.[20] MES looked to have got away with as much as $1.3 billion in proceeds from the oil sales, and no one could explain where the money had gone.[21]
In the middle of it all was Sergei Pugachev, the Kremlin banker who would later flee to London and then Paris. A tall, gregarious expert in the art of backroom deals, he’d teamed up with Borodin while the bank he co-founded, Mezhprombank, was the main creditor of the Kremlin property department.[22] In those days the property department was a sprawling fiefdom, controlling billions of dollars’ worth of property retained by the state following the Soviet collapse.[23] With Pugachev’s help it doled out apartments and dachas, medical services and even holidays to members of the Yeltsin government. It was a Soviet-style patronage network that to all appearances extended to the Yeltsin Family too: Pugachev said he’d bought an apartment through Mezhprombank for Yeltsin’s daughter Tatyana.[24]
Officials’ wages were still paltry compared to what could be earned in business in the boom of Russia’s market transition, and Pugachev insisted that what the property department did was the only way to keep state officials honest, and stop them from taking bribes. But essentially the department was the ultimate Kremlin slush fund, and it gave Borodin a position of great power, including the ability to make or break careers. ‘People were queueing to see him,’ said Pugachev. ‘If you were a minister, you didn’t get anything if Borodin didn’t give you it. If you needed an apartment, a car, any resources you had to go to Borodin to get it all. It was a very influential position.’[25]
Pugachev would not explain the extent of his involvement with MES. But his Mezhprombank had helped bankroll the operation,[26] and he’d developed a deep friendship with the head of the Russian Orthodox Church, Patriarch Alexei II, working closely with him ever since his appointment.[27] Pugachev had nursed the Kremlin reconstruction project, and guided its every step. He was an adept of the Byzantine financing schemes of Yeltsin’s Kremlin, and reaped a fortune for himself along the way. He’d somehow managed to set up a financial arm of Mezhprombank in San Francisco in the early nineties,[28] and spent large parts of the year in the United States. His direct access to the Western financial system further ingratiated him with the senior officials of Yeltsin’s government. ‘I could explain to them how the Western financial system worked,’ he said. He rented the most expensive house in San Francisco, and later bought a fresco-covered villa in the south of France, high on the hills overlooking the Bay of Nice. He’d become close to the Yeltsin Family, in particular to Yeltsin’s daughter Tatyana, when he’d worked as part of a team helping to secure Yeltsin’s re-election in 1996, bringing in a team of American spin doctors who ran a US-style campaign that helped boost Yeltsin’s flagging ratings and focused on the threat of a Communist return.[29]
All the while, Pugachev worked closely with Behdjet Pacolli, the owner of Mabetex. He personally oversaw the entire Kremlin reconstruction project, from the signing of the contract to the renovations themselves, he said. From the beginning, it was a lavish operation. Though he insisted that he tried to make sure the Kremlin got the best price possible, it seems that no expense was spared. Wood from twenty-three different types of tree was used to recreate the ornate patterns of the Kremlin Palace floor. More than fifty kilograms of pure gold was purchased to decorate the halls, and 662 square metres of the finest silk to cover the walls.[30] The Kremlin was to be transformed to its tsarist-era glory after decades of Communist rule in which all the treasures of pre-Revolutionary times – the mosaic floors, the precious ornamentation, the golden mirrors and chandeliers – had been ripped out and replaced with the plainest of decorations. Two thousand five hundred workers toiled day and night to create a palace fit for Russia’s new tsar.[31] Every last detail had to pass under Pugachev’s gaze. When Yeltsin asked why an urn had been placed outside his office, snapping ‘We don’t smoke here,’ Pugachev had it swiftly removed. And when Yeltsin asked why the new floors creaked and squeaked, he gently explained that there were now caverns of cables beneath them to carry the Kremlin’s top-secret communications.[32]
When it was all completed, visiting foreign leaders were awed by the grandeur they saw. US president Bill Clinton and German chancellor Helmut Kohl could not help but gasp when they were shown the vaulted gold-leafed ceilings of the Ekaterinsky Hall, dripping with golden chandeliers. ‘And these people are asking for money from us?’ Kohl remarked.[33]
The reconstruction had cost around $700 million,[34] at a time when Russia was receiving billions of dollars in foreign aid, supposedly to help it survive. But the financing that had been disbursed by the state for it was many times higher. The oil quotas MES had received alone were worth as much as $1.5 billion, while Yeltsin had signed off on an official decree for $300 million in foreign loans. Pugachev had also leaned on the first deputy finance minister, Andrei Vavilov, to approve an additional $492 million in guarantees for a treasury bill programme for the Kremlin property department – apparently another scheme to fund the reconstruction programme.[35] None of it was accounted for.
Pugachev had been aware of the credit cards for the Yeltsin Family soon after Pacolli issued them. ‘I said to him, “Why did you do it?” He thought if he gave them the cards he would have them on a leash. He understood it was criminal, that this would mean the president was essentially taking bribes.’[36] He said he was also aware of bigger sums that had apparently gone to the Yeltsin Family. Later it emerged that $2.7 million had been transferred to two accounts in the Bank of New York in the Cayman Islands held in the name of Yeltsin’s daughter Tatyana’s then husband, Leonid Dyachenko.[37] A lawyer for the oil firm Dyachenko ran later said the funds were for work he’d done.
So when, on a cold grey morning in late January 1999, Swiss prosecutors sent in helicopters and several dozen armed vans to raid Pacolli’s Mabetex offices in Lugano and left with a truckload of documents, it was, to put it mildly, a bit of a shock.[38] Pugachev and Borodin were immediately informed by Pacolli, and the news travelled like a poisoned dart to Yeltsin’s daughter Tatyana, who in her father’s absence was acting as unofficial head of state, and to the man who was later to become her husband, Valentin Yumashev, or ‘Valya’, as he was affectionately known, who until recently had been the Kremlin chief of staff.[39] For Pugachev it was a threat because of all the sums that had washed through MES. For Tatyana and Yumashev, it could potentially lead to the credit cards and other, larger, sums that appeared to have been transferred to private offshore accounts.
Quietly, without anyone being informed, the prosecutor general Skuratov had opened a criminal investigation into the possible siphoning of funds for the Kremlin reconstruction through Mabetex.[40] For the past few months he’d been working in the shadows with the Swiss prosecutors’ office, but until the raid, no one had been aware that he’d launched an investigation. He’d received he first batch of documents on the case in the weeks immediately following the August 1998 default. To avoid interception, the Swiss prosecutor general Carla del Ponte had sent them to him via diplomatic pouch to the Swiss embassy in Moscow.[41] A few weeks later, towards the end of September, Skuratov held a secret meeting with del Ponte, skipping town from an official visit to Paris to meet her in Geneva. It was there that he first met Felipe Turover, the KGB informant who started it all, who soon made a clandestine visit to Moscow to give official witness testimony.[42] Only Skuratov’s closest deputy was in the know.[43] He’d also consulted, on the quiet, with the old-guard KGB prime minister Yevgeny Primakov.[44] But once Skuratov sent the order for the raid in Lugano in January, the secret was out. ‘All our efforts to ensure the confidentiality of the case collapsed,’ he said. ‘Under Swiss law, del Ponte had to show Pacolli the international order that was the basis for the raid. Of course he contacted Borodin immediately.’[45] Turover too was upset by the sudden end to the secrecy: ‘She [del Ponte] didn’t need to make so much noise. She didn’t need to send all those helicopters. It was a signal to Moscow they had taken the books.’[46]
The raid marked the moment when Pugachev began a tense game of cat and mouse to bring about the removal of Yury Skuratov as prosecutor and end the case. It was then too that Pugachev – and the Yeltsin Family – began the chess game for their own survival that helped propel Vladimir Putin to power. It was the tipping point when they realised they were totally under siege.
‘It took them just four days to get organised,’ said Skuratov.[47]
*
When Pugachev looks back now and remembers it all, he says, parts of it seem like a blur: the constant telephone calls, the meetings stretching far into the night. Some of the dates are mixed up, remembered only by the time of year, how the weather was outside the window. But the meetings themselves, the important ones, are remembered distinctly, inscribed forever into his brain. Others are recorded in diary entries from those times.[48] Those were the days when Russia’s future was decided, when Pugachev was trying to act so fast, in the belief that he was countering the threat of takeover by Primakov’s alliance with the Communists – as well as saving his own and the Yeltsin Family’s skin – that he didn’t notice he was ultimately helping to usher in the KGB’s return. Pugachev’s story was the untold, inside account of how Putin came to power. It was the one the Yeltsin Family never wanted aired. At the time of the raid on Mabetex, Primakov’s political star was rising, and an alliance he’d forged with the powerful Moscow mayor Yury Luzhkov and other regional governors was already threatening to bring down the curtain on the Yeltsin regime. Skuratov’s criminal case could bring them a still more powerful weapon.
For years, Pugachev had developed his own network within the Russian prosecutor’s office. Like any powerful Russian institution, it was a den of vipers, where deputies jostled for position and collected kompromat on each other. Pugachev’s particular ally was Nazir Khapsirokov, the wily head of the prosecutor’s own property department, a sort of miniature version of the Kremlin department overseen by Borodin. With the power to issue apartments and other benefits to prosecutors, Khapsirokov, who was a master of intrigue, wielded the same ability to help make or break careers within the prosecutor’s office as Borodin and Pugachev did in the Kremlin. ‘In essence he was my guy in the prosecutor’s office,’ said Pugachev. ‘He brought me all the information. He told me an uprising was being organised against Yeltsin. Then he brought me a tape. He told me, “Skuratov is on it with girls.”’[49] Pugachev said that at first he didn’t believe Khapsirokov: such a tape would be the ultimate kompromat, powerful enough to cost Skuratov his job and close down the Mabetex case.
Pugachev took the tape back to his office, but, unused to handling technology himself, he was unable to get it to play on his video recorder – he fumbled and fumbled with the settings, trying to find the right channel. Eventually he had to enlist his secretaries’ help. As soon as they managed to switch it on, he regretted that they’d become involved. The grainy footage of the rotund prosecutor general cavorting naked on a bed with what appeared to be two prostitutes made for grim viewing. Pugachev cleared his throat, red-faced. But his secretaries made a copy of the tape nevertheless. Pugachev believes it was a decisive moment. ‘If we hadn’t made a copy, then none of this would have happened,’ he said. ‘History would have been different. Putin would not have been in power.’
He said he gave the original tape to Valentin Yumashev, Yeltsin’s son-in-law and former chief of staff, who essentially still occupied the same position behind the scenes.[50] Yumashev was to take it to Nikolai Bordyuzha, a former general from the Russian border guards who’d recently been appointed official Kremlin chief of staff in Yumashev’s place. Bordyuzha was then to call in Skuratov and tell him about the tape, and that his behaviour did not befit the office of prosecutor general.
Always prone to overstating his role, Pugachev said that no one else knew how to act: ‘They were all still shaking.’ Bordyuzha awkwardly held the meeting with Skuratov, who agreed on the spot to resign. Bordyuzha then handed the tape to him, as if to indicate that it should all be forgotten among friends.
Instead of securing Skuratov’s removal, that Kremlin meeting on the evening of February 1 led to an endless standoff. The position of prosecutor general had been protected under special laws seeking to enshrine its independence. For Skuratov’s resignation to come into force, it had to be accepted by the Federation Council, the upper chamber of parliament. But many of the senators in the Council at that time were already aligning themselves with Primakov and Moscow’s mayor Yury Luzhkov against the Kremlin. They were intent on protecting Skuratov. While he disappeared from sight for weeks, apparently to receive treatment at the Central Clinical Hospital, the Council stalled on putting his resignation up for a vote.
By that time the Yeltsin Family was dealing with the beginnings of a potential coup. Just a few days after the January raid on Mabetex, Primakov had laid down the gauntlet with a public challenge to Yeltsin’s hold on power. With the backing of parliament he announced a political non-aggression pact, ostensibly to end the mounting tension between the Communist-led Russian Duma and the Kremlin.[51] The Duma was to agree to drop its impeachment hearings and set aside its constitutional right to topple the government with a no-confidence vote, at least until the parliamentary elections at the end of the year. In return, Yeltsin would give up his right to dismiss both the Duma and the Primakov government. Yeltsin was scandalised by the proposal, which had been agreed and announced without his being informed at all. ‘Because this all happened behind his back he was absolutely flabbergasted,’ said Yumashev, who was still Yeltsin’s most trusted envoy in those days.[52] ‘The main thing was that Primakov was already not hiding from the people who worked with Yeltsin that he intended to be the next president.’ Making matters worse, Primakov had also proposed that Yeltsin should be granted immunity from future prosecution for any illegal deeds he might have committed during his eight-year rule. It was as if he believed Yeltsin had already agreed to step down.
The friction between Primakov and the Yeltsin Family was immediate. Primakov had sent shivers down their spines when, hours before Skuratov was summoned to the Kremlin and told to consider resigning over the kompromat tape, Primakov had called for space to be freed in Russia’s prisons for businessmen and corrupt officials.[53] ‘We understood that if he really did come to power that he had in his head a totally different construct for the country,’ said Yumashev.[54] And when the next day, in a final show of defiance just hours before his resignation was announced, Skuratov had sent prosecutors to raid the oil major Sibneft, it was a move clearly directed at them.[55] Suspicions had long circulated that relations between Sibneft and the Yeltsin Family were too close, that the company had been the basis for its owner, Boris Berezovsky, to become the consummate insider oligarch. Sibneft had sold oil through two trading companies: one of them, Runicom, was owned by Berezovsky’s business partner Roman Abramovich; the other, a more obscure outfit known as Belka Trading, was owned and run by Tatyana’s then husband, Leonid Dyachenko.[56] ‘The raid on Sibneft was deadly dangerous for the Yeltsin Family,’ said one close Berezovsky associate.[57] Clearly trying to contain the damage, they began trying to distance themselves from Berezovsky, who had become politically toxic for them.
Yumashev had already stepped down from his post as chief of staff in December.[58] He said he’d done so when he first realised that Primakov was aiming for the presidency, which went far beyond the bounds of their agreement when Yeltsin first forwarded him as prime minister. They’d intended for Primakov to be a caretaker prime minister while Yumashev and Yeltsin searched for a suitable successor to take over the presidency. ‘It was my personal responsibility that Primakov was brought in,’ said Yumashev. ‘Now he was behaving in violation of all our agreements.’[59] There was also a suggestion that Yumashev’s replacement as chief of staff with a security man, Nikolai Bordyuzha, an officer from the border guards, was part of an effort to remove the taint of the Family from Yeltsin’s rule.
Sergei Pugachev claimed that he took it upon himself to try to reach a deal behind the scenes with the Federation Council, to make sure Skuratov was eliminated from view.[60] But the politically powerful regional governors on the Council were consolidating around Primakov and Luzhkov against the Kremlin. In the meantime, the ever-rising tension over Skuratov’s investigation was starting to reach the top layers of Yeltsin’s Kremlin. Horrified at where it might lead, they began to drop away one by one. First, Yeltsin was hospitalised again, for a bleeding ulcer. Then Nikolai Bordyuzha wound up in the Central Clinical Hospital after apparently suffering a heart attack shortly to be joined there by Pavel Borodin, the earthy head of the Kremlin property department and the focus of the Mabetex probe.[61] The Kremlin was rapidly emptying, and in the apparent vacuum Skuratov slipped back to work.[62]
On March 9, more than a month after Skuratov was supposed to have departed, the Federation Council finally scheduled the vote on his resignation.[63] Yet still Pugachev’s efforts to secure the governors’ votes for his removal failed. On the day of the vote, March 17, Skuratov arrived unexpectedly to address the Council, and gave a blistering speech claiming he was under attack from powerful enemies close to the Russian president, and calling on the senators to reject his resignation.[64] They voted down his resignation almost unanimously.
Rumours of a tape compromising Skuratov had already wafted through the media. But, stung by the collapse of the vote, Yumashev and the still little-known Vladimir Putin, who the summer before had been appointed head of the FSB, took matters into their own hands, claimed Pugachev. They handed the copy of the tape to a federal TV channel, which then aired it to millions of viewers across the country, with little regard for the modesty of Skuratov or the feelings of his family. They just wanted him out. ‘Skuratov is an idiot,’ said Pugachev. ‘We wanted to deal with it decently, but he dug in his heels.’[65]
It was then, Pugachev said, that he first began to really notice Putin. The day after the video was aired, Putin gave a press conference together with Sergei Stepashin, the country’s interior minister, at which he vowed that the tape was authentic. In comparison to Putin’s clear, insistent manner, Stepashin kept his eyes glued to the floor, as if embarrassed to be part of the show. Pugachev said it was then that he began to see Putin as someone he could rely on:[66] ‘He spoke very coolly. He looked like a hero on TV. This was the first time I noticed. No one else was thinking of him then. But I thought, he looks good on TV. We’ll make him president.’[67]
Despite everything, Skuratov was still in position, and was increasing the pressure over the Mabetex affair. On March 23, while Swiss prosecutor Carla del Ponte was visiting Moscow again, matters reached boiling point. Skuratov sent a team of prosecutors to seize documents from Borodin’s property department, as well as to the Moscow offices of Mabetex.[68] The raid by a prosecutor on a Kremlin office was unprecedented. The Family – and Borodin and Pugachev – were in shock. The theatrics were already ominous, but the old guard had a further point to make. That same day, a leading Communist lawmaker, Viktor Ilyukhin, stepped up the pressure another notch, holding a press conference at which he claimed he’d received evidence that part of the $4.8 billion bailout loan granted to Russia by the International Monetary Fund at the height of the 1998 financial crisis had been siphoned off to companies linked to the Yeltsin Family, including $235 million through what looked to be an Australian bank, Bank of Sydney, to a company 25 per cent owned by Leonid Dyachenko.[69] The media furore reached fever pitch, with political analysts saying they were no longer sure whether Yeltsin could secure the support of the army.
Pugachev said he returned to the Federation Council to press for another vote on Skuratov’s resignation.[70] But the former Communist senator who led it once again indicated that he had more powerful backers elsewhere. Pugachev then went to see Luzhkov, the Moscow mayor, whose voice was carrying ever greater weight with the senators of the upper chamber. But Luzhkov had been trying to stack the parliamentary vote against the Kremlin ever since the August financial crisis hit. He’d developed his own ambitions for power, said Yumashev: ‘Luzhkov was working actively in the Federation Council. He was telling the heads of the regions, “I will be president and I will give you this and do this for you. We are fighting the president, and the prosecutor general for us is a powerful resource.” In essence, there was a fight for the future of the presidency.’[71] ‘Luzhkov was boasting he had 40,000 guys from the Moscow interior ministry behind him, as well as the local FSB,’ said Pugachev.[72] ‘Primakov and Luzhkov had been working to get the support of tens of thousands across the mid-level of the army. This was starting to look like a real state coup.’ One Russian tycoon close to Luzhkov said the Moscow mayor’s political weight had indeed risen rapidly: ‘Against the background of the flailing Yeltsin, it was clear he was the new centre of power. Marshals and generals began coming to him. They came to bow to the new tsar. They were asking for orders from him.’[73]
What happened next, Pugachev insists, was motivated by the best intentions. He said that he could not allow Primakov and his crew to come to power and endanger the freedoms of the Yeltsin years, and that he’d felt the stench of Soviet stagnation and corruption as soon as Primakov and his team had entered the White House: ‘The first thing they did was ask for bribes. I’d spent so much effort making sure the democrats remained in power and the Communists were kept out,’ he said, referring to his efforts in Yeltsin’s 1996 re-election campaign. ‘You need to understand that the Yeltsin Family were normal people. This was nothing compared to the corruption you see today. My idea was not to let it all collapse.’[74] But fears over the money trail Skuratov was pursuing and where it could lead undoubtedly weighed heavier still.
Skuratov had spent the morning of April 1 handing over a report to Yeltsin on what he said were the illegal Swiss bank accounts of twenty-four Russians.[75] By the evening, Yeltsin’s Kremlin had launched another attempt to oust Skuratov from his post. Skuratov’s deputy, Yury Chaika, and the chief military prosecutor Yury Demin were called in to the office of the Kremlin chief of staff, by then a Berezovsky associate named Alexander Voloshin, a slight, bearded economist.[76] There, Voloshin, together with Putin, Nikolai Patrushev, who’d risen with Putin through the St Petersburg KGB and had served for the past four years in senior positions in the FSB, and Pugachev leaned on them to launch a criminal case against Skuratov, claimed Pugachev. They wanted him suspended for cavorting with the prostitutes.
Chaika and Demin were scared. ‘They didn’t understand why they were there. It was like a meeting of deaf and blind,’ said Pugachev. ‘They were both frightened. “How can we open a criminal case against the prosecutor general?” they said. They were looking at who was there at the meeting. Putin was no one then, Patrushev was no one. They looked at us and thought, “We’ll end up outsiders, and then we’ll be accused of organising a state coup.” I could see this going through their heads. I understood this in five minutes. So I called them away individually.’
Pugachev said he went to a meeting room opposite Voloshin’s office. First, he called in Chaika. ‘I asked him, “What do you want to open a criminal case?” But I saw there was no chance. Then I called in Demin, and asked him, “Are you ready to be prosecutor general?”’ Seeing that his offers of rich rewards and promotions in return for cooperation were having little effect, Pugachev asked them to at least explain in detail what would be needed to open a criminal case. ‘We talked for six hours, going over it all. They said only a prosecutor general could launch a case against a prosecutor general. I said, “Look,” to Chaika, “you are the first deputy and you will become the acting prosecutor general. You can open a case against the former prosecutor general.” But he said, “No, the Federation Council has to sign off on it.” I said that if there was no criminal case, the Federation Council wasn’t going to sign off on it. And we went round and round in circles for hours. I understood that it was not possible to deal with them, that nothing was going to work out.’
It was already after midnight, and Pugachev was rapidly running out of options. He had one avenue left. In the small hours of the morning, he called the head of the Moscow city prosecutor’s office at home. ‘I said, “I need you.” He said, “Yes, Sergei Viktorovich, what do you need?” I told him I couldn’t tell him by phone. But he asked me again what the problem was. He said, “You have to tell me.” So I sent one of my guys round to his house with a note.’[77] But the Moscow prosecutor appeared to have little desire to respond in person. Pugachev believes Chaika called him and warned him off. When Pugachev phoned him again a little while later, he advised Pugachev to call the prosecutor on duty for the night instead.
This man was Vyacheslav Rosinsky, a grey man in glasses who that night was in a terrible state. He had been drinking – his daughter had recently committed suicide, hanging herself in her flat, and he was still mourning the loss. But Pugachev sent a car to bring him into the Kremlin nevertheless. As Rosinsky was driven through the Kremlin gates, said Pugachev, ‘he was flabbergasted. He had no idea where he was being taken. When he got to my office, he sat there in a drunken funk. He was very down. But I told him, “Look, it’s all very simple. You can open a criminal case against the prosecutor general.” I showed him the charge sheet’ – which of course had been prepared in advance. ‘He told me what I needed to change. And then he signed.’[78]
Pugachev began to think about what he could offer in return. ‘I told him I couldn’t make him deputy prosecutor general immediately. But he said, “That’s all right. I don’t want that. If possible, I’d like to be the prosecutor general of Moscow.”’ Pugachev told him he’d make it happen. Although in the end he couldn’t pull it off, that didn’t matter. The criminal case accused Skuratov of abusing his position, and led to his immediate suspension by Yeltsin. His position was undermined when the prostitutes on the tape testified that they were paid for by a relative of a businessman and banker who’d been under investigation by Skuratov.
For a while, Skuratov still fought tooth and nail against his suspension. He slammed the tape as a fake, and said the criminal case was a political stitch-up aimed at preventing him from investigating corruption at the top of the Kremlin. He said it had been launched illegally – and the Moscow military prosecutors’ office, called in to investigate, agreed. The Federation Council rejected his resignation again in a second vote, even after the criminal case had been launched. Voloshin, the recently-appointed chief of staff, gave a disastrous speech, stumbling and stammering over his lines as he was heckled by senators. The Kremlin’s loss for a second time was heralded in all the newspapers the next day as signalling the end of Yeltsin’s power. ‘Today, April 21 1999, presidential power in Russia collapsed,’ said one leading governor.[79]
Primakov and his coalition of the Communist-led Duma and regional governors in the Federation Council – as well as the KGB men propelling the Mabetex case – looked to have the Family on the rails. But at some point, it seems they went too far. Pugachev said he tried to frighten Luzhkov and Primakov into backing down with threats that they’d be charged with sponsoring a state coup, while agreeing with Yumashev that he could offer Luzhkov the prime ministership just in case.[80] But Pugachev’s manoeuvrings would never have amounted to anything had not Yeltsin returned to the political scene and roared.
For months Yeltsin had been in and out of hospital, further weakening his position in relation to Primakov, who in his absence was seen to have taken over the reins of power. But by April he’d gathered his strength for a final showdown. Just three days before the Duma was scheduled to begin impeachment hearings, Yeltsin, with an animal-like instinct for survival and a penchant for dramatic political gambits, decided it was time to act. He called Primakov to the Kremlin and told him he was fired. He was to be replaced by Sergei Stepashin, the interior minister, who’d been a close Yeltsin ally since the early days of the democratic movement and had served as one of the earliest heads of the FSB. Though the media had long speculated that Yeltsin might make such a move, it still came as a shock. Yeltsin had waited till the final moment. ‘He understood that if he waited three more days it could be too late,’ said Pugachev.[81] ‘The Duma was absolutely unprepared,’ said Yumashev. ‘Many of our colleagues in the Kremlin considered it was suicide, that we would turn the Duma even more against us. But in fact the opposite happened. We showed all the strength of Yeltsin. He was absolutely calmly firing such a powerful force as Primakov, and the Duma was cowed by this show of strength.’[82] There was nothing Primakov could do, and his dismissal took the wind out of the Duma’s sails.[83] Amid fears that Yeltsin could dissolve parliament, the impeachment vote collapsed just days later.
The KGB’s Plan A had failed. ‘Primakov should have been president in this scheme,’ sighed Turover. ‘During the second Federation Council vote on Skuratov, he was meant to stand up and say, “The president is a thief.” He was meant to present the evidence. It would have been enough. The impeachment hearings had already been scheduled. It would have been enough for him to stand up and say, “I have the legitimate power to end all this.” He had all the proof. But he didn’t have the balls. At the last moment, he lost his nerve.’[84]
Though Skuratov insisted that he had never been playing a political game, that he was just seeking to bring an end to corrupt dealings in the Kremlin, he also understood all too well that Primakov could have finished Yeltsin’s rule: ‘There were two centres of power then. On the one hand there was the legislative power – the Federation Council and the government of Russia, led by Primakov and the Moscow mayor’s office. And then there was Yeltsin at the top of power, and the Family on the other side. And of course, if the Federation Council and Primakov had agreed and put on the pressure, the Family would have crawled away. Everyone would have supported Primakov. The secret services would have supported him. The Family would have scuttled away like cockroaches. And Yeltsin, due to health reasons, would have transferred the presidential powers to Primakov, and the country would have been different. But Primakov … he is a very careful person. Perhaps he was not decisive enough. He did not fight for the country to the end.’[85]
Yevgeny Primakov had always been a man of consensus, a consummate diplomat who did not like to rock the boat. Already in his seventieth year, he stepped for a while into the shadows, appearing to concede a temporary defeat. Yeltsin’s Kremlin, it seemed, had won breathing space.
But if Primakov had been the KGB’s Plan A to take back power, another opportunity was lying in wait. Whether by coincidence or by design, a combination of legal threats, fears, rivalries and pure political calculation came together, and led to the takeover of Russia by a far more ruthless generation of KGB men. The Family had been stuck in the mindset that Primakov could only be replaced by someone from the security services. ‘After Primakov, it was not possible to appoint a liberal,’ said Yumashev. ‘It had to be someone that the Duma – and society – would see as a strong figure, like Stepashin, who was a general.’
But Sergei Stepashin was probably the most liberal of all the leaders of the Russian security services – he’d even joined the progressive Yabloko Duma political party. Despite a background serving in the interior ministry in Soviet times, he was a historian by training, and had long been close to Yeltsin. They’d been working together ever since Yeltsin entrusted him to lead a federal investigation into the KGB’s role in the failed August coup. Yet for Yumashev and Pugachev, Stepashin had never been more than an interim candidate. Stepashin, Pugachev said, was vyaly – the Russian word for weak. He did not believe Stepashin was decisive enough to take the actions necessary to protect them: ‘It seemed to me he was someone who would make compromises with the Communists.’[86] Yumashev said that he too began to entertain doubts about Stepashin. They were jealous of Stepashin’s close relationship with Anatoly Chubais, the former Kremlin chief of staff and privatisation tsar who’d long been their rival for Yeltsin’s affections. Until late June, part of the Yeltsin Family had been toying with the idea of another candidate, Nikolai Aksyonenko, the railways minister, who they believed would more strongly defend their interests. But Yeltsin soon took a strong dislike to him.[87]
In the background, said Pugachev, he’d long been advancing his own candidate, the man he believed to be the safest, most loyal pair of hands. He was backing Vladimir Putin, who he’d first seen as a potential successor when he handled the tape of Skuratov with the prostitutes so coolly. They’d first met briefly in St Petersburg in the early nineties, and had got to know each other better when Putin was appointed as Borodin’s deputy in the Kremlin property department. There, they’d worked together every day, said Pugachev. Pugachev’s Mezhprombank was involved in raising funds for the foreign property department Putin headed (though Pugachev declined to specify exactly what the bank did).[88] From his office in a small room of the former Central Committee’s headquarters on Old Square, Putin was tasked with rooting through the vast foreign holdings Russia had inherited on the Soviet Union’s collapse. There were the palatial buildings of the special trade representative offices through which the lifeblood of the USSR’s export-based economy had run. There were the embassies and the strategic military bases, the arms depots and the secret safe houses of the KGB. Many of these holdings had been looted in the chaos of the collapse by the KGB and organised crime. They were meant to be on the balance sheet of the ministry of foreign affairs, but no accounting had ever been done. Putin’s job was to bring these properties back onto the books, but it’s not clear if he ever succeeded in doing so. The foreign property department was at the heart of the strategic interests of the KGB, and while Pugachev claimed that Putin had no inkling of the slush-fund machinations through Mabetex, or MES, the oil trader granted billions of dollars in export deals, it’s far from clear whether that could have been the case.
They’d stayed close as Putin continued his dizzying rise through the Kremlin, first as head of the Control Department, and then when he was anointed head of the FSB in July 1998. All the while, said Pugachev, Putin had been his protégé. His charm lay in the fact that he knew him as someone he could give orders to: ‘He was as obedient as a dog.’[89]
Initially, Yumashev claimed, he’d ‘had no idea about Putin’ as a candidate, and had pushed Aksyonenko instead.[90] But he had always been aware of Putin’s abilities. As Kremlin chief of staff, he’d overseen and approved each of the key moments of Putin’s rise, and they’d forged a close relationship. By March 1997 Putin was a deputy head of the Kremlin administration. Yet he’d always appeared modest, said Yumashev, and, unlike most other officials, uninterested in furthering his career: ‘Among my deputies, he was one of the strongest. He always worked brilliantly. But at one point he came to me and said he wanted to step down. I asked him not to go. He told me, “I have sorted out this work. I would like to find something new.”’[91] Soon after, in May 1998, Yumashev promoted Putin to the third most powerful post in the Kremlin: first deputy chief of staff in charge of the regions, a role that brought him into more frequent contact with Yeltsin. And then, just two months later, Yumashev moved Putin sideways to head the FSB.
This was the first sign of Yumashev’s – and the Family’s – absolute trust in Putin. In those days, just a month before the August 1998 financial crisis, clouds were already fast gathering over the Yeltsin administration. The country was besieged by a series of miners’ strikes over unpaid wages, which were beginning to spread into the nuclear sector too. The miners were blockading the Trans-Siberian Railway, a vital artery of the Russian economy. Putin’s predecessor as FSB chief had been seen as close to the Communists, and that summer, as the strikes began to spread and the threat of economic crisis loomed, while parliament was already beginning to speak of impeachment, it was of paramount importance for Yeltsin’s Kremlin to have its own man in charge of the security services.[92] The fact that Putin was only a lieutenant colonel rather than a general was whitewashed, and he was dubbed the first civilian head of the FSB instead. In that summer of crisis and murk, they got away with it.
Yumashev insisted that he’d always been convinced of Putin’s democratic credentials. What struck him most, he said, was his dogged loyalty to his former mentor and boss, Anatoly Sobchak, the former St Petersburg mayor. One incident in November 1997 stood out for him above all others: ‘The reason why I so strongly recommended him [as head of the FSB] was because there was an episode when he worked as head of the Control Department and he came and said, “Sobchak is going to be arrested, and I have to save him.” He said, “I have to take him out of the country because the siloviki – the prosecutors, the interior ministry and the FSB – should arrest him in the next two or three days.” It was absolutely clear to him and to me that there was a 50:50 chance he would be caught. I told him Vladimir Vladimirovich, “You understand that if you are caught you will lose your position, and it’s possible you will never find work again. You are going against the law.”’[93]
Putin, however, held his ground. He insisted the case against Sobchak was fabricated, just part of the smear campaign launched by the old-guard security men in 1996 ahead of Sobchak’s bid for re-election in St Petersburg because they hated him ideologically. Then Sobchak had been targeted by a criminal investigation over bribery allegations.[94] But what neither Putin – nor Yumashev when he recounted the tale – spoke of was the risk that the arrest of Sobchak could lead to Putin himself. There was no telling where it might lead if a rival faction had it in for him.[95]
Putin had arranged for Sobchak to be spirited away out of hospital on a national holiday, when no one was watching. He’d whisked him off on a private jet, which one insider said belonged to his close ally Gennady Timchenko, the alleged former KGB operative who’d won a monopoly on exports through the St Petersburg oil terminal. When Putin arrived back in the Kremlin after a brief absence, Yumashev was deeply relieved: ‘For two or three days I was between worry and horror, because it would have been such a grandiose scandal if the FSB or the MVD [the interior ministry] had caught Putin and Sobchak when they were crossing the [Russian] border. For me it was important that a person was ready to sacrifice his career for justice, and when he returned I told Boris Nikolaevich [Yeltsin] of this.’[96]
Yumashev claimed that another event had also imprinted itself on his perception of Putin. In late 1998, during Primakov’s tenure as prime minister, Putin had called Yumashev from his car and told him he’d just been with Primakov, and wanted to meet urgently. ‘When he arrived, he told me, “There is a very strange situation.” He said, “Primakov called me and asked me as head of the FSB to begin wiretapping Yavlinsky.”’ Grigory Yavlinsky was a leader of the liberal opposition in the Duma who had spoken out about corruption in Primakov’s cabinet. Primakov had apparently told Putin he needed him to bug him because, he claimed, Yavlinsky was an American spy. ‘Putin told me that he’d refused him, because this is absolutely unacceptable. He’d said that if we return the FSB to Soviet times when it went after dissidents in politics, then we will destroy the security services. He said that if Yeltsin shared Primakov’s position, he was ready to resign over it.’[97]
None of these sentiments fitted in any way with Putin’s activities as deputy mayor in St Petersburg, when a ruthless alliance of the KGB and organised crime ruled the roost. Nor did they fit with Putin’s activities in Dresden, running illegals against the West. But still Yumashev claimed to have taken him seriously. Even now, after everything that has followed in Putin’s twenty-year rule, Yumashev said he has stuck to this view: ‘I am 100 per cent sure he was not playing me. In this case Putin really would have resigned, because he was absolutely aggressively against this. But of course Boris Nikolaevich would never have given the go-ahead.’[98]
Yumashev believed there was no way that during Putin’s time as deputy mayor of St Petersburg, Anatoly Sobchak’s ardent proclamations for democracy could have failed to rub off on him. But he appeared not to know, or not to want to know, the details of how St Petersburg had been actually run.
Putin was a past master at recruiting. In the KGB it had been his speciality, according to one former close associate.[99] ‘In KGB school, they teach you how to make a pleasant impression on the people you are speaking with. Putin learned this art to perfection,’ said a senior Russian foreign-intelligence operative. ‘In a small circle of people he could be extremely charming. He could charm anyone. And as a deputy, he was extremely effective. He carried out any tasks quickly and creatively, without worrying much about the methods.’[100]
If Yumashev was naïve, then in that year of intense pressure and attack on the Yeltsin Family from Primakov, so too perhaps was Boris Berezovsky, the wily, fast-talking oligarch who’d become the epitome of the insider dealing of the Yeltsin years, when a small coterie of businessmen bargained behind the scenes for prime assets and government posts. The former mathematician had earned his fortune running trading schemes for AvtoVAZ, the producer of the boxy Zhiguli car that symbolised the Soviet era, at a time when the car industry was steeped in organised crime. He’d survived an assassination attempt that decapitated his driver. Yet somehow he’d still found his way into the Kremlin. He’d hung out drinking tea in the office of Yeltsin’s chief bodyguard, Alexander Korzhakov, and then found his way into the graces of the president himself and his Family. All the while he cultivated ties among the leaders of Chechen separatists. Berezovsky’s LogoVAZ club, in a restored mansion in downtown Moscow, became an informal centre for government decision-making. At the height of his powers in 1996, the Yeltsin government’s ‘young reformers’ and oligarchs would gather there through the night to plot counter-coups against the hard-liners.
By 1999, however, Berezovsky was politically toxic. His relations with members of the Yeltsin Family had come under target. Not only had the raid on his Sibneft oil major threatened to expose dealings with the oil-trading company of Yeltsin’s daughter Tatyana’s then husband, Leonid Dyachenko, there was also a criminal investigation into his business operations through Aeroflot, the state’s national airline, in which he held a significant stake, and where the husband of Yeltsin’s second daughter, Elena, was president. The Family were seeking to jettison their relations with him. Rumours surfaced that his security company had been bugging the Family’s offices, and he’d been ousted in April from his Kremlin post as executive secretary of the Commonwealth of Independent States, as the loose alliance of former Soviet republics was then known. Yumashev, for one, had tired of dealing with him. ‘There was only so many times he could hear Berezovsky telling him he didn’t understand,’ said one close Berezovsky associate.[101] ‘He began to get on his nerves.’ Berezovsky seemed to have been abandoned by all. And so when Vladimir Putin turned up at the birthday party of his wife Lena early in 1999, he was deeply touched by the show of solidarity when everyone else had their knives out for him.
Putin’s gesture helped Berezovsky set aside qualms about his KGB past.[102] Initially, he’d chiefly supported Aksyonenko, the railways minister, as Yeltsin’s successor – his relations with Putin had chilled distinctly that year after Putin, as FSB chief, ordered the arrest and March 1999 jailing of the FSB officer closest to him, Alexander Litvinenko. But, faced with the constant threat of arrest, Berezovsky eventually fell in line behind Putin’s candidacy. Later, always a mythmaker about the extent of his influence in Yeltsin’s Kremlin, Berezovsky liked to claim that it was he who had helped bring Putin to power, by proposing him to Yumashev as FSB chief in the summer of 1998. He said he’d then held secret meetings with Putin in the lift of the FSB’s imposing Lubyanka headquarters, where they’d discussed Putin possibly running for the presidency.[103] The two men had met only fleetingly prior to that, when Berezovsky visited St Petersburg in the early nineties and Putin assisted him in opening his LogoVAZ car dealership there. That was a business riven with the mafia, and Berezovsky must have known about Putin’s links with organised crime there, said one Berezovsky associate: ‘Putin helped him in all questions connected to the sale of LogoVAZ cars in St Petersburg. This business was a mafia business, a bandit business, and in Moscow Berezovsky organised this with the help of Chechens and the corrupt bureaucracy. In St Petersburg he organised this with Putin’s help. Therefore he understood everything about his connections and his situation. He wasn’t a child.’[104]
But although Berezovsky was undoubtedly to play an enormous role in helping secure the defeat of Primakov later that year, he had never known or worked as closely with Putin as Pugachev had. And according to one of his closest associates, Alex Goldfarb, he never claimed to have been the one to introduce Putin to Yeltsin’s daughter Tatyana, or to suggest him as a replacement for Stepashin, or as Yeltsin’s successor.[105]
*
The moment everything changed came in the middle of July, in the dog days of the Moscow summer, when the Kremlin was emptying and many, including Yeltsin, were away on vacation. It was then that the Swiss prosecutors presented the Yeltsin Family with another shock. They’d thought the Mabetex case had been dealt with – Skuratov had been suspended from his position for several months by then, as a result of the criminal case Pugachev had helped open. But the Swiss were still active – and so were Skuratov’s deputies. On July 14, the Swiss prosecutors announced that they’d opened a criminal case into money laundering through Swiss bank accounts by twenty-four Russians, including Pavel Borodin and other senior Kremlin officials, and alleged that the funds may have been obtained through ‘corruption or abuse of power’. When asked whether the list included Yeltsin’s daughter Tatyana, one of the Swiss investigating magistrates answered, ‘Not yet.’[106] It was clear that they were circling, and according to Pugachev, a fresh sense of panic set in.
The Geneva prosecutors said their Russian partners were still conducting a parallel inquiry. It was then, Pugachev said, that he decided to act: ‘We needed someone who would be able to deal with it all. Stepashin wasn’t going to do it. But there was Putin with the FSB, the Security Council, Patrushev. There was an entire team.’[107] Pugachev remembered Putin’s coolness when he handled the Skuratov tape, and said he decided to introduce him to Yeltsin’s daughter Tatyana, who in those days was still the main channel to the president. As if on cue, a day later Putin’s FSB had taken action, opening a criminal investigation into the construction business owned by the wife of the Yeltsins’ political opponent, the Moscow mayor Yury Luzhkov.[108] Pugachev had first sought to undermine Tatyana’s view of Stepashin, demonstrating to her how, unlike Putin, he had failed to vigorously defend the tape of Skuratov and the prostitutes after it had been aired on TV. ‘I told her, “Tanya, look. You need a person who will save you. Stepashin will make compromises with the Communists. He will compromise us in front of our eyes. Look at how he is now.”’[109] Then he said he’d taken Putin from his office in the Kremlin’s Security Council to her. ‘I told her Putin was a much clearer person. He is young and listens attentively. Stepashin doesn’t listen any more.’ Pugachev claimed that Yumashev later persuaded her to go to her father and convince him to make the switch.
Yumashev insisted, however, that Pugachev played no role in Putin’s rise, while the criminal case in Switzerland and the investigation in the US had never posed a threat at all: ‘Of course, it was total rubbish that this was dangerous,’ Yumashev said. ‘The only thought I had – and Voloshin shared this view, and Yeltsin too – was that power was being given to a person who mentally, ideologically and politically was exactly the same as us. We’d worked together in the Kremlin as one team. There was an absolutely common understanding with Putin on how the world should work and how Russia should work.’[110]
But these were the days when everything was decided. Stepashin’s world – and the chances for a more liberal administration – were to be swept away. There was no pressing reason to risk replacing Stepashin with Putin, a relatively unknown official, unless the Yeltsin Family needed someone they considered more loyal – and more ruthless – because of the risk presented by the escalating Mabetex probe. Yumashev tried to explain the switch with lame-sounding reasons, for instance that Stepashin was under the thumb of his wife. He liked to tell long, contorted tales of the many arguments he’d made in those days for why they had to act quickly, before it was too late to replace Stepashin, who just was not the right fit. But no explanation other than the rising panic over the Swiss probe made any sense. This was the motive the Yeltsin Family never wanted told, for it revealed how the Family’s rush to save itself was the inadvertent cause of Putin’s rise and its world’s demise. They needed a tough guy to protect their interests, and got more than they bargained for. In his authorised narrative, Yumashev didn’t want to give credence to any of this. Pugachev was the narrator who strayed from the Kremlin’s official version, and appears to have told the truth.[111]
At first Yeltsin had hesitated. But in the last week of July, Chechen rebels began to mount armed attacks on the border with Dagestan, the mountainous region neighbouring the breakaway Chechen republic, and, Yumashev claimed, Stepashin appeared to struggle to deal with it.[112] Before he made his first trip as prime minister to Washington, DC, on July 27, he’d publicly vowed that there would be no new war against Chechnya. But almost every day in the week that followed his return, clashes on the border broke out. At the weekend, on August 8, there was a massive escalation in fighting as two to three hundred armed Chechen insurgents seized control of two villages in Dagestan. Yeltsin’s efforts to retain him as prime minister were running out. Even then, at the last minute Anatoly Chubais, who worked closely with Stepashin, had nearly derailed Pugachev and the Yeltsin Family’s plans when he’d got wind that a replacement was being lined up. Chubais tried to reach Yeltsin at his dacha the weekend before the announcement was to be made, and to talk him out of it. But he only reached the security guard, who promptly relayed his request to Pugachev.
Furious at this attempt to undermine his plans, Pugachev said he made sure the security guard never told Yeltsin about Chubais’ call: ‘I’d worked constantly for the last eight months to get Putin into power. I turned Putin from being a total nobody who’d been head of the FSB into this, a real pretender for power. I’d monitored and checked ceaselessly. And where was Chubais when we had to deal with the Mabetex scandal?’ he raged. ‘Where was he? What did he do? He’d completely disappeared.’[113]
Even then, when they all met in Yeltsin’s office early that Monday, August 9, Yeltsin had still hesitated, said Pugachev. Stepashin refused to step down without a vote by parliament, and Yeltsin had left his office to think again. ‘I remember the whole story,’ said Pugachev. ‘Stepashin told Yeltsin Putin was no one, that he would not stand for it. But everything had already been decided. It was a rare case when Yeltsin decided nothing himself. It was a matter of life and death.’[114]
When Yeltsin finally made the announcement later that day, the nation was stunned by the identity of their new prime minister. Putin was a little-known bureaucrat, a grey figure who rarely appeared on the news. The country’s news outlets scrambled to put together biographies of him. What shocked the nation most of all was that Yeltsin openly named him as the man he hoped would succeed him as president, announcing in a televised address: ‘I decided to name the person who in my opinion will be able to consolidate society based on the broadest political forces, to ensure the continuation of reforms in Russia. He will be able to unite those around him who, in the twenty-first century, have the task of renewing Russia as a great nation. This person is the secretary of the Security Council, the director of the Federal Security Service, Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin.’[115]
Putin had accomplished the most vertiginous leap of his dizzying career. The Russian parliament was in shock, although most believed he was a nobody who later could easily be defeated, and this helped squeeze his appointment as prime minister through a confirmation vote.[116] By that time, Primakov had re-emerged from the political sidelines to form a bold new alliance with Yury Luzhkov, the powerful Moscow mayor, for the upcoming parliamentary elections. By comparison, said Yumashev, ‘Putin looked like a child.’[117] But many in the Kremlin still worried that Yeltsin had gone too far in naming him as his preferred successor. ‘Many of our colleagues considered that Yeltsin categorically should not do this – because Putin was an unknown entity and Yeltsin only had 5 per cent political support. They thought that after such an announcement Putin would never win,’ Yumashev said.
To the outside world, it seemed the Yeltsin Family were taking an enormous risk. But other plans were afoot. An escalation of a Russian military offensive against Chechnya had already been under discussion, Stepashin said later.[118] Most important for the bureaucrats and spin doctors inside the Kremlin was to transform the awkward-seeming candidate they’d been presented with into a force to be reckoned with. At first glance, the material didn’t seem very promising. People still talked over Putin in meetings. The plan was to cast him in the image of one of the most popular fictional TV heroes from Soviet times. He was to be a modern-day Max Otto von Shtirlitz, an undercover spy who’d gone deep behind enemy lines to infiltrate the command networks of Nazi Germany. Putin would be the kandidat rezident, the spy candidate, a patriot who would restore the Russian state.[119] Their main task was to distinguish him from the Yeltsin Family – so that the public would see him as independent. His youth, cast against the ageing and ailing Yeltsin, was meant to give him an immediate advantage, while Kremlin-linked TV channels sought to portray him acting decisively against the separatist incursion into Dagestan. In the background, Berezovsky was perfectly capable of trying to organise a small victorious war to help spur Putin’s vault to power, two of his close associates said.[120]
In the rush to help engineer his ascent, Pugachev had paid little attention to warning signs of Putin’s duplicity. That July, when Pugachev had attempted to deal with the fallout of the Swiss prosecutors’ case, holding talks in the Kremlin late into the night with Putin, Patrushev and Voloshin to try to persuade the acting prosecutor general, Yury Chaika, to step down in favour of an even more loyal ally, Putin had apparently played a double game. Chaika initially resisted, only to agree a few days later after separate talks with Pugachev, during which he warned him that Putin’s allegiance to the Kremlin might not be clear-cut: ‘With Putin you need to be careful,’ he said. ‘When you all met with me in the Kremlin and tried to persuade me for six hours to step down, Putin accompanied me out of the Kremlin after it was all finished. He told me I was right not to agree. He told me if I did it would be a crime.’[121]
But Pugachev promptly forgot Chaika’s warning. The scandal over Mabetex was still refusing to die down despite all the manoeuvrings, and at the end of August calamity hit, when details of how the probe was linked to the Yeltsin Family finally broke into the open. The Italian newspaper Corriere della Sera published an article that disclosed how Mabetex’s owner Behdjet Pacolli had issued the credit cards to the Yeltsin Family and covered the payments for them.[122] The paper said the Swiss prosecutors suspected the payments were bribes in return for the Kremlin renovation contract. It named Felipe Turover as the central witness for these claims.
The news hit Yeltsin’s Kremlin hard.[123] Till then, only they – and the prosecutor – had known how far the probe might go. Pugachev once again scurried to assist. ‘Tanya was totally flabbergasted when the press reports appeared,’ he said. ‘But I promised her I would make it go away.’[124] He invited the Yeltsin Family to open accounts at his own Mezhprombank, and then told the media that the credit cards in question had first been issued years ago, through his bank. The move was designed to confuse the press and remove questions over whether Yeltsin had broken the law by holding a foreign bank account.[125]
In Pugachev’s eyes, the whole case was unfair. Yeltsin, he said, had never even understood what money was. On one occasion, drunk, he’d asked his chief bodyguard, Alexander Korzhakov, to buy him vodka, and had pulled a wad of notes out of a safe in his room. This, said Pugachev, was where he’d kept the royalties for the books he’d written with Yumashev. Yeltsin had pulled out $100. ‘He asked Korzhakov if this was enough. He had no idea what money was, or how much things were worth. He never handled this himself.’ Almost no money had ever been spent on the credit card issued in Yeltsin’s name – only some for an official visit to Budapest. His daughters, however, had spent considerably more. ‘Tanya could spend $100,000 a month on furs,’ said Pugachev. But none of them understood what a credit card was, or how it worked or what it signified: ‘They would just go out with this piece of plastic and use it to buy things. They didn’t understand that someone had to pay for it.’[126]
Yumashev said they’d been convinced that the cards were financed by Yeltsin’s royalties from his memoirs. Borodin, the Kremlin Property Department chief, had told them so, he said: ‘They absolutely sincerely spent this money believing it was from the royalties of the books. But I don’t doubt that this stupidity of Borodin could be used by all kinds of forces against us, including Primakov and Skuratov.’[127]
Clouds were looming ever larger on the horizon, and the money trail had the potential to go further still. On the first anniversary of the August 1998 financial crisis, the New York Times broke the news of yet another Russian financial scandal.[128] US law-enforcement agencies were investigating billions of dollars in suspected money-laundering transactions through the Bank of New York by Russian organised crime. A month later, reports of a link to the Yeltsin Family emerged. Investigators had traced the $2.7 million transfer to two accounts held with the Bank of New York in the Cayman Islands, held in the name of Tatyana’s then husband, Leonid Dyachenko.[129] Later, documents from the Swiss prosecutors’ office showed that they were also investigating a much bigger transfer through Banco del Gottardo to an account beneficially owned by Tatyana.[130] No charges were ever pressed and Yumashev said any suggestion that Tatyana had ever received such funds was ‘absolute lies’.
But amid the mounting tension and the scramble to save themselves from attack, Pugachev had brushed aside a warning from Putin’s former mentor Anatoly Sobchak, who’d told him he was making a great mistake: ‘I thought maybe he was jealous. But of course he knew it all.’[131] He’d forgotten about Berezovsky’s own qualms when he told him, ‘Sergei, this is the biggest mistake of your life. He comes from a tainted circle. A komitetchik cannot change. You don’t understand who Putin is.’[132] He’d forgotten, too, about his own deep hatred of the KGB, about how he’d run and dodged from them long ago when he was trading currency as a teenager in the tourist hotels of Leningrad. He’d forgotten Chaika’s warning, and nobody – not even Pugachev – noticed that Putin still met frequently with Primakov, who was meant to be the arch-enemy, after he’d been fired as prime minister. It turned out that Putin had taken the entire top ranks of the FSB to Primakov’s dacha, where they toasted him, and in October that year Putin attended Primakov’s seventieth birthday celebrations and gave a speech lauding him.[133]
Pugachev and the Yeltsin Family had closed their eyes to all this. They wanted above all to believe that Putin was one of them. That summer of intensifying investigations had left them desperately seeking a successor from among the security men who could protect them. Somehow they came to believe that Putin was the only candidate capable of that. Increasingly impaired by illness, Yeltsin seemed forced to go along with them. Ever since Primakov had been appointed prime minister in the wake of the August 1998 financial crisis, the Yeltsin Family had believed there was no alternative to appointing someone from outside the siloviki as a replacement. In the financial collapse, liberal ideals and the young reformers among whom Yeltsin had once been searching for his successor had become tainted. ‘We swallowed so much freedom we were poisoned by it,’ Yumashev later said wryly.[134]
Putin’s lip service to market and democratic principles had helped the Family believe he would continue their course. But paramount in their calculations had been his daredevil operation to whisk his former mentor Anatoly Sobchak out of Russia and away from the threat of arrest. ‘This show of loyalty was counted … as a weighty factor in choosing him,’ said Gleb Pavlovsky, a Kremlin adviser and spin doctor at the time.[135] The Family knew that, much more than Stepashin, Putin was ruthless enough to break the law to protect his allies if necessary.
Besides, Pugachev said, Putin seemed loyal and obedient. He still thought of him as someone who followed him like a dog, and still identified him with Sobchak’s liberal and democratic beliefs: ‘My feeling was that if he was close to Sobchak then he should be a person of liberal views. I didn’t study closely what he represented.’ What’s more, Putin had seemed reluctant to take on the post of prime minister. He had had to twist his arm, he said, and tell him it was not for long, only till the situation was stable.
What Pugachev didn’t know was that Putin had once worked closely with one of the main players in the attempt to overthrow the Yeltsin regime. He wasn’t aware that Felipe Turover, the KGB officer behind the leaks on Mabetex and the Yeltsin accounts, with connections to the top of the KGB’s legendary black-ops department, had helped Putin set up the oil-for-food barter scheme in St Petersburg.
He’d never heard the story Turover told me, about how after Yeltsin’s chief bodyguard had allegedly given the order to eliminate Turover when his name was leaked to the Italian newspaper that August, Putin had gone to see his old associate, who was then in Moscow, warned him about the order and told him he should leave the country, fast: ‘He told me to leave because he had an order from the president to finish me off. He told me I could leave under his guarantee.’
Pugachev didn’t know that all the while, Putin had played all sides. ‘He always kept his promises,’ said Turover. ‘He never worked for the Family against Primakov. And he only worked formally against Skuratov.’[136]
Pugachev also had little inkling that Putin could represent anything close to a Plan B of the KGB, after the Primakov takeover failed. He always claimed he thought of Putin as someone he could control. He didn’t realise that he might have been lying to the Family when he appeared to support them. Putin ‘deceived them’, said Turover. ‘Warfare is based on deception. This is the strategy of Sun Tzu. He wrote The Art of War 2,600 years ago,’ referring to the ancient Chinese military treatise. ‘Putin learned his judo lessons well.’