They give me directions. Things seem to be getting easier. I go to KGB headquarters in order to be closer to the Kremlin and bide my time. Grushko hastily gathers the Collegium. In a collective mood of “mea culpa” we accept the Collegium’s condemnation of the conspiracy. In the condemnation the word “sullied” is used. An idiotic argument ensues: isn’t it better to say
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“stained” or “besmirched?” It is an argument straight out of Kafka or the Supreme Soviet. We are all in a state of general and amicable mindlessness; the only unstated thought is that we are all up the creek. Yes, up the creek and how. Yesterday’s impotent cursing of the chief gives no comfort. He has betrayed everyone.
The Collegium is breaking up. I stop by Grushko’s office and tell him of the president’s invitation. Grushko says that Mikhail Sergeevich had called from his car that morning and asked for everyone to remain calm. And Grushko is calm though his eyes are sunken and his face is somber. It was a brief conversation about nothing.
I drive to the Kremlin. My papers are thoroughly checked at the Borovit-skii Gate. This is something new. In the past the guards would merely glance at the number on the car’s plate. I cross Ivan Square past the gleaming domes of the great bell tower (a joyous gift to Moscow by the ill-fated Boris Go-dunov) toward the Soviet Ministries building where the Politburo used to meet and where the president’s office is now located. There are two enormous black ZIL limousines at the entrance. I see that M.A. Moiseev, chief of the General Staff, has arrived. We meet in the reception room. The others present are I.S. Silaev [prime minister], chief justice of the Supreme Court Smolent-sev, and V.P. Barannikov [head of the Interior Ministry]. Finally A.A. Be-smertnykh comes in. We are all somewhat nervous but not gloomy. Moiseev and I have a friendly exchange in which we excoriate our previous bosses. More people arrive: S.S. Alekseev, chairman of the constitutional commission, E.M. Primakov [then director of the Institute of World Economy and International Relations and advisor to Gorbachev], V.N. Ignatenko, the president’s press secretary, V.V. Bakatin, and someone else. “The black walnut room,” cherished spot of the Soviet VIP’s was full.
The president entered. I introduced myself and he immediately took me into an adjacent empty conference room. (I was to visit this room once again a day later.)
The conversation was very brief. “What were Kriuchkov’s aims. What were the instructions to the Committee?” I answered with total frankness, giving a brief description of the meeting on the nineteenth. “What a scoundrel. I trusted him most of all, him and Iazov. You yourself know that.” I nodded in agreement.
The president looked splendid: lively, energetic, with bright eyes and no signs of fatigue. This was the second time I saw him up close. The first time was 24 January 1989 when Kriuchkov presented me to the president before my appointment. At that time Gorbachev had been somewhat gloomy and distant. The president ordered me to summon all the vice-chairmen of the KGB and announce that I was to become acting chairman.
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A three- to five-minute private session with the president does have special significance in this world. In passing through the “black walnut room” I saw convivial, even tender smiles and symbolic clasping of hands from all corners. Just in case. . . .
Outside, the golden domes of Great Ivan’s bell tower had grown dim. We headed toward Lubianka Square where a crowd had gathered with obvious ill intent toward the KGB. We drove around the crowd with some difficulty and plunged into the KGB complex through a side street. (The usual shopping frenzy continued uninterrupted by the Children’s World department store.)
I gathered the vice-chairmen and announced the president’s decision. Immediately the group broke out in controlled but happy smiles. I distinctly remember G.F. Titov’s open and honest face. He had been on vacation and took no part in any of the events. The sole issue on the day’s agenda was the classic Russian one—what’s to be done? It was absolutely clear that the old order was finished and something new had to be taken up. But the “absolutely clear” ended at this point. We decided to gather the KGB leadership on the next day, 23 August, to discuss the issues for the Collegium session. A Collegium meeting had to be held as soon as possible. There was nothing left to say and we broke up. (A line from a poem by Esenin ran through my head: “Before this throng of the departing //I can’t conceal my sorrow.”) It was to reappear again and again during those days.
My office is a hell of ringing telephones. The officer in charge of quarters reports that the crowd outside is about to storm the building. They are writing offensive graffiti on the walls and have surrounded the Dzerzhinskii monument [founder of the Cheka, the secret police].
“What are we to do?”
“No gunfire under any conditions! Lock all the gates and doors, check the gratings. We’ll call city hall for help and ask them to send the police.” (An instance of humiliation that is to last two days.) We get in touch with the police but they are in no hurry to help us. V.I. Kravtsev calls from the Attorney General’s office: “We are sending a team of inspectors to search Kriuchkov’s office.”
“Good, send them.” Next comes a call from the office of the Attorney General of the Russian Federation: “We are sending a team of inspectors to conduct a search of Kriuchkov’s office. Molchanov from Central Television will come with the team.”
“You are welcome to send them but people from the Soviet Attorney General’s office are already on their way here.”
“That’s all right, we’ll come to terms with them.”
Within ten minutes my office is filled with some fifteen servants of the justice system among whom I recall only Stepankov, the attorney general of the
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Russian Federation. To my surprise both groups come to an immediate understanding, find witnesses (young women from the secretariat) and surge into Kriuchkov’s office. Another group sets off to search Kriuchkov’s dacha where his wife has been weeping all morning. Yet another group sets off to search Kriuchkov’s apartment.
The phone rings. It is M.S. Gorbachev: “I have signed the edict appointing you acting chairman of the KGB. Take charge.”
I note the time—it is 1500 hours. To the constant reports (“they’re smashing windows . . .” “we can’t get in touch with the police . . .” “they’re about to topple the monument”) there is an added flood of congratulations on my appointment. Just in case. Life is becoming increasingly unbearable, but there is no time to think about it. My office windows look out into an inner courtyard and the noise of the crowd is heard dimly. How familiar the situation is. How horrible that it is taking place not in Tehran where some ten years ago I sat besieged, commanding the defenders, hearing the roar of the mob, the ring of shattering glass, the blows on the doors, gunshots . . . Horrible that it is happening here on Lubianka Square and that here, as in Teheran, there is no help coming.
But I am wrong. Two deputies of the Russian Federation appear in my office. It is their task to quiet the
