TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/100791/1007000.000

Text File | 1992-08-28 | 22.0 KB | 477 lines

                                                                                WORLD, Page 28

SOVIET UNION

Four Desperate Days


A riveting diary kept by Anatoli Chernyayev, Gorbachev's top
foreign policy aide, describes how plotters imprisoned the
President in the Crimea -- and how the tide turned against them

By ANATOLI SERGEYEVICH/CHERNYAYEV


     Anatoli Chernyayev first met Mikhail Gorbachev almost 20
years ago when they were both members of a Soviet delegation
traveling abroad. In 1986 the former history professor, who had
spent more than two decades with the Central Committee's
international department, was made a top adviser to the man who
had recently become the leader of the Soviet Union. In August
1991, over four desperate days, he shared house arrest with his
President.

    When Gorbachev and his family went on vacation to the
Crimea in early August, Chernyayev, 70, and other members of the
presidential staff accompanied them, staying at a health resort
called Yuzhny, some seven miles from the presidential compound.
During the day, Chernyayev and his team worked in offices just
a few yards away from Zarya, the Gorbachevs' dacha; one of their
assignments was to help the President put the finishing touches
on a speech scheduled for Tuesday, Aug. 20, to mark the signing
of his cherished union treaty, under which the center would be
redefined and significant new powers would be transferred to the
republics. Here, Chernyayev describes what happened at the dacha
beginning Aug. 18 and why he decided to publish his tale.

    "I began to write a chronicle of events on Aug. 21 while
confined with the President. I have witnessed a turning point
in history.

    "When I left my room I put it under the carpet or behind
the wardrobe; I had the impression that somebody came into my
room during my absences. I made some additions later, very
shortly after we came back to Moscow. I did not plan to publish
these notes, and only scribbled something down mechanically,
subconsciously hoping that `manuscripts do not burn' [an
allusion to the work of the early 20th century writer Mikhail
Bulgakov, author of The Master and Margarita].

    "I did not have much hope at the time. But the ridiculous
allegations, misinterpretations and purposeful smears poured
over the President in the media compelled me to change my mind."


    Zarya dacha, The Crimea

    Sunday August 18

    Olga [Lanina, one of Gorbachev's secretaries] and I came
back to work after lunch at Yuzhny at about 4 p.m. As usual,
two police cars stood at the entrance, and a barbed-wire strip
was stretched across the road. They moved it aside a little for
us to pass.

    At about 5 o'clock, Olga ran in: "Anatoli Sergeyevich!
What's happening? [Gorbachev's chief of staff Valeri] Boldin,
[deputy chairman of the Defense Council Oleg] Baklanov and
[Politburo member Oleg] Shenin have come with a tall general
in eyeglasses. I've never seen him." I saw a convoy of cars with
aerials, some of them with lights flashing on the roofs, at the
entrance of the office building, a swarm of drivers and guards.
I peeped out the window that looked onto the presidential
quarters: gloomy [General Yuri] Plekhanov [head of the KGB
department responsible for the security of Soviet leaders] was
ambling along the path.

    Olga told me that they had cut off communications. I
picked up a receiver, another one and still another -- all dead,
including the satellite line.

    We began wondering what it all could possibly mean. I was
musing aloud about some breakdown at a nuclear power plant --
that would explain Baklanov's presence. But it turned out much
worse than that!

    I turned on the radio, but there was no news -- only
routine broadcasts. After an hour or so, the four people left.
Plekhanov left too and took [Vladimir] Medvedev, the personal
presidential aide-de-camp, with him. This was an ominous sign.
Even when I was talking about a nuclear accident with Olga, I
already realized that they had come for M.S. [Mikhail
Sergeyevich Gorbachev].

    All communications were cut off. After about 10 minutes,
Vyacheslav Generalov [Plekhanov's deputy at the KGB] appeared.
We knew each other pretty well, as he was normally in charge of
security when M.S. went on a trip abroad. He was very polite.
"Please ask Olga to give us a moment." Then he sat down and
began:

    "Anatoli Sergeyevich, please try to understand me. I was
left here in charge. I was ordered to keep everybody here. Even
if I let you go, border guards will immediately detain you --
there is a triple semicircle of guards from one seacoast to the
other. The highway from Sevastopol to Yalta has been blocked,
and there you can see three warships cruising along the
shoreline."

    I asked him a naive question: "What about signing the
union treaty?"

    Generalov: "There will be no signing. The aircraft that
came to pick up M.S. has already been sent off. Garages with
his limos have also been sealed and guarded -- not my people,
but special units, with machine guns. I can't even let the
support staff [gardeners, cooks and cleaning women] go. I
can't help it. Please understand, I am a military man. I have
been ordered. Nobody! No contacts, no nothing."

    He left.

    It was dusk already when a new man who replaced Medvedev
came to me. Boris Golinkov told me M.S. had asked that I come
with him on a walk around the house. I put on some clothes
quickly and walked out. I wondered how M.S. looked. How was he
coping?

    I saw M.S., R.M. [Raisa Maximovna, Mrs. Gorbachev],
daughter Irina and son-in-law Anatoli standing on the porch.
M.S. was calm, a shade of a smile on his lips. "So you already
know what happened?"

    "Nope. Where from? I was only peeping out from the window.
I saw Plekhanov and Boldin, a husky bespectacled general of
sorts, they say, and Baklanov."

    M.S.: "The general is [Deputy Defense Minister Valentin]
Varennikov. He was the pushiest one. So, listen now. I want you
to know it all."

    R.M. cut in. "They broke in, never told us before they
were coming. They were led by Plekhanov, and all the guards
saluted him. It was like a bolt from the blue. I was sitting in
an armchair, and they cruised by as if they didn't see me. Only
Baklanov said hello. And Boldin! We have been so close for 15
years. He was like next of kin to us; we shared all our intimate
secrets with him!"

    M.S. stopped her and went on: "We sat down, and I asked
what they wanted. Baklanov started, but Varennikov talked more
than the others. Shenin kept his mouth shut. Boldin ventured
one sortie: `Don't you realize we're in a terrible plight?' I
told him, `You mudak [schmuck], shut up! Don't you come to me
with lectures on the situation in the country.' I called him
mudak in the presence of ladies!

    "They gave me two options -- to hand my office over to
[Vice President Gennadi] Yanayev and give the nod to the state
of emergency, or to step down. They even tried to threaten me. I
told them, `You guys must have known I wouldn't agree to
either. You're staging a coup d'etat. What you are trying to do
with your committee is anticonstitutional and unlawful. This is
adventurism that will result in bloodshed and civil war.' The
general started trying to prove to me that they would see to it
that such a thing wouldn't happen. I told him, `Look, Valentin
Ivanovich, society is no army battalion, and you can't put it
in ranks and files. Your plan will turn into a terrible tragedy.
I have thought about your idea too -- the one with the state of
emergency. I have thought it out, and I am convinced that it is
a disastrous path, and a bloody one. It leads us back to the
pre-perestroika time.'

    "That was my final word, and they left."

    We walked in the darkness for another 15 minutes. M.S.
said, "Tomorrow they will have to announce it. How are they
going to explain my absence?" We discussed the people who had
come to the President with the news. I couldn't hold it back:
"They are all your men. You cultivated them, promoted and
trusted them."

    The President said, "I don't have anything to say about
that scum Plekhanov! He's not human! Do you think he's worried
about his country? No way -- he's only after his rank and filthy
life!"


    Monday, August 19

    In the morning, as soon as I learned from a Mayak [the
main national radio network] broadcast about the Committee for
the State of Emergency, I began pondering how I should behave
toward M.S. Shall I wait till he summons me? That is, shall I
follow the previous subordination routine? No, I should not do
this. He must have a proof of my loyalty. And he needs support.
I went to see him. I had been wandering about the house for
quite a time before his granddaughter found me and led me
upstairs, where her granddad was. He was in bed after a
treatment procedure: they had just finished massaging his aching
back. He jumped to his feet at once.

    M.S.: "You know, Anatoli, when I was talking to those
people, my face did not give a single twitch. I was absolutely
calm. I am still calm. I am convinced that I am right. I am also
convinced that this is a roll of the dice. They will never
achieve this! It's a criminal adventure!"

    M.S. called me later, at around 6 p.m. We went to the
beach with his family. It was simply impossible to talk inside,
the place was all stuffed with electronic bugs. (R.M. was
paranoid about them.) I remember that when we walked down to the
beach, the smaller granddaughter, Anastasia, pressed tightly
against my side and held my hand. R.M. led me and M.S. to the
gazebo and sent the others to the waterside. She hastily tore
some blank pages from her notebook, burrowed in her purse, came
out with a stub of pencil and handed it to me: "I will leave
you two here."

    "O.K., O.K.!" he said to her impatiently (somewhat unusual
for their relationship). "Time to work." She smiled at me and
wiggled her fingers goodbye.

    "Anatoli," said M.S., "we've got to do something. I will
lean on that scum" -- he meant General Generalov, Plekhanov's
deputy, who was put in charge of the security forces and became
our warden. "I will slap him with demands every day. And I'll
keep the pressure on."

    "Yes, M.S., I agree. I doubt that the pack in Moscow will
give in, but we can't let them think you are broken."

    "Take this down: 1) I demand that government
communications be restored; 2) I demand the presidential plane
so I can get back to work.

    "If they don't reply, I will demand that they send Soviet
and foreign journalists to me."

    I wrote that down, and he warned me to keep the paper safe.


    Tuesday, August 20

    That morning Olga said, "Anatoli Sergeyevich, why are you
sitting in your study all the time? Let's go swimming. The
bodyguards can't walk out to the water, but they won't stop you.
We won't be allowed to go without you." So Olga, Larissa (a
nurse) and Tatyana (a masseuse, a big and good-natured woman)
came to us and we set off to the beach.

    We reached the steep path and started climbing down on
decrepit steps. About halfway, Olga called, "Look back!" I
turned my head and saw a man following us. Finally we came to
the water. It was a small beach nestled between large rocks.
There is a watchtower on the right. Two soldiers directed their
binoculars at us. People in a motorboat and a speedboat ahead
kick-started their engines. A frigate was mooring 100 yards
away. Why a guard nearby? Is he supposed to seize me if I try
to escape to Turkey? No way. I am too good a swimmer for that
fatty. It's obvious: they want us to know that we are not free,
that we're like inmates in this place, followed everywhere.
Psychological pressure.

    After bathing, I went looking for M.S. The cook pointed to
his study. He walked out to meet me, and R.M. immediately
popped out of the adjacent room, silently pointing at the lamps,
ceiling and furniture, where she presumed the bugs were
concealed. We stood there for a while leaning on the railing
[of the balcony]. I told R.M., "Look at this cliff with a
watchtower on top. Tesseli is right behind it. I vacationed
several times in Tesseli and used to swim here from that cliff.
I sunbathed here, and then swam back."

    She looked startled when I said, "Do you know I am a good
swimmer? I guess I can easily swim three or even six miles. What
if I take a risk?" Saying this, I smiled, but she seriously
thought that it was a plan. She told me that earlier, at 3 a.m.,
they had made a videotape of the President's statement. They
had used Anatoli's camera. She told me they were going to
unreel the tape from the cassette and cut it into several pieces
[to make it easier to hide]. She said, "So I will wrap the
tape in a small ball and give it to you in the evening. But
please, don't keep it on you. You may be frisked."

    R.M. was in a nervous state when she gave me the tape
after lunch. It was wrapped in paper and sealed with Scotch
tape. "We have already passed on other versions. I won't tell
you to whom. This one should go with Olga. She has a child and
ailing parents, you told me. Will she agree? It's very
dangerous."

    I answered, "She will. She's a daredevil of a woman, and
she hates their guts."

    R.M.: "But please warn her. Let her hide the tape in the
most intimate place -- a bra or panties. And where are you
going to keep it until you give it to her? Don't put it in your
pocket -- keep it in your hand and hide it someplace. Not in the
safe. In the corridor, or under a rug."

    Then M.S. asked her to stay with the children. We moved to
another balcony and stood at the rail. Immediately we saw
telescopes on the watchtower turned in our direction, and the
border guards on the nearest rocks raised their binoculars too.
From below we heard a voice in the telephone booth: "He's come
out on the balcony, second on the right." We exchanged glances;
I laughed and used a four-letter word. He gave me another
glance: I had never ventured it before with him. (I immediately
regretted it -- he might think that I don't care about him now!)

    We sat at the table, and he put a notebook in front of
him. He offered me a seat on the opposite side and began
dictating his address to the nation and the international
community. I went to my room, and Olga typed the statement on
shershavka -- thick paper specially used for presidential notes.
In the evening I asked him to sign and date it. At the top, the
President wrote a request to anybody who received it to
publicize this statement by any means.

    I told Olga about the tape at night. She was sitting in an
armchair, quiet. I switched on the TV set at full volume and
squatted down next to her. "Olga! I have something serious to
tell you. Are you ready to listen to me? Mind you, it is very
serious. You can refuse right now, before I start."

    "Come on, Anatoli Sergeyevich! As if you did not know me.
Break the news."

    I told her everything about the plan for the tape.
Gorbachev and I had been demanding that Olga be allowed to go
to Mukhalatka [the communications center about 12 miles away],
where her baby and heart-deficient father were. And from there,
we hoped, on to Moscow.

    "O.K. Suppose I get to Moscow. What next? I will most
certainly be tailed."

    "That's true. We discussed this possibility with M.S. and
R.M. and agreed on the following. It would be only natural if
you dropped in to see my wife. I will write her a letter saying
that I am fine, don't worry, I'll be back soon, the
circumstances are such and such. Give her the letter and this
thing."


    Wednesday, August 21

    In the morning attempts were made to stir the pity of
Generalov, or even blackmail him, hinting that we would not sit
here forever and that eventually he would be taken to task for
harassing the young mother whose family had not heard from her
for several days. But he outsmarted me and arranged for Olga to
go escorted to Mukhalatka and call home under surveillance. On
returning, Olga said she had not been allowed to make a call to
my wife.

    During the night Olga counted as many as 16 warships
moored offshore. I asked her what she had seen on the road. She
said the road was closed and heavily patrolled by border guards.

    Later, with M.S. and R.M., I earnestly tried to be brave
and cheerful. I couldn't give cheerful reports, but I did my
best. R.M. was always tense, and never smiled, but her daughter
Irina was sharp, determined and fearless. She never spared a
harsh word for those who "did it to them." R.M. always carried
a small silk purse with her. She probably had some very dear
mementos there, the things she wouldn't part with. She is very
afraid of a humiliating body search. She fears for M.S., who
would also be shattered by the procedure.

    At 3 p.m. we hear a television report: Yeltsin is in the
Russian Parliament Building and the decision has been made to
send [Russian Vice President Alexander] Rutskoi, [Russian
Prime Minister Ivan] Silayev and other Deputies to the Crimea.
A statement has been made by [former Interior Minister and
soon-to-be head of the KGB Vadim] Bakatin and [presidential
adviser Yevgeni] Primakov. As members of the Security Council,
they described the State Committee for the State of Emergency
as illegal, unlawful and anticonstitutional, like all of its
decrees. Gorbachev was in good health and was held captive. It
was necessary that he be brought back to Moscow. Lawlessness is
reigning supreme. Then the parliament mourned in a minute of
silence those who died the night before near the Russian
Parliament Building.

    At about 5 p.m. all three women -- Olga, Larissa and
Tatyana -- rushed into the room highly agitated. "Look what's
going on!" We jumped to the balcony. ZIL limos were rolling into
the dacha grounds, and walking toward them were personal guards
with guns at the ready. "Halt!" they shouted. The limos pulled
up. A driver and someone else stepped out. After brief
negotiations, the cars veered to the left and headed for the
building housing my office.

    I walked out from my room on the second floor, wearing a
crumpled T shirt and tracksuit turned pajama bottoms. A thought
crossed my mind: I must look like an inmate!

    Through the entrance door filed in, one after another,
[Supreme Soviet Chairman Anatoli] Lukyanov, [Communist Party
deputy leader Vladimir] Ivashko, Baklanov, [Defense Minister
Dmitri] Yazov and [KGB Chairman Vladimir] Kryuchkov. All of
them bore a battered look and a grim face, everyone bowing to
me! I realized at once that they came to ask for pardon. I was
standing there petrified and felt rage rising inside me. Before
they disappeared in the left-hand door, I turned my back on
them.

    I dressed and ran to see M.S. I was afraid that he might
have received them. This should not by any means be done, the
more so since the announcement that a delegation of the Russian
parliament was coming. Gorbachev was sitting in his office
giving orders on the phone. He lifted his head and told me that
he had given them [the now penitent plotters] an ultimatum:
he would not talk to them unless they restored his
communications. But now he would not talk to them anyway.

    In my presence he ordered the Kremlin garrison commander
to take the Kremlin under his full control and not allow into
it on any pretext any of the accomplices in the putsch. Then he
talked with George Bush. That was a cheerful conversation, with
M.S. giving thanks for support and solidarity. Bush hailed his
liberation and resumption of duties.

    Boris reported that the Russian parliamentary delegation
was on the dacha premises. "Call them in now," said M.S. A
couple of minutes later we joined them in the dining room. I
will remember all my life the scene that followed. Silayev and
Rutskoi ran up to Gorbachev and embraced him. Exclamations, some
words spoken loudly. People interrupting each other. Bakatin and
Primakov were also there. Those were all the guys who had cussed
M.S. more than once in parliament and in the press, argued,
expressed indignation and protested.

    Now the tragedy instantly revealed that they were exactly
the ones so much needed by the country. They sat at the table
and started to exchange news on what had happened in Moscow and
here. Surprisingly, it turned out that they did not even know
who had approached the President with the ultimatum and what the
ultimatum was about.

    The conversation was drawn out past 9 p.m. Then Rutskoi
intervened -- a strong and handsome man, pleasing the eye, one
of the pillars of the earth. "Mikhail Sergeyevich," he said, "it
is high time we discussed what we do next. We will not let you
fly on the [presidential] airplane they [the plotters]
arrived on. [It was still unclear whether the coup had been
totally foiled, and they were wary of using the easily
identifiable presidential plane.] We will take my plane. It is
parked on the same airfield but at a distance from yours. It is
closely guarded. I brought along 40 lieutenant colonels, all of
them armed. We will break through."

    Once on the airfield, M.S. pretended he was getting out of
his car to board the presidential plane, then immediately
climbed back into the car, which instantly sped off for
Rutskoi's plane, two or three miles farther away. So when
Gorbachev, dressed in his cardigan, got out of the car and went
to the airplane, those lieutenant colonels were standing with
their rifles at the ready until he disappeared inside. Watching
this scene, I thought that there is still an officer's honor in
our army.

    Then came the flight. M.S., together with his family,
occupied a small compartment in the plane and called me in.
Everyone laughed with relief. We were joined by Silayev,
Rutskoi, Primakov, Bakatin and Dr. Igor Borisov [Gorbachev's
personal physician]. The talk centered on people, on their
behavior in extreme situations, on immorality as a source of all
ills. Toasts were proposed to ongoing life. It was then that
Gorbachev spoke for the first time the words "We are flying into
a new era."