TIME: Almanac 1995

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<text id=91TT2200> <title> Oct. 07, 1991: Soviet Union:Four Desperate Days </title> <history> TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1991 Oct. 07, 1991 Defusing the Nuclear Threat </history> <article> <source>Time Magazine</source> <hdr> WORLD, Page 28 SOVIET UNION Four Desperate Days </hdr><body> 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." </body></article> </text>