Biohazard

In Almaty, my mother showed me a newspaper with a decree by President Nursultan Nazarbayev offering citizenship to Kazakhs living outside the country. Nazarbayev especially welcomed scientists, doctors, and engineers, challenging them to participate in the country's transformation. In 1990, when I was still at Biopreparat, I had received a vaguely worded invitation to serve as Kazakh health minister. I had given it little thought, convinced that the burgeoning Soviet democracy would achieve more than the corrupt authoritarian clans of Central Asia. But things had changed.

In June of 1992, I received a phone call at my Moscow office from a man who introduced himself as Mikhail Safrygin, first deputy minister of defense of Kazakhstan.

"Are you by any chance planning a visit to Almaty any time soon?" he asked politely.

"Yes," I said. "I'll be there next week."

"Would you mind stopping by our ministry? We have a job in which you might be interested."

This was the opportunity I'd been waiting for. I didn't expect the job as health minister to come my way again, but the leaders of the new government obviously knew my background in military medicine. I imagined that they needed someone who could organize a health service for the new Kazakh army.

I set out for the interview in a new and expensive suit bought with my first earnings as a businessman. My enthusiasm waned as I approached the ramshackle building that housed Kazakhstan's new Ministry of Defense, recently converted from a technical college. A new country has to start with the materials it has at hand, I comforted myself. As I walked inside I saw myself as a pioneer, a founder of a new government ministry.

A young senior lieutenant, a Kazakh, met me at the entrance and told me to go upstairs to the deputy minister's office.

"You can't miss it," he said.

The informality was a relief. Safrygin greeted me warmly.

"We're honored that you could come to our tiny fortress," he said.

He offered me tea, and I relaxed on the wide sofa in his office.

The discussion started well. He asked about my work with the bank and about my family. We talked about the recent changes in Kazakhstan. Then he pulled a folder from a desk drawer.

"I'd like to show you something," he said.

The paper he spread out in front of me was a draft of an agreement between Biopreparat and the Kazakh Ministry of Defense. It outlined a plan for the joint operation of the installation we had run at Stepnogorsk.

"This is very interesting," I said at last. "But what does it have to do with me? I've left Biopreparat."

"Well," said Safrygin, "we were wondering if you would be interested in going to Stepnogorsk."

"Stepnogorsk already has a director. His name is Gennady Lepyoshkin."

"Actually, we need someone to manage the whole chain," he said.

"I'm not interested," I said.

Just then a door opened at the far end of Safrygin's office and a wiry Kazakh walked in. He looked like a soldier though he wore civilian clothes. He was about sixty years old, with thick eyebrows. Safrygin stood up. I didn't.

"Colonel Alibekov," said the visitor. "You won't mind if I join you?"

"I'm not a colonel anymore. I've left the army."

The man made a dismissive gesture. "I know that," he said.

He told me he was the chief of the defense section in the Kazakh president's administration and worked closely with Defense Minister Sagadat Nurmagambetov, who had until recently been a two-star Soviet general. He didn't give his name.

I was not pleased by the turn the conversation had taken. Nor was I pleased by the realization that this man had been listening In-hind the door.

"We know all about you," he continued, "and we know that you were a capable officer. That's why we've asked you to come here today."

My heart sank.

"If you join us, we'll return you to the rank of colonel and within two weeks you will become a major general. Of course such promotions can only be made in our Kazakh constitution through a presidential decree and parliamentary approval. But I can safely guarantee it will happen."

"You don't need a major general to run a biological facility," I said.

"We plan to set up a new directorate. We want you to be its commander."

"What kind of directorate?"

"A medical-biological directorate."

"What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what we mean."

I stood up.

"Look," I said. "A treaty was signed in 1972 by countries all over the world, including the Soviet Union, that prohibits research and development into biological weapons. If your president wants to have problems with the international community in the future, then this is exactly how to do it. I recommend you forget the idea."

He flushed.

"I don't think our president needs to receive recommendations from you," he said.

"Whether he does or not, I refuse to have anything to do with this."