Biohazard

The commanders of the Fifteenth Directorate thought of Biopreparat as an extension of the military research program and therefore subject to their control. Ostensibly operating as a civilian pharmaceutical enterprise, the agency could engage in genetic research without arousing suspicion. It could participate in international conferences, interact with the world scientific community, and obtain disease strains from foreign microbe banks — all activities which would have been impossible for a military laboratory.

Conflict between the Fifteenth Directorate and Biopreparat was inevitable. The military hierarchy was not equipped to deal with the relatively free-wheeling atmosphere of scientific research at the new agency. Many of the colonels and generals who had crossed town from army headquarters to Samokatnaya Street were scientists themselves, and the simple act of shedding their military uniforms and donning civilian clothing liberated them overnight. Excited by the prospect of cutting-edge research, some chose to reject the strict parameters laid down by defense headquarters.

The army chiefs responded by doing everything in their power to undermine the agency, which they had come to view as an upstart child. Ogarkov, already overwhelmed by the bureaucratic hassles of establishing an untested new structure within the Soviet government, didn't have the strength to fight them. In 1975, Biopreparat was assigned a Five-Year Plan to develop new biological weapons. Four years later, not a single new weapon had been produced.

Few expected Kalinin, then a forty-one-year-old engineer trained at the army's chemical warfare academy, to make a difference. He was considered a dark horse from the beginning: his knowledge of biological weapons was limited, and he had few friends in the Fifteenth Directorate. But the elegant Kalinin proved a master of political intrigue, maneuvering himself from an obscure post as lab chief in Zagorsk into a management job at one of Biopreparat's institutes and then into the director's chair. A first marriage to the daughter of a lab director, and a second to the daughter of a senior general, helped smooth his path up the ladder. His knack for forging friendships with senior military commanders and academicians at the Soviet Academy of Sciences was equally useful.

Unable to challenge his opponents at army headquarters directly, Kalinin expanded his new dominion by stealth. With the help of powerful friends, Biopreparat's new chief seized institutes controlled by other agencies, grabbing their scientists and recruiting thousands of new ones. He obtained funds to erect dozens of research and production buildings where none had existed before. Between 1975 and 1980, the number of Biopreparat employees quintupled. Most of this increase came in the year after Kalinin's appointment.

Kalinin knew his empire-building was futile unless he could show results. With no significant weapons project under way after nearly two years at Biopreparat's helm, the general was, understandably, in a desperate mood.

In June 1981, he called me at the laboratory in Omutninsk, where I had just been reassigned as chief of technological development. I snapped to attention when I heard his voice. We were all in awe of Kalinin by reputation, and the sheer improbability of a call from the Great Man to a young scientist made me wonder what I could have done wrong.

"I want you to come to Moscow," he announced.

"Yes, of course," I replied.

"I'm going to nominate you deputy director of Omutninsk."

I knew the general had a mercurial temperament, but this sounded alarmingly whimsical. I was just six years out of graduate school, a thirty-one-year-old captain with a lot of energy and only a few achievements to show for it. My name had come to the attention of superior officers thanks to a technique I had recently developed for improving biological weapons production. But I had only just been promoted to my new job. I was nervous, and wanted at the time to say no.

"Well?" Kalinin was still waiting.

"I'll be there tomorrow morning," I said.

It was my first visit to Kalinin's office. I climbed to the second floor and stopped by his secretary's desk. She offered me a glass of tea.

"They're not ready for you yet," she said a little hesitantly. "There's a bit of a disagreement."

I could hear it. The shouting penetrated beyond Kalinin's closed doors, though I couldn't make out who was there or what they were saying.

Seconds later, a red-faced man came barreling out of the door and stopped in front of me. He looked me up and down.

"I don't know what you think you're up to!" he barked. "You're nothing but a puppy."

He stormed back into the office.

I waited another half hour or so, and then Kalinin himself came out. He looked mildly apologetic.

"Go to your hotel," he said. "Have some lunch. I'll call you later."