Biohazard

The final formulation is sent along underground pipes to a nearby building, where it will be filtered into the munitions carrier. The machines that measure and pour fixed quantities of our pathogens dozens of times a minute are virtually identical to those used by soft-drink bottling plants. As the reactor is emptied, the seed stock from another tray of vials would have been cultured for the start of another cycle.

This process could be kept running night and day. Our experiments with different assembly-line techniques fueled our rapidly expanding program. By 1987, the combined production capacity of our anthrax lines around the country was nearly five thousand tons a year, although the actual mobilization plans authorized by the Ministry of Defense provided for a lower amount. Kurgan was to produce one thousand tons; Penza five hundred tons and Stepnogorsk three hundred tons.

My requests for equipment and building materials were rarely denied. My biggest problem was the shortage of staff.

About forty scientists were working at Stepnogorsk when I assumed control. Few of them were qualified for the advanced research that needed to be done. To fulfill Kalinin's vision, I would have to hire hundreds of new technicians and scientists, but the rules for employment at Stepnogorsk, as in all of our secret military installations, were rigorously enforced. Prospective workers had to undergo an intensive security check that could last months — months that I couldn't afford.

I knew Bulgak was right about the dangers of precipitately taking on staff, but the pressure to meet deadlines set by Moscow gave me little choice.

I launched an unofficial recruiting drive for construction workers, technicians, and scientists, tapping the work force in the city of Stepnogorsk and civilian institutes elsewhere in the country. Many of the people I brought to the base lacked proper clearances tor secret work, so I hired them as temporary workers while their security checks were being done. Within a few months, I had almost two hundred new employees.

There were no awkward questions from headquarters, and our expansion and construction activities soon engaged so much of my time that I stopped worrying about Moscow's security rules. I recruited more people, quietly transferring them into full-time positions as soon as their personnel checks were completed. The success of our experiments, I imagined, had neutralized procedural concerns. But Anatoly Bulgak was not about to forget my insult. His network of informers kept him posted on my irregular hiring practices, and when he had accumulated enough evidence, he decided to teach me a lesson.

A year after our unfriendly encounter, I was ordered to Moscow. The order came directly from Kalinin. No explanation was offered, nor did I expect one. I assumed he wanted a personal report on our progress.

After a three-and-a-half-hour flight to Moscow on a cramped Aeroflot plane, I went straight to his office. Kalinin's secretary said he was busy. This didn't particularly surprise me. Kalinin was the type to order someone back from halfway around the world and then keep him waiting for days.

To my surprise, the secretary handed me a note from KGB colonel Vladimir Dorogov, counterintelligence chief for the entire Biopreparat organization.

"See me immediately," the note said.

Dorogov was staring out the window when I stepped into his office on the third floor, hands clasped behind his back. When he turned to face me, I was surprised by the ferocity of his expression.

"Do you realize how much danger you have put our country

in?" he said coldly.

He walked to his desk and pulled out a folder with the names of the workers I had hired in the previous six months. There were red lines under several of them.

"We have excellent officers in Stepnogorsk," Dorogov continued. "But you seem to have chosen to resist their help. Frankly, I have never seen anything like this in my entire career."

His glacial calm was unnerving.

"Comrade Colonel, there is an explanation," I said.

"There can be no explanation!" he said. "I've seen your records and I know your history, Alibekov. This is not the first time you've been foolish."

He then gave me a blow-by-blow description of my encounter with Kuznetsov six years earlier.

"What shall we do about this?" he said.

"I don't know," I said, truthfully.

This was not merely a violation of procedure: in their minds I had opened the entire program up to sabotage. I began to believe that my career was rapidly drawing to an end.

But the KGB surprised me again. Dorogov opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a blank sheet of paper.

"On this sheet," he said, "you will write down everything you did and explain why it was wrong."

As I reached for it, he locked my wrist in a painful grip.

"Just remember," he said. "This is a small piece of paper, but it will have to cover your ass perfectly."