Biohazard

This was a small mark in my favor. If I had actually signed the advisory, it would have added fuel to the conspiracy theory that seemed to be developing: Alibekov gives Pasechnik permission to go to Paris; then Alibekov signs a telegram telling him to return early. What else could this be but a cleverly coded warning to Pasechnik to stay away? Needless to say, logic wasn't the theory's strong point. But the Soviet mind computed evidence in odd ways. Bykov was relentless. He asked me to repeat the story again. Then he asked Yermoshin to give his own version, which of course was the same as mine. I held back from describing my impressions of Pasechnik's mood in our previous encounter, since it would have made things look worse. I would then have to explain why I didn't inform anyone earlier of the director's erratic behavior. Finally, Bykov sat down. "Mikhail Sergeyevich is going to learn about this," he said, referring to Gorbachev. "I can't keep it from his people in the Kremlin. He'll probably know in a couple of days. You will have to be prepared."

"For what?" I asked.

"Somebody will have to be the scapegoat," Bykov said calmly. "If Gorbachev says we have to punish whoever was responsible, you'll be the one. Of course, if he takes it well, you can live out the rest of your days in happiness."

I nodded dumbly. There was nothing to say.

When I came back from the Protvino conference a few days later, Yermoshin was waiting in my office.

"Have you heard from Pasechnik?" he asked abruptly.

"No, why?"

Yermoshin looked down at his fingernails.

"Well, we think we know where he is."

"How did you find him?"

"We used a psychic," Yermoshin explained. "We showed him a photo of Pasechnik, and he stared at it for a long time until he told us that your man was on some sort of island, a big island, very close to the sea."

"An island?" I said, puzzled.

"Yes of course," Yermoshin went on. "And he said there was a large old building, with two or three men working with him."

I started to smile. I had never dreamed the KGB was interested in extrasensory perception.

"Come on, Savva," I said. "You've got to be kidding. Do we really need this kind of spiritual activity in an organization like ours?"

"Look," he said, suddenly irritated. "This is very serious. The man has done extremely successful work for us in the past."

I dropped the matter because Yermoshin seemed so sensitive, but the curious thing was that the psychic was right.

Pasechnik had gone to England.

In January 1995, long after I had defected, I was invited by the British government to discuss biodefense issues. During a break, several British officers came up to me and we began to talk through an interpreter about Pasechnik, whom I had not seen since 1989. The mood was light, and I casually told them the story of the KGB and its psychic. They didn't laugh.

"But that's exactly where we had him," one of the officers said. "We wanted to keep him secure, so we brought him to an old house on the coast."

The KGB psychic was either remarkably talented or he had remarkably good contacts. Even at the time, I suspected that Yermoshin had been ordered to let me in on the psychic's "secret" to check my reaction. Bykov or Kalinin must have been determined to catch me up. If I had not shown surprise at the news about the island, it would have been proof of guilt. I was angry with Yermoshin for agreeing to be part of such a clumsy trick.

At the end of the week, Kalinin called to say I was "safe." Gorbachev had ordered us to take whatever measures necessary to protect Biopreparat from further damage, but he had not ordered any disciplinary measures against our staff.

A few weeks later, a damage control team met in Kalinin's office. There were two senior KGB officers and several people from our agency, including Yermoshin and Vladimir Davydov, a military engineer in charge of "organizational matters" in all our facilities. Davydov was not one of my favorite people: he was cruel to his subordinates and seemed to me too eager to do what was asked of him.

A consensus was reached quickly. Everything relating to secret defense work at Pasechnik's facility would have to be destroyed. The Institute of Ultra-Pure Biopreparations would become civilian in fact as well as in name. This would leave a major hole in our program, but there was no alternative.

The talk turned to Pasechnik himself, and the atmosphere heated up. He was labeled a traitor, a turncoat, a weakling.

"We have to do something about him," Davydov declared.

We looked at him expectantly.

"There's only one thing to do. He has to be killed."

There was a communal intake of breath, and several people began to fidget in their seats. Even Yermoshin seemed uncomfortable. Kalinin stared out the window.

I was dismayed. "We can't do that," I said.

I was angry at Pasechnik for having put me in such a difficult situation, but I couldn't tolerate the idea of assassinating him.

One of the KGB colonels spoke up.