Biohazard

"Pasechnik's defection has weakened us and left us vulnerable to American pressure," I said. "We need to find a way to redefine ourselves."

"What are you talking about?"

"If we ask Gorbachev to stop all offensive biological research and production, we'll be in a stronger position to do the pharmaceutical and biodefense work that may become available. Gorbachev won't read a memo about taking Biopreparat out of the ministry, but he might read one that suggests we stop what we're doing. That would be a matter of state policy."

I could see anger rising in Kalinin's face.

"Kryuchkov's memo," he snapped. "I know all about that, and about your little dance with Bykov."

I refused to be cowed.

"If we don't do this," I said, "we won't survive as an agency."

Kalinin said nothing and looked out the window. When he finally spoke, his answer surprised me.

"Go ahead and prepare the kind of memo you're talking about," he said. "If I like what I see, we'll send it up to them."

I went back to my office with a sense of elation. I called in Colonel Pryadkin, who was in charge of long-range planning for Biopreparat, and dialed General Yevstigneyev at the Fifteenth Directorate.

"I can't believe you, or Kalinin for that matter, would do such a stupid thing," he said. "But if you're going to do it, leave me out of it."

From that point on, Yevstigneyev turned against me. When I met him a few days later at a meeting, he refused to shake my hand.

"Here comes our peacemaker," he said to the officer he was talking to, and turned away.

Only in the Soviet Union could that be an insult.

Pryadkin and I finally managed to draft a decree for Gorbachev to sign. There were just four paragraphs. The first announced that Biopreparat would cease to function as an offensive warfare agency. The final paragraph declared that the agency would be separated from the Ministry of Medical Industry.

Kalinin questioned every word as if in a courtroom.

"All right," he finally said. "Leave it with me. I'll get this to the Kremlin."

For the next several weeks we waited in suspense. Kalinin called Gorbachev's office every day and spoke to one of his assistants whom he knew well, a man named Galkin.

"I don't know why they're taking so long," Kalinin complained. "Galkin keeps telling me there are dozens of papers arriving every day now, and he doesn't know how he can get Gorbachev to see it."

On May 5,1990, I was called into Kalinin's office. He was smiling and holding up a sheet of paper. Davydov was with him, smiling too.

"We've got it," Kalinin said.

I went over to his desk to read the decree.

Then I went numb. Every paragraph I had drafted was there, but an additional one had been tacked on at the end. It instructed Biopreparat "to organize the necessary work to keep all of its facilities prepared for further manufacture and development."

The first part of the document had ended Biopreparat's function as a biological warfare organization. The last part resurrected it.

I turned furiously to Davydov.

"Volodya, did you do this?" I said.

He didn't answer.

"How can we stop offensive biological research if we have to keep our facilities ready for production?" I demanded.

Kalinin made a dismissive flutter with his hand.

"Look, Kanatjan, you're taking this much too seriously," he said. "With this paper, everyone gets to do what he wants to do."

I wasn't sure whether Kalinin was serious, but I decided to take him at his word. Using the first part of the decree as my authority, I sent a cryptogram to Stepnogorsk and ordered the destruction of the explosive chamber I had devoted so much time and energy to erecting.

Gennady Lepyoshkin, the director of Stepnogorsk, called me as soon as he received the message.

"Have you been drinking, Kanatjan?" he said. "What's gone wrong with your mind?"

"Just do what you are asked to do," I said.

I waited several days, but there was still no word that efforts to dismantle the chamber were under way. I fired off another cryptogram.

"If you don't follow the order," the message said, "you will be fired."

Work started the following week.

Sandakchiev, at Vector, took the news much better. We discussed ways of converting some of the largest buildings to civilian facilities. Thinking of Lithuania, I said I would try to get money so that they could produce interferon.

I went to Siberia several times to oversee the conversion, which was completed by the end of 1990.

Sandakchiev knew how to play politics as well as anyone in our organization. While he was willing to divest some of his biological warfare work, he knew that if he ended it completely he would lose funding from the army. He had also learned — from Kalinin or Davydov, I imagined — of the extra paragraph in the decree admonishing us to maintain a state of readiness. Sandakchiev owed his loyalties, and his job, to Kalinin. I found out later that the construction of a new building for the cultivation of pathogenic viruses went ahead as planned.