The Russian Century: A Hundred Years of Russian Lives

When Lora entered the game, she was also in the process of entering into yet another affair with the old Soviet film director Feinzimmer. She would meet him in her hole-in-the-wall rooms. Often, when I came to get her, I would encounter Feinzimmer in her apartment, and I would take her away, despite his presence. In short, Lora Kronberg-Sobolevskaia was an unusual creature and I, for one, was constantly telling Kunavin that it was her we had to use.

There were many, very many receptions of every sort at the French Embassy and many private meetings with Maurice and Marie-Claire. I became such a close friend that they even invited me to lunches and dinners held for representatives of trade delegations, financiers, technical experts, and other guests from France. It goes without saying that I would be there when actors, directors, producers, artists, musicians, and others came to visit. The ambassador sometimes invited Georgii Mdivani as well. It was easier with Zhorzh there. After all, every visit to the embassy was a nerve-wracking affair, since each time we had to make arrangements with Kunavin, set specific goals for the meeting, and write up post-meeting reports. (I recall, for example, meetings with the screenwriter Spaak, with the film actor Jean Maret, with the film producer Mnushkin.)

But one time, on Kunavin’s orders, I invited De Jean on a trip to the countryside, and to dinner afterwards at the Volna Restaurant at the Khimki River-port. It had been decided that on that night Lora would show active interest in Maurice and set up a date with him. This had been discussed with Kunavin in my presence at the Hotel Moscow. Lora was very enthusiastic. It fell to me to create the necessary atmosphere and to assist her in every possible way.

We had arranged it so that right outside the French Embassy Marie-Claire got into our car, a large ZIM, the state luxury car, which, according to our cover story, I had borrowed from the Ministry of Culture. Lora got into De Jean’s car with the little flag, and they rode together the whole way—she and

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Chapter Thirty-One

Maurice. Zhorzh Mdivani and Taichik were with us and, I think, Chered-nichenko.

We set off for the Planernyi Region . . .

Somewhere at the edge of the forest we got out of our cars, walked around, and took a lot of pictures. At around eight o’clock, we arrived at the restaurant, where a table had been reserved for us in advance. Despite Kunavin’s efforts, a small mishap occurred right at the beginning of the evening. It turned out that there were foreign journalists, Americans, in the dining area, and among them, if my memory serves me right, was the wife of the American journalist Stevens (as Kunavin later told me), who, of course, recognized Maurice De Jean and Marie-Claire and watched us intently throughout the entire meal.

While dancing was going on, I saw that Lora, who had drunk a fair amount, was pressing herself up against the ambassador. And he was smiling and whispering something in her ear. Marie-Claire either didn’t notice, or pretended not to notice. Lora was really letting herself go that night. When I danced with her, she pressed herself up against me, too. I whispered in her ear, “I’m not the ambassador, babe.”

After the evening was over and we had said good-bye to the De Jeans, I took Lora home by taxi. But all of a sudden she got stubborn and said that she wanted to come spend the night at my place, that she been attracted to me for a long time, and that she wasn’t going to let this opportunity get away.

We arrived at my place, having bought champagne at the Praga Restaurant along the way. There Lora told me that Kunavin, speaking on authority for General Gribanov, had promised her, in the event of success, a room of her own in Moscow—no, not an apartment, but a room. But soon afterwards, she’d forgotten about Maurice and the room, and was remembering my cousin and her love for him with tears in her eyes. And then, no longer crying and having forgotten my cousin, she consoled herself with me. There was something pathological in all of this, for her as well as for me.

Soon afterwards Marie-Claire left for France. Summer came. Gribanov decided to force events.

I was given a special, top-secret note from the chairman of the KGB, General Serov, to the USSR State Planning Committee, which allowed me to purchase a new Volga automobile, using my own money, through the intercession of the Ministry of Trade. This was an unheard-of stroke of luck. I felt like a little boy on his birthday. After all, in those years only the very highly placed, the chosen ones, could buy a car this way. Mere mortals had to stay on a waiting list for several years, or spend 75,000 rubles buying a Volga on the black market, nearly risking their lives in the process. My Volga was intended for the Maurice De Jean operation. Gribanov’s chief assistant, Vasily

Iurii Krotkov, The KGB in Action

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