Since Eduard had been an investigator and a judge in his past life, he thought he might be able to use his network to find out who was behind these attacks, but nobody knew the answer.
One by one they said, «Until you can figure it out, you’d better disappear, Eduard».
For the first time in his life, Eduard was out of his comfort zone. He was the kind of person whom everyone went to for help, not the other way around. Since 1992, Eduard had been a criminal defense lawyer, representing a wide array of clients, and he had one of the most successful track records of any lawyer in Russia. Yet while he knew how to work the legal system, he didn’t know how to disappear. Luckily, Eduard had many former clients who did, and when they heard of his troubles, several offered to help.
On Thursday, August 28, 2008 — two days before he was due to appear in Kazan — Eduard called Vadim. «You may not hear from me for a while. If that happens, don’t worry. I’ll be all right». Vadim asked him what he meant, but Eduard interrupted him and said, «I have to go». He hung up.
After that call, Eduard removed the battery from his mobile phone and went to his apartment near Vorobyovy Hills in southern Moscow. He knew that he’d been under surveillance for several weeks. The people following him hadn’t even bothered to hide it. A car was sitting outside his building night after night, with two men constantly watching his apartment. This was ominous because he didn’t know whether they were the Russian Mafia or the police. Either way, he didn’t want to find out.
After eating a quick dinner that evening, Eduard and his wife headed out for their regular evening stroll. The surveillance team didn’t follow them because Eduard and his wife went on this walk every night, and they always came back.
They walked slowly along the wide street for about half a mile holding hands, but instead of turning back where they normally would, Eduard pulled his wife by the hand and they quickly crossed the street. There, waiting for him, was a large black Audi A8 sedan with tinted windows. Eduard’s wife knew things had been getting bad for her husband, but she was totally unaware of his plan. He turned to her, took her by the hand, and said quickly, «Now’s the time».
Tonight was the night he would disappear.
She took him by the shoulders and leaned in to give him a kiss. Neither of them knew when they would see each other again. When their kiss ended, Eduard jumped into the backseat of the sedan, lay down, and the car was off.
His wife went back across the street, pushed her hands into her pockets, and walked home alone, blinking the tears from her eyes. She didn’t notice when the surveillance team perked up. But perk up they did. It took them a few hours to process what had happened, but around midnight three people showed up at the apartment asking for Eduard.
But his wife had no idea where he was, and that was exactly what she told them.
If Eduard, with all his connections and knowledge of criminal law, had decided to go into hiding, then there was no question that Vladimir, an academic with severe disabilities, had to leave Russia right away.
I called Vladimir immediately, annoyed that he was still in Moscow. «Vladimir, Eduard is gone. When are you leaving?»
«Bill, I’m sorry, I’m still not well enough to travel. But your points are well taken». I didn’t know exactly what he meant and he refused to elaborate, but it sounded as if he was going to leave.
I certainly hoped so. I was pretty sure that when he and Eduard didn’t show up in Kazan on Saturday for their second summons, the corrupt cops would issue arrest warrants for both of them.
What Vladimir couldn’t tell me was that he was assessing his options for getting out of Russia. The most attractive ones involved a land- or sea-based border crossing. The Russian border service was so antiquated that many of the remote crossings didn’t have up-to-date technology for detecting fugitives. These posts were generally staffed with the rejects of the border service. Laziness and drunkenness were practically requirements for these positions, and they routinely let people slip by who were on the wanted list. Using these criteria, the two best crossings were the Nekhoteevka crossing into Ukraine and the ferry from Sochi to Istanbul. Unfortunately for Vladimir, the car journey to either of these far-flung places could easily push his eye problems over the edge. Roads in Russia are notoriously bad, with huge potholes and unpaved sections, and a bumpy trip could make Vladimir, suffering from problems with his retina, permanently blind.
After rejecting these options, Vladimir spotted the one opportunity that had any chance of working. The Russian summer holiday was ending on Sunday, August 31. Hordes of people would be entering and leaving the country. In that chaos, Vladimir hoped that the border service might not be able to check all the passports properly. It was a long shot, and any able-bodied person would have rejected it outright, but Vladimir didn’t have that luxury.
Saturday, August 30, came — the day that Vladimir and Eduard were due for questioning in Kazan — and I sat on the edge of my seat waiting for a call from Vladimir’s wife saying they had come to arrest him. But I got no calls from Russia. I was tempted to call early on Sunday morning, but I didn’t want to alert anyone who might be listening to Vladimir’s phone that he was still there.
That day, Vladimir, his wife, and his son booked an Alitalia flight for 11:00 p.m. from Sheremetyevo Airport to Milan. They left their home at 4:40 p.m. with simple carry-on bags. Unlike with Eduard, no shady characters were watching him. The family took a taxi to the airport, but because of the end-of-summer traffic, it took two and a half hours to get there. They arrived at Sheremetyevo at seven in the evening and took their place in the check-in line. The airport was absolute chaos. People were everywhere, nobody was queuing properly, and large suitcases blocked most of the hallways. Tempers flared as whole groups of people fretted over the possibility of missing their flights.
This was just the scenario Vladimir had been hoping for. Check-in took over an hour. Then came security. Another hour just to get through the screening area. It was already 10:00 p.m. when Vladimir and his family stood in the passport control line. This was just as congested as the previous lines: people crowded in front of one another, jockeying for position and arguing for the right to be next.
As Vladimir and his family approached the front of the line, the gravity of the situation hit him hard. If this didn’t work, he was likely to be arrested. And if he was arrested, he would likely die in prison. It wasn’t overly dramatic to conclude that, for Vladimir, this normally mundane border crossing was a matter of life and death.
With less than forty minutes until their flight took off, Vladimir and his family crossed the red line on the floor and stepped up to the border guard’s booth. The agent was a young man with red cheeks, bright eyes, and a sheen of sweat on his forehead.
«Papers», he said in Russian without looking up from his computer terminal.
Vladimir dug into his travel wallet for his family’s passports and boarding passes. «Crazy night here at the airport», he said, trying to sound casual.
The border guard grunted something incomprehensible. He looked at Vladimir with a frown, waiting for the documents.
«Here you are». Vladimir handed everything over.
This was probably the five hundredth set of documents the border guard had seen that day. Normally, Russian immigration officers are fastidious about processing every passport. They type the details into the computer, wait for a result, then stamp the passport. But if they’d applied that level of attention on this day, there would have been twelve-hour delays and half the passengers would have missed their flights.