None of them ever replied.
It didn’t matter to the authorities that Novaya Gazeta had published Sergei’s unedited prison diaries on its front page, and that everyone read them.
It didn’t matter that Sergei’s name had been mentioned in 1,148 articles in Russia and 1,257 articles in the West since his death.
It didn’t matter that Sergei’s murder violated the social contract everyone had accepted: if you didn’t get involved in anything controversial — politics, human rights, or anything to do with Chechnya — then you could get on with life and enjoy the fruits of the authoritarian regime.
The Russian authorities were so wrapped up in their cover-up that they ignored the most emotive aspects of Sergei’s story. He was just a middle-class tax lawyer who bought his Starbucks coffee in the morning, loved his family, and did his tax work in his cubicle. His only misfortune was to stumble across a major government corruption scheme and then behave like a Russian patriot and report it. For that he’d been plucked out of his normal life, incarcerated in one of Russia’s darkest hellholes, and then slowly and methodically tortured to death.
It didn’t matter that any Russian could just as easily have been Sergei Magnitsky.
I’d suspended disbelief, wishfully thinking that Russia was beyond the Katyn principle of massive state-sponsored lying, but it wasn’t. Evil hadn’t withered under the bright lights of publicity.
If I wanted to get any justice for Sergei, then I was going to have to find a way to get it outside of Russia.
32. Kyle Parker’s war
But how does one get justice in the West for torture and a murder that took place in Russia?
Since the British government had proved to be so unhelpful, I needed to broaden my scope. Given my personal history, the next logical place to turn was the United States.
I made several appointments for early March 2010 in Washington, DC, arriving on the second of the month. Washington was cold and drizzly. My first meeting was with Jonathan Winer, a top international criminal lawyer. Before going into private practice, Jonathan had been the deputy assistant secretary of state for narcotics and law enforcement — commonly referred to in Washington as the «DASS for drugs and thugs». He’d been responsible for US foreign policy regarding narco-traffickers and the Russian Mafia. He’d been effective, and a real tough customer.
I went to his downtown office on the morning of March 3. Based on his reputation, I was expecting a tall, rugged Clint Eastwood type of character, so when I arrived at his office I thought I’d gone to the wrong place. The person before me was a five-feet-six-inch, middle-aged, balding man with a long, narrow face who reminded me of one of my favorite economics professors from college. He hardly looked like the crime-fighting superhero I’d been imagining.
Jonathan ushered me into his office. We sat and he politely asked me to go through the whole story. He listened intently, periodically scribbling notes on an index card, not saying a word. Only when I was done did he start talking, which was when I began to see how he’d earned his reputation.
«Have you been to the Senate Foreign Relations Committee on this yet?» he fired at me in a low, staccato voice.
«No. Should I have?»
«Yes. Add them to the list». He put a check mark next to one of the notes on his index card. «What about the House Committee on Investigations?»
«No. Who are they?» I was starting to feel inadequate.
«It’s a House committee that has virtually unlimited subpoena powers. Add them to the list too. What about the US Helsinki Commission?»
«Yes, I’m seeing them on my last day in Washington». I felt a little better that I wasn’t totally failing the test. I somehow wanted this man’s approval even though I’d only just met him.
«Good. They’re important. I want to hear about that meeting when it’s over». He put another check mark in his notes. «What about the State Department? Are you seeing anyone there?»
«Yes, tomorrow. Someone named Kyle Scott. He runs the Russia desk».
«That’s a start. They won’t give you anyone more senior until later, but it works for now. It’s important that you know what you’re going to say to Kyle Scott». Jonathan paused. «Do you have a plan?»
Every question he asked made it more and more clear that I had no idea what I was doing. «Well, I’d intended to tell them the story of what happened to Sergei», I said meekly.
Jonathan smiled benevolently, as if he were talking to a child. «Bill, Scott will have a detailed intelligence report on you and Sergei. With the resources of the US government, he’ll probably know more about your story than you do. As far as the State Department is concerned, the primary purpose of this meeting is damage control. They’ll be trying to figure out if this situation is serious enough to force the government to act. Your objective is to show them that it is».
«All right. How do I do that?»
«It all depends on what you want from them, Bill».
«What I really want is to create consequences for the people who killed Sergei».
Jonathan rubbed his chin for a few seconds «Well, if you really want to put the cat among the pigeons, I’d ask them to impose Proclamation Seventy-seven Fifty. It allows the State Department to impose visa sanctions on corrupt foreign officials. Bush created it in 2004. It would really get under the Russians’ skin if they were slapped with that».
The 7750 idea was brilliant. Visa sanctions would cut right to the core of what it meant to be a Russian crook. When communism ended, corrupt Russian officials spread across the globe, filling up every five-star hotel from Monte Carlo to Beverly Hills, spending their money as if it were their last day on earth. If I could convince the US government to restrict their travel, then it would send shock waves through the Russian elite.
«Would the State Department actually do that?» I asked.
Jonathan shrugged. «Probably not, but it’s worth a shot. Seventy-seven Fifty has rarely been used, but it’s on the books, and it’ll be interesting to see how they justify not implementing it with the evidence you have on this case».
I stood. «Then I’ll do it. Thanks so much». I left Jonathan’s office feeling empowered. I was still a Washington outsider, but now at least I had a plan — and an ally.
I arrived at the State Department on C Street the following morning. The plain, hard-angled building looked more like an elongated cinder block than the seat of US diplomatic power. After passing through a lengthy security screening, I was greeted by Kyle Scott’s secretary, who led me down a series of drab, linoleum-covered corridors, her black high heels clicking rhythmically. Finally, we reached a door labeled OFFICE OF RUSSIAN AFFAIRS.
She opened the door and held out her hand. «Please». I went into a small suite, and she led me to the corner office. «Mr. Scott will be right with you».
Normally a corner office is meant to convey some sort of seniority, but as I settled in, I realized that it was the only sign that Kyle Scott had any status. His room was cramped and only big enough for a desk, a love seat, a small coffee table, and a couple of chairs. I took the love seat and waited.
After a few minutes Kyle Scott entered, an assistant in tow. «Hello, Mr. Browder». Kyle Scott was about my height and age and had close-set, brown eyes. His white shirt, red tie, and gray suit were standard-issue US government bureaucrat. «Thank you so much for meeting me today», he said, generously not acknowledging that I was the one who had asked for the meeting.
«No, thank you for making the time for me», I replied.