In its first day, the Kuznetsov video got more than fifty thousand views, which was more than the total number of views for the first YouTube video we did about the fraud. Within a week, 170,000 people had seen the Kuznetsov video, and it was the top political video in Russia on YouTube. The New Times magazine (a Russian opposition weekly) wrote a big story entitled «Private Jets for the Lieutenant Colonel». Kuznetsov’s wealth was such a sexy story that it even got a write-up in the UK tabloid the Sunday Express, which almost never reports on things occurring outside Britain.
While everyone talked, wrote, and blogged about the video, a group of Russian activists took matters into their own hands. They showed up at Kuznetsov’s building and pasted a picture of Sergei on every apartment door with the words Kuznetsov murderer! below his face. They also unfurled a massive banner on the high-rise facing his apartment with the same words.
To keep the pressure on the Russian authorities, just before releasing the movie, Jamie Firestone also filed criminal complaints with the General Prosecutor’s Office and the Internal Affairs Department of the Interior Ministry, challenging Kuznetsov’s unexplained wealth.
In spite of the overwhelming evidence, the authorities circled the wagons around this midlevel police officer. They trotted out Deputy Interior Minister Alexei Anichin, who said it was «not part of our remit» to investigate Kuznetsov’s wealth.
In spite of the official nonreaction to the video, it clearly touched a nerve. On July 11, 2010, Pavel Karpov filed a criminal defamation complaint in Russia against my colleagues and me. In his complaint he said, «William Browder, Eduard Khayretdinov, Jamison Firestone, and Sergei Magnitsky conducted an information campaign to discredit me and Artem Kuznetsov, and also to cover up the traces of their own criminal activity». He went on to say, «The only person who stood to benefit by the theft of his own companies, the tax refund, and the death of Magnitsky was William Browder».
That’s right: Karpov was now saying that I was responsible for Sergei’s death.
Maybe Karpov thought that if he attacked me, I would back down, but it had the exact opposite effect. The day after we learned of his complaint, we released the movie starring him. Cinematically, this one was even better than the Kuznetsov video. It had all the images of property and cars, and also lots of Karpov’s own photos from nightclubs, restaurants, and discotheques that had been taken all over Moscow. If you were an honest, middle-class Russian and saw how this ordinary cop lived, you would have been shocked — and they all were.
Jamie also filed another set of criminal complaints against Karpov. This time the Internal Affairs Department of the Interior Ministry actually questioned Kuznetsov and Karpov, but in the end claimed that the department lacked the authority to check their parents’ incomes and found nothing wrong.
Kuznetsov and Karpov may have been untouchable by Russian law enforcement, but they were anything but untouchable in the court of public opinion. Within three months, more than four hundred thousand people had watched the videos. No matter how many lies the Russian authorities told, a person could always hold up a finger and say, «Yes, but if Kuznetsov and Karpov are not corrupt, then how did they get so rich? Can you answer that? How did they get so rich?»
35. The Swiss accounts
That August, I took David for a father-son trip to the English countryside. One day, as we were hiking up a cliffside trail in Cornwall, an unexpected gift fell in my lap. It came in the form of a phone call from Jamie Firestone.
Jamie was so excited he could barely get the words out. «Hey, Bill — can I make your day?»
«Always ready for that». I caught my breath from the steep trail while David stopped in a patch of shade to drink some water. «What’s happening?»
«I just got an email from someone who claims to have proof that a woman at Moscow Tax Office Number Twenty-eight got millions from the fraud».
«Who sent the email?»
«Someone named Alejandro Sanches».
«That doesn’t sound very Russian. How do you know it’s not bullshit?»
«I don’t. But he sent me some Swiss bank statements and some offshore company documents in his email».
«What do they say?»
«They show a bunch of wire transfers going to bank accounts that seem to belong to the husband of Olga Stepanova, the lady at the tax office who signed the refund check».
«That’s amazing! Do you think they’re real?»
«I don’t know. But Sanches said that if we’re interested, he’s willing to meet».
«Are you comfortable doing that?»
«Sure», Jamie said almost dismissively. Even after all that had happened, Jamie hadn’t lost his optimism. «Don’t worry, Bill».
We hung up and I took a few sips of water. David and I put our heads down and kept walking up the trail, but I hardly noticed the beautiful views over the beach. My head was spinning. The campaign needed a break like this, but I was worried about sending Jamie into harm’s way.
Nowhere was safe, especially London, which was rife with Russians. In 2006, Alexander Litvinenko, a former FSB agent and well-known Putin critic, was poisoned by FSB agents at London’s Millennium Hotel, just across the street from the American embassy.
Jamie and Sanches exchanged a few more emails and agreed to meet each other on August 27, 2010. The plan was for them to sit down, and if Sanches appeared legitimate, Jamie would call Vadim to join them to go over the documents.
Sanches suggested the Polo Bar at the Westbury Hotel in Mayfair, which was ominously close to where Litvinenko had been poisoned. Terrified that something awful would happen, I called our security guy, Steven Beck, to come up with a plan.
Steven surveyed the location and decided to bring in four men to watch over Jamie and Vadim. Two were ex — Special Forces and two were former British intelligence officers. At 2:30 p.m. on the twenty-seventh these men began to show up in the Polo Bar one at a time. They took up strategic positions — two by the exits, one near the table where the meeting would occur, one at the end of the bar. They blended in seamlessly. One carried a device that could detect and jam any surveillance equipment similar to the kind that we thought Sagiryan might have used for the meeting at the Dorchester Hotel. Another did a discreet walk-through with a Geiger counter to check for any radiation, since Litvinenko had been poisoned with a highly toxic radioactive isotope of polonium.
There were no guarantees, but I knew that if things got ugly, Steven’s guys would get Jamie and Vadim out of there in a hurry.
Jamie got to the Polo Bar early, entering through one of the steel-and-glass double doors. He walked through the low-ceilinged art deco lounge to the reserved table. He sat in one of the blue velvet club chairs with his back to a wall, a picture of the Empire State Building hanging over his shoulder. The position was strategic, deemed by Steven to be the safest place in the room. Jamie tried to pick out the guards from the crowd of tourists but was at a loss. He looked along the length of the green-and-black marble bar as the bartender shook a martini and poured it into a frosted glass. A waitress brought him a small tray of complimentary snacks, and he eyed the smoked almonds before thinking better of it. He ordered a Diet Coke with a slice of lemon. When it arrived, he let it sit on the table untouched.