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The vice-chairmen did not make up an unofficial collective ruling body. Kriuchkov’s authority was too great for that and it kept his immediate subordinates in check. In the KGB as well as in other state agencies the power of the chief and the extent of his influence were determined by his relations with the government leaders. His competence, expertise and the respect of his staff were factors of secondary importance. A huge role in professional advancement was played by personal loyalty to one’s superior. The Committee imitated the laws and customs which ruled Party behavior. It could not have been otherwise. These laws were universal throughout the whole system. I think that they were instrumental in my career as well. In any case as is expected of an officer, and all cadre of the KGB, I always strove to execute all orders conscientiously, even if they did not appeal to me, and avoided conflicts with my superiors. It was uncharacteristic of me to bull my way through situations and promote my point of view at any cost in debates with those above me. In such circumstances it frequently seemed to me that I could be in the wrong. Doubts about the fullness of my knowledge, validity of my deductions and suggested solutions have always haunted me. I have long suspected that today’s absolute convictions may tomorrow become grave errors; science becomes superstition and heroic acts become mistakes or crimes. But doubts were not a primary factor. Over many years we were trained in the spirit of severe discipline, submission to superiors, and faith in their professional and ruling wisdom.
We had to believe our leaders in all respects. Our doubts would be discussed in a tight circle of trusted people. Public apostasy from the general line was persecuted. In more severe times an apostate would be anathematized by the party and dismissed. For lesser sins he would be moved to some secondary position and denied the possibility of independent work and professional growth. Thus the limits of disagreement and conflict with the leadership were evident to every associate. I was not among that small number who broke the unwritten rules of the KGB.
In contemplating the vicissitudes of professional life and the necessity to dissemble (this occurred with some frequency), to scheme, to repeat the lies of others, I came to a sad formulation: A person who receives a salary cannot lay claim to intellectual freedom.
However, differences with Kriuchkov did arise. They were precipitated by constant tension, anxiety about the internal condition of the country, and simple fatigue. Brief firefights over the telephone with the chairman became increasingly frequent. He rarely visited the First Directorate and even more rarely called me in for a personal report. In early August of 1991 Kriuchkov rebuked me over a trifle, accused me of vainglory and promised to come out and give me a serious talking to. I accepted the vainglory accusation with
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some modification. I sensed that he had wanted to knock me down a peg for some time. But that “talking to” never did take place.
In the first half of June of 1991, the penultimate plenary session of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union was held. I had previously categorically declined Kriuchkov’s suggestion that I become a candidate at the 28th Party congress for Central Committee membership. However, I was still invited to the plenary sessions. At the June plenary the General Secretary of the Central Committee, Mikhail Gorbachev, was subjected to very severe criticism. He defended himself and went on the attack in what was, in my opinion, a very improper style. The plenary came to nothing; the status quo was maintained. The whole event had an inexpressibly burdensome effect on me. It was not just that the nation’s and the party’s grave situation had been revealed. This was not a secret anymore. One was struck by the atmosphere of hopelessness, the absence of any concept of the future, and the falsifying of thought by phrase-mongering.
According to tradition the chief of intelligence informed the secretaries of the party organs within the First Directorate of what transpired at the plenary. I did so in a neutral tone without leaving out the particulars of each speech and ended with a summary of my gloomy conclusions. I insisted that we must do everything to preserve the intelligence team, to carry out our duties honorably, and to maintain discipline. I remarked that the First Chief Directorate [FCD] should not distance itself from the KGB for our ranks should be very tightly drawn during these perilous times. My remarks were received calmly. But the questions came afterwards: “What will become of the Party? Of the nation? What should we do and what do the leaders intend to do?” I had to break with all tradition which presupposed the omniscience of the leadership and simply say: “ I don’t know.”
I reported to Kriuchkov about my meeting with the various secretaries. But he offered no comments. Naturally the same day the KGB party secretary (“the big secretary”) found out about my report, but no comments came from him as well. This was a very alarming sign. Our leadership also did not know what to do.
Events cannot be dispassionately assessed at the moment they occur. Observers, and, even more so, participants are overwhelmed by emotion. They can rarely distinguish the actual from the apparent. They are confused by the rush of contradictory information and by their hyper-excited state. In time the picture of what transpired takes on more definite contours but telling details recede from memory and the general comprehension of all that took place is molded by personal bias, fear and hope.
Exactly two weeks have gone by since the morning of 19 August 1991. Perhaps this is the most appropriate time to try and recreate the tapestry of events at the point they overcame me.
Leonid Shebarshin, Three Days in August
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18 AUGUST
A cool clear morning and the day promises to be a good one. At 0800 (0 eight hundred) as is usual on Sundays, I am headed on foot from the government dacha, to the “object” [the grounds of the FCD]. An hour-and-a-half of tennis with my aide Iurii Ivanovich Novikov, then a five minute sauna, a quick shower and to work. As usual, I’d look through the telegrams, the news agency communications and sign off on the materials. On the 18th of August no significant information had come in and there was nothing to report. An hour later I was back on the path to the dacha through the familiar grove of trees.
Around 1500 [3:00 PM] the telephone gave an ululating call—it was the Kremlin. Such a call on a Sunday promised nothing good—either some emergency or some rush assignment from Kriuchkov who was at his desk round the clock. I cursed out loud (there was no one in the room) and picked up the receiver. Grushko was on the line.
“Kriuchkov has ordered you to get two combat-ready groups of commandos together by 2100, fifty men each with transport.”
“By 2100, but it’s after three now on a Sunday. What’s the assignment?”
“Don’t know, he called on the mobile phone, told me to transmit the order: two groups with transport.”
“Who’s to be in charge of the groups after that? Who do I call?”
“Zhardetskii [head of military counter-intelligence] will be there. He’ll be in charge. That’s all I know.”
A nasty business. The special commando unit has long been a dead weight on the FCD. Attempts to transfer it to someone else’s command had been unsuccessful. This combat outfit, intended for use under special circumstances abroad, is seen by Kriuchkov as a useful instrument in difficult internal situations as well. This unit had been sent to the city of Baku to guard the government buildings there. It was also to have been sent to Vilnius in January 1991, but fortunately was not for reasons unknown to me. I was very much disturbed by Kriuchkov’s casual, unofficial and unwritten orders. My second in command and I frequently grumbled about this, even wrote a memo or two, but never had the boldness to demand written orders from Kriuchkov. At the end of July and in early August (was this just a coincidence?) at a session of KGB leaders the form of a presidential decree on the deployment of the KGB was discussed. I suggested that any decree specify that orders calling for the use of troops be issued in written form. On the 19th we were to celebrate the tenth anniversary of the special commandos.