Вил Мирзаянов - State Secrets - An Insider's Chronicle of the Russian Chemical Weapons Program

The shower rooms in Lefortovo Prison are in the basement. When you are on your way there, it seems as if you are being taken through some passage from which there is no return. Probably almost everyone in Russia has read or heard about the numerous executions by shooting that were carried out on a massive scale in Lefortovo, especially in the 1930s.

My cellmate, Yavitsky once asked a security guard who was taking us to the shower, “Tell me, Kolya, has anyone been shot here?” The guard gently nodded to the right, pointing downward somewhere. Probably the execution basements were on a level even lower than the shower rooms. My cellmate told me some very curious things. In particular, in May of 1991, capital repairs were started at Lefortovo Prison, which were completed by the middle of August. The daily routine and rules of behavior for prisoners signed by the Superintendent of Lefortovo Prison on August 16, 1991, were found posted on the wall. So everything was ready there for large groups of prisoners – opponents of the coup, which took place on August 21, 1991.

If the wheel of fortune had turned just a bit differently, the leaders in power could have found themselves in Lefortovo instead of in the Kremlin.

Our usual walk was cancelled on the morning of November 2nd, because of the trip to the People’s Court. Right after breakfast I was taken to the Investigator Shkarin’s office again, and the lawyer Vasiliev was waiting there too. Shkarin noticed that I wasn’t exactly pleased to see this “guest”, and he rushed to calm me down, saying that the arrangement stood and I was going to the People’s Court. But I would need a lawyer there, and he suggested I sign a paper confirming that I agreed to use Vasiliev’s services.

I wouldn’t stand for that. I almost lost control over myself, and exploded in a passionate fit of rage. The main point, I shouted indignantly, was that I wouldn’t let them play with me as an ignorant jailbird.

“If you have decided not to let Asnis participate in my case,” I continued. “I won’t let you dupe me with a dummy lawyer.”

“Ah, why do you insult me so? I gave up everything and came all the way over here for your sake,” Vasiliev whined melodramatically.

I answered I would certainly have apologized if I had invited him, and then suddenly refused. Unfortunately, I added, he was forced upon me, instead of the lawyer hired by my wife and the newspaper.

Shkarin again hurried to “calm me down” saying, “OK, OK, Vil Sultanovich. You will return from court and we will discuss everything quietly. Maybe we will find a solution to the problem.”

I countered sharply, “Look here, Captain! Did it even occur to you that the court could decide to release me?!”

To his credit, the investigator didn’t carry on with the topic any further, but remarked philosophically, “Nowadays everything is possible.”

“So you see,” I agreed having relaxed a little bit.

We left the investigator’s office and followed a route I wasn’t familiar with. Soon we found ourselves in the jail’s courtyard, where I spotted a few people who seemed vaguely familiar to me. Then I remembered I had seen the blond couple in front of the editor’s office at Novoe Vremya , before my arrest. It was clear to me they were there, just in case, trained to remember my “scent.”

The paddy wagon drove into the courtyard, the rear door opened, and I was told to climb into the “basket”. It was full of people, prisoners collected from various Moscow jails, who were to be transported to different Moscow district courts.

On the way I chatted with a few prisoners. It turned out that they had heard about me on the radio and on TV. They were indignant that I was the one in jail, instead of those scoundrels who poisoned people. I was delighted to hear this, because even people who had nothing to do with the problems of disarmament understood that the big bosses were simply punishing a man who dared to speak his mind.

A few prisoners and I were taken in handcuffs to the dark and dirty basement of the shabby old courthouse building. It was damp in there, stinking of urine. There were cages for holding prisoners, waiting to be summoned into the courtroom. I was placed into one of them. The walls were decorated with obscenities and curses addressed to the judges. One of the inscriptions read, “Damn you, Judge Schanin!”

It seemed that an eternity had passed before the door to my cage finally opened and two escorts took me somewhere upstairs. At last, we reached the right floor and entered a lobby where about a dozen people were gathered.

It had been eleven days since I last saw free people. I was taken by surprise, when I heard a voice full of enthusiasm calling out my name. Immediately, I was blinded by camera flashes. I was quickly escorted into a room with a lot of benches. I understood that I was in the hall of Kalinin District People’s Court in Moscow.

I was ordered to sit down on a bench behind a short wooden barrier. Guards were standing on each side behind the barrier. When the door to the hall occasionally opened, correspondents started feverishly snapping photos of me.

Finally, the door closed and we waited for the judge to appear. Just in case, I mentally prepared myself for a stiff sentence. The most important thing was not to humiliate myself. I would not beg them to release me. Since I had started all this, it was important for me to have the courage to keep my dignity. It was encouraging that the press was interested, and I no longer felt forgotten or abandoned.

A young lady appeared on the platform and inquired if the prisoner Mirzayanov had arrived. One of the guards confirmed this and she uttered, “All rise. Court is in order!”

I stood up and saw a lean, bearded young man with a large forehead. He was wearing a beautiful light gray suit and strongly resembled an atomic physicist from one of the Soviet movies. I liked him even before he started talking, because I could feel that he was an intelligent person who could never deliver a demagogic sermon on patriotism. A strange idea popped into my mind – “Even if he does something harmful to me, it won’t be very bad.”

The name of the judge was Aleksander Schanin. I was no longer agitated and focused completely on what was going on.

The judge inquired about me and asked if I had a lawyer. I answered that the Investigation Department of the MB RF had deprived me of a defense attorney, and therefore I was going to defend myself. Judge Schanin read my application and gave me the floor. I laid out the essence of my case, which was whipped up by forces that wanted to return Russia to its past. Their major concern was preserving the military-chemical potential, in order to continue the devastating and useless chemical arms race, which no one except the leaders of the VPK needed, because it supported their welfare. The Chemical Weapons Convention had already been initialed, and Russia was just about to sign it. This useless waste of people and their resources no longer made the slightest sense, especially when you considered the serious shortages of industry, food, medications, and many other things in Russia.

The judge asked me my opinion about state secrets and asked if I recognized the necessity of keeping state secrets. I replied that all my work at the State Russian Science Research Institute for Organic Chemistry and Technology (GRNIIOKhT) showed that I was honestly fulfilling my duties, and I also taught my subordinates to do the same. I addressed fundamentally important issues in the press, without disclosing any state secrets. I also stressed in my speech that there was not even a single hint about the technology of producing chemical agents or their chemical formulas in my statements. Anyone could read my article and see that it was true.