Vladimir Yakunin - The Treacherous Path - An Insider's Account of Modern Russia

I learned that a train had been derailed by a bomb, that there had been numerous casualties, though nobody knew exactly how many, and that there was nobody with real authority on hand at the site itself. The gruesome air of unreality that descended as I tried to digest the scattered pieces of information I was given soon gave way to something more practical: I found that my thoughts had begun to work like a well-oiled machine and that I knew exactly what needed to be done. I immediately called the head of October Railway, the section of Russian Railways responsible for this line, and ordered that a special train should be arranged so I could travel to the scene of the tragedy – which was over 200 miles away near the town of Bologoye – as quickly as possible. Next I began to make arrangements for a group to follow on my heels. I also sent someone to find a set of clothes more suited to the occasion than the formal suit in which I was currently encased.

Within an hour the locomotive and a couple of wagons were ready and we sped through the dark – a journey of two and a half hours in which we continued to desperately try and find out as much information as possible.

I will never forget the scenes that confronted me as I stepped off the train. Powerful lamps had been rigged up around the perimeter to shed light on the carnage below. A big crater had been gouged out of the ground, haloed by hideously twisted strips of track. Next to it, four carriages lay on their sides, surrounded by yet more debris and bodies covered by blankets – I shiver to think what horrors these concealed.

Almost the first person I saw was a man I knew from St Petersburg, who stumbled towards me, his face covered in blood. I had already been informed that some of my friends were among the more than 653 passengers and twenty-nine staff – the train was full – and now this guy, with his cheeks and brow streaked with crimson, was telling me that a mutual acquaintance had been killed. They had been at the front of their carriage, which in the space of a second, or so it seemed, had been transformed into a grotesque wasteland of smoke and stone. One survived, the other’s life had been extinguished.

My interlocutor seemed dazed still – hardly surprising under the circumstances – and I urged him to seek medical attention for his bleeding. He shook his head: ‘No, no, no, Vladimir Ivanovich, I will stay with my friend here.’ His was the first display of dignity and courage I witnessed that night, and it would not be the last.

I eventually ordered him to put himself in the care of the medical team who had set up their equipment a little distance away, and watched as he picked his way past the shattered train towards them. Everywhere I looked people wandered around, their eyes still wild and stunned; even the policemen there seemed unable to determine what they should be doing. It was essential that some degree of organisation should be brought to the situation as soon as possible.

At no point in my career had I ever been in a position like this before. What in anyone’s life could prepare them to witness such horror? But I was the most senior figure on the ground, and I knew it was my responsibility to take control. We found a small chamber that had been used by Russian Railways to house electrical equipment and, together with representatives from Russian Railways, the local police and the FSB, I squeezed in to our makeshift incident room. I turned to them and said, ‘I know I am only a railwayman, so perhaps I have no right to give you orders, but you know who I am, you know my history and you all know too that we will be unable to achieve anything here unless we cooperate.’ With that, we got to work.

Our first priorities were to secure the perimeter (there would be no good in trying to save lives if terrorists were able to creep back and wreak more havoc), help the injured, recover those corpses that had not already been lifted from the wreckage, and restore what infrastructure we could so that traffic between the two cities could resume. Some of the dead had been buried so deep in the ground in the blast that it was two or three days before the special equipment necessary to excavate them was available, and, anyway, we were not yet permitted to start this kind of work – we could not risk contaminating the crime scene before investigators from the FSB arrived to take prints and subject the wreckage to a forensic examination. Still, knowing that we were close to so much torn flesh was a terrible, ghoulish feeling.

Over the course of those first few hours, we dragged as many survivors as we could to safety. The next day, those who were capable were interviewed by the Investigative Committee led by Alexander Bastrykin, who had arrived to try to build up an accurate picture of what exactly had happened. As Bastrykin and his men continued their search for clues, I remained in charge of the rescue operation. (I learned the next morning that the Minister of Transport at that time, Igor Levitin, together with Sergey Shoygu, the head of the Ministry of Emergency Situations, approached the President, requesting his permission to leave Moscow and hurry to the scene. ‘And who is now organising the work there?’ the President asked. When he learned it was me he said, ‘Listen, if Yakunin is there, you don’t need to go; he will do everything you can. Talk to him, give him any assistance he needs, but leave him in charge.’)

Nobody slept – how could they when there was so much to do? – and by the next morning we had restored what organisation we could to the shattered stretch of railway line. Workers from the Ministry of Emergency Situations had restored lines of communication, including video communication, which meant that we were able to make a first report on the situation to the President. A little later, just as I sat down for a moment’s rest at a table in a special wagon that we had temporarily converted into a kind of kitchen, I heard a loud explosion – another bomb, left there in a cowardly attempt to injure or kill the rescue workers, had detonated, triggered remotely by a terrorist’s mobile phone. I rushed to the source of the noise, where I found that only Bastrykin had suffered any kind of wound, from gravel thrown into the air by the blast. He would be hospitalised, but his injuries were not serious. My overwhelming feeling was relief; the tragedy would eventually take twenty-eight lives, but his would not be among them.

At times like this, when confronted by evidence of such wickedness, it is easy to feel one’s faith in man’s essential goodness dwindling. But life has its own ways of restoring your optimism. A few days later one of my colleagues pointed out a nearby house that had been damaged by the accident. I was told that it belonged to 78-year-old former railway worker (she had served for forty years) Elena Golubeva, who despite living in poverty had donated blankets, pillows, everything she had, to help the injured. She could ill afford to lose her possessions like this, but she had not thought twice.

When I learned of her sacrifice, I immediately ordered that we should do everything possible to repair the destruction wrought on her yard. We did not confine ourselves to this; after what she had done there was no way she could be allowed to live any longer in a home as shabby as hers had been. Workers from Russian Railways built her a new home, complete with toilet and bath, and even connecting her residence to the electricity network. Unbelievably, it was the first time she had had access to it.

Her actions had not gone unobserved by the President. During the course of our first telephone conversation after my return to Moscow, Mr Putin asked me if I was ready and willing to help this lady. My first reaction was pride that her generosity of spirit had got his attention, and I was proud too to be able to tell him that we had already met his expectations. Not only had we built for her a modern new home, but our management council ensured she received the most prestigious decoration we could bestow upon her.