The Last Empire (16 page)

After the delegation left, Gorbachev recounted the gist of the conversation to his family and his aide Anatolii Cherniaev, an old apparatchik with strong liberal convictions who was responsible for
formulating many of Gorbachev's foreign policy initiatives. “He was calm, steady, and smiling,” wrote Cherniaev in his diary a few days later. Still, Gorbachev could not get over the fact that his associates had betrayed him. He could not believe that Kriuchkov was among the plotters and was particularly shocked by the claim that they had been joined by Marshal Yazov. “But perhaps they wrote him in without asking him?” he wondered about his loyal minister of defense. Cherniaev was sympathetic but could not help mentioning that all the plotters were Gorbachev's people.
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THE VISITORS LEFT GORBACHEV'S
Foros villa confused and depressed. The driver who took them to the mansion and then back to the airport later testified that on the way to Foros they were animated and talked about the weather. On the return trip they were angry and mostly silent. Boldin later regretted that there was no time left to swim in the sea, which was probably part of the original plan: a friendly talk with the president, who would sign one of the prepared documents, leaving enough time for a quick swim. Now they faced a different situation. On the flight back to Moscow, the Foros visitors had more than a couple of drinks to soothe their nerves. Before landing two and a half hours later, they had finished a big bottle of whiskey, which was served with pieces of lard, bread, and vegetables.

In Moscow they headed straight for the Kremlin. In the spacious office of Prime Minister Valentin Pavlov, once used by Joseph Stalin himself, they were welcomed by the leaders of the plot: KGB chief Kriuchkov, Prime Minister Pavlov, Interior Minister Boris Pugo, and Vice President Yanaev. Also present was Defense Minister Dmitrii Yazov, about whose loyalty Gorbachev had reassured President Bush a few weeks earlier. The news about Gorbachev's refusal to transfer his powers to Yanaev had already reached the plotters: the head of the KGB bodyguard department, General Plekhanov, had called Kriuchkov from the plane to let him know what had transpired in the Crimea. They were now waiting for the return of the delegation to hear a firsthand report and decide what to do next.
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Bespectacled, gray, and half bald, the sixty-seven-year-old Kriuchkov was an unlikely plotter. He was known for his outstanding work ethic, bureaucratic skills, and caution. An attorney who joined
the Foreign Service in the early 1950s, he found a patron in Yurii Andropov after serving under his leadership at the Soviet embassy in Budapest during the 1956 Hungarian uprising. Kriuchkov followed his boss into the KGB in the 1960s, where he presided over the Soviet foreign spy agency for fourteen years, from 1974 to 1988. Gorbachev promoted Kriuchkov to head of the KGB in 1988. Kriuchkov had powerful supporters at the top, including Gorbachev's close ally Aleksandr Yakovlev. The reformers wanted to see the KGB headed not by an ideological watchdog, as in the past, but by someone with international experience who realized how far the Soviet regime had fallen behind the West and would therefore support reform.

Kriuchkov fit the bill, or so it seemed. Actually, his only service abroad had been his time in Budapest in the 1950s. The only Western spirit Kriuchkov truly appreciated was whiskey—a product to which ordinary Soviet citizens had no access. Robert Gates, then deputy director of the CIA, first discovered Kriuchkov's penchant for whiskey in December 1987, when he came to Washington to prepare Gorbachev's first visit to the United States. Gates, Colin Powell (then national security adviser to President Reagan), and Kriuchkov met for dinner in a Washington restaurant. When the time came to order drinks, Kriuchkov asked for a scotch. The interpreter, speaking English, asked for Johnny Walker Red, but Kriuchkov corrected him and said that he wanted Chivas Regal. “It was clear he was not a man of peasant tastes,” Gates later recorded. To him, Kriuchkov looked more like a college professor than a chief of intelligence.
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There can be little doubt that Kriuchkov, like many of the other plotters, originally supported Gorbachev's perestroika, which they understood as a set of reforms intended to make the Soviet system more competitive without undermining its foundations. But once they realized that it threatened not only the party, to which the most pragmatic of them had no ideological attachment, but also the political structure of the state and their place in it, their attitude changed. Kriuchkov's change of outlook was noticed by Robert Gates, who met with him in Moscow in February 1990. After the meeting, Gates told James Baker, who was also in Moscow at the time, that Kriuchkov “was no longer a supporter of perestroika and Gorbachev had better watch out.” The KGB head had told the visiting American
official that “people were dizzy with change,” perestroika had failed, the economy had deteriorated, and relations between national groups were going from bad to worse. “Kriuchkov seemed to have written off Gorbachev,” remembered Gates later.
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What made Kriuchkov and the other plotters strike when they did was the threat to their own positions at the top of the power pyramid. Gorbachev later believed that the coup had been triggered by a wiretap of one of the most confidential discussions he ever had with Boris Yeltsin. That conversation took place in the late hours of July 29, 1991, one day before President Bush's visit to Moscow. The venue was the same villa in Novo-Ogarevo where Gorbachev and Bush would hold their talks two days later, and the conversation included one more republican boss, Nursultan Nazarbayev of Kazakhstan. They stayed in the building until midnight, discussing personnel changes that were supposed to follow the signing of the new union treaty on August 20. Nazarbayev would replace Prime Minister Valentin Pavlov in the new Union government. Yeltsin insisted on the removal of Kriuchkov and Yazov. Nazarbayev also wanted to get rid of Yanaev. Gorbachev felt uncomfortable discussing the fate of his aides but then gave his consent to the removal of Kriuchkov and interior minister Pugo, though not Yazov.
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The conversation had been taped on Kriuchkov's orders, and the head of the KGB now knew that his days in power were numbered unless he acted immediately. A coup could be organized only while the president was not in Moscow otherwise he would learn of the preparations. Back in 1964, Brezhnev and his associates had made a secret alliance against Khrushchev and planned their arrangements while he was on vacation. Two days after Gorbachev left for the Crimea, Kriuchkov summoned two of his officers and assigned them to prepare an assessment of likely public reaction to the introduction of a state of emergency. The results were not encouraging, as the KGB experts concluded that the response would be largely negative. The economic situation should be allowed to deteriorate further. But Kriuchkov knew that he had to act before Gorbachev returned to Moscow to sign the union treaty on August 20. There was of course some hope that the Gorbachev-Yeltsin alliance would fall apart before then. But once Gorbachev and Yeltsin confirmed their readiness to sign the treaty in a telephone conversation on August 14, Kriuchkov could not wait any longer.

That day he ordered his aides to prepare plans for introducing a state of emergency. On the following day he ordered wiretapping of the telephones of Yeltsin and other democratic leaders. On Friday, August 16, Kriuchkov discussed how to proceed in a series of meetings with his coconspirators held at KGB headquarters. On the August 17 the group, which included Kriuchkov and top party and government officials, met in a larger group at a KGB safe house known by the code name ABC. They began by asking Prime Minister Pavlov, who was not yet involved in the plot, whether he knew that he was to be removed from his position. Pavlov said that he was prepared to resign but nonetheless decided to join the plotters. Questioned after the coup, Pavlov and other participants in the meeting claimed that they did not discuss the ouster of the president—what they had in mind was simply going to the Crimea and convincing him to declare a state of emergency. On Sunday, August 18, they sent their delegation to Gorbachev. Before talking to him, they cut off his communications and arrested his bodyguards. Whether or not the enterprise was planned as a coup, it became one the moment they ordered his telephones disconnected.
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The delegation that had confronted Gorbachev at Foros arrived in the Kremlin soon after 10:00 p.m. on August 18. Marshal Yazov remembered a few days later that the report the plotters heard boiled down to the following: “He [[Gorbachev]] drove them out, refusing to sign any documents. Generally speaking, we have ‘shown our hand,' so to speak. And if we are now dispersing empty-handed, then we are headed for the executioner's block, while you are free and clear.” The reference was to those members of the conspiracy, including Yazov and Kriuchkov, who had stayed in Moscow, awaiting the results of the Crimean trip.

The plotters could reach no immediate agreement on a course of action. Gorbachev's refusal to let them do the “dirty work” for him had taken them by surprise. The Gorbachev they knew—a cunning politician, always maneuvering and shifting position depending on circumstances—was supposed to succumb under pressure. His demurral left the plotters in a precarious position. Going ahead with the implementation of the state of emergency meant breaking the law. Some in the room suggested that, given Gorbachev's refusal to support the coup, things should be left as they were. Boldin had his
doubts. He told those gathered in the prime minister's office, “I know the president; he will never forgive such treatment.” There was no way back, especially for those who had gone to the Crimea. The only hope was a transfer of presidential powers to Yanaev on health grounds.
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That had been plan B from the very beginning. Kriuchkov and the other plotters had no doubt that Yanaev would go along, but the vice president himself had known nothing about the plot until he entered the prime minister's office a few hours before the arrival of the delegation from the Crimea. Like the members of the delegation, Yanaev showed up at the meeting far from sober: known for his propensity to drink, he had been dragged away from a table at a resort near Moscow, where he had been visiting a friend. A few hours earlier, knowing nothing of the plot, Yanaev had told Gorbachev on the phone that he would meet him on his return to Moscow the next day. As the alcohol began to wear off, Yanaev felt anything but happy about being saddled with the whole “extra-constitutional” enterprise. Although he was empowered to take over from the president in case the latter was incapacitated, there was no proof that Gorbachev had any medical problem.

When a prepared copy of the one-sentence decree was produced by Kriuchkov, Yanaev balked: the president should come back and take care of business after recovering from his illness. Besides, he did not feel ready to take on the job. The plotters would not be put off. A takeover by the vice president was their only hope of legitimizing the coup, however thinly, and they pressed hard on Yanaev, citing the need to stabilize the situation and save the harvest. They would all pull together to get the job done: the only thing he had to do was sign the decree. When Kriuchkov, playing the good cop, told him softly, “Sign, Gennadii Ivanovich,” he complied. The decree read, “In view of Mikhail Sergeevich Gorbachev's inability, for health reasons, to carry out the responsibilities of President of the USSR, and in accordance with Article 127 (7) of the USSR Constitution, the responsibilities of the President of the USSR have been transferred to the Vice President of the USSR, Gennadii Yanaev, beginning August 19, 1991.” Then, as acting president, he signed a decree on the creation of the Committee for the State of Emergency, which included, apart from himself, Kriuchkov, Yazov, Pavlov, and other members of the conspiracy. The
constitution was all but suspended: power in the country had been usurped by the committee.

The paperwork had been prepared ahead of time by Kriuchkov and his associates. For all their references to the constitution, none of the decrees were constitutional. Not only did Yanaev have no right to assume Gorbachev's powers—as the president was not incapacitated—but under the constitution even Gorbachev was not empowered to declare a state of emergency without the consent of the all-Union and republican parliaments. Besides, there was no reason to declare a state of emergency: no natural disasters, industrial catastrophes, or popular disturbances were recorded on August 18, 1991. The only emergency the drafters of the documents were able to come up with was the need to save the harvest, but even there, the situation was neither better nor worse than usual. But with the signing of the questionable papers by Yanaev and other members of the newly formed committee, the Rubicon had been crossed, and it was time to act. Yanaev and Prime Minister Pavlov, for their part, retired to Yanaev's office and drank until dawn. Others went to work establishing the state of emergency beyond the confines of Gorbachev's villa in Foros.

Vladimir Kriuchkov spent the rest of the night meeting with his deputies and commanders and organizing the implementation of the coup. It had been his idea to start with, and his people had been involved in drafting the relevant documents and making the first clandestine preparations. The time had come to involve the entire KGB apparatus. At 3:30 a.m. Kriuchkov called a general meeting of the KGB leadership to announce that perestroika was over. The democratic leadership had failed to keep the situation under control, he said, having in mind Gorbachev and his liberal advisers, and it was time to impose a state of emergency.
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THE FIRST NEWS ABOUT THE OUSTER
of Gorbachev and the declaration of a state of emergency was broken by the Soviet media at 6:00 a.m. on August 19. Soviet radio and television made an announcement that shook the country: a state of emergency was being declared for a period of up to six months. There was no independent commentary and very little else in the way of news programming. Television and radio stations were ordered to work as they had done in days
of mourning for deceased Soviet leaders. After the death of General Secretaries Brezhnev, Andropov, and Konstantin Chernenko between 1982 and 1985, the Soviet public was mainly fed broadcasts of classical music and ballet. Did the broadcast of
Swan Lake
on this occasion signify the death of yet another Soviet leader? No one could tell for certain. There was only the announcement of Gorbachev's ill health, unaccompanied by any medical report.
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