“What about him?”
“He was sentenced to nine years in a Siberian jail.”
“That is Khodorkovsky’s problem, not mine or yours.”
“Let’s backtrack,” Alex said. “Vladimir Putin is a national hero to many Russians, a man who stepped from shadows to resuscitate a Russia that others had run into the ground, looted, and left for dead. He has been the vital link amidst the chaos that followed the fall of Communism. But he is also a cunning strongman atop a clique of robber barons. He was a career officer in the KGB, an organization whose members never leave. Worse, Putin is anti-Western, undemocratic, and comfortable with criminals. Civil liberties he sees as societal weakness.”
Federov shifted uncomfortably. His hand fidgeted with the handle of his cane.
“Many people underestimated Putin right from the beginning,” Alex said. “Gorbachev provided the collapse of the old Soviet Union, and then Yeltsin became the shaky steward of the new democracy. But when Yeltsin introduced Putin to the world in the summer of 1999, announcing that Putin was his sixth prime minister in a year and a half, no one expected Putin to have any shelf life. Why would he? His predecessors had all failed to bring stability to Russia. So what would be different about him?”
Federov snorted. “Quite a bit,” he said.
“Obviously. And look at the mess he inherited. Chechnya had exploded and become an international Islamic cause. Crime and corruption were rampant, and a new class of billionaire gangsters controlled the nation’s resources and were becoming a major voting bloc in the parliament. Then there was also Yeltsin’s bumbling manner, a whitehaired figure atop the government, midway between a butt-pinching clown and a benevolent drunken grandfather. Nothing in 1999 suggested that Putin would last more than a few uneasy months. And the available information on Putin, a career KGB operative, was almost nonexistent. As a former spy, what defined him was his own obscurity. One prominent Western newspaper described him as standing six-five. They had it backward. He stands five-six. He’s a tiny man, Yuri, unlike yourself but like Napoleon or Stalin. And like Napoleon or Stalin, a successful commander does not have to be large in physical stature, only large in intellect and in the art of confrontation and intimidation.”
Federov grunted anew.
“So what did Putin do next?” Alex said. “He directed a new military campaign in Chechnya. The war had compromised Russia’s self-esteem. Putin did not just promise to restore Russian rule. He used violence as an instrument of governmental policy. So Russian troops destroyed much of Grozny, the Chechnyan capital. They launched murderous sweeps through the Chechen countryside that were reminiscent or the old Soviet or German sweeps of World War II. If you were in the way, you got killed. Putin’s language in speeches in Moscow was bellicose, vulgar, and unapologetic. He knew no rules in his efforts to reestablish Russian sovereignty over breakaway provinces. Russia’s losing streak was over and his popularity climbed. In 2000, Yeltsin resigned, and Putin was elected president in one of Russia’s rare modern elections.”
“All this is known by both of us, hey?” Federov said. “Where do you go with this?”
“To you. And to Ukraine.”
He seemed uneasy for the first time. “How?” he asked.
“You’ll see,” Alex said. “Putin took advantage of events over which he had no control. Russia’s oil and natural-gas reserves are the world’s largest. Russian coal, mineral deposits, and timber were gigantic assets as well. So suddenly the country that not long ago could not afford to fuel its air force and army was now swimming in petroleum and cash. The Russian stock market soared. Personal incomes quadrupled. A society that endured food shortages adapted to a consumer culture that bought what it wanted. French clothing, Belgian chocolates, American CDs and DVDs, Chinese electronics, Finnish cell phones, Italian shoes, Cuban cigars, and single-malt scotches. Rates of car ownership multiplied. Moscow’s roads, cluttered during Yeltsin’s time with pathetic old Zhigulis, were now packed with BMWs and Ford Mustangs. All of this was due to the stunning increase in energy prices. Petroleum. Natural gas. What was the name again of that conglomerate that you used to run, Yuri? The one where you kept all the records in your head. The Caspian Group.”
Federov nodded. “That was it,” he said. “As you know.”
“Wasn’t energy one of your main products? Something you sold? Gas, mostly. In Ukraine?”
He nodded.
“In 2004, Putin fixed his own reelection just to be sure,” Alex continued, “even while the Russian economy roared ahead. People in power were making millions. So Putin was seen as the steward of the new wealth, and the country was stable again, although dangerous and run by armies of bandits. And meanwhile, Putin cashed in on another world event, one that he opposed but which worked well to his benefit: the American invasion of Iraq.”
Federov laughed. “Bush’s folly,” he said.
“Of course. The war in Iraq was a great success,” Alex said, “for Putin, not necessarily America. By 2005, Russia had demolished the ragtag Chechnyan army. The few insurgent warriors who remained were either being captured and executed or, in many cases, coerced to join a pro-Russian government led by Ramzan Kadyrov, the rebelturned-Putin-loyalist who replaced the chaos of conflict with a local dictatorship. Two underground Chechen presidents were killed. Pro-Islamic foreign fighters had been a radicalizing presence in the war, but now they had all fled to Iraq to join the war against the Americans. What had been a persistent problem for Putin was now a problem for George Bush. American soldiers got to fight the Islamists instead of Russian soldiers fighting the same Islamists.”
She paused.
“By this time, Putin’s approval ratings at home exceeded seventy-five percent,” she said. “That meant he could turn his attention to his next problem.”
He grinned. “Ukraine,” he said with a homesick smile.
She nodded. “Ukraine,” she confirmed.
“In 2005, a peaceful revolution in the old Soviet republic of Georgia had overturned a pro-Russian election result much in the style of Putin’s reelection. A pro-West government was in power, eroding Russian influence. And then the tide of democracy spread. A Ukrainian opposition was organizing in Kiev. In the elections of 2004, Putin had supported a pro-Russian candidate, Viktor Yanukovich. Yanukovich had been convicted of robbery but had the support of the creaking old pro-Russian political machine built by Leonid Kuchma, the widely hated departing president. Putin jumped in as if the race were a domestic affair. He presided over a Soviet-style military parade in Kiev and committed Russia to an energy deal that pledged to sell natural gas to Ukraine at a deep discount through 2009. Natural gas is the lubricant of the Ukrainian economy. It heats Ukrainian cities and powers electrical plants and factories. Putin’s deal-to sell gas for less than a quarter of the market rate through Yanukovich’s first presidential term-was a subsidy-for-loyalty exchange, and promised Ukraine’s elite ample opportunity for graft. Right?” she asked.