The Little Black Book of 'Soyuznik'

The Little Black Book of Soyuznik (based largely on actual events)

As Special Agent Kline of the St Louis FBI slid the small, well-worn, small black book across the table toward me at the Panera Bread Company in Wentzville, MO, the blank, emotionless faces of both FBI agents left me dry-throated and sweaty-necked. I didn't pick up the book. I didn’t even look at it (except from the corner of my eye). I just stared back at them. They had called me earlier in the day and asked if they could have a ‘private chat’ with me. This happened in June 2014.

"What's this?" I asked.

'You tell us.”

“I've never seen it before in my life.”

That wasn't completely true – I know I’d seen similar before – several times actually – just not this specific book (I believed). And as I thought this my mind flashed up memories of all the TV shows I'd seen where some black-suited, guy with sunglasses got right up into someone else’s face and said, "Do you know what the penalty is for lying to the FBI?"

"What's this about anyway?”

The slightest glance at the cover of the book gave me a momentary pause - and a small clue.

‘Cоюзник’ (Russian - 'soyuznik'; English - 'ally', 'partner', 'especially close comrade') – and as always in slightly raised, embossed letters – with gold-ish tinge, now worn down.

It was a commonly used word in the world of close, intimate, business colleagues or teammates that conveyed something beyond, and considerably deeper than, just friendship or partnership. It meant inner, spiritual, connection and was almost covenantal in nature. It summoned up inner belief in the other person - a bonding, uniting, joining of heart, soul, and mind (with more than a hint of secrecy). It was about oneness and a commitment that came with a special promise – and with serious obligations and negative consequences if broken.

The former country name, Soviet Union - Советский Союз - 'Союз/Union' conveys some of the meaning. But in western diplomatic circles the phrase, especially of late, "Russia is not our soyuznik", was now commonplace. “Russia is not an ally of the United States!” – “Между тем, Россия не входит в число союзников Соединенных Штатов!”

So, as I carefully contemplated my next move, what I would say next, I recalled that I had seen the word on similar 'books' three times before; in Brussels, Belgium; Vilnius, Lithuania; Sevastopol, Crimea, Ukraine. Each time the word was on the cover or spine of a very private, carefully guarded, confidential book – and always, so it seemed, on a book I wasn’t supposed to see.

________________________________________

My thoughts raced back in time. An unusual series of quite strange and remarkable professional events back in the early 1990s had led me to the point where I would first see a book like this and to actually begin to have some idea what it was for. Because of the work I had been doing in the Northwest UK with massive personnel down-sizing and re-skilling of large industrial complexes, somehow NATO got wind of our work and invited us to work with them in supporting the downsizing of the militaries of former Soviet countries. Poland, Czech Republic, Hungary, Lithuania, Ukraine – and even Russia – all were on the cull and redeploy list.

Initially, forty thousand officers and family members from just the first four countries must be moved out, retrained and re-directed and re-motivated to re-enter society and do something constructive with their training, education - and frustration - now that there were no wars to fight or surreptitious activity to engage in – or territory to protect and defend. Ukraine alone had about 200,000 on their downsizing list.

NATO wanted to reassure the different Defense Ministers and their countries’ Presidents, that they (NATO) really cared about helping officers – and especially their families – and that this transition to civilian life was for the ‘betterment and improvement of a social and financial stability’ and peace in the region.

But as I quickly discovered in the first few semi-classified meetings, the truth of the matter was, what they were really afraid of, was that highly motivated, disciplined and true-believer-militarists, with their careers ending, would end up stealing some weapons and starting up private ‘security companies’ and assisting with the illicit transportation of ‘goods’. Or get into the ‘Protection Business’. Or worse, starting mini-wars and destabilizing things in and around Central and Eastern Europe. It was mid-1993.

________________________________________

The first little black book?

I remember vividly one evening at the home of the Senior Advisor to the Secretary General of NATO for Central and Eastern European Affairs that brought home the shady and shaky nature of ‘our’ ambitious, downsizing ‘social experiment’. I thought I was attending an ‘officer re-skilling’ strategy session over dinner – and to talk about how to create a viable socio-economic funding sales pitch for the World Bank who would not fund anything with military under-or-overtones. But when I arrived, I was quickly and quietly ushered into a private dining room where my host and three Russian generals, seated and in full uniform, welcomed me.

Sweaty curiosity crept on to the back of my neck. We ate finger food, sipped vodka and later coffee while the generals unveiled their post-military career transition wish list – both national and personal. My Russian was poor in those days, but NATO spoke perfect Russian and interpreted when needed. That said, when coupled with their voice tone, body language and the fear-edged anxiety in their eyes, I understood enough to get the gist quite well. I’d seen anxious poker faces before. They were cutting a deal that was a tangle of awkwardness and a show of ‘who-would-back-down-first-ness’.

As the minutes passed, and I realized I was very much in the wrong meeting especially as NATO was shaking his head ‘No’, less and less defiantly. Russia was looking at each other for confirmation and for the signal to ‘go on…keep talking, a little more pressure’ coupled with nods of approval.

Another a somewhat hesitant attempt at a defiant, final, ‘No’ head shake - NATO swallowed dry-mouthed.

A bit too long, uncomfortable silence joined us at the table.

Waiting. Blank staring.

It was then that one of the generals ever so carefully, slowly, and slightly tremblingly, slid a small black book across the table to NATO.

Everyone at the table looked at me; but I didn’t need to feign ignorance – I was clueless. That said, I was jolted with more curiosity as I caught the partially worn away word that was on the book’s spine. CОЮЗНИК.

Not even looking down at the book, NATO ran his finger lightly across the cover; a momentary lip lick, “Что это такое?” “What is this?”

“Ты знаешь, что это такое.” “You know what it is.” A statement of fact.

“Да.” “Yes, I do,” his head slowly bowing and his shoulders now clearly slumping.

The general slowly pulled the black book back across the table, handed it to one of the other generals who put it in his uniform inner coat pocket.

NATO’s eyes were blank-staring when the generals quite decisively stood up and walked toward the door. NATO shuffled slowly behind them – I just hovered in his shadow not knowing what the hell was going on.

We arrived at the open front door; their driver and car were waiting. I wasn’t planning to leave then as I was absolute dying with all-consuming curiosity to know what had just happened. But NATO guiding me quite firmly and purposefully by the elbow outside and, standing at the door, still blank-staring, just nodded his good-bye to me - a somewhat painful, wistful smile barely showing.

At the same time, one of the generals put his arm firmly around my shoulder and guided me into the back seat of the car – their driver holding open the door.

He said, “We take you your hotel…yes, da.” It wasn’t a question.

The cold shudder from long ago found me again.

________________________________________

Back at Panera Bread, the other agent, Agent Smith asked me, “What can you tell us about Phillipe Meier?”

I blanched…now that was a name blast from the past! “Not much. And why would the St Louis FBI be asking me about someone I knew more than 30 years ago?”

But I knew in my heart of hearts that another little black book was part of their reason for asking. This wouldn’t be easy.

“Tell us…”

What I remembered, I carefully edited - and then I watered it down and further diluted it a bit more for them…carefully re-telling and adjusting the tale.

________________________________________

Later in 1993, NATO Guy had invited me to attend with him the first ever Baltic Regional Security Conference in Vilnius, Lithuania. The threat from Russia was real so NATO of course had to play an important fatherly and protective role with the fledgling democracies – Lithuania, Estonia and Latvia. Again, he was helping me and my team (including two engineers now) data-gather on re-skilling officers but to now also look at the conversion of soon-to-be-unused military buildings; the idea being that officers and others could be put to work renovating sites into – and later occupy – small business parks, business incubators, training centers, etc. This meant touring redundant facilities to assess their potential for future use as – ‘social adaptation community projects’. As a result, we spent minimal time in the conference (thank goodness) and most of the week meeting with Lithuanian base commanders to tour now-vacant facilities.

A quick backstory note: Most of the officer core of the ‘Lithuanian’ Military were actually Russian, not Lithuanian. In fact, the week we were there, the Lithuanian government ordered all real Russian military personnel and their families on to buses and trains and to leave Lithuanian soil on one-way tickets. Many of the families had been in the country for decades – were born there, went to school there, grew up there – and many family members worked in non-military jobs. In Klaipeda, for example, more than 60% of the working population in that North Sea port city were Russian. It was a tough call. They were saying good-bye to ‘home’.

With three days’ notice, their departure was sudden and borderline brutal in its cold callousness.

When I was in Klaipeda, I watched busloads full of people and minimal household and personal items disappear down the road, to skirt around Latvia, on their 25-hour journey to Vilnius, then Minsk and eventually ending up near Pskov, Russia – or some other oblast.

Phillipe Meier was from Zurich and described himself on his business card as a Security Analyst. We spent a lot of time together and more than a few times he accompanied our team to look at now-empty military buildings. He seemed very and genuinely interested in our project and in all the work I personally had been doing before and then.

While we toured around, ate meals, and drank beer together, I tried several times to press Phillipe about what a Security Analyst actually did; and his only smiling, jokey replies were, in effect, “I could tell you, but then I would have to kill you. Ha, ha, ha.”

Midweek, we were taken to a ‘no longer secret’ underground, nuclear, SS20 mobile missile command bunker; its presence only revealed by the domed roof and various smoke and other pipes protruding just above the surface. Below the dome was an incredible labyrinth of many kilometers of tunnels. My immediate building-conversion thoughts were to make this into an underground go-kart racing center; but then, that’s me.

The place had the feel of rushed abandonment – papers and debris strewn everywhere; security safes opened but overturned and empty. The Russians had indeed left in a hurry. The radio command room was a shock; a tangle of 1950s technology; wires duct-taped together, vacuum tube radio technology, antiquated receivers, etc. And this, I was told, was the command post to give the ‘launch’, ‘don’t launch’ signal to those manning the SS20s further East.

Words surrounded by scratchy static filled my head. “Comrade, should we launch?”………. *&(*%*$*!!@*& [static] – “NyetDa!” *&(*%*$*!!@*& “DaNyet!” *&(*%*$*!!@*&. What’s the Russian word for, “Oops!”?

I shuddered then – and later – especially when Phillipe told me, “On good authority…” that those particular SS20s were targeting the Northwest UK (where I lived at the time) and Blackpool and Liverpool in particular. I was a Manchester United fan, so……well, so?

________________________________________

But when a Lithuanian general and a few of his colleagues who were actually in the facility for only the second time, ever, that week, spread out a floorplan of the facility on a table to reveal underfloor wiring and pipes, my pulse increased in a not healthy way.

Phillipe joined him at the table and was now asking questions, in Russian, with an air and tone of authority. He pointed at cables drawn on the plan and then to a cable in an uncovered trench in the floor. He walked to the trench and pointed at a purple cable, returned to the plan, pointed and ran his finger along the plan, shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows and hands in the form of a concerned question.

NATO was standing next to me and whispered in my ear, “Oh crap! The floorplan has a lot of colored cables for various purposes; the purple cable is not on the plan; all the other cables on the plan and found in the trench are deactivated; the purple one isn’t. It’s still active but no one knows where it goes, what it is connected to, or what it does. But it’s live and that’s a problem.”

“Oh, crap!” is right. I shuddered again.

________________________________________

Back in Panera in Wentzville, MO.

“That’s about it regarding my encounter with Phillipe…nothing more to add really,” I said to the two FBI agents.

(My brain interrupted me again and whispered in my soul, “Do you know what the penalty is for lying, etc. etc.”)

“Really?” one agent said with considerably more than a hint of sarcasm.

At that, I told them a quick funny-not-so-funny backstory that I hoped would get them to drop it, back off and move on.

________________________________________

With a smile I recalled more.

At the end of the week, Philippe and I exchanged phone numbers and he very sincerely invited me to visit him and his family the next time I was passing through Zurich – which was quite often. As it turned out, about a month later I had a layover scheduled in Zurich, so I called the number he had given me. A woman answered. Irena, his wife. I told her who I was.

She enthused a response, “Yes, Phillipe has told me all about you! He is not here now but let me give you his number at work.”

I called the number and after one ring I heard the very cautious, hesitant voice of Phillipe. “Uh, hello…?”

“Hi Phillipe! How are you doin’ man!? It’s me, David…I’m going to be in….” He cut me off.

“How the hell did you get this number?! This is the Red Phone. Top security only.”

“Your wife gave it to me….”

Long pause…looooong pause. Anger-tinged, guttural, growl-type noise in the background.

Chuckling. “So, Phillipe, I gather that since she’s told me the number, you’re going to need to kill her too? Ha, ha, ha?”

Curtly. “Something like that...”

I never did stop and visit them after that, and Phillipe and I never spoke again.

________________________________________

But back to what I did and didn’t tell the FBI.

It was about that time in the underground bunker that Phillipe looked very slowly and carefully, pausing slightly at as if reading each general’s face, one by one. And then he looked straight at me for a ‘meaningful moment’. He removed a small black book from his inner coat pocket, took out a pen, turned away and wrote something on a page – and continued writing as he slowly walked away.

The meeting, a tad too suddenly, broke up then and we, a little too hurriedly, were ushered toward the exit. I was bursting again with curiosity, but when NATO paused in the tunnel just long enough to pick up a piece of cloth material lying on the floor, my curiosity waned; not least because when he turned it over there was one nearly-worn-off word and one symbol printed on the fabric.

ЗАГРЯЗНЕННЫЙ! (‘CONTAMINATED!’)

NATO folded it up and put it under his arm – to take home as a souvenir apparently.

This whole experience was really creeping me out.

________________________________________

Later in the bus, I sat with Phillipe, who seemed deep in thought - and eventually I plucked up the courage to ask him. “Phillipe, that little black book you wrote in…was that a ‘Cоюзник’?

Phillipe’s head snapped-turned as he looked me squarely in the eyes. His eyes and tone as cold as ice… “David...” He hesitated as if he were choosing his words very carefully. He forced out a thin, unconvincing smile and continued with not even a hint of humor in his voice, “I could tell you but then I really would have to kill you.”

Over dinner that evening NATO leaned toward me and asked quietly if Phillipe and I were getting along ok, as we had been spending a lot of time together.

I said, “Yes, very much so. Nice guy. Funny. Smart.”

“Do you have any idea what he does?”

“He’s a Security Analyst in Zurich.”

NATO smiled wryly. “He’s a spy.”

“But Switzerland is neutral – they don’t have spies…right?”

Bluntly, “David, he’s a spy.”

Discussion closed.

________________________________________

The conversation at Panera continued.

“By the way, we know ‘NATO Guy’ is Christopher O’Connell. Now, tell us who is Anatoliy Tychonchuk?”

“Now, you’re really pissing me off! This meeting is finished!” I started to stand up.

“Sit down!”

A little too firm; a bit too loud. A quick glance at tables nearby…

Calmer. “Sit down…please.”

With a firm, matter-of-fact tone, “Anatoliy is one of my best friends, former business partner, best man at my wedding and my son’s godfather. But you already know that don’t you?”

The agents glanced at each other.

“David, ok, ok…calm down. Now let us tell you what we know.”

“We’ll get back to this later, but Tychonchuk was Commander of a Poseidon Class nuclear submarine in the Soviet Navy…with some very interesting connections in the DoD world – still. But you already knew that didn’t you, David?”

Gulp.

Then FBI took out the little black book again and paraphrased the following with his index finger:

• You were falsely promoted and billed as Dr. Lutes at an important conference in Prague in 1990 called East Meets West where known Communist leaders met with western leaders and managers to learn about methods and means of cooperation; you presented and taught there and were approached secretly by a delegation from Lithuanian asking for assistance

• Invited personally by Kazimira Prunskienė, Prime Minister of Lithuania, to assist them in rebuilding their ‘new country on the management principles you taught at the Prague conference’ - after this she was arrested and was put in jail for prior pre-revolution collaboration with the KGB – 1991

• Spent a week, falsely as Dr Lutes, training, meeting and consulting with senior members of Solidarity Trade Union (colleagues of Lech Walsea) and OPZZ Communist Trade Union - 1992

• Met privately with the Chairman of OPZZ Communist Trade Union in Warsaw; he went public in his praise for your insights and assistance – February 1992

• Went to the first Baltic Regional Security Conference with NATO in Lithuania – 1993 (making a checkmark in the air with his finger)

• Worked with a Czech interpreter in 1993 – a Professor, training center director in Olomouc - and also a known informant and former Resistance colonel who used to blow up Russian tanks in 1967 (interesting…)

• Collaborated and corresponded with Major Adam Wójcik, Head of HR for the Polish Ministry of Defense who was also headed a team that trained the Libyan army in the targeting and launching of mobile nuclear missiles at Europe; he asked you to give him a job – 1994

• Worked closely with Senior Advisor to Albanian Prime Minister (a known Communist) to plan realignment of key Defense Ministry personnel – 1994-96

• When in Albania, you received secret payment while under contract to the United Nations, facilitated by the same Senior Advisor to the Prime Minister and received a special police escort to the airport and VIP clearance through Customs - 1995

• You were advised by a sympathetic US Army Colonel you had spent time with while staying in Tirana to leave immediately as recent US intelligence revealed a revolution was about to happen – but you were also known to have spent time with one of the revolution organizers; let’s see, at…pronounced Chendra Stefan…is that right? – 1997

• In 1998 you were contacted by the Soros Foundation’s International Renaissance Foundation’s Ukrainian Military Downsizing and Social Adaptation Civil Society Project…

I cut him off… “That’s not a secret…that’s in my CV!”

• Ignoring my outburst, he continued…as a contractor to inspect the accuracy of data being reported on their downsizing of the military project…in Ukraine and Russia. 200,000+ officers and family members in Ukraine and twice that number in Russia

• You met privately with one of the training companies contracted with by the project who were actually senior representatives of the Kiev Mafia; who attempted to bribe you regarding ‘discrepancies’ you were about to uncover in their handling of contract funds

• On several occasions during this period, you were asked to take suitcases full of cash back to the UK – including by Eugene Yanchenko – who was working in close cooperation with a sub-Mafia group that had Russian affiliation

“But I didn’t do it, though!”

• Whatever…when you were in Crimea you were illegally ‘snuck’ into the Sevastopol Naval Base and met secretly with top ranking officers of the Ukrainian Navy…Anatoliy Tychonchuk and Eugene Yanchenko were with you; and at that meeting, you were not only shown another little black book, but they actually gave you that particular book to take with you; and inside the book was a sizable amount of cash and other considerable ‘vital’ information; Tychonchuk took the book with a promise to share details with you later, which he didn’t do

• During your Soros inspection visit to Yalta, Crimea our office in New York called you on the phone to ask whether you trusted, and were trusted by, the project director, Gennadiy Aksianov, who was recorded on audio tape offering you and several other contractors bribes; the tape had been sent to the FBI in New York by the Mafia contractors accusing Aksianov of corruption; the tape was examined by our forensic specialists; you emphatically denied the accusations, insisted the tapes were fake, and gave your endorsement of the project director

• The tape was a fake. Shortly after this, one of the Mafia guys you met with in Kiev was arrested and $300,000 was recovered – all because of you

My eyes and spirits lifted with surprise!

• Another guy is still at large in Ukraine and the other, we know, left the country at that time with a sizable amount of cash – because of you

Oh….

• You then went to Russia to meet with other high ranking military leaders and were showered with gifts and were actually made an Honorary Colonel of the Shelkovo Missile base near Moscow – they even gave you a medal!

• In 2002 you married Olena in the German Evangelical Lutheran Church of St. Catherine in Kiev – and yes, Tychonchuk was your best man; and yes, Yanchenko and Aksianov were also there

• Late last year, Tychonchuk’s multi-million dollar home in Kiev was attacked and taken over by 13 heavily armed paramilitaries; he was beaten nearly to death and he and his wife were thrown out on to the street with only the clothes on their backs; all attempts to get the police, courts or other government officials involved or to investigate the incident resulted in no help whatsoever; everything they owned was stolen; they lost everything; you sent financial help to Tychonchuk and his family

That fear-tinged, cold, clamminess was creeping down my spine. I’m sure I was white as a sheet.

________________________________________

So, David, here we are today...and here is what else we know.

Tychonchuk sent the black book he took and other items and documents to you here, in Wentzville, via FedEx three weeks ago.

“Does this sound about right? There’s more. [Icy tone] Should I go on? David, son…you’re all over the pages of this book…”

“And your point being….? What do you want from me now?” Inside I was a cocktail of anger, rumbling tummy and nervous shaking.

“Russia has just invaded Crimea. Washington believes the Donbass Region is next. We know Anatoliy Tychonchuk has been in touch with groups planning to resist Russia - and also in touch with you. Your name is everywhere in our files connected with players in the wider region going back more than 25 years. Washington sent your file and this book to us.

My turn to be cold. “Again, what exactly do you want from me?”

“We want you to give us your little black book and whatever else Tychonchuk sent you…and…we want you to meet with our team in D.C. to formulate a plan and send you back to Ukraine.”

I was frozen. My life was flashing before me. My wife, kids, my career, the future….

Glancing at the book on the table, “Whose black book is that one?”

The agents glanced at each other momentarily and then one of them signaled to someone sitting at a table behind me.

“I believe you two know each other?”

He’d aged well; a bit fatter, greying hair.

He said with a wry smile, “Yes, we know each other. It’s be awhile - and I’m very glad I didn’t kill him. Oh, and Irena says ‘Hi’.”