In the evening, back in Makhachkala, Konstantin disappeared. He returned at night. It turned out that at Nadyr's house, he had spent a long time recounting his past as an agent and beating his chest: "Look what a scoundrel I was."

I was genuinely angry by then. That anger hasn't subsided to this day...

We flew to Moscow in a ridiculous way.

It turned out there were no seats on the plane, except for one—a deputy's seat. Mark surprised me: he suddenly began to argue that if another seat was found, he should be the one to fly, because "The New York Times" was the main newspaper. It was the first time in my life I'd encountered such journalistic "lack of solidarity."

In the end, everyone flew. Nadyr helped, but in his own Nadyr-like way.

The thing is, at Makhachkala airport, all passengers undergo a certain customs check, which consists of the following: "Are you carrying caviar?" — "Yes." — "You can't." Everyone, of course, passes, bringing considerable income to the "customs."

Nadyr ordered an additional post to be set up in front of the ramp, which caught seven (and that was how many seats our group needed) "caviar carriers," who never understood why they weren't allowed on the plane: they had already paid the money.

To this day, I feel ashamed for those people...

A few more words about those I mentioned in my report.

Deputy Hamid Gamidov (he was the one who, citing Raduyev, told me that "Barsukov and Dudayev have one master, and he sits in Moscow") was blown up a month later right on the threshold of his house.

Nadyr Khachilaev was elected to his place in the Duma.

But after he and his brother Magomed seized the Council of Ministers building in Makhachkala, the Duma voted to strip him of his parliamentary immunity. He hid in the mountains, occasionally calling me on his mobile phone. Then events in Dagestan began... But more on that later.

Konstantin D. gave me an entire cassette tape that he had filmed during that trip.

Once, I was interviewed by some journalists from Israel: they asked for this cassette for a day. And—it was gone forever.

It's a shame. I will never deal with them again...

1996 ended with the Khasavyurt peace.

Of course, everyone understood how fragile this peace was and how contradictory the principles on which it was concluded.

They understood both in Moscow and in Grozny.

Generals called the Khasavyurt agreement a betrayal, the Kremlin found employment for Zavgayev, who had left his residence at "Severny" airport, Maskhadov in Chechnya prepared for independent presidential elections, Khattab, Basayev, and Raduyev plotted their own schemes, officers mourned their fallen fighters, quartermasters counted the money earned in the war, and only mothers... Some rejoiced that their children had come out alive from this bloody grinder, others, themselves still quite young, became old women upon learning of their sons' deaths, still others fruitlessly tried to learn the fate of their lost, missing children, knocking on the doors of government offices in Moscow and Grozny...

Notebook Three: Year 1997

Don't meet us cheerfully,
We did not arrive with victory.
Don't speak to us with songs,
Of how many fighters we lost.
The willow has spread its branches,
Still, we are not cheerful.
Today the earth woke up early.
Only don't betray me,
Motherland,
Don't betray me.

Wait, wait... Just wait, what decision will Said finally make? Will he return only Lesha Anisimov, as he promised the Pskov delegation? Will he release three more—privates Sergey Naumenko, Konstantin Losev, and warrant officer Mikhail Lobkov, as he just hinted to me? Will he change his mind at the last moment and not give anyone back?

It's up to him and only him. He's in charge, Said.