Yes, it worked out differently for us, but I repeat: not once did we pay a single kopeck.

Once, Andrei Nikolaev, then director of the Federal Border Guard Service, approached me. Three of his border guards had been taken captive.

"Can you contact Maskhadov or Basayev?"

"I'll try..."

"Tell them: border guards don't abandon their own. If our guys aren't released, I'll close the border to all Chechens. Tell them that... Let them release them immediately, without any conditions!"

I contacted Basayev. Conveyed Nikolaev's words. Two of the border guards immediately returned home. The third had converted to Islam—where is he now? Allah knows...

There was one failure.

A Moscow Chechen approached me: "If Gantemirov is released, we'll hand over ten prisoners."

Gantemirov was at that time imprisoned in Lefortovo, charged with embezzling several billion rubles.

I called Mikhail Katyshev, then Deputy Prosecutor General.

"But that's simply impossible! An investigation is underway, and he's not the only one involved in the case!"

"Well, at least change the pre-trial restraint to a pledge not to leave! After all—ten prisoners!"

M. Katyshev categorically refused.

Later, when Gantemirov was released by presidential decree and took a senior position in Grozny, I long regretted not having managed to persuade the Deputy Prosecutor General then.

"You see, Mikhail Borisovich, I suspected that Gantemirov would eventually be released!"

"And I couldn't have imagined such a thing!" Mikhail Borisovich sighed sadly...

There was another completely unsuccessful trip for prisoners.

Colonel Slava Pilipenko, a member of the Presidential Commission for the Release of Prisoners, once asked me to go with him to Grozny for negotiations with Makhashev (then Vice Prime Minister and Minister of Internal Affairs of Chechnya).

We flew to Mozdok, to our military base, and spent the night there. In the morning, we prepared for the road. Slava changed the license plates on his Niva, which he had driven from Moscow: Moscow plates for Chechen ones. Slava left his documents. Several guys escorted us to the blockpost, all unwashed and hungry. With them was a dog that only attacked people in civilian clothes, so I was advised not to get out of the Niva, just in case. Our companions drove back to Mozdok. We waited for the car with the Chechens, who were supposed to escort us further, to appear. We waited an hour, then a second... Slava cursed... Finally, a jeep appeared, stopped at the Chechen blockpost. We slowly crossed the "neutral" strip... There, at the blockpost, were the same guys in camouflage, only Chechen. And the same dog, which only attacked people in civilian clothes. I was again advised not to get out of the car...

From this trip, only the bitterness of useless negotiations with Makhashev remained.

Eventually, I told Slava that waiting any longer was pointless; I was flying to Moscow, as there was a plane available.

An eighteen-year-old boy with a rifle, whom they had assigned to me as a guard, walked me to the ramp.

"Bring me camouflage, huh? Bring it!" he whined.

"Why do you need camouflage? You should be studying!"

"I'll fight..."

For some reason, I remember that Chechen boy! What happened to him when the second Chechen war began? Better not to think...

I also remembered another, completely detective-like story of a rescue.

A boy, Andrei Latypov, was captured. A boy with a terrible, inhuman fate. A St. Petersburg street child, he burned in a car where he had fallen asleep. We wrote a lot about him—he underwent a unique skin graft operation in Germany. Then one of our officers adopted him. When they were traveling by electric train, from Mineralnye Vody I think, he and his father were taken hostage.

Then we mobilized everyone we possibly could...

One day, a Chechen called me at home and said that they were asking for two hundred thousand dollars for Andrei.

Dima Muratov and I met with two Chechens in the park near the editorial office.

The conversation wasn't going well: "We've already spent forty thousand dollars... These are bandits!" they explained to us. We told them: "This is a child, a disabled person..."

I remember we started yelling at them, not picking diplomatic words.

"Neither you nor you will make it home today!" one of them threatened.

We also threatened something...

Eventually, one, the older and more aggressive, asked Dima for his mobile phone. He called someone, turning away from us.