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.
We parted almost without saying goodbye. But the number he called remained on the mobile...
We passed it on to the FSB guys, from the anti-terrorism unit...
In the end, Andrei was released. Without any conditions.
I've already mentioned how much Vyacheslav Izmailov did to free prisoners.
He has no fear, or if he does, it's buried very, very deep. But we, who sent him on these assignments, couldn't shake off the fear until he was back in Moscow.
About this—another notebook entry that I unexpectedly found in my archive.
"In the morning, Major Izmailov did not arrive. He hadn't arrived the evening before either: Sleptsovsk airport was completely shut down due to weather conditions. All attempts to reach Nazran, to Lecha Idigov, proved unsuccessful.
In these twenty-four hours, I had been to Vnukovo twice already—useless. The TV news crew also came in vain: neither the plane nor Major Izmailov was there.
We were all worried. We were very worried.
I don't recall now who told me back in early December—whether it was one of the Chechens or someone from the presidential administration: "The major shouldn't go to Chechnya anymore. It's dangerous now. Very dangerous..."
I told Izmailov: "Slava, maybe it's not worth it? Maybe not necessary?.."
He didn't hear me, didn't want to hear. "How do I arrange to take twenty tons on board?" he asked me.
Several months earlier (I think it was early autumn), I managed to arrange with the chief of staff of the internal troops for a humanitarian cargo for Chechen children and Russian mothers, who were there, in Grozny, on Volnaya Street, living only on the hope of finding any trace of their missing sons, to be loaded onto a flight departing for Vladikavkaz.
"Every trip Izmailov makes is a chance to snatch another of our guys from captivity," I explained to the general.
He understood everything immediately and promptly called the commander of the Internal Troops aviation on another phone: to help "Novaya Gazeta" and our major.
After the unexpected dismissal of Internal Troops Commander Anatoly Shkirko, everything changed—there was no one left whom one could simply call and, within a second, agree on a common cause.
But, fortunately, the major managed to arrange something with someone, and so he flew there, to Chechnya, managed to call from there and report that everything was fine and that he was returning to Moscow with another prisoner.
But Major Izmailov still did not arrive and did not arrive...
We were sitting at the dacha in Peredelkino: me, Dima Muratov, and some of the other guys.
Night was already falling—and suddenly a knock at the door—there stood Slava and a young boy.
A passing car had picked them up, and now he was with us.
"Where have you been? What happened?"
"The second prisoner was stolen. Right near the ramp..."
It turned out there were two prisoners, the second being a border guard.
No sooner had Slava stepped off the ramp than two unknown men rushed up, grabbed the guys without explanation, and threw them into a car.
Slava mobilized everyone he could at the airport.
One of the guys was found in the square near the airport terminal. "They told me: 'You're not one of ours, get out...'" he told us already here, in Peredelkino...
It became clear: the border guards had taken their prisoner.
I called the duty officers all night long—no one could give me a clear answer. Only around seven in the morning did Nikolai Bordyuzha, who had replaced Nikolaev as director of the Federal Border Guard Service, call:
"Sorry... Our fault. I ordered our soldiers to meet them, and they carried out a whole special operation... Well, you know what they say: give a fool a task and he'll screw it up..."
And we had that too.
Yes, and one more story, funny but typical for that (and our) time.