"Will you name them?"

"That would be former Foreign Minister Kozyrev, Lobov, Shakhrai, Egorov..."

"Oh, I was waiting to see if you would name Egorov or not... His role is the most sinister... Do you know where he resurfaced?"

"Where?"

"In the Central Bank, as deputy governor..."

"Well, that's clear... Egorov is a war criminal who should be held accountable with no statute of limitations..."

"And Grachev?"

"Grachev... I can only tell you Dzhokhar's opinion of Grachev..."

"And what is it?"

"Dzhokhar always believed that Grachev was forced... But in my opinion, Grachev is a criminal who must be held accountable... Well, who else... Kulikov, who made his career on Chechen blood... Korzhakov... We repeatedly tried to contact Korzhakov when communication with Yeltsin was completely blocked... Asked to be connected, tried to negotiate..."

"Movladi, tell me, am I right or not... As soon as budget money was allocated for reconstruction, another bombing would immediately begin. And—no trace left..."

"Well, those are the laws of war... Where there's war, there's huge money. Don't think that somewhere, someone calculated everything deliberately. It's just that as the war progressed, those who had levers of influence and opportunities to earn, extracted maximum benefit from it. If a lot of money was spent on rebuilding the station in Gudermes, they wrote off that money against the bombing... The processes were uncontrolled... War, and I've seen this firsthand, gives rise to completely new laws that don't exist in peacetime..."

And, of course, I couldn't help but ask where the militants got their weapons.

"Everyone sold—from generals to privates."

Very few weapons came from abroad, and why would they?

Here's what former field commander K. told me:

"Practically, we didn't deal directly with your senior officers and generals. There were intermediaries for that. For instance, once I was told that a colonel wanted to sell a vehicle with a 'Grad' system and a KamAZ of ammunition for five thousand dollars."

"That's somewhat cheap..."

"I was surprised too, but it turned out that five thousand was for information about when, at what time, and on what road the column would travel: a 'Grad,' a KamAZ, and two APCs with guards..."

"So what?"

"We handed over the money... One APC still managed to get away..."

How many human lives, I wonder, are on the conscience of that scoundrel in uniform?

Does he dream at night of the souls he destroyed?

The war began dirty, proceeded dirty, and the traces it left behind are dirtier than one another.

But still, still...

You fed us fairy tales to our fill,
Stepsons are closer to you than sons.
From the fire into the frying pan, we go.
Only don't betray me,
Motherland,
Don't betray me.

...I stand and wait, wondering how the negotiations between Lecha Idigov and Said will end. Will he give? Will he not? All of them? One?

Ruslan, the driver, reads aloud a crossword puzzle from the newspaper "Islamic Order":

"What Chechen warriors taught Russian generals" - a four-letter word.

"What 'opposition intelligentsia' contemptuously called their compatriots who supported Dzhokhar Dudayev" - a five-letter word.

"What almost every settlement in Ichkeria experienced" - a seven-letter word.

Seven letters? Bombing? Terror? Genocide?

What have we all endured during this time?

...That's it. Said decided to release one—Lesha Anisimov.

The rest—upon provision of the guarantees we promised him: removal from the wanted list.

He was ready to give them up even so, on our word of honor.

He doesn't believe our word can be honest...

The next morning we fly out. We thank everyone. We hug. We say we'll see each other next week.

Alexey Anisimov was held captive for a year and a half.

No one came for him: his father and mother are disabled, second group. Said gave him a denim jacket as a farewell gift.

In Pskov, Alexey learned that a criminal case had been opened against him. For desertion. A year and a half ago. Based on a letter from the military prosecutor of the North Caucasian district.

"They've gone mad!" Yu. A. Shmatov called me on Friday.

Thank God, I thought, that one of the regional leaders managed to get him out of captivity.