The big Russian bear just wants to be loved

Con Coughlin says that the paranoia in the Kremlin should not be confused with aggressive intent: Putin and his minions feel embattled, a perception that could have terrible consequences Moscow There's no reason to be afraid. The growl of the Russian bear is worse than its bite. Forget the new generation of ballistic missiles that can punch a gaping hole in Washington's defensive shield before it's even been built. Ignore all those creaking Tupolev-95 Bear nuclear bombers testing the response times of the RAF's Typhoon interceptors over the North Sea. And fret not about plucky little Putin's heroic foray into darkest Persia, where he defied an assassination plot so that he could scheme with that crafty Iranian apocalyptist, Mahmoud Ahmadinej ad.

At heart the Russians just want to be like you and me, easy-going, consumerdriven Europeans whose idea of the good life is paying off the mortgage, buying lots of designer clothes and watching football — preferably at one of those Premiership clubs they've bought up. If only those pesky Americans would stop rattling the bear's cage with their creeping military expansionism into eastern Europe, the Baltic and Central Asia, Europe could be one big happy family. It's just wherever the Russians look these days, whether it's Ukraine or Iraq, all they see is the Stars and Stripes advancing towards them, which they find most unnerving, to say the least.

There is something almost reassuring about walking into the Kremlin these days. The ideological fanaticism that sustained decades of communist oppression is as dead as the embalmed remains of Comrade Lenin that languish in the dingy concrete sarcophagus outside.

Entering the command and control centre of Putin's empire is like visiting the offices of an aspiring Third World company that one day hopes to join the international jet set, with glitzy offices in Mayfair or Park Avenue.

The lifts that take you to the executive suite — the preserve of the Russian president's senior advisers — are dimly lit and lurch unevenly between the floors. They are carpeted with dirty, ill-fitting Sixtiesstyle pile rugs and the unmistakable scent of stale body odour abounds. If first impressions counted for anything, you would think this was a company on its uppers, not one seeking total dominance of the world's energy markets.

It certainly makes more sense to think of the Kremlin as a corporate headquarters than a mere centre of government. As an American official who visits regularly remarked, 'Everyone in the Kremlin has two business cards — one for their official business, and one for Russia Inc.'

And to judge by the wide variety of luxury limousines ferrying Putin's inner circle in and out of the imposing front gates, more time is devoted to Russia Inc — exploiting the nation's vast wealth of natural resources — than the tedious business of government.

In fact governing Russia today is relatively straightforward — the president gives the orders and the country obeys, such is the stranglehold Vladimir Putin exercises over what passes for Russia's democratic institutions. His ruthless suppression of the opposition these past seven years has reduced the Duma to the strictly administrative role of rubber-stamping the executive decrees emanating from the office of the country's chairman and CEO. Nor are things likely to change with next month's parliamentary elections where Mr Putin's United Russia party is already guaranteed 80 per cent of the seats.

Even if Mr Putin does stand down as president after he completes his second term of office next year, it will be business as usual for the small clique of former KGB officers — the siloviki — who effectively run the country and who have made vast personal fortunes out of what is officially described as the nationalisation of Russia's oil wealth, but in reality has been the transfer of the title deeds from one group of corrupt oligarchs to another.

The vast riches generated by Russia's seemingly limitless oil and gas reserves have put the swagger back in the bear's step. With Russia now boasting the world's third largest currency reserves — some £200 billion — the Kremlin has been able to finance a massive increase in spending on the nation's defence budget — from 140 billion roubles in 2001 to 870 billion (£16.7 billion) this year. And it is this resurgent militarism, together with the increasingly confrontational approach Mr Putin has recently adopted in his dealings with the West, which has raised fears about the prospect of a new Cold War enveloping the European continent.

In fact, looking at the world through the prism of the Kremlin's inner sanctum, a very different sort of perspective emerges, one in which the Russians, for all their newfound wealth, remain utterly paranoid about what they regard as the West's Machiavellian designs to subjugate them to the status of international serfdom.

'Look,' said one senior Kremlin official pointing at a huge map of the vast mass of Russia's hinterland displayed upon his wall. 'If the Americans put their radar systems in central Europe, as they plan to do, they will be able to monitor everything we do throughout half of our territory. What's that got to do with protecting the West from attack by rogue states?'

I had raised the vexed issue of Washington's missile defence system, key parts of which will be located on Russia's border in Poland and the Czech Republic, because it appeared to me to lie at the heart of the recent escalation in tensions between the Kremlin and the West, but I had been unprepared for the almost hysterical response it generated from my Kremlin host.

'We are not looking for a fight with the West,' continued the official, who advises Mr Putin on relations with America and Europe. 'We want to work with the West. But when we see the Americans putting their missiles and radar on our doorstep to tackle a hypothetical threat, then it is only natural to wonder what is really going on.'

Having watched the gradual encroachment of Nato and the EU into areas which, until recently, Moscow regarded as coming under its sphere of influence, Washington's plans to locate its anti-missile missile system on Russia's doorstep has only served to heighten the Kremlin's suspicions.

The Russians point out, quite rightly, that if anyone is at risk from a nucleararmed Iran, it is Russia, not the West, as the medium-range ballistic missiles the Iranians are known to have can easily hit Russian territory, nukes or no nukes.

Well, I point out, if that is the case, why is Russia helping the Iranians to build a nuclear reactor in the Gulf, and why has Moscow just signed a £50 million deal to supply Iran with air defence equipment?

'Look, we want to work with the West, but when we see the West making threatening gestures towards us we have to defend our interests,' replied my man at the Kremlin So our fears about the emergence of a new Cold War come down to a genuine concern in Moscow that the West still has designs on Mother Russia. Wars are often started as the result of calamitous misunderstandings. With so much money swishing around the Kremlin, we can only hope the Russians fear they have too much to lose, both financially and politically, by starting another one.