BREAKFAST WITH THE KGB

Nicholas Garland visits

Lithuania and wonders whom to believe

ONE morning in May this year I was having, or rather waiting for, breakfast with Jonathan Miller at the Hotel Lithuania in Vilnius. We had different reasons for visiting that part of the Soviet Union (I was there for the Independent) but were travelling together.

In a rather perverse way I quite enjoy the famous shortages and poor services in the Soviet shops and hotels. Enjoy isn't quite the right word, but experiencing them is like finding yourself at any famous tourist spot. You can feel much the same sense of wonder when you see your first Soviet queue as you do when you first see the Pyramids or the New York skyline. There it is — that's it.

Jonathan reacted differently. It enraged him. He swore he'd never have breakfast in that restaurant again and was damned if he'd put up with such lousy service.

Next to us a large handsome man of perhaps 40, smoking a Marlborough cig- arette smiled sympathetically and re- marked that, if anything, things were getting worse around here. He spoke English fluently with a slight American drawl and because this was the Soviet Union I at once began to go back over what Jonathan and I had been saying to each other in case we'd mentioned any names and meetings that could embarrass our Lithuanian friends. I couldn't remem- ber anything of that sort and we fell into conversation with the stranger.

His name was Alexander. He was a Russian and in Vilnius to attend a confer- ence of American and Soviet economists who were discussing various matters to do with investments and technological co- operation. His particular interest was com- puters and he and Jonathan began to talk about developments in that field which I couldn't follow. He knew a tremendous lot about individual American computer ex- perts and was familiar with the latest high-tech jargon. He had travelled in the West quite extensively and discussed the Soviet Union with disarming frankness. He spoke of the needs for changes in the Soviet system.

Referring to Jonathan's complaints ab- out the hotel he repeated that everything was deteriorating fast. 'It means only one thing,' he said, as we strolled into the garden to sit in the sunshine before his conference began. 'They are taking more.'

`Who, your lot, the Russians?'

'Yes,' he said.

I asked what the Lithuanians thought of that and he said that quite understandably they didn't like it at all. It made him feel uncomfortable to go into shops here. Sometimes he even spoke English and pretended to be a foreigner in order 'to avoid rudeness'. If they realise he is a Russian, 'they give me piercing looks'. With something like anger he said that the first thing a Soviet citizen calculates when meeting a stranger is whether he or she is politically dangerous. Still even now that is the case. A chance remark, a little grimace in response to a name can be enough to wreck a career. A report may be made that the colleague is not politically reliable. It is nothing to do with ability, it can happen to the brightest men around.

With something like despair in his voice he went on, 'History has shown there are no short cuts. We have to begin again at 1919. The question is, can we do it without losing 100,000 lives.'

Puzzled by his frankness I asked him `YOu don't think the PM might interpret a holiday in France as a sign of disaffection?' why he should be suspicious automatically of a fellow Russian yet speak quite openly to us. He replied with exactly the same words a Lithuanian woman used when I asked her the same question, 'I am tired of being afraid.' It was as if the situation was too critical for such anxieties. He reckoned that between 40 to 60 million Soviet citizens lived at subsistence level. Not starving but barely doing more than just surviving. Crime and corruption were everywhere. The health service, housing and education were all yery poor. People were lied to by the authorities. To illustrate this point he said that he had left school not knowing that the Americans and British has also fought the Germans during the second world war. The word D-Day meant nothing to him and he expressed some surprise at the extent of the bomb damage suffered by the British cities:

We met Alexander several times over the next few days and he complained in a good humoured way about the conference that was boring him. The Americans were being obstinate and insisting on more perestroika and glasnost before they'd com- mit themselves to real co-operation. Sever- al times he said he'd skip the sessions were it not that he was needed as an interpreter.

I was fascinated by this glimpse of an educated, liberal Russian's view of his country's plight and the acute dangers in the situation. And in one way I did not trust a word he said. I could not shake off a peculiar sense that we were being conned.

James Fenton once devised a rule for judging whether an informant is telling the truth. The more often they said, 'I don't know,' the more you could believe. Alex- ander failed the test completely. He knew everything and had been everywhere.

Eventually I described Alexander to a Lithuanian I knew and trusted. Eimuntas replied, 'He is KGB. Probably quite high rank, perhaps a colonel. He is keeping an eye on the conference.'

Jonathan protested, half laughing, 'But he knew so much about computers. He is an expert. I could have had that conversa- tion with any academic in LA.'

'That's partly why I'm sure,' said Eimun- tas.

'Do you suppose he meant all that stuff about support for reforms and need for change?' I asked.

'Probably, why not?'

'Why do you think he bothered to talk to us the way he did?' 'Probably just enjoying himself. Why not?'

Eimuntas was absolutely certain and quite relaxed and amused by all this. I was annoyed with myself for not being quicker off the mark and even more guarded than I had been. At least I felt there was no harm done and I'd know better next time.

A week later someone told me they never felt at ease with Eimuntas since they'd learnt that he was an officer in the KGB.