Inside the Aquarium

332 Pages·1987·1.52 MB·English

by  Viktor Suvorov

Inside the Aquarium : the making of a top
Soviet spy
1. Inside the Aquarium : the making of a top Soviet spy
2. Index
Inside the Aquarium : the making of
a top Soviet spy
Suvorov, Viktor
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Author of INSIDE THE SOVIET ARMY
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INSDEIIL
Soviet defector Viktor Suvorov's reveal-ing account of how he became a
Sovietspy could not be more timely. Recentevents like the uncovering of the
Walkerspy ring, the on-again-off-again defectionof Vitaly Yurchenko, and the
publicationof Arkady Shevchenko's Breaking withMoscow have caused an
internationalfuror.
Now, in this fascinating and frighteningbook, Viktor Suvorov takes us inside
theAquarium, Moscow headquarters of theGRU, the super-secret Russian
militaryintelligence organization and rival of theKGB. It is here that agents are
brought tobe trained, disciplined, and, when necessary, broken.
In shocking fashion, Suvorov recountsthe first day of training when he is
forcedto watch a film that shows a disaffectedGRU agent being burned alive.
This ishow the GRU reveals to its trainees thatthere is only one way out of the
organization—death.
Other GRU methods are as physicallytorturous as the viewing of that film
isterrifying: electric shocks used to punisha failure of memory; being pushed off
aspeeding train; hand-to-hand combat withdeath-row prisoners recruited for
theirviciousness. All are employed in the training of a top agent.
It is the agent's job—once he is in thefield—to gather information in any wayhe
It is the agent's job—once he is in thefield—to gather information in any wayhe
can. No source of information is too
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ALLEN COUNTY PUBLIC LIBRARYFORT WAYNE, INDIANA 46802
You may return this book to any agency, branch,or bookmobile of the Allen
County Public Library.
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Digitized by tine Internet Arcliivein 2012
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Inside the Aquarium
By the same author
The Liberators
Inside the Soviet Army
Inside Soviet Mihtary IntelUgence
For Tanya
5013957
Prologue
We have a very simple rule: it's a rouble to get in, but two to get out. Thatmeans
that it's difficult to join the organisation, but a lot more difficult to getout of it.
Theoretically there's only one way out for any member of theorganisation -
through the chimney of the crematorium. For some it is anhonourable exit, but
for others it is a shameful and terrible way to go, butthere's only the one
chimney for all of us. That's the only way we can leave thisorganisation. That's
the chimney over there ...' the man with grey hair pointstowards a huge picture
window taking up the whole wall. Have a good look atit.'
At the level of the ninth floor I have a panoramic view of the vast,
unboundedand deserted airfield stretching to the horizon. And if I look straight
down I cansee below me a labyrinth of sand-covered pathways running between
thickrows of shrubs. The green of the plants in the garden and the burnt-up grass
ofthe airfield are separated by an indestructible concrete wall protected by a
thicknetwork of barbed wire.
That's it over there ' Grey-hair points to a fat square chimney, no more
than ten metres high, built on top of a flat asphalt roof. The black roof
floatsamong the greenery of the lilac bushes like a raft in the ocean or an old-
fashioned battleship, sitting low in the water with its funnel quite out
ofproportion. A thin transparent smoke is rising from the chimney.
*Is that someone leaving the organisation?'
*No.' Grey-hair laughs. The chimney is not only our way out; it is also asource
of energy for us and the guardian of our secrets. At the moment they aresimply
burning secret papers. It's better, you know, to burn them than to keepthem.
When somebody leaves the organisation the smoke is not like that; it isdense and
oily. If you join the organisation you too will one day rise into the skythrough
that chimney. But that's not what we're here for now. The organisation is giving
you a last chance to change your mind, a final opportunity toconsider your
choice. And to give you something to think about, I'll show you afilm. Sit down.'
He presses a knob on the control panel and sits down in an armchairalongside
me. With a faint scraping noise, heavy brown shutters cover the hugewindows
and immediately a picture appears on the screen without any title orother
and immediately a picture appears on the screen without any title orother
explanation. It is a black and white film, obviously old and ratherscratched. It
has no sound track, and the regular cUcking noise of the projectorcan be clearly
heard.
1
On the screen there appears a high, gloomy room without windows,something
between a factory workshop and a boiler house. In the foregroundthere is a
furnace with fire-doors looking like the gates of a small castle, withgrooves
running into the furnace like rails into a tunnel. People in greyprotective gowns
are standing near the furnace. Boilermen. Then they showeda coffin. So this is a
crematorium too. Probably the same one I have just beenlooking at out of the
window. The men in gowns lift the coffin and place it onthe guide rails. The fire
doors open smoothly to each side, the coffin is given agentle push and it bears its
unknown occupant into the roaring flames. Thenthe camera gives a close-up of a
living person. A face swimming in perspiration. It is probably very hot near the
furnace. The face is displayed from allsides of what seems an eternity. At last the
camera pulls back to show theperson full length. He is not in a gown. He is
dressed in an expensive black suit,terribly crumpled. His tie is tightly screwed
round his neck. The man himselfis bound fast with steel wire to a stretcher, and
the stretcher has been proppedup against the wall so that the man can see the
furnace.
Next all the attendants suddenly turn their attention to the bound man.Their
attention obviously gives him no pleasure. He lets out a scream. Aterrible
scream. There is no sound, but I can tell it is a scream that would makethe
windows rattle. Four of the attendants carefully lower the stretcher to thefloor
and then raise it again. The bound man makes an incredible effort toprevent this.
The titanic strain is apparent in the expression on his face. A veinon his forehead
stands out as though it is about to burst. But his effort to bitethe hand of an
attendant is in vain. His teeth only bite into his own lip, and ablack trickle of
blood begins to run down his chin. He certainly has sharpteeth. His body is
firmly tied down, but it is wriggling about like that of acaptured lizard.
Submitting to an animal instinct, he begins to beat his headagainst the wooden
handle of the stretcher and so assist his body. He is notfighting for his life, but
for an easy death. His calculation is clear: to rock thestretcher over so as to fall
with it off the guide rails and onto the concrete floor.This will mean either an
easy death or loss of consciousness. You don't feareven the flames if you are
imconscious. But the attendants know their job. Theysimply hold on to the
imconscious. But the attendants know their job. Theysimply hold on to the
handles of the stretcher to stop it rocking. And theprisoner cannot get at their
hands with his teeth even if he breaks his neck.
They say that at the last moment of his life a man can perform
miracles.Prompted by the instinct of self-preservation, all his muscles, all his
mentaland psychological resources, all his determination to live are suddenly
concentrated into one supreme physical effort to survive. The man is making that
lasteffort. He strains his whole body to try to get free. He sits like a fox
which,caught in a trap, bites and tears off its own bloody paw. Even the metal
guiderails begin to shake. He strains to the pjoint of breaking his own bones,
andtearing his own tendons and muscles. It is a superhuman effort. But the
wiredoes not give. And the stretcher slides smoothly along the rails. The
furnacedoors move aside again and the fire casts a white hght on the soles of the
man'sdirty patent leather shoes. He tries to bend his knees in an effort to increase
the
distance between his feet and the roaring fire. But he can't. The cameramanthen
shows the man's fingers in close-up. The wire has bitten deeply into them.But
the tips of his fingers are free, and with them too he is trying to slow downthe
movement towards the fire. His fingertips are spread out and tensed. Ifthey could
only come up against something the man would certainly hold on.
Then suddenly the stretcher comes to a halt at the furnace itself. A newfigure
appears on the screen dressed in a gown like the other attendants andgives them
a signal with his hand. The attendants obediently remove thestretcher from the
guide rails and stand it again on its handles against the wall.What is wrong?
Why the hold-up? It soon becomes clear. Another coffin iswheeled into the
crematorium on a low trolley. It is already nailed down andvery elegant, with a
decorative fringe. It is the coffin of some highly esteemedperson. Make way for
it! The attendants lift it on to the guide rails and send itoff on its last journey.
Then there is an unbeUevably long wait while it isconsumed by the flames. At
last it is the turn of the man bound to the stretcher,which is again placed on the
rails. And once again I hear that silent screamwhich is probably enough to lift
the furnace doors off their hinges. I study theman's face in the hope of finding
there signs of madness. It's easier for madmenin this world. But there are no such
signs on that handsome manly face. It is notdistorted by the imprint of madness.
It is simply that he doesn't want to go intothe furnace and is trying somehow to
make that clear. But what can he doexcept scream? So he screams. Fortunately
that scream is not recorded forposterity. Then his patent leather shoes go into the
fire, and that is that. Thefire flares up. Oxygen being pumped in, no doubt. The