Rise after a Fall

Guilty, without Charge or Trial

Guilty, without Charge or Trial

Moral and physical fatigue, terrible overload and stress. And that was just the beginning. Only the first stage of the forthcoming challenges. I knew that I was not involved in anything that could bring criminal charges against me. These thoughts encouraged me to address the kidnappers saying:

“I have a dog and a cat at home. For some more days there won’t be anybody at home. Please, call my mum and tell her what happened since the pets will die... Please, I am entitled to it by law”.

“Shut up, you bastard“, was the answer.

In fact, they called my mum that evening, the day I was detained, but I did not know about it. And only told me later Mum told me what it sounded like to get greetings from the FSB. Her trembling hands... Inability to drive... Panic and fear. Disbelief in son’s guilt...

So here I was among numerous FSB officers. The tall receding middle-aged man, with red eyes immediately started playing the role of a good guy. As though he was a friend. He wanted only good for me. The investigator was walking to and fro the small room in front of me telling how to mitigate the charges and what should be done. And to do so, it was necessary just to tell the truth, not to deceive anybody and confess in everything that they, FSB investigators were already aware of. No use in opposing, since the FSB never made errors. All the evidence had been collected, and I would definitely go to prison. The more resistance from my side, the longer sentence I would automatically get. If I agreed to be flexible, that would mean that I had realized everything, wanted to correct the situation and there was no use in imprisoning me for a long time. Such a pyramid.

Another, tall and thin, unshaven FSB officer was sitting behind my back on the right of the window. So he had opted for another role, the opposite one, of a bad cop. The first man said terrifying things giving hope in voice, while metallic intonations in the second man’s voice expressed only fatalism, hopelessness and depression. He, like a prophet, named and foresaw: twenty years in Russian colonies, tuberculosis, HIV, cold and snow... In addition, a detailed story of what is done in penitentiary institutions with Ukrainian Banderites, especially, when the FSB is interested to do something with them. The focus was set on the intimate element of that life.

The third person, in a blue shirt, was just sitting silently, observing, sometimes asking questions. Artem Alekseevich Burdin, the person who was the investigator, and also the key author of framing up my criminal case. As I understand, he was just waiting for the outcome of the cross interrogations, intimidation and cheering up, which were, by the way, alternating with hits in the belly and head by security guards, field investigators and FSB officers — generally, everybody who volunteered to beat me. When these “officers” were crossing the line in their work, the investigator would leave the room so that the hands would formally stay clean. That was a common practice, applied at the following stages of tortures, too.

The absence of the investigator entailed the repetition of the same tedious scene, which was first tried during my trip in the automobile. Meaningless questions, which I could not answer since I had no clue and understanding where I could have acquired that information, even if I had wanted to do so. My negative answers were followed by kicks. If I was silent, cruelty of the interrogators grew and the natural mutual force of unacceptance of our relations as well. Then, the time dragged on unbelievably slowly, at the same time in my memories it seems to me that everything happened within a few seconds.

Reason and psyche still block out these thoughts.

Some time later, in order to comply at least with some formal proceedings, of the so called detention, my accompanying police officers decided to bring me the legal public attorney.

It goes without saying that I did not have any choice. My security guard untied me from the chair and stood up, consequently, I had to stand up too and follow him. He gradually and slowly turned my arm behind the back and led me, though I was bent to the floor... We came out of the room. Straight on. About thirty steps and then turn left. I was taken into a room. The security guard let my hands down so I could stand straight, took off the handcuffs from himself and cuffed my hands. He ordered me to sit and wait. The room was small. Perhaps, two by two meters. Just one desk with a PC on it. A few chairs. An aged civilian-dressed person came into an open door.

He sat down next to me and introduced himself as my attorney Valsamakin. He told for me at length that mine was the final case in his long and hard career, that it was high time he had retired, that he was disappointed that this time the person he had to defend was me. But I understood that the attorney cooperated with the investigation and he had the task to persuade me, too, in the need of cooperating with them. He did not bother finding the details and reasons of my arrest... For him I, with no charge or trial was already guilty. He went on to convince me that he would do his best for me, and provided cooperation with the investigation and his assistance I would get out of the twenty [-year imprisonment], promised to me not more than just ten years of imprisonment!