The Road to Afghanistan - George Washington University

defense and treated himself to a feast in the green pastures outside the intelligence compoundbefore falling asleep across the road between the dachas and the offices.Late spring in the Moscow suburbs is almost always the best time of year. The leaves ofbirch and maple trees are young. Bright green grass covers the ground. The sky is high andimpeccably blue. The morning walk served as a continuation of Kryuchkov’s morning exercise. Itcharged him with energy and optimism, but no one would think, looking at the short manmarching down the alley, that he was enjoying himself in the slightest.Kryuchkov’s appearance gave no indication that he was a high-level official at anorganization that instilled fear in a large part of the world. To be more precise, he didn’t look likeanything at all. He could be taken for an accountant or a petty bureaucrat, or perhaps aschoolteacher, but not the chief of the world’s most powerful special services. He was thin, with around, balding head, thick-rimmed glasses, and an inexpressive, slightly Tatar-looking face. Theysaid Kryuchkov was a Mordwin from the Moksha tribe. Only his eyes, behind his thick lenses, gaveany indication of an extraordinary person. He had a very sharp gaze that made many peopleuncomfortable.That morning, as usual, he walked from his dacha in a business-like manner, lookingstraight ahead. His gaze was focused. He gave a subtle nod to colleagues whom he met on his way.Only the top generals of Foreign Intelligence lived in that development. All of them werevery well aware of their chief’s habits. They all had a set of rules that would not be violated. Forexample, walking into Kryuchkov in the morning and joining him in order to raise some issue ofconcern would be a major faux pas. There were very few who would have the gall to disturbKryuchkov during his walk, but Kryuchkov didn’t seem to mind those enthusiastic few, and in factsome of them would end up carving out successful careers in the agency.107