Putin's Labyrinth

An inside look at the Russian leader's autocratic regime and his turn away from the West

by Steve LeVine

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Litvinenko, a political exile, was poisoned with Polunium-210 in London Natasja Weitsz/Getty Images

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Jason Holley

In 1999, Russian President Boris Yeltsin named Vladimir Putin, an all-but-unknown former KGB officer, as his successor. Putin imposed a discipline on Russia that had been absent since the Soviet Union's collapse, and he ushered in the beginnings of prosperity thanks in large part to a spike in global oil prices. But he also became one of Washington's harshest critics abroad and an autocratic ruler at home whose enemies often met with violent deaths. BusinessWeek (MHP) correspondent Steve LeVine, in this excerpt from his new book, Putin's Labyrinth: Spies, Murder, and the Dark Heart of the New Russia, unravels some mysteries of the Putin presidency.

The fresh pride that Vladimir Putin instilled in his people bore a resemblance to the feel-good mood that Ronald Reagan inspired in many Americans with a famously successful political slogan. Putin created what a clever Moscow ad man might have marketed as "It's Morning Again in Russia."

The more confident Putin became about Russia's ascendancy, the more willing he seemed to rattle Europe occasionally and poke America in the eye with some frequency. He bluntly criticized the invasion of Iraq and complained about U.S. unilateralism. His assertiveness drew occasional scolding from the U.S., which seemed to say, well, what can one expect of those impossible Russians? But Putin's increasingly disagreeable manner was not simply a Russian being difficult. It was at least in part a result of the West's condescending attitude toward Russia when it was still deep in economic crisis.

Putin had begun his presidency ready to find a way to reconcile Russia's profound differences with the West and develop friendly relations. As they did with his predecessor, Boris Yeltsin, the policies of NATO would become an irritant for Putin. When the West, in the 1990s, began proceedings to absorb Eastern Europe and the former Soviet Baltic states into its military alliance, Russia objected. In nationalist circles, the NATO expansion was seen as a potential move to blackmail Moscow militarily should it mount any serious challenge to Western aims in the region. But Putin regarded the NATO dispute differently. He thought Washington simply didn't understand the basis for Moscow's opposition, according to a Kremlin insider I consulted who asked not to be identified so he would not jeopardize his access. I'll call him Viktor. If he was patient and made every effort to explain, Putin told his aides, "they'll see we're normal people, and we'll have a different relationship," Viktor recalled. So Putin sat for hours with major and minor Western visitors—a government minister, a vice-minister, whoever was willing to hear his thoughts on Chechnya, NATO, and energy.

By the beginning of 2000 the NATO expansion was well under way. Putin met with President Bill Clinton, Secretary of State Madeleine Albright, and National Security Adviser Samuel Berger, and floated a question: What would be the West's attitude toward Russia's applying to join NATO? Putin was serious, according to Viktor. He saw dual benefits to NATO membership: Russia could integrate more tightly with the West, and, more important from Moscow's point of view, have an opportunity to "reform" the Cold War-era organization from within. Like the other 19 NATO members, Moscow would wield a veto. Among other things, it could stop the alliance from repeating acts Russia opposed, such as the bombing of Serbia.

As Viktor recalled the strained moment, Berger suddenly found a fly on the window to be extremely intriguing. Albright looked straight ahead. Clinton glanced at his advisers and finally responded with a diplomatically phrased brush-off. It was something on the order of, If it were up to me, I would welcome that.

Not dissuaded, Putin's entourage raised the idea again with visiting congressmen. They reacted similarly, getting "this tricky expression on their faces and saying, 'Ah, you want to destroy NATO from within,'" Viktor recalled. The congressmen had a point, of course. If Russia had been a NATO member in 1999, for example, Serbia would have simply overrun Kosovo as it and its surrogates had previously done with Bosnia and Herzegovina. But Viktor was offended by the U.S. suggestion that Russia's motives were disingenuous. So, too, apparently, was Putin.