"Say Hi to Mick Jagger"

By William R. Doerner

After a diplomatic showdown, a Soviet youth chooses to go home

The pale, slender young man speaking with reporters in Washington last week could scarcely have appeared more American. He was dressed in blue jeans and Nike sneakers, with a pair of aviator-style sunglasses dangling from the V neck of an open polo shirt, and his longish blond hair was tousled and curly. But the Russian accent was unmistakable, even as he began speaking in colloquial English: "The thing that I want to say is that I don't want to stay here." In another second came the more formal, doubtless well-rehearsed appeal: "I ask the American authorities to leave me alone, and let me go home."

Thus ended the strange saga of Andrei Berezhkov, the 16-year-old son of a Soviet diplomat, whose brief disappearance for a nocturnal spin in his family's car had escalated from a police-blotter item to a diplomatic showdown between the superpowers. The reason: though he returned home under his own power ten hours later, both President Reagan and the New York Times had that day received letters, purportedly from him, requesting asylum. Kept hidden away by the Soviets for more than a week while they and U.S. officials sparred over how to handle the matter, Andrei finally appeared at two small, hastily arranged news conferences, one at the Soviet embassy and one on American soil at Dulles International Airport. Minutes later, with a pair of U.S. Assistant Secretaries of State on hand to act on any lastminute change of heart, Andrei and his parents boarded a commercial jet en route to Moscow. Andrei's parting words: "Say hi to Mick Jagger."

Andrei repeatedly denied having written any letters requesting asylum. He noted that the letter to the Times did not even have his name right.

Added his father, Valentin Berezhkov, a first secretary in the U.S.S.R.'s Washington embassy: "You can agree with me that a 16-year-old boy knows how to spell his name."

The elder Berezhkov charged that the State Department's demand to question Andrei privately, in an effort to establish firsthand whether he wanted to defect, was "an attempt to use our boy as a pawn in a new anti-Soviet gambit." Reagan Administration officials acknowledge privately that they were not averse to letting the Soviets suffer a bit of embarrassment over the incident. They also admit that any attempt to prevent Andrei's departure would have been legally dubious, since he was both a minor in the custody of his parents and held a diplomatic-status visa, which prohibits "any form" of detention. Nevertheless, they felt morally obliged, as one put it, to find out "what was really in his mind." One reason: according to a senior presidential adviser, the FBI told the White House that there was a 95% probability that the letters were genuine.

State Department officials ordered a psychological profile on Andrei, based on school records and interviews with Americans who knew him. The resulting picture was of a typically confused teen: diffident, preoccupied with rock 'n' roll, "a little screwed up." But the youth was not known to harbor strong political views of any hue.

Next, U.S. officials began suggesting various locations for the interview: the State Department itself, the international airport, some neutral spot in Washington. Says a U.S. negotiator: "The key question was who would control the environment." Predictably, the Soviets countered with an offer to hold the interview in their embassy compound. It was promptly declined.

On Wednesday, Soviet diplomats threatened to move unilaterally. Charge Oleg Sokolov telephoned Assistant Secretary of State Richard Burt to announce that he was scheduling a press conference that afternoon, after which Andrei would depart Washington. As a "big concession from Moscow," he added, Burt could attend. The U.S. diplomat replied that the plan was "totally unacceptable" and promised to denounce it in advance at the State Department's noon press briefing. Sokolov replied that he had already notified the U.S. press of his plans. "There was the potential for an ugly confrontation," recalled one U.S. official. "We were fully prepared not to let the kid go."

In fact, Sokolov had never notified U.S. reporters and had been bluffing all along. Later that day, the Soviets gave more ground. If they went ahead and held their press conference on Thursday, said a Soviet representative, and then took the Berezhkovs to the airport, perhaps the family might encounter some of the U.S. press there, as well. Burt took that as a signal that the Soviets were ready to compromise and on his own arranged a way to spend some time with Andrei.

That secret meeting, which lasted 40 minutes, took place on the mobile lounge that carried the Berezhkov entourage to the waiting TWA L-1011 jetliner. During an unscheduled "delay" on the trip across the tarmac, the vehicle was ringed by six State Department security agents, who were prepared to take custody of Andrei if he indicated any desire to stay in the U.S. Burt did not quiz the youth directly about politics, since Charge Sokolov was also on board; they talked about ordinary matters, such as school and the youth's musical interests. But, says one official familiar with what Andrei said, "he had his chance. He could have given us a sign. We were clearly in control. But he didn't."

Less than 24 hours later, after a transit stop in Paris, Andrei arrived back on Soviet soil and was surrounded by members of yet another international press corps. He said his plans were to return to school and possibly study to become an actor. If so, he would surely bring to class some firsthand knowledge of how it feels to be cast in a starring role.

By William R. Doerner

Reported by Johanna McGeary/Washington

With reporting by Johanna McGeary This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.