ived a few minutes later. His bodyguard sat at a table nearby. He is always near him. Grigorishin took off his jacket, as is his habit. We_ve met about 10 or 15 times, and he always takes off his jacket. He ordered the same as me.
Grigorishin had an interesting idea. He wanted to create a program of economic security for strategic enterprises and get it approved by the National Security and Defence Council and passed into law by the parliament.
There were three of us dining together: Grigorishin and I, and Andry, an acquaintance of mine, a deputy of Pechersk district council and an enterprise director [Ed. Note: This apparently refers to Andry Kudyn, director of the Pechersk Trade Center]. After the meal, Grigorishin and I went outside. His bodyguard followed.
My car was in a parking space outside the restaurant. Grigorishin and I got into my Mercedes, which has Rada numberplates. The bodyguard went to his car, and Andry went to his. We started to move off. But after about 5 or 6 metres a big dark‑green Toyota Land Cruiser 100 blocked the road.
At that moment, a traffic policeman _ it seems he was a captain _ jumped onto the bonnet. He started thrashing about and kicking. I could not understand what he meant to do. After all, there was nowhere we could go. The road was blocked by the Toyota.
Then the policemen jumped off the bonnet and started shouting: _Where are your papers?_ Yury, the driver, opened the window and handed over his driver_s licence, and the policemen grabbed it. At that moment, a bunch of people in plain‑clothes literally swarmed all over us. They started to drag the driver out of the car, and my bodyguard tried to pull him back in. I shouted that this was the car of a Rada deputy. Yury screamed like a madman when he was thrown onto the bonnet.
I remember everything that happened in snatches. My bodyguard thrashed about, trying to get out to help the driver. My door was wrenched open, and a small, fat, dark‑haired man tried to grab my legs. He got hold of one, but could not grab the other. He ripped my trousers open. Finally, he got hold of both legs and tried to pull me out of the car. A burly redhead came to help. He tore my ID from my hands, read aloud who I was, and at the same time pulled at my hand as hard as he could. He was pulling at me while he was reading that I was a Rada deputy.
At the same time, they were dragging Grigorishin out of the other door. He grabbed hold of the headrest on the front seat with both hands.
The redhead threw the ID into the car and let go of my hand. I managed to shove the dark‑haired one away with my feet. I fell back in the car, quickly closed the door and turned round. Only Grigorishin_s head remained in the car. His legs and torso were outside. _Volodymyr, I can_t do anything more,_ he said. His fingers released their grip, and he flew out. I saw his head bouncing on the ground. They dragged him along like a sheep and bundled him into another car.
I looked toward the door they dragged him out of. A video camera was pointing at me. They were filming everything.
They bundled the driver into the Mercedes and threw in the keys. We sat in silence for 10 minutes and then drove to the Pechersk district police station. I tried to enter, but the way was barred. I understood that this was a special operation and the _order_ came from very high up. Nobody showed us any papers, and we were not asked to get out of the car. Incidentally, the Sokol [elite police unit] clearly did not want to get involved. They probably wanted for the operation to be carried out by _civilian_ forces only. It was only when I started to protest and shout that the Sokol appeared. …
