A couple of Soviet diplomats got the kind of treatment in the Congo last week that many other countries have often wished but not dared to mete out to Red envoys.
Almost from the day of the Congo's independence in 1960, the Russians and their satellites worked doggedly to destroy what little stability the country had in hopes of getting a Communist faction in control. Expelled en masse after the demise of erratic Patrice Lu mumba, the Reds began filtering back into Leopoldville last year, notably to the towering eight-story apartment building that is both embassy and residence for Soviet Ambassador Sergei Nemchina and his 100-man staff of operatives. Two of Nemchina's most important aides, his slim, fair embassy counselor Boris Voronin and stocky, bushy-haired Press Attaché Yuri Miakotnykh, have developed especially close contacts with extremists opposed to Premier Cyrille Adoula's moderate regime. Miakotnykh worked hard to penetrate the trade unions and left-wing student groups, even lobbied in the corridors of Parliament.
Tug of War. What worried the gov ernment most was the close contact of the two Russians with a plotting exile group led by Lumumba's former Party Chief Christophe Gbenye, who made his headquarters across the Congo River in the ex-French Congo capital of Brazzaville.
One day last week, when Voronin and Miakotnykh drove down to the river bank, known as "le Beach," for the ferry ride over to Brazzaville, Adoula's cops decided to stop them on the way back and find out what they had been up to. Surrounding their car at the landing stage, Congolese police insisted on a search. With a shrug, the Russians opened the trunk, then let them look in the front and back seats.
But Voronin was clearly determined not to give up his briefcase, and hugged it to his chest as he and Miakotnykh got back into the car. To make sure the Russians did not try to start the engine and speed away, the police let the air out of their tires, then pulled open the doors and began a tug of war with Voronin's legs, yanking his shoes off in the process. As they pulled, Miakotnykh clung just as fiercely to Voronin, until at last, both men were dragged out feet first, relieved of the briefcase and heaved unceremoniously into a pickup truck. When one of the Russians tried to stuff a document inside his shirt, a Congolese guard ripped the entire front of his shirt off.
Out in the Rain. With that, the prisoners were driven off to a military camp outside Leopoldville, and the contents of Voronin's briefcase were taken to police headquarters. Sure enough, claimed the government, among them was a letter from Gbenye to the Russians asking for 5 billion in counterfeit Congolese francs to be used to undermine the Congo's currency, and another document requesting arms, tape records and "other espionage equipment." One of the letters bore teeth marks, as if a Russian had tried to swallow it.