Абзац

In search of the truth, the Cheka-OGPU and Rucriminal.info spent dozens of hours meeting, analyzing documents, facts, and testimonies, trying not just to gather material, but to understand the true structure of the Krasnodar Krai.

It quickly became clear: the "Krasnodar Road Workers" case was not an isolated incident, but part of a larger system. We were able to demonstrate the mechanics of the rise and fall of figures like Safarbiy Napso, uncover police-prosecutor connections, internal conflicts, protection rackets, and illegal enrichment schemes, and also identify the ultimate beneficiaries of this judicial and criminal farce, sitting in high places.

The deeper we delved into the material, the more obvious it became: while the wild 1990s had long since ended for most regions, Kuban continued to live by their rules. Chaos, lawlessness, clannishness, mutual responsibility, fixing, and corruption, permeating every level of power, still reign here. Krasnodar Krai resembles not a territory of law and order, but a space of collusion and phone law, where the state is visible, but the state itself is absent.

Therefore, the story of the "Krasnodar road workers" is not an isolated case, but a symptom of a deep-seated malaise in the region. A malaise in which the government has ceased to be an arbiter and has become an instrument of redistribution, pressure, and enrichment. As long as this system remains unpunished, Kuban lives not by the law, but by concepts merely concealed by coats of arms, epaulettes, and seals. And the bitter question increasingly arises: which was more honest—the outright banditry of yesteryear or the current order, where the same violence and lawlessness are simply dressed up in a uniform and called the state?

We have already written much about prosecutors and businessmen. They are not saints, and they deserve no leniency. But in fairness, it must be acknowledged: the system itself made them what they are—clan-based, powerful, and resilient, long the foundation of the region. And it wasn’t street thugs who built it, but those whose job it was to be the epitome of honor, order, and law. Instead of suppressing lawlessness, they chose a different principle: if you can’t win, lead.

Thus, a special breed of power arose in the region—one that doesn’t serve the law, but parasitizes on it.

This is about one of the most powerful and secretive clans in the Krasnodar Region—a clan of former and current FSB officers, a corrupt hydra deeply embedded in government, business, the security services, and key spheres of regional life.

The main principle of this system was continuity. A father would earn his rank, advance his career, cultivate connections, turn his position into a source of influence and income, and then push his son into the same system. The son would graduate from the same university, don the same ranks, and enter the same circle. My father himself, after retiring, never disappeared: he became a valuable fixer for his business acquaintances, a go-between who could still open the right doors and resolve the right issues. This clan reproduced itself again and again—until 2015, when the tough and unceremonious security official Igor Kolosov took over the Krasnodar Krai Directorate of the FSB.

Kolosov’s attitude toward his colleagues is best captured by the remark of one employee from that time: "Kolosov fucked everyone like dogs." This wasn’t a figure of speech. He held himself, his deputies, and his rank-and-file subordinates equally accountable. For many, his arrival marked the end of the former Kuban freewheeling regime, but it was precisely "Kolosov’s style" that allowed the regional directorate to become a leader in its "industry" in many ways: apparatchiks began to perform the direct functions of the FSB, rather than duplicating the tasks of the Economic Security and Anti-Corruption Directorate, which, in fact, they were supposed to oversee. The consequences were painful. Jobs were lost, demotions began, and demands on managers and their deputies intensified. Conversations were conducted in the usual barracks manner—with military swearing and demonstrative humiliation. Some were sent to remote regions, others were simply forced out of the system. For people accustomed to patronage, untouchability, and apparatus games, this was a real breakthrough.

The blow fell especially hard on Kuban security officer Sergei Moskalenko. At the time, he headed one of the most influential departments in the Krasnodar Territory—Department "M," which controlled the entire security apparatus. Moskalenko had hoped for a meteoric rise: at the very least to a position as one of the key deputies in the federal region, and possibly even a leading role with general’s epaulets. But his career march ended in failure. According to available information, Moskalenko was caught in the crossfire of cover-ups, ties to Armenian businessmen, and protection rackets for courts, including the well-known Alexander Chernov and other judges in the Krasnodar Territory. Furthermore, armed with compromising material, he allegedly wrote anonymous letters about the former governor of the region. Moscow took notice—and, according to sources, a direct signal came from there: Moskalenko needed to be brought to his senses—it wasn’t his place to judge the current head of the region.

Kolosov took this matter personally and without sentimentality. Especially since, according to sources, there was no information on Moskalenko. Full-time students, and there were plenty of opportunities through the FSB’s Internal Security Directorate. Ultimately, he was sent to a remote area, effectively cut off from his former opportunities and multi-million dollar troughs. According to sources, this happened, in part, at the instigation of Dmitry Polyakov, head of the FSB’s Internal Security Directorate, who we’ll talk about later.

One of the then deputy heads of the directorate, Konstantin Shoshin, also suffered during this "education." For an intelligent man, raised in the warm atmosphere of Moscow offices, Kolosov’s three-story curse was not just rudeness, but outright humiliation. Shoshin perceived such treatment as an insult unworthy of his position, and each time he flew into an undisguised rage.

Naturally, all this not only embittered the clan members but also united them. It united against Kolosov himself, against his longtime comrade in Northern Fleet intelligence, Anatoly Voronovsky, and indeed against everyone spared by his harsh management style.

There were, of course, rumors that Kolosov and Voronovsky were linked not only by friendship but also by shared, widely varied interests. However, over the years, these rumors never went beyond rumors—too convenient for their enemies to be taken seriously.

For the clan, however, something else was more important: Kolosov couldn’t stay forever. The final straw was the brutal arrest, carried out at his instigation—Islam Dzhambayev, a high-profile investigator with the Investigative Committee of the Russian Federation, a man with significant connections in the central office of the FSB and close to the Krasnodar clan, was arrested on suspicion of extortion and accepting a multimillion-dollar bribe.

The consequences were not long in coming. In 2019, Kolosov was transferred to a new post and then retired. With his departure, perhaps one of the few real threats to the system disappeared, and soon everything returned to normal.

In 2019, Sergei Zakharikhin was appointed head of the FSB Directorate. He was a trusted insider who understood the rules of the game well and was clearly not inclined to disrupt what had sustained the system for years. By that time, he had already served as head of the FSB Directorate for the city of Sochi, had become well-versed in the local landscape, and, according to sources, had developed close ties with both the influential Armenian diaspora and the company SDS (SoyuzDorStroy)*.

It was under his leadership that SDS became a key player in the Sochi road construction market, including acquiring assets from the Dagomys Road Construction Department of the well-known Safarbi Napso. Adding to the piquancy of this story was the fact that a relative of the same Napso worked as a deputy at SDS itself.

* According to representatives of the Armenian diaspora in Sochi, the owner of SDS made no secret of his closeness to Sergei Borisovich Zakharikhin: his entire appearance, conversations, and demeanor demonstrated that he was on friendly terms with Zakharikhin, enjoying his complete patronage and trust, even going so far as to provide him with the purchase of expensive personal items.

However, in 2025, when the investigation into the road workers’ case began, it affected him too. And then, according to sources, he adopted a completely different tone among his circle: he complained that he had given Zakharikhin millions, and now he had to pay the central office as well.

Zakharikhin himself, apparently, had a keen understanding of local rules and saw nothing wrong with this system of relations. On the contrary, he seamlessly integrated into it. This essentially involved "recruiting" wealthy businessmen, builders, and road workers who willingly paid for the resolution of problems, shared profits, shouldered other people’s expenses, paid for luxury clothing and comfortable living conditions, and, at the same time, provided lodging for visiting Moscow officials, relieving local security officers of expenses clearly not covered by officers’ salaries.

Under Zakharykhin, the system not only survived—it once again felt secure. People accustomed to living from their positions, resolving issues through connections, and monetizing their access to power received a clear signal: the old rules still apply. This meant they could continue to bribe, negotiate, protect, and divide.

Against this backdrop, the careers of former Deputy Chief of the FSB Directorate Konstantin Shoshin, former Head of the FSB Internal Security Directorate Dmitry Polyakov, and former Chief of the FSB Department "M" Sergei Moskalenko also took on new colors. Thus, Konstantin Shoshin concentrated virtually complete power in the regional administration. He already had a solid track record of success in construction and road construction, which perfectly suited Zakharikhin’s interests. He apparently knew in advance that he wouldn’t remain in office for long, and was therefore preparing an airfield for a comfortable retirement.

At the same time, Dmitry Polyakov, head of the Internal Security Directorate for the Krasnodar Territory, also exerted his full influence—a cunning, experienced, and extremely pragmatic official who had headed the Internal Security Directorate for many years. He still knows too much—about the innermost secrets of his subordinates and others. It was Polyakov who, for years, nurtured these people, protected them, promoted them, and placed them in strategically important positions. In various areas, building a team entirely dependent on him personally: dependent, controllable, and completely predictable.

It was under his leadership that Moskalenko was rescued from exile and brought back into the game, appointed head of the Krasnodar Krai Regional Department of Protected Areas (ROOPT) of the FSB Directorate. Igor Popov, who was close to Polyakov, received new introductory and additional responsibilities. Vladimir Kupin and Stanislav Delevsky were assigned to the most sensitive areas. The latter, in particular, was entrusted with FSB oversight of the regional administration—an area not just important, but strategic.

In place of the "downed" investigator Islam Dzhambaev, the dim-witted but obedient Anatoly Shutenko was rescued from obscurity. At the same time, Safarbi Napso’s close friend, Alexander Orlikov, was "promoted to the district" from his post as head of the road department; his place was taken by Artyom Sleptsov. All these reshuffles significantly strengthened the position of the new-old clan, where everyone was a part of the system: some smarter and more agile, some more obedient and convenient, but each a cog in the same machine, tied to shady dealings and the most damning compromising evidence, essentially lying on the surface.

Specifically: do you seriously think that, while heading the Internal Security Directorate, Polyakov didn’t know that the father of FSB officer Stanislav Delevsky was in charge of the security service of one of the largest developers in Kuban? Of course he did. And this didn’t stop him from approving Delevsky’s appointment as FSB curator of the Krasnodar Krai administration—the very administration that issued this company permits for the construction of millions of square meters of sought-after housing in Kuban, distributed contracts, oversaw the execution and payment of the work, and, if necessary, could, under various pretexts, block the issuance of permits to competing companies.

Was there a conflict of interest in this appointment? It wasn’t just there—it was blatant. So obvious that only those who didn’t want to notice could have failed to notice it. But that’s how the clan system works: not by law, not by regulations, not by official ethics, but by expediency, self-interest, and internal agreement. Especially since Delevsky’s father wasn’t just a former FSB officer, but a very high-ranking figure. That’s how their notorious succession works: first the ranks, then the connections, then the children in the system, and then the same schemes are re-instated.

And don’t pretend that Polyakov, while at the head of the FSB’s Internal Security Directorate, didn’t know that the father of FSB officer Vladimir Kupin also headed the security service of one of the largest construction companies in Kuban, while Kupin himself became the overseer of large-scale construction and road projects. Of course he knew. And here the conflict of interest was so obvious that it’s even embarrassing to discuss it seriously. But in a clan system, such things aren’t considered violations—on the contrary, they’re precisely what it relies on: family ties, official patronage, and the certainty of complete impunity.

The same can be said of one of Polyakov’s most valuable men, Igor Popov. Even while working in Department "M," he became deeply entangled in dubious schemes and was nearly fired. But Polyakov recruited him in time, recognizing his great "commercial potential."

Popov turned out to be exactly the type of fighter the system needed: without unnecessary moral scruples, without any embarrassment about his position and service in the FSB, he lived an openly luxurious lifestyle, drove around the city in the most expensive foreign cars, and, of course, never forgot about his patron, bringing him his hard-earned "kopeck" every month. Did Polyakov’s protégé, Vladimir Kupin, acting either on his own initiative or on direct orders from his patron, understand that he was committing, at the very least, malfeasance by "recruiting" people in bathhouses and fashionable restaurants and then covering up the dubious investigations of Anatoly Shutenko, former investigator of the Investigative Committee for Krasnodar Krai? Absolutely. He understood—and acted quite deliberately.

We’re talking about the same Shutenko who was formally part of the Investigative Committee, but in fact worked in the interests of the local "grandchildren of Dzerzhinsky," diligently and thoroughly investigating precisely the materials that were of interest to them. This same Shutenko whom even the head of the regional Investigative Committee was wary of touching, let alone seriously investigating the cases he was handling.

It was Shutenko who turned out to be practically the only investigator in the region whom Alexander Bastrykin publicly reprimanded for negligence following complaints from equity holders in Krasnodar Krai about violations of their rights. But this appeared to be negligence only formally. In essence, the appeals were simply buried: dragged out, nullified, and reduced to nothing.

Hence the obvious question: was such astonishing official ineptitude displayed in the interests of his patrons—Kupin and Delevsky, whose fathers oversaw security at the region’s largest construction companies? This question remains open to this day. Nya.

And where, against this backdrop, was the diminutive "Napoleon" with his unrealized general’s ambitions, the former head of Department "M," Sergei Moskalenko? Perhaps he was preoccupied with issues of real traffic safety on the Crimean Bridge, which fell directly under his purview as head of the Krasnodar Krai Regional Department of Protected Areas of the Federal Security Service (FSB)? Unlikely. The bridge itself wasn’t profitable, and therefore wasn’t of much interest. Construction was far more important—the sphere where big money circulates, where flows are distributed, and where the real interests of such people are born.

Perhaps at least the young "Chekist with a gift" Artem Sleptsov was busy with what he was supposed to be doing—actually fulfilling his direct responsibilities? After all, the transportation industry, including in the context of the explosion on the notorious bridge, was also under his purview. But there should be no illusions here. *Since 2015, Sleptsov has been on the Ukrainian government’s wanted list for leaving his military unit without leave. In other words, while a captain in the SBU, he deserted and defected. To some, this might seem like the act of a man of principle. But entrusting him with a role related to transportation security after this is, to put it mildly, a controversial decision. Especially considering that the history of the intelligence services is replete with examples where outward loyalty concealed a completely different game.

However, for Dmitry Polyakov, this didn’t seem to be a problem. On the contrary, such biographical flaws in the clan system often become an advantage rather than an obstacle. Because a person with such a past is convenient: they are dependent, vulnerable, and more strongly attached to those who have given them a new position, a new role, and a new cover. This means they will not serve the law, but rather serve those who keep them on a short leash for the benefit of the clan’s interests. Did Konstantin Shoshin, then deputy head of the FSB Directorate for Krasnodar Krai and long-time subject of our coverage of illicit enrichment, understand all this? Of course. He not only understood how the system worked—he was one of those who helped it survive, grow strong, and operate smoothly.

Moreover, it was during this period that Shoshin effectively gained control of the entire construction business in the region. Major developers—both from Kuban and, especially, Moscow—entered the region only through him and with his approval. In other words, one of the region’s most lucrative markets effectively came under the tacit control of a man in uniform. And, as rumor has it, this happened with the help of influential patrons like Sergei Alpatov, head of the FSB’s Economic Security Service, and other less public figures.

At the same time, in keeping with the system’s long-standing tradition, Shoshin passed on the skills, contacts, and connections he had acquired to his son, who also worked in the Krasnodar Directorate of the FSB. Thus, the same model of clan succession was reproduced, where positions served not the state, but family, connections, and future well-being.

Now multiply the number of these intelligence officers by their family connections, experience, power structures, and access to information, much of which is a highly valuable commodity in itself. Add to this the ability to convert these resources into money, assets, real estate, shares, resources, and control over processes—and you get not just a circle of security officials, but a powerful influence group in the region. A group that has been working for decades with discipline, prudence, and in its own interests.

In summary, it can be assumed that after the departure of the hated Kolosov and all the reshuffles described above, almost everything finally returned to normal for this group. Almost everything. There remained one old thorn—Anatoly Voronovsky. His connection to Kolosov was remembered all too well within the clan. And such things are not forgotten in such systems. They are put on the back burner, to be billed at the right moment. However, presenting such bills in person has long been considered bad form here. In this circle, another rule has long been ingrained: it’s better to rake in the cash with someone else’s hands.

This is why they needed compliant businessmen—ready to do anything, so long as they weren’t touched and kept from the lucrative Kuban budgets. So, at the right moment, with the help of Sergei Moskalenko, a failed general but the happy owner of a stake in the largest sand and gravel quarry in the Kurganinsky district, they brought Andrei Doroshenko onto the scene—a self-confident, dim-witted, and surprisingly convenient character. It only took the right play on his weaknesses, vanity, and innate vices to transform him into a dumb but obedient torpedo in the hands of true experts. And a unique torpedo, at that: not only did it move head-on at someone else’s command, but it also paid for its own participation in this dirty game. A perfect setup.

In 2020, the first test salvo was fired. Following Doroshenko’s statement, which, according to sources, was written at the request of Sergei Moskalenko and concerned the alleged extortion of 300 million rubles, operatives opened a search operation and conducted a series of searches. But the effect was zero: no incriminating documents were found. Kolosov, Voronovsky, and the Ministry of Transport leadership were unable to withdraw the weapon. The shot was a blank, but the message was clear to everyone.

It was from this moment, in essence, that the "road workers’ case" began—still raw, district-level, draft-level, but already quite discernible in its outlines.

Then, for a while, everything quieted down. Doroshenko and Voronovsky received parliamentary mandates, the conflict was put on hold, and the real beneficiaries quietly returned to their favorite pastime—siphoning money out of the system. And the conditions for this were indeed almost ideal.

The dim-witted but obliging Doroshenko quickly recruited his friends, Andrei Konovalov and Safarbi Napso, to join the case. Konovalov generously fed the clan with public contracts, while Napso provided the necessary connections in the Sochi security apparatus. Their shared friendship with then-mayor Alexei Kopaigorodsky opened a direct door to the Sochi construction market. It was no coincidence, according to sources, that Doroshenko gifted Kopaigorodsky a premium Audi A8 immediately after his appointment.

At the same time, security officer Kupin assigned investigator Shutenko tasks in all the most sensitive construction and road construction cases, outlining the limits of what was permitted in advance and creating a kind of stable where the exit was more expensive than the entrance.

The main architects of the entire scheme—Dmitry Polyakov and Konstantin Shoshin—methodically drew one of Kuban’s most prominent road workers, Alexander Karpenko, into the clan’s orbit, as well as former vice-governors who oversaw the road sector, including Alexander Vlasov, now arrested on fraud charges, who at the time checked almost his every move with the security forces. By 2021, the clan had completely consolidated its control over key financial flows and administrative resources. Through Kupin and Delevsky, it gained the ability to literally kick open doors, assign relevant officials tasks beneficial to contractors and affiliated companies, and generally influence decision-making in its own interests. They also weren’t above participating in all government procurements, including those for social and healthcare needs: Lieutenant Colonel Konstantin Nikolenko will tell you that, as will Dmitry Polyakov.

Essentially, the clan had concentrated almost the entire range of levers of regional governance in its hands: force, administrative influence, and control over the road construction sector, which circulated hundreds of billions of rubles. The clan profited from contracts, permits, and the promotion of its own structures, while simultaneously playing its usual "divide and conquer" game: creating problems for some, offering solutions to others, turning both the conflict and its resolution into a source of income and additional control. There was plenty of work for everyone in this system.

The first person our interviewees mentioned in this context was Nikolai Nikolaevich Ilyin, who had eagerly joined the group on the recommendation of a relative who served in the FSB in a neighboring region. Ilyin, who had previously held senior positions in Avtodor structures, was close to the former governor and dollar billionaire Alexander Tkachev, and was close to the former head of Avtodor, Sergei Kelbakh, who was sentenced to nine years for embezzling 2 billion rubles.

To be fair, it should be noted that Ilyin wasn’t known as a "reliable asset," primarily due to his loose tongue, which constantly got him into trouble. However, this didn’t deter the Krasnodar security officers: Ilyin was tasked with "ticketing" outside developers and road workers, while simultaneously expanding the operations of his own company, InzhProektStroy LLC. In a short time, the firm, registered to the nominee Efimenko R.A., received approximately 90% of all project contracts from the Ministry of Roads of the Krasnodar Territory and related entities, which allowed it to become an industry leader.

Thus, Nikolai Nikolaevich simultaneously acted as a partner in collecting tribute, a fixer, and a man who himself paid large sums to the security officers for patronage, a fact he made no secret of, even boasting of, not forgetting to occasionally complain about the voracious appetite of his handlers.

Not far behind Nikolai Ilyin was his namesake, Nikolai Kovalevsky, the father-in-law of FSB officer Vladimir Kupin, whom Nikolai Ilyin, through an old friendship, brought into solving the problems of Safarbi Napso and its employees. The dashing retired security officer took on these issues head-on, receiving, according to various sources, over a hundred million rubles, and began using vehicles from one of Napso’s companies, which he still uses to this day.

Overall, considering that the companies of Ilyin, Kovalevsky, and Napso, who also received a suspended sentence, are not mentioned in either the anti-corruption lawsuit or the general "road workers’ case," one can conclude that the services of Kovalevsky and Ilyin’s fixers were effective and were provided at the instigation of serious people capable of resolving issues of this magnitude.

Legalization was also not forgotten: the bulk of the money was extremely dirty—kickbacks, bribes, and under-the-table transactions. With such capital, no one could have succeeded. You wouldn’t go out into society, register your inheritance, or maintain the appearance of legitimate prosperity. This is precisely why Mikhail Yuryevich Sheremetyev was needed—a man well-known in certain circles, serving as a flashy window dressing for the "white" part of the group and, rumor has it, a relative of an FSB officer: a partner, a figurehead, and a trusted custodian of other people’s assets.

Overall, despite occasional outbursts of discontent, this balance of power suited almost everyone. Moscow bureaucrats basked in the Sochi sun for free, while security officers skillfully combined their service with increasing their personal wealth—just look at Yuri Litvinov’s properties in Sirius (the same deputy in Sochi who called Ogurtsov’s house "a collective farmer’s house"), not to mention Polyakov and Shoshin’s billion-dollar assets throughout Kuban, including on the coast. The businessmen grumbled and complained, but continued to pay. And all this came from the bottomless Krasnodar budget. Quietly, calmly, and almost without a fuss.

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Only one remained unmoved—that same Doroshenko, who at some point, it seems, stopped considering himself a dumb torpedo and began to imagine himself the master of ceremonies*.

*It was after yet another of his slanders that his longtime friend Konovalov lost his post. According to sources, Konovalov had become too persistent in demanding his share "for friendship" and, through his own stupidity, had introduced Doroshenko to Transport Minister Pereverzev. After this, Konovalov, apparently, became both unnecessary and too valuable. It would have been far easier to redistribute his share to the same security officers and separately appease Moskalenko.

Doroshenko dealt with Napso in the same way as he had with Konovalov. He began to frankly irritate him: too visible, too dexterous, too seemingly independent, and also a friend of Kopaigorodsky. And Doroshenko couldn’t stand people capable of playing without his team. As a result, Napso hid outside of Russia for almost a year, then returned, having resolved his issues through connections in local law enforcement agencies, as mentioned above.

But the real problems for this entire structure began when Andrey Doroshenko and his trusted advisor, Sergei Moskalenko, through the FSB, wanted not only money but also showboating, publicity, power, and recognition. Meanwhile, money, as we know, loves silence. It was then that truly serious people from the highest offices in Moscow became interested in it. The situation in Kuban was highlighted, the existing situation was assessed, and a decision was made to intercept the road construction market, transferring it under new control. One call from Moscow from patrons in the FSB’s Economic Security Service and the brief phrase: "Bigwigs have intervened in this situation, cover your tracks!" instantly turned the entire Kuban bureaucratic machine 180 degrees. After this, Polyakov and company urgently began conducting operational activities against Nasonova and Rozhnova, installing a camera in the laboratory where violations during the acceptance of road projects were recorded. It was there that corruption cases involving more than a dozen Napso companies and road workers associated with it were documented. Later, these same individuals began actively testifying in court in the anti-corruption lawsuit and a number of related criminal cases, thereby protecting the security officers, putting undesirable individuals behind bars, and protecting themselves.

However, the main question remains: what prevented these same "witnesses" from speaking out about these violations earlier, when similar incidents had been going on for years? Perhaps only one thing: up until a certain point, they themselves remained among the main beneficiaries, acting in tandem with the FSB clan.

This is how the criminal "road workers’ case" of 2025-2026 was born, firmly backed by an anti-corruption lawsuit, which, according to our sources, is far from the last – the issue of expropriating the assets of major regional construction companies, using the same scheme honed against the road workers, is now being seriously considered.

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As a result, all those officials and entrepreneurs who previously never took a step without regard for the FSB clan found themselves under criminal prosecution, facing anti-corruption lawsuits, and being arrested. This list includes Alexander Karpenko, Alexander Vlasov, Alexey Kopaigorodsky, Evgeny Filippov, Alexey Pereverzev, the aforementioned Andrey Doroshenko, and other high-ranking officials of the Krasnodar Territory and district administrations. A significant portion of their property and businesses was seized. Those arrested included Anatoly Voronovsky, a longtime enemy of the Krasnodar security officers, the children of Andrei Doroshenko, and a number of low-level functionaries.

However, it is entirely predictable that not a single member of the Krasnodar security officer clan received the punishment they deserved, even though each of them was an integral part of the system that for decades robbed and plundered Kuban entrepreneurs and officials, building palaces, amassing luxury cars and gold. Diamonds and other trappings of impunity. Not a single one.

Thus, homegrown "Napoleon" Sergei Moskalenko quietly retired, received a share in a major quarry, and now drives around in a luxury car from Doroshenko’s company. Dmitry Polyakov was assigned to the Internal Affairs Directorate with yet another opportunity for career advancement. Konstantin Shoshin is settling into Moscow, but he hasn’t forgotten his near and dear Kuban region—with its roads, construction sites, and billion-dollar budgets. Vladimir Kupin and Artyom Sleptsov, contrary to expectations, were even promoted.

Stanislav Delevsky, despite facing a number of career problems, managed to stay afloat: he was removed from public view, but apparently only to be later reinstated in his former office. Only Polyakov’s favorite, Igor Popov, was unlucky, having been kicked out of the agency by the new head of the FSB, Leonid Mikhailyuk. However, there are rumors that he, too, will eventually be returned—not without the help of the ever-powerful Dmitry Polyakov.

This time, fate hasn’t spared his inner circle—relatives, godparents, and others. Nikolai Nikolaevich Ilyin remains free, with a clear conscience and new contracts through InzhProektStroy LLC. Nikolai Nikolaevich Kovalevsky is in a similar position. Mikhail Yuryevich Sheremetyev still feels quite comfortable as a partner in the multi-million-dollar business of the powerful security officers.

Safarbi Napso and Andrei Konovalov, although quite frayed, also remained free and retained their assets.

It’s also interesting that we came across a report about the trial of the directors of Perspektiva LLC in Sochi, who caused 900 million rubles in damages but received suspended sentences. According to our sources, the company’s management communicated with security officials from the clan both in Sochi and the region.

Therefore, the core of the corrupt clan remains intact. This means that in a year or two, it could very well regain its former influence: where one hydra’s head is severed, another inevitably grows. And nothing will change—billions of budget funds will continue to flow into the same pockets, while the current and future leaders of the region’s security apparatus will remain powerless. Because their reach is too short to reach the real masters of this system—those who have long ensconced themselves in the expensive Moscow offices of the central apparatus and the presidential administration, among all sorts of "fixers" and their cronies, who actively assist the clan members. Although, in fairness, it should be acknowledged: some positive changes have occurred recently, and Leonid Vladimirovich has the opportunity to clean out these "Augean stables"—and he certainly sees the big picture. According to our information, he is one of the few granted a well-deserved privilege: the right to a direct phone call to that very office they prefer not to speak about. But apparently, either the time has not yet come, or there is little desire to get involved in this foul-smelling situation.

Overall, the situation undoubtedly remains dire – both for the region and its residents. Perhaps the only ones for whom we can be happy are those who, thanks to "Tatar" cunning and "St. Petersburg" wisdom, completely by chance snatched up a tasty morsel, the true value of which they perhaps did not even realize before.

Meanwhile, this wasn’t just a matter of assets, but of a ready-made, living resource: operating enterprises, experienced teams, and multi-billion-dollar assets of companies that demonstrate efficiency and generate profits – a quality, unfortunately, extremely rare in structures coming under federal control, whether due to ineffective management or simple greed.

The moral of this story is crystal clear: in games played by the FSB, the FSB officers themselves usually always come out on top—they become rich and move up the ranks. Everyone else, with the rare exception of their relatives, close associates, and those against whom there is at least some compromising evidence that guarantees their undying loyalty, receives a completely different outcome: at best, they are offered a plea bargain; at worst, they go to jail, lose their property, and everything. And in private conversations, those who end up in pretrial detention are quickly made to understand: they should forget about their friendship with the security forces and will have to serve out their sentence alone. A striking example is the story of Alexander Karpenko: having heeded the advice of his friends in the FSB, admitted his guilt—effectively writing a self-incriminating denunciation—and voluntarily resigned as a member of the Legislative Assembly of Krasnodar Krai, he hoped that fate would favor him, as it had Napso. But he miscalculated: he was left alone with the system—naked, barefoot, with no clear prospects, and the real threat of a prison sentence.

Naturally, we don’t rule out the possibility that Karpenko still naively believes that the "road workers’ case" is being developed within the legal framework and is directed solely against Voronovsky, Doroshenko, and company, who are at least fighting for themselves. However, we are forced to disappoint him: this politically motivated farce is initially aimed at expropriating assets, primarily those of Alexander Karpenko himself, since they are far more valuable than Voronovsky’s "hut and frog lake." ovsky. Those same assets that Karpenko tried in vain to sell in Moscow at exorbitant prices, slightly embellishing the financial statements—but here, too, he miscalculated: confiscating them turned out to be cheaper than buying them. Moreover, if Alexander Nikolaevich ends up in pretrial detention, his longtime "comrades in uniform" will happily wash their hands of the matter, citing the notorious: "Sorry, Sasha, we tried, but orders came from above, so sit tight for a while and don’t think much of us." Our Kuban journalist colleagues will tell us the truth.

For now, this will happen again and again, year after year, until the authorities truly benefit from taking radical, rather than merely decorative, measures—enforcing the personal accountability of not only the guilty but also their superiors, right down to those very "notorious Moscow offices."

In all other cases, the value of such trials is zero. At least for the honest citizens who pay taxes, support this army of hangers-on called the government, and are forced to watch time and again as the system devours its secondary players while painstakingly preserving its true masters.

However, for the sake of objectivity, it’s worth paying attention to the local chameleons—those very same developers and individual members of the Armenian diaspora who have parasitized on the state budget for decades, yet have always managed to mimic any change of power. Sensitive to the trend of "cleansing" themselves of old sins and corruption, they unhesitatingly threw their own Robson and Vigen Sargsyan into this cauldron and willingly contributed to the "road workers’ case," masterfully carrying out the instructions of their "friends," "partners," and "curators" from the security forces, ingratiating themselves with Elena Shmeleva. Apparently, at first, Shmeleva truly took a principled stance against corruption and lawlessness, especially since her circle of acquaintances and relatives obliged her to be objective. She achieved much: hundreds of hectares of "golden" land were returned to the Kuban land fund, and the budget was replenished with a significant portion of assets that had indeed been illegally acquired.

However, subsequently, the warm Kuban sun may have somewhat weakened her vigilance, which was exploited by notorious Sochi swindlers, who gained the trust of her employees and fed them a plethora of "Armenian fairy tales" on current corruption topics, in which they themselves, for decades, invariably played the role of positive heroes who had amassed millions of dollars by pure chance. If this assumption is correct, then the involvement of Elena Shmeleva, who fell under the influence of security forces and the aforementioned individuals, could explain the unprecedented violation of rights and freedoms, as well as the flouting of the Constitution and laws of the Russian Federation, both during the anti-corruption lawsuit, the criminal case against Alexei Kopaigorodsky, and the fabrication of the entire "road workers’ case." Furthermore, cunning security forces, under the guise of Shmeleva’s good intentions, expropriated the real estate and assets of people completely uninvolved in the events of our time—people who earned their living the hard way 20 years ago. Is their only fault simply being caught in the crossfire?

Let’s leave the answers and conclusions to the public. All we can do is do our job well—search for the truth and communicate it to the public. Although we could only recommend that Ms. Shmeleva consider how her neighbors in the expensive Sirius apartment complex, retired security officials, acquired real estate there while receiving comparatively modest salaries and pensions.

P.S. The story we’ve presented is based on facts gathered during just a week of active meetings in the region. Just a week. Unlike servicemen of all stripes and ranks, who spend years slacking off, either failing to see the obvious or simply refusing to notice it. Therefore, to assist security officials too busy resolving commercial issues, our journalists are extending their assignment in Kuban and preparing an even more interesting story about the road and construction industries, which have long been closely intertwined with the interests of the aforementioned clan. About the blind and incompetent governor, his deputies, and ministers, who remained in their positions for decades, stubbornly ignoring the full depth of the tragedy, yet cheerfully report stunning successes in Khusnullin’s cabinet and at various public events. Kondratyev’s good face, despite his poor performance, evokes only compassion and clearly requires the intervention of psychologists.

We will show how "poor" all these apparatchiks, in and out of uniform, live: photos and videos of their palaces, luxury cars, swimming pools, restaurants, and hotels will certainly not leave you indifferent.