Rico Krieger: Mystery of German man sentenced to death in Belarus

A German man sentenced to death in Belarus for terrorism offences has appeared in a staged interview on state television in which he appeared to confess to planting explosives near railway tracks.

There’s no direct evidence of that in the 16-minute video that shows Rico Krieger handcuffed and filmed through the metal bars of a strangely clean, empty cell.

He claims he was acting on instructions from Ukraine but has not presented any evidence.

Krieger is then shown crying as he pleads with the German government for help “before it’s too late.”

He is believed to be the first Westerner to be sentenced to death by firing squad in Belarus.

The emotive, crudely produced video, aired on state television, is seen as part of a campaign to increase pressure on German authorities in talks that some say may be focused on a possible prisoner swap.

According to state media, Rico Krieger has not appealed his sentence, highly unusual for someone on death row.

“I’m very surprised,” said Andrey Parda, a Belarusian anti-death penalty campaigner. “I don’t know the situation, so I can only speculate, but maybe there were promises that talks are underway and that there might be some kind of exchange.”

The unprecedented nature of the case has sparked speculation about links to efforts by Russia, a close ally of Belarus, to free an FSB hitman imprisoned in Germany for the murder of a Chechen Georgian who fought against Russia in Berlin in 2019.

A deputy spokesman for the German foreign ministry declined to comment on the rumors, and noted that Belarus has a history of filming fake interviews with prisoners, including opposition activists who were forced to confess in order to be released.

The ministry told the BBC it was working “intensively” with Belarusian authorities on behalf of “those involved” in the case, but declined to provide further details, citing privacy reasons.

The committee condemned the death penalty as a “cruel and inhuman punishment.”

In Minsk last week, a foreign ministry spokesman confirmed that the German nationals had been convicted of “terrorist acts” and “mercenary activities.”

Anatoly Glaz added that “several options” had been proposed to Berlin and “discussions” were underway.

Rico Krieger’s profile on the LinkedIn platform includes a job application in the United States posted last year.

There, he described himself as a 29-year-old Red Cross paramedic from Berlin who had previously worked as a security guard at the U.S. Embassy.

He mentioned plans to emigrate to the United States and said he had applied for a passport.

A State Department spokesman confirmed to the BBC that Krieger worked for Pond Security, a company that provides security services to US facilities in Germany, between 2015 and 2016. The company itself declined to comment, citing “diplomatic efforts” and privacy concerns.

The German Red Cross also confirmed that Rico Krieger had “previously” worked for its “district association”. A spokesman noted his “great concerns” but added that the Red Cross had been instructed not to comment.

There are few irrefutable facts in this story.

Belarusian authorities have either not responded or have refused to even confirm the exact charges, instead saying nothing.

That may be at least partly due to political sensitivities, but it is also standard practice in death penalty cases, which are highly secret in the authoritarian state.

“We won’t give you any information,” Vladimir Golbach, the lawyer who represented Krieger in court, told me by phone, before adding: “Just watch Belarusian state television. It’s all there.”

Rico Krieger’s trial appears to have ended in June, but state media has been silent on the case for weeks, and many of the independent journalists are now in exile or imprisoned.

But now it seems that loyal state reporters have been informed and given the order to make a fuss.

State television reporter Ludmila Gradkaya reported on Monday that Krieger was found guilty of six charges, including terrorism and wilful damage to communication lines.

Citing court documents, which the BBC could not access, she claims he volunteered to join the Kalinovsky Regiment, which was set up by Belarusians to fight in Ukraine and is designated a “terrorist group” in Belarus.

The journalists claim that Krieger was following instructions from the regiment and Ukraine’s SBU security service as a sort of induction procedure, including on planting the explosives.

The SBU declined to comment, but a representative from the Kalinovsky Regiment told me only that “he is not our soldier.”

When Belarusian state television reported on its own case, it labelled the footage as a “confession” of a “German terrorist” but offered no proof of a link to the regiment.

No communication with the Kalinovsky regiment was confirmed.

Instead, screenshots of encrypted emails appeared, claiming that Krieger was seeking to enlist in other foreign military units in Ukraine, including one purportedly to be addressed to the II International Corps, though a spokesman there said the address was fake.

“Maybe it was made specifically for fishing. [sic] They call it a ‘scam,'” he wrote.

There are a number of other odd things about this case.

I have never heard of foreign volunteers in Ukraine being required to take “tests” as part of their recruitment, much less something as dangerous as planting a bomb in Belarus.

There are hardly any Western tourists in the country these days, and Rico Krieger never intended to blend into the background.

In a propaganda film he claims he was motivated by the large sums he was offered to fight in Ukraine, but he later said his monthly salary was only around 2,000 euros (£1,680), less than he was being paid in Germany.

While Krieger writes in fluent English on LinkedIn, the messages written to him in the film are largely illiterate. “I can’t find the address you gave me,” one message reads.

And at one point, the film shows a photo from Krieger’s LinkedIn account, but it has been doctored to include a Ukrainian flag in the background for added impact.

Lyudmila Gradkaya’s account coincides with Krieger’s “confession” in front of state television cameras, in which he said he had been in Ukraine photographing military installations and railway tracks for his handlers, before being led to a backpack hidden in long grass.

He was told to carry it to the train station in Azyalishcha, east of Minsk, and place it beside the tracks. Later that evening an explosion occurred, but no one was killed or injured.

Krieger was arrested the next day.

Reporters quote his statement at the time of his arrest and refer to his cell phone data and accounts of witnesses, including a taxi driver, but no independent information has been provided about any evidence.

Security camera footage does exist of Krieger arriving at Minsk airport last October, showing the German looking smiling and visibly relaxed at passport control. He was traveling alone and had only carry-on luggage.

However, no security camera footage has been released showing any explosives or suspicious behaviour.

It simply shows Krieger entering Minsk’s central train station and then, in broad daylight, standing on the platform of some provincial station.

The timing of this incident appears to be significant.

The “furor” comes on the heels of the conviction of American journalist Evan Gershkovich on espionage charges in Russia, which his friends and employers have strongly denounced as false. Gershkovich was sentenced to 16 years in prison.

President Vladimir Putin has suggested in the past that he would consider swapping Gershkovich or someone else for Vadim Krasikov, an FSB assassin imprisoned in Germany, but months have passed and no deal has been reached.

So will Belarusian President Alexander Lukashenko come to his rescue with Germany as a bargaining chip?

The propaganda film is clearly full of threats, with a doom-mongering voiceover and scenes of threatening behaviour from men in balaclavas and carrying batons.

At the center of it all is a man begging for his life.

A tearful Rico Krieger said he had made “the worst mistake” he’d ever made and now felt “totally abandoned” by the government. His words sounded scripted but the emotions were raw.

“His only chance now is to ask for a pardon and get the president to change his death sentence to life imprisonment,” said activist Andrei Parda.

“We know of cases where political mechanisms, rather than legal mechanisms, have worked. Maybe that could work here too.”