By Jeremy Page

March 22 2004

The rebellious Adzharian leader had our correspondent snatched from the airport for a long-awaited interview.

I WAS cursing Aslan Abashidze when the airport security guard called me over. The eccentric leader of Adzharia, a rebellious region on Georgia’s Black Sea coast, had kept me waiting for two days for an interview and I had had enough. I had packed my bag and was standing at the departure gate, about to board the aircraft back to Moscow.

The guard was insistent. I should go back into Batumi, Adzharia’s capital, and wait at the Marseille restaurant on the waterfront. I pointed out that my bag was on the aircraft and my visa had been stamped. “No problem,” he said. “The flight will wait.”

Delaying a flight means nothing to Mr Abashidze, who has ruled Adzharia as his personal fiefdom since 1991. Last week he even refused to allow Mikhail Saakashvili, the Georgian President, to enter his domain, sparking a crisis that almost spilled over into civil war.

The guard bundled me into a car and we careered along pot-holed streets back to the centre of the port, established in 1883 by Ludwig Nobel to ship Azeri oil to the West. Mr Abashidze’s aides were waiting at the Marseille with several Russian reporters and a Georgian feast: kebabs, aubergine with walnuts, white cheese and young wine. Then, as the coffee arrived, word came that Mr Abashidze would see us.

A phalanx of bodyguards greeted us at his residence, a palatial building of red stone and mirrored windows on the central square. Money appears to be no object for Mr Abashidze, although his subjects live in deep poverty.

A few days earlier I had been there as Mr Saakashvili, finally allowed to enter Adzharia, held crisis talks with Mr Abashidze to prevent civil war. Outside, thousands of Adzharians chanted their leader’s nickname, “Babu! (Grandfather!)”, guarded by hundreds of militia in black balaclavas, all with AK47s.

The talks ended in compromise. Mr Saakashvili lifted an economic blockade and Mr Abashidze agreed to allow free campaigning for parliamentary elections on March 28. Mr Saakashvili, backed by Washington, hopes that the election will help to get rid of the Adzharian leader. Mr Abashidze, 65, who has close links with Moscow, will not give up without a fight.

As we prepared to meet Mr Abashidze, a dozen armed militiamen were still there. A couple of black Hummers were parked outside. No tape- recorders or cameras, Mr Abashidze’s bodyguards said. After ten assassination attempts, he takes no chances.

Finally, we were shown up a white marble staircase into a hall with parquet flooring, crystal chandeliers and golden cornices. At the end was a huge flat-screen television, in the middle a circle of white leather armchairs.

And there he was, all 5ft 4in of him, immaculately dressed in a black suit, white shirt and silvery grey tie, his white hair combed back over his ears. He offered us a glass of wine, then began to talk about the many powerful friends who had sent him messages of support.

He does, indeed, have powerful friends. Yuri Luzhkov, the Mayor of Moscow, flew to Batumi in the middle of the crisis to offer his backing. Jan Bonde Nielsen, the Danish tycoon who bought Wembley Stadium in the 1980s and now owns the Batumi oil terminal, offered to be a mediator.

In 1998, Hillary Clinton’s brother, Hugh, was planning a deal with Mr Abashidze to buy $118 million of hazelnuts, until the White House scotched it. With such friends, I asked, why did he need so many guns around him? “What did you think this was, a beach holiday?” he retorted, suddenly agitated. President Saakashvili had been planning to drop paratroops into the centre of Batumi, he said. They were waiting to attack from ships offshore. George Soros and the Liberty Institute were plotting to overthrow him. “They want to take the heart and the brain to control the soul,” he said. “Everything ended well for now. For now.”

But enough of politics. He wanted to talk about Batumi’s shipbuilding industry. The flat-screen television flicked on and giant speakers pumped out dance music. It was a promotional video for the Tornado 1, a speedboat with a mounted machinegun and a white leather cocktail bar below deck. “There is only one of these in the world,” Mr Abashidze said proudly. “I designed the interior myself. I do that kind of thing.” Next up was the Black Shark, a jet-black assault dinghy.

“Am I allowed to show them that?” asked a worried aide. “Of course!” Mr Abashidze bellowed.

Mr Abashidze, a descendant of the dynasty of Begs who ruled Adzharia for the Ottoman sultans from 1463 to 1878, sees himself as the rightful ruler of his 400,000 people. But he seems to aspire to something even greater. He has hosted tennis tournaments to which the world’s top players are invited.

He has a television station that broadcasts news in six languages across Europe, Central Asia and North Africa. He even has a star named after him. But his real passion, he says, is opera. He sponsors the world’s first children’s opera group and hosts regular festivals at the huge opera house that he built in the city centre. “I love Othello, but Verdi is closer to my heart,” he told me. I wanted to ask him why, but it was already time to leave.

With the sun setting over the Black Sea, we were whisked back to the airport, where the aircraft had been delayed for five hours. Mr Abashidze had not quite finished, however.

As we boarded, we found four bottles of Georgian wine on each of our seats. “From the wine cellars of Aslan Abashidze,” the label read. “ONLY FOR FRIENDS.”