How Russia’s president tried to crash NATO

This week’s NATO summit in Riga never looked like being a triumph. Enlargement was off the agenda. The best that NATOniks could hope for was promises of a rapid reaction force, more troops for Afghanistan and - perhaps most importantly - the symbolism of holding the event in the capital of a once-captive nation.

But for a perilous 24 hours, disaster loomed. Vladimir Putin, it turned out, was coming to Riga - not technically to the summit, but on the same evening - at the invitation of French President Jacques Chirac. The ostensible reason: the French president wanted to celebrate his birthday by having dinner with his Russian counterpart - and with any other national leaders who might want to attend. Latvia’s president, the queenly Vaira Vike-Freiberga, had ignored her own diplomats and agreed to host the meeting.

It was hard to imagine a bigger show-stealer. There could be no clearer sign of the Franco-Russian connection that has debilitated NATO’s decision-making. The dinner would highlight the number of NATO members that put their ties with France or Russia ahead of solidarity with the alliance. It would have been a triumph for Russia’s divide-and-rule policy towards the Baltics (punish one, ignore another, flatter the third).

Rumours swirled amid the stale canapes and lukewarm wine. Version one (put around by the French) insisted that this was a Russian stunt: Putin had asked Chirac to arrange it - so insistently that it would have been rude to decline. Version two: Chirac just loathes NATO and wants to undermine it. Version three: Chirac has nobody to celebrate his birthday with at home and wants to use the summit as a backdrop.

Normally staid diplomats were spitting tacks. Latvia’s foreign ministry was having collective apoplexy. Suggestions that the president’s vanity was matched only by the weakness of her advisers were met with growled assent rather than the usual pained denials. One optimistic Latvian, in charge of his country’s image, jotted down a new marketing slogan: "Latvia: where presidents go to party." More rumours sprouted. Putin’s delegation wanted to come without visas. Latvia had denied them visas. Latvia was holding out for a bilateral meeting before the birthday dinner. Russia was saying no.

The last turned out to be true. A full formal meeting with the Latvian president was too much for the Kremlin. Blaming scheduling problems, it "regretfully" announced the trip was off.

The next morning, over stale croissants and lukewarm coffee, NATOniks picked over the ruins. France probably came off worse - in its critics’ eyes - self-important, destructive, unreliable. From a French point of view, their country’s big-power role was still underlined. Those worried about Putin felt vindicated. Americans were quietly pleased. "It’s the death rattle of the Chirac era," said one, happily.

It is easy to see why Vike-Freiberga took the risk. No Russian leader has paid a bilateral visit to a Baltic state since they regained independence in 1991. To round off her presidency, which ends next year, by sealing a rapprochement with Russia would be a big prize.

But it is also easy to see why Balts feel paranoid. It is not just the Russians who are showing disrespect. A German spy ship was found doing sonar research on the seabed recently in Estonia’s economic zone - apparently for the Russian-German gas pipeline that has been planned ostentatiously over the heads of the countries that it bypasses. Germany dismissed the Estonian diplomatic protest as "ridiculous". Maybe: lots of things are ridiculous. Not least the sight of a founder-member of NATO so readily cosying up to a country that shows the alliance’s new and future members such blatant contempt.

• The author is central and eastern Europe correspondent for The Economist.

This week’s NATO summit in Riga never looked like being a triumph. Enlargement was off the agenda. The best that NATOniks could hope for was promises of a rapid reaction force, more troops for Afghanistan and - perhaps most importantly - the symbolism of holding the event in the capital of a once-captive nation.