Georgi Markov, London, September 1978

Assassinations like the one carried out in London on 1 November 2006 demand long and meticulous preparation. Usually, after the operation is initiated – by the service itself or from above¹ – the officer in charge is given the task of devising an operational plan that among other things includes a proposed cast of characters and their travel documents, the weapon, the location, the exact timing and the post-operational cover-up. There is also an auxiliary, reserve scenario in case something unexpected happens. The plan is then reported to the chief of the department – in the Litvinenko case it was surely Department 8 of Directorate S (Illegals)² of the SVR, responsible for assassinations and subversion on foreign soil, from there to the head of the directorate or his deputy, then to the chief of the service, and then to the president (after Putin left the Kremlin the prime minister would be included and the president might not be told).

According to Russian law, the latest amendments to which were approved by the State Duma (Russian parliament) in July 2006, the president is the sole authority responsible for approving such a plan. To ask whether Putin was informed about a planned assassination in London is the same as asking whether President Bush was informed about plans to invade Iraq. The commander-in-chief must be informed. After that the operational plan is returned with any corrections or amendments to the senior officer in charge of the operation and preparations begin.

Here is what KGB General Oleg Danilovich Kalugin, the former head of Directorate K (foreign counter-intelligence), said about one such assassination:

In all my years in the KGB I have only once been involved in what we call in the business a ‘wet job’ – an assassination. It occurred in 1978, and though I didn’t have a pivotal role in the killing, I nevertheless did not try to talk my superiors out of the plot to kill the Bulgarian dissident Georgi Markov.

The case first came to my attention in early 1978. [Vladimir] Kryuchkov, our intelligence chief, had just received an urgent cable from General Stoyanov, the Bulgarian minister of the interior. The Bulgarian had a blunt request: he wanted the KGB’s help in carrying out President Zhivkov’s express order to liquidate Markov. Unquestionably, the KGB chairman, Yuri Andropov, had to approve the plan.

I had heard about Markov from my colleagues in Bulgarian intelligence. He was a former close associate of Zhivkov’s who had turned against Communists, fled to England, and was beaming back strong criticism of the regime to Bulgaria through his position with the Bulgarian radio service of the BBC. During my most recent visit to Bulgaria, my colleagues there had several times mentioned what a nuisance Markov had become.

‘He lives in London and slanders Comrade Zhivkov,’ one Bulgarian intelligence officer told me. ‘Our people are very unhappy about him.’

Over the next half a year, using the ‘talents’ of KGB scientists schooled in the art of poisoning and other methods of murder, we and the Bulgarians stumbled toward the assassination of Markov. It was a wrenching trial-and-error process, right out of the pages of the blackest comedy. But in the end, even the Soviets and the Bulgarians couldn’t screw it up: we got our man.³

Kalugin went on to describe the steps taken. His directorate, on orders from KGB Chairman Kryuchkov, turned to the KGB’s Operational and Technical Directorate (OTU), which had a laboratory designated as Laboratory 12. Its job was to invent new ways of killing people without leaving a trace of the real cause of death. ‘The more it looked like a heart attack the better.’

Kalugin’s deputy responsible for ‘special actions’ abroad, Sergei Golubev, accompanied by his assistant Yuri Surov flew to Sofia with the lab’s recommendations. They proposed to General Vasil Kotsev, chief of Bulgarian intelligence, three possibilities: poisoned jelly that could be applied to the victim’s skin, poisoning his food or drink, or shooting him with a poisoned pellet. The latter course was selected.

In Markov’s case, according to the experts from the British Chemical and Microbiological Establishment at Porton Down in Wilshire assisted by their CIA colleagues (and confirmed by Kalugin thirteen years later), the poison was ricin, an exceedingly lethal derivative of the castor oil plant.

Ricin had never before been used for murder in Britain and the toxicologists did not know exactly what its effects would be on a human being. After experimenting the Porton Down specialists concluded that just an ounce of ricin could kill 90,000 people. Furthermore, because the symptoms take a long time to develop, the murderer could be far away before suspicions would be aroused.⁴

Golubev took the ricin pellets to Sofia. One was shot into a horse, which died. The Bulgarians then decided to try it out on a human being. The unfortunate victim was a Bulgarian prisoner who had been sentenced to death. An officer from the Bulgarian Interior Ministry approached the prisoner with an umbrella, the tip of which skilled KGB craftsmen had converted into a gun that would silently shoot the ricin pellet into its victim. The officer shot the poor prisoner with the umbrella, and the fellow yelped as if stung by a bee. Realising that his death sentence had just been carried out in a most unusual manner, the prisoner became hysterical – but the poison failed to release from the pellet, and the prisoner remained alive.

Golubev returned to Moscow with this disconcerting news and the KGB’s poison factory went back to experimenting, finally assuring Golubev and the Bulgarians that the pellets would work.⁵ (Seven years later, in 1985, Golubev was to supervise the alleged drugging of Gordievsky almost certainly with a psychotropic drug known in the trade as SP-17 from the same secret laboratory in an unsuccessful attempt to get him to confess.)

Since his defection in 1969, Markov had been declared an enemy of the state. They removed his books from libraries, even scratched his name from films. Markov retaliated by writing scripts for Radio Free Europe and running programmes on the BBC denouncing the authoritarian regime. He publicly mocked Zhivkov, calling him a minor dictator with a second-rate sense of humour.

Soon he began to receive ominous calls from Bulgaria threatening that he would be punished for treachery. A very serious warning came from Munich: the caller told Markov that a hit was already prepared.

On 28 August 1978, ten days before the attempt on Georgi Markov’s life, the Bulgarians tested the weapon on another victim. Vladimir Kostov was a former colonel of the KDS (the Bulgarian equivalent of the KGB) who had operated in Paris under the guise of a journalist, defected and settled in France. One clear sunny day Kostov was standing on an escalator slowly moving him up from the Paris Métro just below the Arc de Triomphe, when he felt a sting in his back and noticed a man with an umbrella running away. Fortunately, Kostov did not feel anything further and carried on his way.

Copying the operational methods of their big brothers in the KGB, Bulgarian intelligence had at least two aims in murdering Kostov: to get rid of a defector from their own ranks who was under a death sentence and to test the gun and the poison in a real-life situation. The attempt failed for the simple reason that Kostov was wearing such a heavy sweater that the pellet did not penetrate deep enough into his body. He was saved because the poison did not reach his blood stream. Almost miraculously, after forty-eight hours of suffering, Kostov recovered. But he did not forget the episode.

Thursday, 7 September 1978 (the fifty-seventh birthday of the Bulgarian communist dictator Todor Zhivkov, who had so often been the target of Georgi Markov’s criticism), 1:30 p.m. At the south end of Waterloo Bridge, Georgi Markov was approaching a bus stop. Crowds of office workers jostled him as they streamed past, and he gazed absent-mindedly across the River Thames. Suddenly he felt a sharp pain on the back of his right thigh. Turning quickly he saw a man bending down to pick up a dropped umbrella. Tm sorry/the man said in a strong foreign accent. A second later, a taxi pulled up, the man jumped inside and disappeared.⁶

As he was dying in St George’s Hospital in Balham on 11 September, Markov told Bernard Riley, the doctor on duty who admitted him there three days earlier, about the incident but – exactly as in the Litvinenko case – the doctors did not suspect an assassination and so failed to determine the cause of Markovs deteriorating condition.

‘He was complaining of nausea and vomiting,’ said Dr Riley in an interview with a Windfall Films team producing a TV documentary on the case, ‘and was running a high temperature but it all looked like an ordinary fever.’

Within hours, however, his condition deteriorated. At 10:40 a.m. on 11 September 1978 Markov was pronounced dead.

It was shocking news for the whole Bulgarian exile community in London. Very few believed that he died of ‘natural causes’ as officially announced, and when the police discovered that Markov was a Soviet bloc defector, they opened an investigation.

The Markov story hit the front pages of every newspaper in Britain and all over Europe, but not in Bulgaria where the media maintained an unyielding silence. His portraits appeared on all major television channels. Titles like ‘Death of a Dissident’, ‘Bulgarian Labyrinth’ and ‘Poison Brolly Riddle’ covered many newsstands.

But the police did not have much to work with: no apparent motive, no weapon and only a corpse with no signs of a violent death. The autopsy at Wandsworth Public Mortuary revealed nothing sinister, so a fragment of tissue at the puncture mark was transported to the special laboratory at Porton Down. Christopher Green, a CIA chemical weapons specialist, joined the British team. They found a tiny pellet made of platinum-iridium alloy with two holes that could only be detected with the help of an electronic microscope. Alas, the holes were empty. But this already offered an answer to the riddle, because it was obvious that such highly sophisticated weapon could have only been manufactured in the USSR.

Then there was a stroke of luck.

When he heard about the death of his friend, Vladimir Kostov alerted the French authorities and they in turn Scotland Yard. French doctors cut out a piece of tissue from Rostov’s back and police officers brought it to London. Here Porton Down specialists found and extracted a similar still-intact ricin pellet. As in the Markov case, the ricin had decomposed but it took only a matter of days to find the correct answer, because very few poisons in such miniscule quantities produce such deadly effects.

In 1992 General Vladimir Todorov, a former Bulgarian intelligence chief and a graduate of the KGB Andropov Institute (who had succeeded General Vasil Kotsev after the latter’s mysterious death in 1986) fled to Moscow allegedly taking with him all the files on Markov. When he returned to Sofia he was arrested and sentenced to sixteen months in jail for destroying ten volumes of material relating to the Markov assassination. He spent only six months in a privileged Darzhavna Sigurnost (state security) prison and after his release became a member of the powerful organisation of veterans of the DS. When the Litvinenko operation was unfolding in London, he was still alive.

General Stoyan Savov, the deputy interior minister who ordered the murder, killed himself before facing trial over the cover-up of the assassination.

After the fall of Zhivkov’s regime in 1989 a stack of the special umbrellas was found in the interior ministry, according to The Times. After the collapse of the Soviet Union two years later, H. Keith Melton, an intelligence historian and specialist in clandestine devices and equipment, managed to obtain a replica of the murder umbrella from KGB veterans who, at that time, were pretending friendship with their former enemies. According to Melton the umbrella had been purchased in Washington, DC by the KGB and modified in Moscow at the secret facility of its technical directorate.

Almost thirty years after Georgi Markov’s death, in April 2007, I received an email from Max Fisher of Windfall Films and on Friday, 27 April, we met at Claridge’s to discuss the Litvinenko case and possible future collaboration. By this time I was aware that the studio had made a documentary entitled ‘Revealed: The Umbrella Assassin’ that was originally broadcast in London on 17 May 2006, less than five months before Sasha was poisoned. I was anxious to get a copy and Max was kind enough to bring me one.

It is a good film. Jack Hamilton, the investigative journalist and the studio team had pursued all possible leads to find a suspect. They were assisted by two published accounts: one by Vladimir Bereanu and Kalin Todorov entitled The Umbrella Murder (1994), and another by Hristo Hristov that came out in Sofia in 2005 under the title Ubiite ‘Skitnik’ (‘To Kill a tramp‘), TRAMP was Markov’s codename in the KDS.

The researchers discovered that the suspect’s name was Francesco Gullino, a Dane of Italian origin. After his recruitment in Bulgaria Gullino had been set up in Copenhagen under cover as an antique dealer. It is known that he travelled to Europe in an Austrian-registered caravan, which showed (not for the first or last time) that the KGB station in Vienna was in the murder game. Allegedly, Gullino came to Britain to ‘neutralise’ – Moscow’s term would be to ‘liquidate’ – Markov on the orders of the Bulgarian secret service.

Working under the codename PICCADILLY, he flew to Britain three times in 1977 and 1978. On 7 September he was certainly in London, and left the British capital for Rome the day after Markov was jabbed by the umbrella-cum-pneumatic weapon. On 9 September in Rome Gullino met his Bulgarian handler.

The Bulgarian files say that he was their only agent in London at the time, but it was impossible that Gullino was operating alone. First of all, using only a photo of Markov provided by the DS he could easily have made a mistake and killed the wrong person, so somebody was needed who knew Markov well and could ‘point a finger’ at him. Second, even if an assassin acts alone there is always a watcher from the service secretly present on the scene to observe and register every movement and later to write a detailed report. There are rules in the KGB that are never broken. Finally, somebody has to remove the killer from the crime scene. It was no coincidence that a taxi appeared at that spot at that moment.

Indeed, according to the British security service, there was surely someone planted in the BBC to watch Markov and other dissident exiles. The best candidate for this role was another Bulgarian broadcaster, Vladimir Simeonov.

Simeonov, or rather Vladimir Bobchev, as was his real name, appeared in Britain in 1971. He was not much liked by his BBC staff colleagues, who suspected him of reporting on them. In the early hours of 1 October 1978, twenty days after Markov’s death, Simeonov took a cab from the Bush House to his home after a night shift. The driver later revealed that his passenger had been very upset and even told him his life story while they crossed the city. Several hours later Simeonov was found dead.

As this was the second death of a Bulgarian in the UK within a month, the Scotland Yard Anti-Terrorist Branch under the leadership of Commander Jim Neville was immediately involved. But after extensive research, the Queen’s Road Coroner’s Court pronounced Simeonov’s death accidental. He had fallen down the stairs and suffocated in his own blood, they said.

This was an unlikely explanation for the sudden death of a healthy 30-year-old man under these particular circumstances. Bulgarian investigative reporters discovered that two glasses were found in the sink without any fingerprints. Traces of a bottle were identified on the table – Simeonov was a teetotaller. And he was found dead just two days after having been questioned by Scotland Yard detectives.

Theo Lirkov, another broadcaster who worked with Markov and whom the latter had asked to examine the spot where he had been stung on the way to the BBC, claimed that a week before Markov’s murder Simeonov had been noticeably nervous. When he found out that Markov had been assassinated, he was visibly shocked and began to tremble.⁷ Although forensic experts found no poison in Simeonov’s body, their effort was useless because they had no idea what they should have been looking for. Had it not been for pure chance, neither Markov’s nor Litvinenko’s murders would ever have been investigated. Both cases are still open.

As for the ‘watcher’ who must have been near the scene of the crime, the two Bulgarian reporters probably spotted the right person. They called him ‘Woodpecker’ and erroneously suspected he was the assassin. Their suspicion stemmed from the fact that MI5 had routinely photographed a Bulgarian diplomat at Heathrow on the day of Markov’s murder but the name in his passport appeared to be different from the name in the Registry. The journalists went to meet the diplomat, whose initials were T.S., in Sofia and confronted him with several inquisitive questions, after which they stopped challenging him. Only later did they learn that T.S. had been quickly promoted from Third Secretary to Ambassador in a European country just a year after the London operation. That was quite unprecedented and could only be an award for some special services rendered. Whatever his function, any Bulgarian diplomat in London at the time was certainly either a staff officer or a co-optee of Bulgarian foreign intelligence.

As far as I know, the cabbie who conveniently picked up the killer right after the hit has never been found. As for his identity the police came up with an absolute blank.

An interesting episode in the Markov saga took place in Denmark in 1993. On 5 February Francesco Gullino was briefly detained in Copenhagen where British and Danish detectives questioned and fingerprinted him. Christopher Bird and David Kemp representing Scotland Yard together with Bogdan Karayotov, the Bulgarian investigator, acting in concert with their colleagues from the Danish Security and Intelligence Service known as PET produced documents incriminating Gullino as a Bulgarian spy. He admitted signing a declaration of allegiance to DS in 1972, but said he had no connection with the Markov killing. In Copenhagen several false passports were produced as well as receipts for cash paid by the Bulgarian authorities to agent Piccadilly. It was shown that around the time of the Markov murder, Gullino was in London and had received a payment of £2,000. In fact, Gullino had continued to receive payments from his spymasters until 1990, that is, after the collapse of the Communist regime in Bulgaria. This should have roused the suspicion of his interrogators but as it was Scotland Yard who investigated the case, and not MI5, the possible Russian connection was not pursued. Gullino was later released because Denmark had no case against him. According to Anthony Georgieff, who conducted a brilliant journalistic investigation, a few days after the interrogation Gullino left his house in a Copenhagen suburb and the country altogether. He left a forwarding address in Budapest with the Public Registration Office. His home later went into receivership.

It was eventually learned that Gullino actually lived in Karlovy Vary and only used the Hungarian address as a mail drop. In 2006 he was seen in Denmark and, according to witnesses, visited Copenhagen quite regularly.

Gullino’s possible Russian ties have never been investigated.

It is quite possible that Gullino continues to ‘do business’ for his Moscow bosses and business is now the name of the Russian spy game, taking the place of politically motivated Soviet espionage. In the twenty-first century it is called private banking, stock market operations, terrorism, international drug trafficking and illegal arms sales using countries like Belarus. General Vladilen Fyodorov, former KGB station chief in Bulgaria, explained to a curious reporter that Russian foreign intelligence agents and executives have successfully gone into private business throughout Eastern Europe. The general himself headed the Association of Foreign Intelligence Veterans in Russia that ran its own bank to ‘protect the deposits of colleagues working abroad from inflation’.

During his research Anthony Georgieff came into the possession of two Bulgarian State Orders bestowing high awards upon fifteen individuals, fourteen Bulgarian senior security officers and a Soviet. The orders, marked ‘confidential’, were signed personally by Todor Zhivkov, and were given for ‘alacrity, professionalism and the interception of the activities of persons serving a foreign intelligence and of stopping the anti-state activities of Bulgarian citizens’. The originals have disappeared from the Bulgarian State Archives.

Incidentally, by 1995 the Scotland Yard had compiled a list of fifteen people whom they wanted to investigate in connection with the Markov murder. According to Baroness Linda Chalker, Minister of State for Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs at the time, all of these people were KGB agents.

Ten years later a Scotland Yard spokeswoman said on 5 June 2005 that the particularly long and complex investigation’ into the murder remained open and they were keen to bring the killer to justice, although she declined to comment on the apparent identification of one of their most elusive targets.

On 19 December 2006 Dr Julian Lewis, Conservative MP for New Forest East, raised the Markov problem in the House of Commons and asked questions about Gullino. Unfortunately, the answer given by Tony McNulty, Labour MP and Minister of State at the Home Office, was vague and inconclusive.

Returning to Bulgaria shortly after the Markov affair, Kalugin met Minister for Internal Affairs Dimitar Stoyanov, who gave him an expensive Browning hunting rifle with a brass plaque on the stock that read: ‘From Minister Stoyanov to General Kalugin.’ Though Stoyanov did not say why he had given the gun to him, Kalugin understood that it was a sign of appreciation for the help KGB rendered his agency in ‘physically removing’ Markov. Every time Kalugin looked at the rifle he was reminded of the Markov affair, and eventually he stuck it in a closet. Several years later he pulled the plaque off the stock and, with great relief, sold the gun. He is now a US citizen, and he still has the plaque.

In the autumn of 1993 Kalugin was invited to London to participate in a BBC Panorama programme about British Intelligence. Upon his arrival on 30 October, Scotland Yard Anti-Terrorist Branch officers arrested the former KGB general at Heathrow on charges of conspiracy to commit murder. In the interrogation room Kalugin met Christopher Bird. The superintendent produced a copy of the Mail on Sunday with Kalugin’s interview under the title I ORGANIZED THE ASSASSINATION OF GEORGI MARKOV. Several days later after some panic and the personal intervention of the Russian Ambassador, Kalugin was released and told that he was free to leave the UK. For him, the Markov case was closed.

Markov’s grave can be found in a small churchyard at Whitchurch Canonicorum in Dorset. His wife, Annabelle Dilk, and their daughter Alexandra survived him. Bulgarian authorities, according to several press reports, have decided to bypass the thirty-year statute of limitation on the Markov murder case, allowing the investigation to remain open.