The Office of the Prosecutor General of the Russian Federation is at number 15A Bolshaya Dmitrovka, a sharply ascending street that runs from the back of the Bolshoi Theatre. On the morning I was due there, temperatures had plummeted to—20°C and walking up the sloping ice-covered pavement I found it a struggle to stay upright. The high building set back behind a courtyard planted with tall fir trees is visible from a distance but the street entrance is small, an anonymous-looking wooden door in a blank wall.
The prosecutor's office is a powerful institution in Russia, combining oversight of policing, investigation and prosecution. According to its charter it has ultimate responsibility for ‘bodies that conduct detective and search activity, inquiry and pre-trial investigation'; it oversees the ‘interests of a citizen or of the State in court cases determined by law'; and it carries out ‘prosecution in court on behalf of the State’. It thus partly performs the roles of both Scotland Yard and the British Crown Prosecution Service. This is where the Metropolitan Police's finest had come just weeks before, seeking the cooperation of Prosecutor General Yuri Chaika and looking for clues in the Litvinenko case. I was determined to follow their lead.
As in the Kremlin, my reception was warm and friendly. Two young detectives, Sasha and Kolya, took me through the usual security and a lengthy examination of my documents before walking me to the other side of the tree-lined courtyard and upstairs to a cosy, overheated second-floor office. The first surprise of the day was that the person who had been given the task of responding to my inquiries was not some grizzled old policeman but an attractive woman in her mid-thirties who introduced herself as Marina Grid-neva, senior legal counsel and head of Yuri Chaika's information division. Before getting down to business she introduced another detective who would be sitting in on our conversation and together they produced a teapot and a large sponge cake topped with apricot jam. It was, explained Marina, home-made and she was sure I would like it. With a cup of a very unusual, aromatic tea, I ate two slices. The charm offensive seemed genuine and they laughed when I said journalists would certainly not get similar treatment from Scotland Yard.
But hospitality did not mean they were going to answer my questions. All my inquiries about the possibility of FSB involvement in Litvinenko's murder were met with a steely ‘That is part of an ongoing investigation so we cannot comment.’
After twenty minutes we seemed to be getting nowhere. I decided to be a little provocative and quoted them Boris Berezovsky's assessment of the Russian prosecutor's office, their office, as ‘an absolutely criminal, gangster organization that serves as an instrument of suppressing people and which has essentially the same mentality as Putin and the others sitting in the Kremlin’. But they were prepared for that approach too.
Without batting an eyelid, they replied calmly and evenly, ‘There has been some speculation that we might swap Lugovoy and Kovtun for Berezovsky. Russian law prevents the extradition of Russian citizens to a foreign state. But on the other hand we continue to demand the extradition of Boris Berezovsky to allow him to stand trial here for crimes committed on the territory of the Russian Federation… economic and other crimes, including actions aimed at the forceful seizure of power. Here are all the details of the charges we have brought against him. This is a full copy of the charge sheet and you are very welcome to take it with you.’
It was starting to look like I was in a chess game where my opponent knew all my moves in advance.
I persevered. ‘What about the new laws of July 2006?’ I asked, glad to be able to quote some legal stuff myself. ‘I believe Federal Law N 153-F3 of 14 July 2006, passed by the Duma and supported by the Kremlin, allows the president to use the Russian secret services to eliminate “extremists” in Russia and on foreign territory, does it not?’ I could see my words were having some effect, so I ploughed on: ‘And what about Federal Law N 148-F3 of 27 July 2006, which specifically expands the definition of “extremism” to include anyone “libellously critical of the Russian authorities”? It looks like a pretty clear mandate to go out and kill people like Litvinenko, doesn't it?’
The two detectives asked for a moment to consult. They went to tap at the computer on the desk, and they phoned through to Sasha and Kolya to fetch them some documents. My recorder was running the whole time and the recording conveys an air of mild panic. Marina's voice is heard asking me to help myself to some more tea and cake while they sort things out. Then, after a lengthy pause, they are back with the explanation: yes, those laws were indeed adopted but they were not adopted with any evil intent. They were a response to the cowardly abduction and murder of five Russian diplomats in Iraq. President Putin had needed such legislation. Look, the next week he ordered the special forces to hunt down and destroy the killers of our diplomats.
It was an explanation of sorts. But what about the extension of the law to cover ‘enemies of the state’ and people who are ‘libellously critical'? I quoted what Berezovsky had told me about the effect the new law had had on Sasha Litvinenko: ‘After Putin signed the decree permitting the special services to kill, without judgement or consequence, so-called enemies of the regime abroad who in fact are simply political opponents, Sasha said to me that we were first on the list – him, Zakayev and me. The hit list didn't stop there, but we were the first.’
Marina Gridneva and her partner were reassuring: ‘No, no. It was a law that was aimed at terrorists abroad. Litvinenko wasn't even an “enemy of the state”, so it wasn't aimed at him at all.’
It seemed I was going to get nowhere. For forty minutes they had stonewalled me with a charming but immovable double act. So I said, ‘OK, thanks very much,’ and they clearly thought the interview was over because they started smiling and suddenly became very expansive. Fortunately, my tape was still running to record what came next.
‘Look, Martin, do you really think we'd bother assassinating a nobody like Litvinenko? Someone who left the country God knows how long ago? Who was no threat to us and didn't have any secrets to betray?… He just wasn't important enough. He didn't know any secrets that would be a reason for liquidating him… Do you think we would have mounted such a special operation to eliminate him… with polonium that costs the earth? That we would have spent so much money on him7. My God, we could have used the money to increase pensions here at home. If we'd needed to eliminate Litvinenko, we would have done it ages ago.’
I thanked them and switched off the tape recorder. It was the closest I was going to get to an admission that such operations do after all take place. And if they take place, was it not possible that someone had his own reasons to conclude that Litvinenko actually was worth the price of a vial of polonium? Having spoken to the authorities, it was time to speak to the men at the coalface.