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Alexander Litvinenko’s son, Anatoly, on his father’s murder: ‘He was trying to make Russia a better place’	Alexander Litvinenko’s son, Anatoly, on his father’s murder: ‘He was trying to make Russia a better place’
2015-01-09 14:35:04 UTC	2015-04-02 11:41:05 UTC (3 months later)
In the autumn of 2006, Anatoly Litvinenko was 12 years old. He was a bright boy, keen on science, particularly good at chemical equations. On weekday mornings, he would commute from his home in Muswell Hill, north London, by bus and then tube, to City of London School for boys next to the river Thames. Over the road was the vast baroque expanse of St Paul’s Cathedral; across the water, the industrial silhouette of Tate Modern.	In the autumn of 2006, Anatoly Litvinenko was 12 years old. He was a bright boy, keen on science, particularly good at chemical equations. On weekday mornings, he would commute from his home in Muswell Hill, north London, by bus and then tube, to City of London School for boys next to the river Thames. Over the road was the vast baroque expanse of St Paul’s Cathedral; across the water, the industrial silhouette of Tate Modern.
Anatoly knew that his father, Alexander, was an enemy of Vladimir Putin’s, but what exactly his dad did was a mystery. As a small child living in Russia, he had thought his father worked in some kind of law enforcement. In London, he told his classmates his Dad was a journalist and a police officer. “I knew he’d worked in the security services in Russia. But it really didn’t concern me. We were having a quiet normal life,” Anatoly says in his first ever in-depth interview. “It felt like the past. It was over.”	Anatoly knew that his father, Alexander, was an enemy of Vladimir Putin’s, but what exactly his dad did was a mystery. As a small child living in Russia, he had thought his father worked in some kind of law enforcement. In London, he told his classmates his Dad was a journalist and a police officer. “I knew he’d worked in the security services in Russia. But it really didn’t concern me. We were having a quiet normal life,” Anatoly says in his first ever in-depth interview. “It felt like the past. It was over.”
The Litvinenkos had been forced to leave Moscow six years earlier, and in a hurry. Since then, their lives had settled into a comfortable routine. Anatoly called his father Sasha, a popular diminutive, as did everyone else. He remembers his father as the more indulgent parent; his mother, Marina, was the strict one – “a typical communist mum”, as Marina later tells me, smiling.	The Litvinenkos had been forced to leave Moscow six years earlier, and in a hurry. Since then, their lives had settled into a comfortable routine. Anatoly called his father Sasha, a popular diminutive, as did everyone else. He remembers his father as the more indulgent parent; his mother, Marina, was the strict one – “a typical communist mum”, as Marina later tells me, smiling.
Father and son would play chess; Anatoly always won – Sasha wasn’t much of an opponent. They went for pizza at La Porchetta, their favourite local Italian restaurant. Once a week, they went to Finsbury leisure centre, where Anatoly had a taekwondo class while Sasha, a fitness fanatic, went for a 16km run. Afterwards, Anatoly would splash in the kids’ pool, while Sasha swam lengths of vigorous front crawl. That summer of 2006, they went to the leisure centre to watch the World Cup on a giant screen, cheering on England against Trinidad and Tobago.	Father and son would play chess; Anatoly always won – Sasha wasn’t much of an opponent. They went for pizza at La Porchetta, their favourite local Italian restaurant. Once a week, they went to Finsbury leisure centre, where Anatoly had a taekwondo class while Sasha, a fitness fanatic, went for a 16km run. Afterwards, Anatoly would splash in the kids’ pool, while Sasha swam lengths of vigorous front crawl. That summer of 2006, they went to the leisure centre to watch the World Cup on a giant screen, cheering on England against Trinidad and Tobago.
“My Dad loved England. He felt extremely safe here. He loved the freedom of expression, the fact that people could vote for whomever they liked,” Anatoly says. Sometimes his father was absent. “He was away quite a lot, on business trips and working.” When he was there, he was fun, he says. “He was quite relaxed, happy to joke around with me.”	“My Dad loved England. He felt extremely safe here. He loved the freedom of expression, the fact that people could vote for whomever they liked,” Anatoly says. Sometimes his father was absent. “He was away quite a lot, on business trips and working.” When he was there, he was fun, he says. “He was quite relaxed, happy to joke around with me.”
	Related: Litvinenko postmortem ‘most dangerous ever in western world’
Anatoly’s English classmates knew little of his past. To them, he was “Anthony Carter”, a home-counties alias invented for him when the Litvinenkos first arrived in Britain in 2000. (The family’s lawyer, George Menzies, had offices in Carter Street in London.) One photograph taken during those early months shows Sasha, grinning and wearing a pair of knee-length khaki shorts, and a diminutive Anatoly posing with two London bobbies in Hyde Park. They had just visited Speakers’ Corner, and Sasha told his son that, unlike in Russia, you could trust British justice. You could stand up on a box and say whatever you liked.	Anatoly’s English classmates knew little of his past. To them, he was “Anthony Carter”, a home-counties alias invented for him when the Litvinenkos first arrived in Britain in 2000. (The family’s lawyer, George Menzies, had offices in Carter Street in London.) One photograph taken during those early months shows Sasha, grinning and wearing a pair of knee-length khaki shorts, and a diminutive Anatoly posing with two London bobbies in Hyde Park. They had just visited Speakers’ Corner, and Sasha told his son that, unlike in Russia, you could trust British justice. You could stand up on a box and say whatever you liked.
On one occasion, Sasha took Anatoly to Cambridge, where they stayed overnight with his friend and fellow exile, Vladimir Bukovsky. Bukovsky is a famous Soviet dissident who has lived in Britain since the Kremlin deported him in 1976. (He had exposed the political abuse of psychiatry by the Soviet authorities, and spent more than a decade in prison camps.) They toured St John’s college. A photograph taken there, on the bridge of sighs, shows Anatoly with his father and grandmother, together with Bukovsky. Moscow was fading into memory. “My dad told me not to support Chelsea,” [which is owned by Russian oligarch Roman Abramovich] Anatoly says. “So I chose Arsenal.”	On one occasion, Sasha took Anatoly to Cambridge, where they stayed overnight with his friend and fellow exile, Vladimir Bukovsky. Bukovsky is a famous Soviet dissident who has lived in Britain since the Kremlin deported him in 1976. (He had exposed the political abuse of psychiatry by the Soviet authorities, and spent more than a decade in prison camps.) They toured St John’s college. A photograph taken there, on the bridge of sighs, shows Anatoly with his father and grandmother, together with Bukovsky. Moscow was fading into memory. “My dad told me not to support Chelsea,” [which is owned by Russian oligarch Roman Abramovich] Anatoly says. “So I chose Arsenal.”
Nothing, then, had prepared Anatoly for the extraordinary events of that autumn. In his former life in Russia, and while living in exile in the UK, Litvinenko had offended a number of powerful people. A former Russian intelligence officer, he was now working for the British secret intelligence service, MI6, supplying the agency with useful information on top Kremlin figures. He had a long history of political conflict, clashing with Putin’s regime, and personally with the Russian president, when he had been his boss in the Federal Security Service (FSB) spy agency.	Nothing, then, had prepared Anatoly for the extraordinary events of that autumn. In his former life in Russia, and while living in exile in the UK, Litvinenko had offended a number of powerful people. A former Russian intelligence officer, he was now working for the British secret intelligence service, MI6, supplying the agency with useful information on top Kremlin figures. He had a long history of political conflict, clashing with Putin’s regime, and personally with the Russian president, when he had been his boss in the Federal Security Service (FSB) spy agency.
On 1 November 2006, Litvinenko set off from his home in Muswell Hill, taking the bus and then the Northern line into central London to meet two visitors from Moscow – Andrei Lugovoi and Dmitry Kovtun, both former KGB agents. Litvineko was keen to swap insider information on Russian business. The venue was the Millennium Hotel in Grosvenor Square, close to the US embassy. The three men sat in a corner of the hotel’s pokey ground-floor bar. When Litvinenko got there, a pot of green tea was waiting for him. He took just a small sip. The encounter lasted 20 minutes; they talked of a possible deal with a private security firm.	On 1 November 2006, Litvinenko set off from his home in Muswell Hill, taking the bus and then the Northern line into central London to meet two visitors from Moscow – Andrei Lugovoi and Dmitry Kovtun, both former KGB agents. Litvineko was keen to swap insider information on Russian business. The venue was the Millennium Hotel in Grosvenor Square, close to the US embassy. The three men sat in a corner of the hotel’s pokey ground-floor bar. When Litvinenko got there, a pot of green tea was waiting for him. He took just a small sip. The encounter lasted 20 minutes; they talked of a possible deal with a private security firm.
That evening, back home with Anatoly and Marina, Litvinenko began to throw up. He couldn’t stop vomiting. He felt certain he had been poisoned, though he didn’t know who was responsible, and it was some time before he suspected his Russian contacts. He also thought he would survive. He lasted 22 days, an agonising death played out under the glare of the international media, as the baffled British authorities scrambled to identify the murder weapon. Radiation experts discovered the cause of Litvinenko’s illness hours before he died: poisoning by polonium-210, a virtually undetectable radioactive isotope produced at closed government facilities inside Russia. Soviet intelligence had used polonium before, in domestic operations against dissidents. But this was something new: a brazen assassination, carried out in central London, deploying a kind of mini-nuclear bomb.	That evening, back home with Anatoly and Marina, Litvinenko began to throw up. He couldn’t stop vomiting. He felt certain he had been poisoned, though he didn’t know who was responsible, and it was some time before he suspected his Russian contacts. He also thought he would survive. He lasted 22 days, an agonising death played out under the glare of the international media, as the baffled British authorities scrambled to identify the murder weapon. Radiation experts discovered the cause of Litvinenko’s illness hours before he died: poisoning by polonium-210, a virtually undetectable radioactive isotope produced at closed government facilities inside Russia. Soviet intelligence had used polonium before, in domestic operations against dissidents. But this was something new: a brazen assassination, carried out in central London, deploying a kind of mini-nuclear bomb.
Once Litvinenko realised his situation was grave, he came to the conclusion that Putin had personally ordered his murder. In his last few days, he gave a series of interviews to British police, and wrote an extraordinary letter of accusation. There has been much debate about whether Litvinenko wrote the letter or not: Boris Berezovsky, his fellow exile and enemy of Putin, had hired the PR guru Tim Bell. Litvineko’s friend Alexander Goldfarb read out the letter. In any case, its central message was undoubtedly Litvinenko’s. It concludes: “You may succeed in silencing one man, but the howl of protest from around the world will reverberate, Mr Putin, in your ears for the rest of your life. May God forgive you for what you have done, not only to me but to beloved Russia and its people.” Litvinenko died on 23 November 2006. He was 44.	Once Litvinenko realised his situation was grave, he came to the conclusion that Putin had personally ordered his murder. In his last few days, he gave a series of interviews to British police, and wrote an extraordinary letter of accusation. There has been much debate about whether Litvinenko wrote the letter or not: Boris Berezovsky, his fellow exile and enemy of Putin, had hired the PR guru Tim Bell. Litvineko’s friend Alexander Goldfarb read out the letter. In any case, its central message was undoubtedly Litvinenko’s. It concludes: “You may succeed in silencing one man, but the howl of protest from around the world will reverberate, Mr Putin, in your ears for the rest of your life. May God forgive you for what you have done, not only to me but to beloved Russia and its people.” Litvinenko died on 23 November 2006. He was 44.
More than eight years later, the truth behind Alexander Litvinenko’s sensational murder may finally emerge. On 27 January, a public inquiry into Litvinenko’s death will open at the high court in London, and is due to last until April. There are no defendants: Lugovoi and Kovtun fled to Moscow soon after the assassination. Lugovoi is now a deputy in Russia’s parliament, the Duma, and protected by state immunity; Kovtun, who has maintained a lower profile, works in business. Neither man will be represented in London.	More than eight years later, the truth behind Alexander Litvinenko’s sensational murder may finally emerge. On 27 January, a public inquiry into Litvinenko’s death will open at the high court in London, and is due to last until April. There are no defendants: Lugovoi and Kovtun fled to Moscow soon after the assassination. Lugovoi is now a deputy in Russia’s parliament, the Duma, and protected by state immunity; Kovtun, who has maintained a lower profile, works in business. Neither man will be represented in London.
The inquiry, then, is not a murder trial in absentia. Instead, its chairman, the high court judge Sir Robert Owen, will seek to identify where responsibility for Litvinenko’s murder lies – and the expectation is that he will point the finger directly at Russia. Owen has previously indicated there is a “prima facie” case against Moscow and its operatives. Putin denies this, but has testily refused to hand over Lugovoi or Kovtun to the British courts. In 2007, the then-Labour foreign secretary David Miliband expelled four Russian diplomats from the UK, in protest. Moscow simply responded by expelling four UK embassy staff.	The inquiry, then, is not a murder trial in absentia. Instead, its chairman, the high court judge Sir Robert Owen, will seek to identify where responsibility for Litvinenko’s murder lies – and the expectation is that he will point the finger directly at Russia. Owen has previously indicated there is a “prima facie” case against Moscow and its operatives. Putin denies this, but has testily refused to hand over Lugovoi or Kovtun to the British courts. In 2007, the then-Labour foreign secretary David Miliband expelled four Russian diplomats from the UK, in protest. Moscow simply responded by expelling four UK embassy staff.
Despite the inquiry’s limitations, the Litvinenkos await it with interest. “I’m pretty sure there will be some kind of closure for me and my mum,” Anatoly says. “If you look at the Russian system, everything comes from the top. Maybe Putin gave the order. Maybe he didn’t. But because of the way the power system is, he’s ultimately responsible.”	Despite the inquiry’s limitations, the Litvinenkos await it with interest. “I’m pretty sure there will be some kind of closure for me and my mum,” Anatoly says. “If you look at the Russian system, everything comes from the top. Maybe Putin gave the order. Maybe he didn’t. But because of the way the power system is, he’s ultimately responsible.”
We meet in the month before the inquiry begins, over coffee and a croissant at University College London, where Anatoly is a second-year student of politics and east European studies. The UCL cafe is crowded, so we descend past the encased body of the philosopher Jeremy Bentham to an empty basement bar. Dressed in a quilted overcoat and wearing fashionable lightweight specs (bought in Berlin when his last ones broke), Anatoly is quiet, low-key and speaks with a typical London student’s accent. Those who know him well attribute his maturity – he seems more thoughtful than most 20-year-olds – to his relationship with Marina, a loving and affectionate mother (“I’m so glad we can still hug,” she tells me later. “After it happened, I realised I couldn’t just be strict. I remember Sasha saying: ‘Be soft on him.’ I try and tell him every time that I love him.”) She has allowed Anatoly to make his own choices.	We meet in the month before the inquiry begins, over coffee and a croissant at University College London, where Anatoly is a second-year student of politics and east European studies. The UCL cafe is crowded, so we descend past the encased body of the philosopher Jeremy Bentham to an empty basement bar. Dressed in a quilted overcoat and wearing fashionable lightweight specs (bought in Berlin when his last ones broke), Anatoly is quiet, low-key and speaks with a typical London student’s accent. Those who know him well attribute his maturity – he seems more thoughtful than most 20-year-olds – to his relationship with Marina, a loving and affectionate mother (“I’m so glad we can still hug,” she tells me later. “After it happened, I realised I couldn’t just be strict. I remember Sasha saying: ‘Be soft on him.’ I try and tell him every time that I love him.”) She has allowed Anatoly to make his own choices.
His choice of university is a nod to his father. Litvinenko died nearby, in the intensive care ward of University College hospital, three minutes’ walk from where we are sitting. And his father was, he says, intensely proud of his academic success: he was delighted by his son’s first London school report card.	His choice of university is a nod to his father. Litvinenko died nearby, in the intensive care ward of University College hospital, three minutes’ walk from where we are sitting. And his father was, he says, intensely proud of his academic success: he was delighted by his son’s first London school report card.
We talk about the forthcoming inquiry. Anatoly says it will be “the end of an era. And probably a chance for us to move on. To move on past this whole thing, which has been central to my life for eight years”. He pauses. “I want to remember him as Dad, to have a chance to grieve properly.”	We talk about the forthcoming inquiry. Anatoly says it will be “the end of an era. And probably a chance for us to move on. To move on past this whole thing, which has been central to my life for eight years”. He pauses. “I want to remember him as Dad, to have a chance to grieve properly.”
He knows there is little prospect of a criminal trial of the men who killed his father, but says he has been surprised by the depths of British government realpolitik. After 2007, with diplomats expelled from both countries, relations between London and Moscow entered a period of deep chill. But by 2010, David Cameron and his new coalition government were keen to move on. The prime minister’s calculus appeared simple: that Russian money flowing into the City might boost the British economy at a time of austerity and help secure a future Conservative election victory. (In the US, Obama attempted a similar “reset”, wooing Dmitry Medvedev, Putin’s less hawkish stand-in president; in reality, Putin never stopped running Russia.)	He knows there is little prospect of a criminal trial of the men who killed his father, but says he has been surprised by the depths of British government realpolitik. After 2007, with diplomats expelled from both countries, relations between London and Moscow entered a period of deep chill. But by 2010, David Cameron and his new coalition government were keen to move on. The prime minister’s calculus appeared simple: that Russian money flowing into the City might boost the British economy at a time of austerity and help secure a future Conservative election victory. (In the US, Obama attempted a similar “reset”, wooing Dmitry Medvedev, Putin’s less hawkish stand-in president; in reality, Putin never stopped running Russia.)
In 2012, Robert Owen, acting as coroner, opened an inquest into Litvinenko’s death. But two months later, the then-foreign secretary William Hague chucked a hand grenade into proceedings by moving to have secret government documents excluded. (The Foreign Office’s own intelligence unit, which works closely with MI6, had written an assessment of the murder.) Hague argued that publication “might damage international relations” – or, in other words, annoy the Kremlin, which could punish British businesses in Russia. Ben Emmerson, the barrister acting for Anatoly and Marina, bluntly accused Hague and Cameron of “dancing to the Russian tarantella”. With the prospect of justice slipping away, Marina called for a public inquiry; home secretary Theresa May refused.	In 2012, Robert Owen, acting as coroner, opened an inquest into Litvinenko’s death. But two months later, the then-foreign secretary William Hague chucked a hand grenade into proceedings by moving to have secret government documents excluded. (The Foreign Office’s own intelligence unit, which works closely with MI6, had written an assessment of the murder.) Hague argued that publication “might damage international relations” – or, in other words, annoy the Kremlin, which could punish British businesses in Russia. Ben Emmerson, the barrister acting for Anatoly and Marina, bluntly accused Hague and Cameron of “dancing to the Russian tarantella”. With the prospect of justice slipping away, Marina called for a public inquiry; home secretary Theresa May refused.
Last summer, however, May performed an astonishing U-turn. Putin had annexed Crimea and begun a covert military invasion of eastern Ukraine. Russia’s president was, in effect, an international pariah. Then, pro-Russian rebels accidentally shot down a civilian airliner, MH17, over the skies of eastern Ukraine, killing all 298 people on board. May announced a public inquiry into Litvinenko’s death the following day. She had justified her previous refusal on the same pragmatic grounds as Hague. Now, though, she had little to lose: Europe was on the brink of a new cold war.	Last summer, however, May performed an astonishing U-turn. Putin had annexed Crimea and begun a covert military invasion of eastern Ukraine. Russia’s president was, in effect, an international pariah. Then, pro-Russian rebels accidentally shot down a civilian airliner, MH17, over the skies of eastern Ukraine, killing all 298 people on board. May announced a public inquiry into Litvinenko’s death the following day. She had justified her previous refusal on the same pragmatic grounds as Hague. Now, though, she had little to lose: Europe was on the brink of a new cold war.
Anatoly still has vivid memories of his father’s slow death. At the time, the Litvinenkos were living at 140 Osier Crescent, a modern, three-storey townhouse on a new development in Muswell Hill. Akhmed Zakayev, the exiled Chechen rebel leader and Litvinenko’s closest friend in Britain, lived across the road with his family. Anatoly would play football in the field opposite, and on his way home from school he would take a shortcut through a hole in the fence. The rent came from Litvinenko’s salary: £5,000 a month, paid by Berezovsky. (We later visit the house, now up for sale. Outside, we bump into Zakeyev’s grownup sons, Shamil and Naib. Of Anatoly, Shamil says: “He’s grown up. He’s matured.” Why? “He has to take care of his mum.”)	Anatoly still has vivid memories of his father’s slow death. At the time, the Litvinenkos were living at 140 Osier Crescent, a modern, three-storey townhouse on a new development in Muswell Hill. Akhmed Zakayev, the exiled Chechen rebel leader and Litvinenko’s closest friend in Britain, lived across the road with his family. Anatoly would play football in the field opposite, and on his way home from school he would take a shortcut through a hole in the fence. The rent came from Litvinenko’s salary: £5,000 a month, paid by Berezovsky. (We later visit the house, now up for sale. Outside, we bump into Zakeyev’s grownup sons, Shamil and Naib. Of Anatoly, Shamil says: “He’s grown up. He’s matured.” Why? “He has to take care of his mum.”)
“One day paramedics came over to check Dad out,” Anatoly recalls. “He was in a terrible state. They thought it was a stomach infection. Mum was crying when they first took him to hospital. I was kind of relaxed.” It sounds callous, but none of them realised how grave his father’s condition was, not even the staff who initially treated him at Barnet general hospital.	“One day paramedics came over to check Dad out,” Anatoly recalls. “He was in a terrible state. They thought it was a stomach infection. Mum was crying when they first took him to hospital. I was kind of relaxed.” It sounds callous, but none of them realised how grave his father’s condition was, not even the staff who initially treated him at Barnet general hospital.
But Sasha’s condition deteriorated, and he was transferred to University College hospital. Here, doctors concluded that Litvinenko’s baffling symptoms – hair loss, a catastrophic decline in white blood cells, vomiting – were probably caused not by a bug, but by radioactive thalium poisoning. Anatoly visited his father several times. Then the consultant told Marina to reduce the number of visitors, and he didn’t see Sasha for three days.	But Sasha’s condition deteriorated, and he was transferred to University College hospital. Here, doctors concluded that Litvinenko’s baffling symptoms – hair loss, a catastrophic decline in white blood cells, vomiting – were probably caused not by a bug, but by radioactive thalium poisoning. Anatoly visited his father several times. Then the consultant told Marina to reduce the number of visitors, and he didn’t see Sasha for three days.
“I was still thinking he was going to be fine. Then he started getting worse, to the point that he was on life support. One night we were at home. It was late, about 9.30pm. I was in my pyjamas. We got a telephone call saying: ‘You have to come to the hospital now.’ We got taken to a small room where they told us Dad had just died. I wasn’t understanding this. It hit me like a train in the face, like a punch. I was numb for a good few hours. I just stared at the wall. I was devoid of emotion.”	“I was still thinking he was going to be fine. Then he started getting worse, to the point that he was on life support. One night we were at home. It was late, about 9.30pm. I was in my pyjamas. We got a telephone call saying: ‘You have to come to the hospital now.’ We got taken to a small room where they told us Dad had just died. I wasn’t understanding this. It hit me like a train in the face, like a punch. I was numb for a good few hours. I just stared at the wall. I was devoid of emotion.”
He can’t remember the detail of his final conversation with his father, but it amounted to this: “If I do die from this, take care of your mum, look after yourself and study hard.” Marina and Anatoly stumbled out of the hospital shortly before dawn. Anatoly recalls exiting the hospital’s revolving doors into the grey gloom, and being enveloped in a sheer white wall of light. The glare came from the dozens of photographers and TV crews camped outside.	He can’t remember the detail of his final conversation with his father, but it amounted to this: “If I do die from this, take care of your mum, look after yourself and study hard.” Marina and Anatoly stumbled out of the hospital shortly before dawn. Anatoly recalls exiting the hospital’s revolving doors into the grey gloom, and being enveloped in a sheer white wall of light. The glare came from the dozens of photographers and TV crews camped outside.
Litvinenko’s death – a scarcely believable Jacobean revenge tragedy – led the news around the world. By the time Anatoly and Marina returned to Osier Crescent, the police were already there, searching for clues. The house was contaminated with polonium. Detectives told them to scoop up a few possessions: they had to move out immediately. Anatoly took some books, and forgot his laptop.	Litvinenko’s death – a scarcely believable Jacobean revenge tragedy – led the news around the world. By the time Anatoly and Marina returned to Osier Crescent, the police were already there, searching for clues. The house was contaminated with polonium. Detectives told them to scoop up a few possessions: they had to move out immediately. Anatoly took some books, and forgot his laptop.
Over the next few days, they stayed across the road with the Zakayevs. Zakayev’s daughter-in-law, Medina, introduced Anatoly to Metallica (he was a heavy metal fan already). He watched Sky TV and flicked between channels, but they all showed the same haunting photograph of his father: bald, dying, proud – a ghost staring defiantly into the camera.	Over the next few days, they stayed across the road with the Zakayevs. Zakayev’s daughter-in-law, Medina, introduced Anatoly to Metallica (he was a heavy metal fan already). He watched Sky TV and flicked between channels, but they all showed the same haunting photograph of his father: bald, dying, proud – a ghost staring defiantly into the camera.
“There was a huge media storm,” Anatoly remembers. “For a while I was lost in the chaos.” He felt he couldn’t talk to his grief-stricken mother, and instead confided in an old family friend, Valentina, telling her a few days later: “I saw my dad at the last moment. It wasn’t my dad at all.” Of that famous photograph of his father, taken three days before he died, with the electro-cardiogram sensors visible on his chest, Anatoly says: “I don’t remember him with no hair. To me he was more than that. He was more than the last few weeks of November 2006.” Even if they couldn’t talk, Marina and Anatoly were inseparable. Marina says she and her son spent the 40 hours after Sasha’s death “just hugging each other”.	“There was a huge media storm,” Anatoly remembers. “For a while I was lost in the chaos.” He felt he couldn’t talk to his grief-stricken mother, and instead confided in an old family friend, Valentina, telling her a few days later: “I saw my dad at the last moment. It wasn’t my dad at all.” Of that famous photograph of his father, taken three days before he died, with the electro-cardiogram sensors visible on his chest, Anatoly says: “I don’t remember him with no hair. To me he was more than that. He was more than the last few weeks of November 2006.” Even if they couldn’t talk, Marina and Anatoly were inseparable. Marina says she and her son spent the 40 hours after Sasha’s death “just hugging each other”.
Anatoly’s classmates sent him a card saying they missed him. The school’s headmaster was brilliant, he says, but he didn’t take much time off. “I only skipped two weeks of school. The thing I did after Dad died was to really buckle down to my studies. I got a bunch of stupidly good marks.”	Anatoly’s classmates sent him a card saying they missed him. The school’s headmaster was brilliant, he says, but he didn’t take much time off. “I only skipped two weeks of school. The thing I did after Dad died was to really buckle down to my studies. I got a bunch of stupidly good marks.”
If he doesn’t want to remember his father as a dying man, what are his strongest memories now? “It’s his bravery that really strikes me – to say what you think and to stand up for what you believe in. I feel it’s so important. I feel I have the confidence to do that as well. He died fighting for a noble cause. I honestly think he was trying to make Russia a better place. One of the reasons he loved England so much is because he saw in it what Russia lacked.” Freedom and democracy, in other words.	If he doesn’t want to remember his father as a dying man, what are his strongest memories now? “It’s his bravery that really strikes me – to say what you think and to stand up for what you believe in. I feel it’s so important. I feel I have the confidence to do that as well. He died fighting for a noble cause. I honestly think he was trying to make Russia a better place. One of the reasons he loved England so much is because he saw in it what Russia lacked.” Freedom and democracy, in other words.
Anatoly left Moscow aged six and hasn’t been back since. He remembers the “incredible” cold and snow of the Moscow winter – the lakes freezing and turning into ice, sledging. And the scorching summers that followed April’s big thaw – swimming in the Moscow river (“looking back, it was kind of disgusting”), travelling on the city’s “cool and awesome” neo-classical Metro.	Anatoly left Moscow aged six and hasn’t been back since. He remembers the “incredible” cold and snow of the Moscow winter – the lakes freezing and turning into ice, sledging. And the scorching summers that followed April’s big thaw – swimming in the Moscow river (“looking back, it was kind of disgusting”), travelling on the city’s “cool and awesome” neo-classical Metro.
His parents lived in a small apartment in the Moscow suburb of Chertanovo. Litvinenko had two children, Alexander and Sonia, from a previous marriage. Like many Russian kids, Anatoly spent the long summer vacation at a dacha 40km outside Moscow that belonged to Marina’s parents, Anatoly and Zinaida. (Litvinenko’s relationship with his own divorced parents was fraught; he had been raised by his grandmother.) There was a vegetable plot and a pagoda. A photo from 1997 shows a grinning Anatoly lying above Alexander on a sofa at their Moscow home. It’s a happy symmetry.	His parents lived in a small apartment in the Moscow suburb of Chertanovo. Litvinenko had two children, Alexander and Sonia, from a previous marriage. Like many Russian kids, Anatoly spent the long summer vacation at a dacha 40km outside Moscow that belonged to Marina’s parents, Anatoly and Zinaida. (Litvinenko’s relationship with his own divorced parents was fraught; he had been raised by his grandmother.) There was a vegetable plot and a pagoda. A photo from 1997 shows a grinning Anatoly lying above Alexander on a sofa at their Moscow home. It’s a happy symmetry.
Anatoly’s maternal grandparents were regular Soviet citizens. His grandfather, also named Anatoly, had spent his life working in a components factory and lost two fingers in machines; his grandmother always insisted Anatoly finish his food. Anatoly Sr was highly intelligent, but at the age of 12, with the Soviet Union fighting for its existence against Nazi Germany, he was forced to leave school and earn. He finally went to technical college in his 30s.	Anatoly’s maternal grandparents were regular Soviet citizens. His grandfather, also named Anatoly, had spent his life working in a components factory and lost two fingers in machines; his grandmother always insisted Anatoly finish his food. Anatoly Sr was highly intelligent, but at the age of 12, with the Soviet Union fighting for its existence against Nazi Germany, he was forced to leave school and earn. He finally went to technical college in his 30s.
Anatoly was named after his grandfather, who is now 83 and in poor health and lives in Moscow. He says they are similar in character. “He’s quiet and introverted. He loves chess and mental games. He was unbeatable at dominoes. His colleagues at the factory got angry because he won every single match. If he were born later, he’d have been an avid gamer.”	Anatoly was named after his grandfather, who is now 83 and in poor health and lives in Moscow. He says they are similar in character. “He’s quiet and introverted. He loves chess and mental games. He was unbeatable at dominoes. His colleagues at the factory got angry because he won every single match. If he were born later, he’d have been an avid gamer.”
Growing up, Anatoly thought his father was some kind of police officer. In fact, Litvinenko was a lieutenant colonel in the FSB, the main domestic successor agency to the KGB. His specialism was investigating organised crime. Soon after Anatoly was born in 1994, Alexander met the businessman Boris Berezovsky, then a powerful figure in Boris Yeltsin’s court. The two men became friends.	Growing up, Anatoly thought his father was some kind of police officer. In fact, Litvinenko was a lieutenant colonel in the FSB, the main domestic successor agency to the KGB. His specialism was investigating organised crime. Soon after Anatoly was born in 1994, Alexander met the businessman Boris Berezovsky, then a powerful figure in Boris Yeltsin’s court. The two men became friends.
Litvinenko wasn’t your typical FSB officer. He was genuinely interested in fighting corruption, prompting some to dismiss him as hopelessly naive. In 1998, at a Moscow press conference, he accused the FSB of ordering him to murder Berezovsky. The claim infuriated Putin, the FSB’s then-chief, and cost Litvinenko his career. He was arrested and sent to Lefortovo, the KGB’s gloomy Moscow jail, now an FSB pre-trial detention centre. Marina told Anatoly his father had gone away on a business trip.	Litvinenko wasn’t your typical FSB officer. He was genuinely interested in fighting corruption, prompting some to dismiss him as hopelessly naive. In 1998, at a Moscow press conference, he accused the FSB of ordering him to murder Berezovsky. The claim infuriated Putin, the FSB’s then-chief, and cost Litvinenko his career. He was arrested and sent to Lefortovo, the KGB’s gloomy Moscow jail, now an FSB pre-trial detention centre. Marina told Anatoly his father had gone away on a business trip.
Litvinenko was freed, re-arrested and then released again. In 2000, he slipped out of Russia on a fake Georgian passport, telling Marina to book a holiday in Europe with their six-year-old son. Anatoly remembers spending two “sunny” weeks in Marbella in Spain and meeting his fugitive father in Istanbul. The Litvinenkos drove to the US embassy in Ankara with Alex Goldfarb, Berezovsky’s New York-based friend. “They were discussing where to go next – France, England, America. America sounded cool to me. I’d never been,” he says.	Litvinenko was freed, re-arrested and then released again. In 2000, he slipped out of Russia on a fake Georgian passport, telling Marina to book a holiday in Europe with their six-year-old son. Anatoly remembers spending two “sunny” weeks in Marbella in Spain and meeting his fugitive father in Istanbul. The Litvinenkos drove to the US embassy in Ankara with Alex Goldfarb, Berezovsky’s New York-based friend. “They were discussing where to go next – France, England, America. America sounded cool to me. I’d never been,” he says.