|
A Russian spy-turned-dissident meets an Italian intelligence expert at a sushi bar in London. The Italian hands over a list of people targeted by rogue KGB assassins. They're both on it. So are prominent Italian politicians and Russian oligarchs.
One of the potential assassins is described as a Russian judo master. Lame in his right leg. Fluent in Portuguese.
Weeks later, the Russian agent dies, poisoned by radioactive polonium-210. The Italian is also contaminated, as are sites across London. The British press even reports that detectives searched the world-famous Arsenal soccer club's stadium, where an oligarch recently watched a match.
Whatever comes of ex-KGB man Alexander Litvinenko's death last month, his fateful meeting with Mario Scaramella will take its place in the annals of international intrigue. For armchair lovers of spy vs. spy drama, this story has it all — from a murder weapon worthy of a James Bond villain to a shadowy cast of high rollers and spooks.
It sounds like something John le Carre would dream up. In fact, Litvinenko's death is the latest in a long line of real-life cloak-and-dagger slayings. Here's your history lesson.
___
NUCLEAR SUSHI?
Litvinenko split with the Kremlin in 1998, publicly claiming his commanders ordered the assassination of Boris Berezovsky — a billionaire who ran afoul of President Vladimir Putin.
Litvinenko, who moved to London, recently accused the Russian government of involvement in the murder of Anna Politkovskaya, a journalist who investigated the bloody war in Chechnya.
Scaramella, meanwhile, was involved in an investigation into KGB activity in Italy. That investigation was accused of political bias — namely, that former Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi used it to implicate left-wing opponents in KGB activity. Romano Prodi, the current Italian leader, has threatened legal action over suggestions he might have worked with Russian intelligence. (Stay tuned for another Prodi cameo.)
Litvinenko fell ill after meeting with Scaramella. Doctors discovered he'd received a lethal dose of polonium-210, a deadly radioactive isotope. (Scaramella has polonium in his bloodstream but is in good health. So far.) Litvinenko died on Nov. 23, but not before accusing Putin of responsibility for his murder. The Kremlin has denied any involvement.
British authorities are investigating the case.
___
THE POISONED UMBRELLA
Georgi Markov, once an acclaimed novelist and playwright in Bulgaria, turned to journalism out of his disenchantment with his country's communist regime. In exile in London (sensing a pattern?), he broadcast for the BBC World Service and became a rallying figure for dissidents in his homeland.
In 1978, a man with a foreign accent jabbed Markov in the thigh with an umbrella as they passed each other on Waterloo Bridge. Markov developed a fever and died three days later. An autopsy found a tiny spherical "bullet" embedded in his thigh had delivered a lethal dose of ricin — the toxin later used by Japanese cultists to attack the Tokyo subway.
The killing was never solved. Last year, a Bulgarian journalist published an investigation identifying the assassin as Francesco Gullino, allegedly a Danish-Italian operative masquerading as an antiques salesman. Gullino had been questioned in 1993, but was never charged. He is believed to be alive.
___
ICE PICK: CRUDE, BUT EFFECTIVE
 |
Leo Trotsky
|
In 1940, Leon Trotsky was one of the most famous (and notorious) political figures in the world. One of the leaders of Russia's Bolshevik Revolution, Trotsky went into exile after Stalin's rise to power. He became the figurehead of an international left-wing movement, which the Soviets perceived as a threat to their rule.
Ramon Mercader del Rio Hernandez (aka "Mornard," aka "Jacson," etc.), a shadowy agent controlled by the forerunner of the KGB (the NKVD), penetrated Trotsky's inner circle in Mexico City by romancing the dissident icon's secretary. Mercader talked his way into a private appointment with Trotsky — and smashed his skull with an ice pick.
Trotsky initially survived — even ordered his guards to spare Mercader's life. The Communist leader died the next day.
The assassin spent 20 years in a Mexican prison. On his release in 1960, he was decorated as a Hero of the Soviet Union.
___
TOXIC CIGAR: NOT SO EFFECTIVE
In the years after the 1959 Cuban revolution, the swaggering figure of Fidel Castro haunted the CIA. Castro's socialist rhetoric and cigar-chomping bravado seemed designed to taunt the U.S., and the notion of a Soviet beachhead just off the Florida coast unnerved American cold warriors.
So they came up with one plot after another to kill, discredit or annoy Castro. This year, the former head of Cuba's secret service published a book titled "638 Ways to Kill Castro," accompanied by a British documentary of the same name.
Among the more colorful schemes: cigars implanted with explosives or laced with botulinum; exploding mollusks designed to target Castro while he was scuba diving; LSD planted in his radio studio; and poisons concealed in pens, handkerchiefs and cold creams.
None worked, of course. Though Castro is now critically ill, natural causes are to blame.
___
GOD'S BANKER'S LAST WITHDRAWAL
 |
Roberto Calvi
|
By any standard, Roberto Calvi's career was remarkable. The shy, awkward Milanese financial wiz transformed an obscure Italian bank called Ambrosiano into a major player. By the late '70s, Calvi was doing so much business with The Vatican that some called him "God's Banker."
He was also allegedly linked to the Mafia and P2, a secret society that involved many of Italy's leading politicians.
So when Ambrosiano collapsed — racking up over $1 billion in debts to some extremely heavy characters — Calvi split for London with a fake passport. Early one morning in 1982, he was found hanged underneath Blackfriars Bridge, with bricks and $15,000 in cash in his pockets. (What is it with London, anyway?)
Calvi's death was initially ruled a suicide, but soon led to a murder investigation. Did the Mafia rub him out — and if so, did it act on its own, or in cahoots with Italian power brokers?
The saga continues: Five men, including imprisoned Mafiosi and the former head of P2, are standing trial in Rome for plotting Calvi's death.
___
VANISHING PRIME MINISTER
More intrigue in Italy: Just a few years before Calvi's banking career went sour, the kidnapping and murder of former Prime Minister Aldo Moro rocked the boot.
Moro was abducted by left-wing guerrillas in 1978 and the government refused to negotiate for his release. Despite a nationwide manhunt, Moro's bullet-ridden body turned up in the middle of Rome: in the trunk of a car parked halfway between the headquarters of Italy's two biggest political parties.
Moro's death gave birth to conspiracy theories involving the CIA, P2 (yep, them again) and other shadowy forces. One of the story's strangest twists: during the search for Moro, Romano Prodi (yes, now Italy's prime minister) held a séance — and later claimed a famous Italian politician's ghost told him where Moro was being held.
___
WHO WOULD SHOOT A SWEDE?
 |
Olf Palme
|
In the mid-'80s, the job of Swedish prime minister was pretty low-key. Olaf Palme, a popular Social Democrat, took pride in dressing casually and walking Stockholm's streets without bodyguards.
So it came as a shock when Palme was gunned down on Feb. 28, 1986, while walking home from the movies. Sweden plunged into mourning, and the world wondered who would target the leader of a small, mostly neutral country.
A drug-addled drifter was convicted of shooting Palme, but the verdict was overturned. (To complicate matters, this man later said he did kill Palme — but he died shortly thereafter.)
Later conspiracy theories ranged from South African secret agents (Palme was an apartheid critic), Swedish right-wingers, the CIA, Kurdish separatists, Germany's left-wing Red Army Faction, arms dealers and ... the Italian secret society P2!
___
asap contributor Zach Dundas is a freelance writer in Portland, Ore.
| 
