Back to the USSR

It is already a hopeless cliche to note that the poisoning of former KGB spy Alexander Litvinenko is like something from one of those washed-out 70s spy thrillers, or even the new James Bond movie. The astonishing news this afternoon that former Russian PM Yegor Gaidar may also have been poisoned only adds to the mystery.

It also adds to the boom time for an array of elderly Kremlinologists - those mysterious “security experts”, “political analysts” and “intelligence consultants” - for whom the last couple of decades must have been rather quiet.

Back in the day, as the Wikipedia entry above notes, these were the voices that interpreted the actions of and in the Kremlin, in the absence of hard facts.

Back on our screens today, they’re dusting down their TV sports jackets and ties to fulfil a slightly adapted purpose - filling hours of otherwise empty time on Sky and elsewhere by offering their shadily-sourced knowledge - of Putin’s “rage” at the taking of Litvinenko’s life, of the conspiracy theories you feel they must have picked up over a steadying vodka or two just before coming on air. They still, you suspect, know next to nothing, but they’re very good at talking about it.

As they relay their gossip with a gleam in their eyes and a barely concealed enthusiasm for the sheer cloak-and-dagger fun of it all, they can’t help but look rather pleased at all the attention they’re getting. It’s just like the old days, for them and for us.

Lloyd had a splendidly grumpy go at the media obsession with Litvinenko a few days ago. But this story has quite a lot going for it. As well as being a bit like a reality TV version of a Freddie Forsyth book - now with added CSI-esque jet plane intrigue and the new Gaidar subplot - there’s one vital thing that makes this gripping news as entertainment, rather than the news as terror we’ve become more accustomed to.

Thing is, it’s crime that most of us - unless we’re a former KGB spy or Russian dissident or oligarch - feel only slightly threatened by. Yes, there’s a chance we might pick up a piece of sushi a la polonium 210 intended for the mysterious chap sitting next to us, or sit in a radioactive plane seat, but really we know rationally that this is crime we don’t have to worry about. We’re not characters in this drama. We just get to watch it play out, aided by those portly but quietly very excited Kremlinologists.