PHILIP SMUCKER FOR USN&WR

insurgency that U.S.forces are fighting,was sent packing last November. He isbest remembered forsquandering a half-million dollars to giveaway 5,000 goats tobolster his popularity. He is suspectedof embezzling more than $2 million inAfghan and American money, say U.S.and Afghan government sources. Onhis way out of the country last week,Didar was prevented by LeGree’s sol-diers from hurrying off with a $190,000armored car that belongs to the U.S.government.

But change is in the making, saysCapt. Jay Coughenour, a reservist whois also a senior official with the De-partment of Housing and Urban De-velopment in Los Angeles. The new de-velopment-savvy governor, SayedWahidi, has helped to cobble togetherdistrict-level meetings aimed at estab-

lishing public services. For the firsttime in decades, large groups of menand women are meeting in downtownAsadabad to hammer out, with Ameri-can and United Nations support, theircomplaints and needs. The men sit onthe floor around a drawing of a giant“problem tree.” They cut scrap paperand paste their ideas about the “root”causes of government corruption andinaccessibility.

As Coughenour, who dresses in localgarb and leaves his machine gun onbase, makes the rounds to the offices ofthe health and welfare administrators,all of them pay at least lip service to Gov-ernor Wahidi’s new anticorruptioncampaign. The U.S. government gaveKunar province $40 million last year

alone for develop-ment, although onlysome of that money isaccounted for. As oneU.S. Army colonelsays: “In Afghanistan,it is not just a matterof corruption; it is a

matter of knowing precisely how cor-rupt your partners are.”

Why they fight. That is one reason for thenew focus in Kunar on gaining a betterknowledge of the “human terrain.” Calledback to military service just as he waspreparing to begin doctoral studies in anthropology at the University of Illi-nois–Chicago, Staff Sgt. Justin Faulkneris now assigned by LeGree to learn aboutthe personal ties, customs, and culture inthe Korengal Valley, where the U.S. mili-tary is facing a protracted military en-gagement. “There really hasn’t been muchethnographic work done here since theBritish back in the 19th century,” saysFaulkner. “I’m assigned to try to meet with

elders and try and un-derstand why theyfight us,” he adds. “Weare finding out that ithas a lot to do with trib-al differences and geo-graphic isolation.”

A U.S. governmentreport on Kunar prov-ince warns that offi-cials and soldiers musttry to avoid “anotherKorengal” in other iso-lated valleys of theprovince by promotingmore economic devel-opment. To achievethat, LeGree is stress-ing stronger ties be-tween U.S. soldiers andthe local population.

He is also trying to crack the nut of geo-graphic isolation. As he hikes up a newroad snaking into the violent valley wheredozens of American soldiers have per-ished, a crackle comes across the radio anda lieutenant warns of movements byenemy fighters. “As we push up this valleyand into higher terrain, we will be effec-tively encroaching upon them and takingaway their population base,” says LeGree,who pays the Afghan road workers a dailywage just above what al Qaeda is knownto give its own fighters.

In time, he hopes there will be less to seeon Kill tv. “To win in Afghanistan, youhave to separate the insurgents from thepopulation,” he says. “That has more to dowith assisting in an economic strugglethan any role we have as combatants.” l

London—In November 2006, for-mer kgb officer Alexander Litvi-nenko died in London after being

poisoned with the radioactive isotopepolonium-210. His widow, Marina,holds back sobs and wipes away tearswith a tissue, as she talks about her lifesince then, about the old letters from herhusband that she reads often to cling tohis memory. Enduring each day is hard,she says, but one thing seems to upsether most: her husband’s enemies’ gettingaway with murder. “They killed a per-son,” she says. “That’s the main thing, the center, and someone should answerfor it.”

That, however, looks increasingly unlikely.

In part because of the unresolved Litvi-nenko case, British-Russian relationshave reached perhaps their lowest ebbsince the end of the Cold War. MarinaLitvinenko may have to get used to theidea that she will never see justice for herlate husband. Moscow has refused an ex-tradition request for Scotland Yard’smain suspect, millionaire Russian busi-nessman (and former kgb officer) An-drei Lugovoi. Marina’s theory is that heacted on orders from Russia’s secret serv-ices. Despite facing a murder charge inBritain, Lugovoi—whose own claim isthat Litvinenko was a renegade Britishagent killed by the British intelligenceservice mi6—has been lionized in Rus-sia as a hero who stood up to the West. Inthe December elections, he was evenvoted into the parliament.

Diplomatic fallout. A chill between Lon-don and Moscow was in the air beforethe Litvinenko affair: Russia has longcomplained about Britain granting asy-lum to fugitives wanted on criminalcharges in Russia, including the oligarchBoris Berezovsky and Chechen sepa-ratist Akhmed Zakayev. And in January2006, to British bemusement, Russia ac-cused four employees at the British Em-bassy in Moscow of using a fake rock

“To win in Afghanistan,you have to separatethe insurgents from

the population.”

NATION & WORLD

RUSSIA

A Widow’sStalled Questfor JusticeIn the Litvinenko murder, thekey suspect is safe in Russia

By Alastair Gee

24 U.S.NEWS & WORLD REPORT • WWW.USNEWS.COM • FEBRUARY 25 / MARCH 3, 2008

Capt. Jay Coughenour with a Women’s Affairs Ministry official

CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT: LUKE MACGREGOR—REUTERS; NATASJA WEITSZ—GETTY IMAGES; JOSEPH SYWENKYJ—THE NEW YORK TIMES / REDUX

U.S.NEWS & WORLD REPORT • WWW.USNEWS.COM • FEBRUARY 25 / MARCH 3, 2008 25

filled with electronics for spying. Butafter London requested Lugovoi’s ex-tradition in May 2007, tensions in-creased. Russia refused, citing its Con-stitution, and both sides expelled eachother’s diplomats. In the most recentmove, Russia in January forced Britainto close the St. Petersburg and Yekater-inburg branches of the British Council,an organization that promotes Britishculture abroad, a move thatRussian officials described aspolitical fallout from the Litvi-nenko case.

Alexander Litvinenko rosequickly through the ranks ofthe kgb and then the fsb, oneof its successor agencies. Hiscareer came to a dramatic endin November 1998, when hepublicly accused senior fsb of-ficials of corruption and ofplotting the assassination ofBerezovsky. He had metVladimir Putin, then head ofthe fsb, to make similar com-plaints a month before, Mari-na says. After a brief impris-onment, Litvinenko claimedpolitical asylum in London,joining a burgeoning Russiancommunity that has earned thecity the nickname “Moscow-on-the-Thames.”

On Nov. 1, 2006, Litvi-nenko met with Lugovoi todiscuss a business deal at the Pine Bar, located in theMillennium Hotel, across anelegant square from the U.S.Embassy. “It was a busy,busy day. Every table was occupied,” recalled NorbertoAndrade, the headwaiter.Andrade said he didn’t no-tice anything suspicious.

“They had green tea with honey andlemon,” he says.

That evening, Litvinenko vomitedafter dining at home, Marina recounts.He threw up every half-hour and so de-cided to sleep in a separate room to avoiddisturbing his wife. Worried, Marinacalled an ambulance the next day butwas told by medics that he probably hadstomach flu and should rest at home. On

the third evening, he grew sicker and wastaken to the hospital, where doctors weretaken aback by his odd symptoms. Litvi-nenko’s bone marrow and mucous mem-branes had been almost completely de-stroyed. His hair fell out. At first, theythought him to be suffering from the sideeffects of a medication, later decidingthat he had ingested thallium. The lasttime Marina spoke with him was theevening of November 23, just before shewent home to take care of their youngson, Anatoly. “Sasha smiled and saidsadly, ‘Marina, I love you so much.’ Hehad such sadness in his eyes.” Hourslater, he died.

Radioactive residue. On the same night,British police informed her that the poi-son was polonium and told her to leaveher house. Because of residual radioac-tivity, it can’t be inhabited for at leastfour years. The fittings of the Pine Barwere ripped out and destroyed at the Sel-lafield nuclear power facility in northernEngland, Andrade says.

There is little chance Lugovoi willever face questioning. Kremlin officialsstill refuse to extradite him. And, as amember of parliament, he is immunefrom prosecution in Russia. “Any accu-sation should be strengthened with evi-dence,” asserts Lugovoi’s press secre-tary. “That hasn’t been presented by theBritish side.” Britain’s Crown Prosecu-tion Service, meanwhile, is still hopingfor the best. “Our position remains thesame as it was in May,” says spokes-woman Julie Seddon. “We have an ex-tradition request for Mr. Lugovoi for thecharge of murder, and the appropriateplace for a trial is the U.K.”

Marina is currently living offa grant from a fund headed byBerezovsky and resides withAnatoly, now 13, in London.She’s a little worried about herhealth—she’s been told she hasa slightly higher risk of cancerdue to some radiation expo-sure—but she says Anatolywasn’t exposed. She has coau-thored the book Death of a Dis-sident and gives occasional in-terviews out of a sense of dutyto her late husband.

Now, she is thinking ofteaching ballroom dancing, asshe did years ago in Moscow.In Soviet times, she had beena competitive dancer, dream-ing of one day going to Eng-land, home of the famousBlackpool dance competition.She had no inkling of whatfate held in store there. l

Marina Litvinenko, whosehusband, Alexander, was killedby exposure to polonium-210.

Scotland Yard’s top suspect: former KGB officer Andrei Lugovoi

Officials refuse to hand over Lugovoi toface murder charges in Britain. And he is

immune from prosecution in Russia.