On 8 May 2024, the UK government announced the expulsion of the Russian defence attaché Maxim Elovik. In a statement to Parliament, the then-Home Secretary, James Cleverly, alleged that Elovik was an ‘undeclared military intelligence officer’ and announced that the compound where he worked, ‘the trade and defence section in Highgate’, would be stripped of its diplomatic privileges. If you didn’t concentrate too hard, it sounded like the government might even seize the premises and auction it off to help fund the defence of Ukraine.
For years, the Trade Delegation’s premises and personnel enjoyed the inviolable status that comes with diplomatic privilege: immune from prosecution, postal search and council tax. In the cold war, it was known as ‘Little Moscow’ and often featured in accounts of the tit-for-tat diplomatic expulsions that were common fare before the fall of the wall. These have been revived in recent years, along with the old intrigue. After the attempted killing of Sergei Skripal seven years ago, a helicopter was seen hovering over the complex for weeks on end.
To many local residents, this brooding complex of modern buildings has long been a source of intrigue and mystery. For many years, it has been widely rumoured to host a large number of Russian spies among its hundreds-strong staff. The compound is vast, but set within densely planted grounds that obscure most of the buildings from sight. A high wall rings the perimeter. Over the years, the Soviets (and latterly the Russians) picked up a slew of properties in the nearby streets of NW5 and N6: Dartmouth Park Road, Hill Way and Oakeshott Avenue. Residents in these streets often wonder whether the Russian delegation was responsible for their terrible phone signal. One local remembered climbing into his neighbour’s garden to get his ball back, and discovering a huge satellite dish on the lawn.
During the Londongrad era – we can argue over the exact dates, but mine run from when Roman Abramovich bought Chelsea in June 2003 to when Vladimir Putin invaded Ukraine in February 2022 – the ‘Little Moscow’ moniker spread to cover much of the surrounding area. Where once there might have been quiet Russian couples who kept scrupulously to themselves, or simply abandoned buildings, there was now a new class of invisible residents. Behind looming walls and tinted windows were the oligarchs who had bought up many of the area’s most desirable houses. The storied editor Diana Athill once asked a taxi driver if he ever picked up any of her new neighbours. ‘No, but I often drive their cooks,’ he replied.
It may seem strange that a large complex of buildings belonging to the Russian state was not only still in operation two years after Russia invaded Ukraine, but was playing host to an alleged bevy of spies within spitting distance of the men’s pond lawns. Like anyone else who has looked out from Parliament Hill and seen the Russian flag rippling above the tree tops, I have long wanted to know what kind of trade deals were really being struck behind the deep thickets of greenery.
Standing outside the walls of the mysterious compound, it’s easy to assume that the men and women inside see the whole chessboard, where we see only a set of dirty brick walls, a set of burglar spikes and an impenetrable thicket of native trees. But as the secret history of Russia’s north London outpost shows, things may not be quite so simple.
In the early hours of 31 August, 1971, an extremely drunk Russian man was pulled over by police officers not far from Warren Street Tube station. In the car with him was a blonde woman. After a short conversation, the woman left and the man addressed the officers. He gave his name as Oleg Lyalin, his address as the Russian Trade Delegation in Highgate and his occupation as KGB officer. Finally, he astonished them by saying he was a double agent and giving the name of his MI5 handlers.
Lyalin was a Russian intelligence officer who had begun an affair with one of his KGB colleague’s wives shortly after arriving in London. Earlier that year, British intelligence had broken into her residential building and filmed the couple having sex. When the Brits confronted Lyalin with the kompromat, he agreed to swap sides in exchange for a safehouse where they could continue the affair. Over a series of debriefings, Lyalin gave the names of 120 active Russian spies stationed in London, many of whom had diplomatic immunity.
