But then the ragged,barefoot family of four – British man Nick Stride,his Russian wife Luda,their son Michael,then 17,and daughter Anya,16 – realised they couldn’t survive like that for much longer. It was November 2017 and they were running out of food,water and hope. They’d been on the run for seven years from Igor Shuvalov,one of the most powerful men in Russia,the one-time deputy PM of Vladimir Putin,with the last three also evading the immigration authorities in Australia. At last,they knew their time as fugitives must be coming to an end.
“It was all becoming too much,” Nick says now,tears coursing down his face at the memory of the trauma of it all. “It was so,so hard living like that. We were all absolutely as tough as nails,but we were starting to crack under the pressure. I think a lot of people might have died in that situation,and I knew we well might,too,if it went on.”
For despite death threats from Putin’s cronies in the Kremlin,and the prospect of Luda being forcibly deported by Australia back to Russia to face a likely death sentence,Nick decided the foursome would have to return to civilisation. They’d survived battles with crocodiles,sharks and snakes,cyclones and ferocious outback bushfires but finally,in threadbare clothes
and with their skin stained a deep red all over from the pindan dust,they were ready to give up.
It had all started out as a grand adventure. Nick,a skilled construction glazier,had been headhunted in 1998 at the age of 30 for a job in Russia,far from his home in Plymouth in England’s south-west. He soon fell in love with both the country and a young woman he met there,Luda,21,from south-west Russia,who worked in the TV censor’s Moscow office.
The pair married the next year and,when his work finished,tried living in England,where their two children were born. But Luda,with little English,was desperately unhappy. So when Nick was offered another job in Moscow in 2005,building a fabulous winter garden for,they jumped at the chance.
The children,by then four and five,loved the excitement of being somewhere new,adored the snow and,both competent in the Russian language from speaking it with their mum at home,thrived. Luda was happy and Nick was being trusted with more and more responsibility at work. He hadn’t originally been aware,but his new boss was Igor Shuvalov,a wealthy lawyer and private entrepreneur,who had served as a minister and chief of staff of Russia,and as assistant to President Vladimir Putin. He was having a huge house built just outside Moscow with an Olympic-sized swimming pool and winter gardens that contained six different climatic zones,fashioned in marble and glass and topped with a vast glass dome. It was Nick’s task,as the specialist glazier,to coordinate all the work and liaise with the overseas suppliers of materials.
By this time,Shuvalov’s star was firmly in the ascendancy with Putin. When the president did a job swap with Dmitry Medvedev and temporarily became the prime minister in 2008 – after he’d hit the limit for the number of terms he could serve as president – Shuvalov served as his deputy. It was then that Nick’s bosses – Shuvalov’s subordinates – became increasingly paranoid about a foreigner knowing so much about such a powerful man’s business affairs. Soon,Nick became more nervous,too.
As he learnt more about Russia,he was startled by the incredible contrast between the fabulous wealth of those at the top of the regime,and the desperate poverty,hunger and homelessness of those at the bottom. He also
became increasingly aware of the corruption and of how many critics of Putin were being killed or dying in mysterious circumstances.
There were people like Russian politician Sergei Yushenkov,ForbesRussia editor Paul Klebnikov,journalist Anna Politkovskaya and Russian defector Alexander Litvinenko,the latter dying three weeks after drinking a cup of tea laced with a deadly poison,polonium-210,at a London hotel. Nick further discovered that his phone,office and probably home were being bugged,his every movement closely monitored.
Russian oligarch Igor Shuvalov was Nick Stride’s boss,and a former deputy PM to President Vladimir Putin.Getty Images
Matters reached a head when he was unexpectedly prevented from going to London in 2008 to renew his Russian visa. Then,when the trip was finally allowed,Luda and the children were not permitted to go with him. “My life was being completely controlled by the Russians,” Nick says. “They decided if I could have a visa. They decided who could leave. Even when once I went back to London and I didn’t have enough clear pages in my passport for the visa,I phoned the office and said I’d be delayed by a few days. Someone immediately called back and said it had been sorted,and I was now fine to get the visa and travel that day. The Russians had fingers in every pie,and they were used to getting their own way. What they said,went.”
As the only Westerner in Shuvalov’s office,he knew he was an obvious target. He became increasingly aware of how many workers resented him for being so close to the bosses and were talking about the dangers of having a foreigner in their midst. He started noticing that his name was no longer appearing on a lot of the official documents,and he was suddenly being denied access to areas of the company he’d been freely working in before. Then his bosses – including Shuvalov – found out he’d gone to Georgia for an interview for a new job.
“They just didn’t seem to trust me any more,” he says. “While I noticed their paranoia around me,I began feeling paranoid,too. It just all feeds each other. I knew so much about their affairs,they were angry that I’d visited Georgia,and they were scared what I might do with all the information I had. So they started to flex their muscles to show me how much power they wielded over me. And it started to get quite scary.“
Anya and Michael in their first Moscow winter in 2006.Courtesy of Nick Stride
As the killings continued – human rights lawyer and Putin critic Stanislav Markelov shot dead by a masked gunman;journalist Anastasia Baburova,who tried to help him,also shot;and human rights activist Natalya Estemirova abducted from near her home,to be later found dead – Nick became more and more nervous. He embarked on an operation to convince his bosses that he and his family loved Russia and wanted to stay forever,but needed a quick trip to England to sort out their affairs. Then in early October,2010,after months of planning,he,Luda,Michael,then 10,and Anya,9,flew to London,taking no luggage to avoid suspicion,to make good their escape.
They knew Britain could never be a safe haven. London was already nicknamed “Londongrad” as the playground of so many influential Russian elites,and Nick had been told that Shuvalov,or his wife Olga,owned property there. So Nick and Luda checked straight into the Holiday Inn close to the airport,drew the curtains in their room and spent the next five days ordering food via room service and racing out,under cover of darkness,to the nearest supermarket for provisions. He didn’t dare call any of his family in the UK or friends in Russia. Finally,the family dived into a black cab to return to Heathrow to pick up a new flight to the one place they thought they might be safe,one of the most distant points from Russia:Australia.
The most remarkable thing about Australia when the Stride family arrived on October 8,2010,was just how unremarkable everything was. It somehow felt so normal. The sun was shining,people were smiling and talking to each other,the colours were intense in the bright light and the air smelled as fresh as a rain shower on a hot day. It took their breath away.
After Russia,with all the pollution,the concrete high-rises,the drab clothing and the drama of their escape,it was another world. The four stood outside Brisbane Airport,blinking in the sunshine and beaming at each other,in shorts and T-shirts they’d bought in London for the trip. Michael and Anya were wide-eyed with excitement and curiosity about this new country. They didn’t know a soul there but were simply happy to be so far away from Russia.
“I didn’t have a plan at all about what we might do now we’d made it,” says Nick,whose family obtained a six-month tourist visa on arrival. “It just felt wonderful to be there. I thought,‘If we can just live and be free and be together,then that’s enough for the time being. The rest will work itself out.’ Of course,we knew the rules about immigration and knew we couldn’t just turn up and live in another country. But I hoped the Russians would think we’d just gone home to England and I wanted to enjoy Australia for as long as we could,away from the dangers we’d been facing,and watch Michael and Anya grow up in safety. It was such a huge relief to be there. And once we’d arrived,it was so easy to just forget about everything.”
Almost everything. The day after their arrival,Nick’s mobile phone started ringing and,when he answered,the voice at the other end was Russian and male and very,very gruff. “Nicholas Stride!” the man shouted in Russian. “Where the f--- are you? You shouldn’t have left! You’re going to pay for this!”
Molly the dog keeps an eye on Michael in Bunbury,WA,while the family’s asylum appeal is heard.Courtesy of Nick Stride
Nick hung up but it immediately rang again. The same man now was even more enraged. He was shouting that Nick had to tell him where he’d gone and was screaming profanities and threats at the top of his voice. Nick listened silently for a few seconds,then snapped the phone off. He prised open the back of the mobile,peeled out the SIM card and broke it in two,then tossed the phone back into his bag.
The Strides spent six months travelling around Australia,then went to the Perth office of the immigration department in March 2011 to apply for political asylum. There,their problems really started. They were given a series of bridging visas,but their applications to stay kept being refused. Still confident,however,Nick saw a story on his old boss Shuvalov written by leading American investigative journalist and author Michael Weiss,a writer for the US news publicationForeign Policy. Weiss didn’t seem to know much about his various dealings,so Nick decided to leak some business information to him.
“I remembered once saying to my son Michael,‘Can you stand by and watch somebody do something you believe is wrong and do nothing?’ I really think you can’t. If Michael or Anya came across something wrong,I hope they’d have the courage to speak out against it. So if I didn’t,I’d be a hypocrite of the first order.
“I decided to contact Weiss and tell him what I knew. I thought it couldn’t do any harm. After all,we were pretty confident that the refugee review tribunal was going to let us stay in Australia,well out of harm’s way.”
Unfortunately,he was wrong. They launched appeals,reviews and bids for ministerial interventions,all to no avail. They weren’t able to afford a migration lawyer,and without an interpreter present – unlike most asylum hopefuls – to advise them,they weren’t aware that they could have asked for one.
A fishing haul from Beagle Bay in WA.Courtesy of Nick Stride
On February 13,2012,while living in Bunbury just south of Perth,they received a huge blow:the tribunal had refused their appeal for political asylum. While it found they were at risk of serious harm were they to return to the UK or Russia,it declined their appeal on the grounds that the harm was not for reasons of any persecution on the basis of any of the five grounds recognised in the United Nations’ 1951 refugee convention:race,religion,nationality,membership of a particular social group or political opinion. Their case fell outside those restricted definitions. More appeals and applications for interventions followed,with a final one in October 2014 turned down by then-immigration minister Scott Morrison.
The immigration department gave them three weeks to leave – or it would forcibly deport Nick and the children to Britain and Luda to Russia. “We pleaded with them,” says Nick. “We knew if that happened,we’d never see Luda again. The children would be without their mother. Our family would be torn apart. It was a death sentence.”
“Your family could be in a lot of danger. Now is the time to get yourself lost.”
Then on October 29,2014,Weiss’sForeign Policy article came out,containing shocking allegations against Shuvalov:that he was avoiding customs tax by using banks and offshore schemes to mask transactions,and that he was using the names of other people such as his one-time chauffeur and his wife Olga on certain company documents. The piece also noted he was the highest-earning government official in Russia,making $US6.3 million the previous year. Olga made $US6.2 million.
If Nick had been in danger before from the Russians,he knew that risk would now be at least doubled;they’d know by the information included in Weiss’s story that he’d been speaking to him. His phone rang. It was Weiss. The journalist was aware that his claims – later denied by Shuvalov – were dynamite. “Nick,I’m sorry,but it’s time to get yourself out of wherever you are to somewhere where people won’t be able to find you,” he said. “Your family could be in a lot of danger. Now is the time to get yourself lost.”
Anya’s 14th birthday was celebrated at Goombaragin in WA.Courtesy of Nick Stride
By the time the sun rose at 5.20am on October 30,2014,the foursome were already well on their way from Bunbury towards an unknown destination and an uncertain future. They’d set out in the pitch black with Nick driving and Luda in the front seat beside him. Michael and Anya,now young teens,were in the back,their dog Molly curled up between them. Their father had asked them what they wanted to do:hide out in some remote spot or lose their mum and be deported. They didn’t hesitate to choose the former.
But Anya was now having second thoughts about leaving their Bunbury home. She put her headphones on and turned on her MP3 player. Instantly,R.E.M.’s song Everybody Hurts filled her ears. “The lyrics just hit me and I couldn’t help tears running down my face,” Anya recalls,sobbing,her long,straight auburn hair falling over her face. “I don’t know why,but I just felt so sad. Then I remember my dad kind of reaching behind his seat and holding my hand. I never thought about it at the time,but looking back,I think he was crying as well. It feels,from that moment on,that it all went downhill.”
Michael,then a tall,handsome,serious 14-year-old,was also feeling morose. He hadn’t told any of his school friends that he was leaving as he didn’t want to attract too much attention. “But I’m sure all those people at school who thought I was a spy,just because I had a Russian accent,and called me a sleeper-cell agent,would have thought us disappearing one night confirmed all their suspicions,” he says,with a wry smile.
Their initial camping spot was at an isolated beach at Quandong Point,about 50 kilometres north of Broome. No one slept well that first night;they constantly heard strange shuffling noises outside their tents and wondered what the hell it was. When the sun rose,they found it had been thousands upon thousands of hermit crabs,attracted by the bread and HP Sauce they’d left out after making sandwiches.
Michael in 2015 at a place the family named “The Beach”,an isolated spot near WA’s Pender Bay where tourists weren’t allowed.Courtesy of Nick Stride
The days gradually merged into each other. They caught a few fish,mostly rock cod and some small snappers,to supplement their supplies of rice – they had a five-kilogram bag – and a few dozen cans of beans,but it was hard work. They couldn’t even wade or swim in the sea because of the ever-present threat of lurking crocodiles,blue-ringed octopus and deadly stonefish.
After two weeks,Nick went into Broome for more food and water,and saw a sign in a shop window:Caretakers Wanted. The owners of a holiday place on the Dampier Peninsula,the Goombaragin Eco Retreat,170 kilometres north of Broome,were planning a trip and wanted someone to keep the place going in the wet season,especially with a cyclone on its way. The family wouldn’t be paid but could eat anything from the well-stocked freezers.
“Goombaragin was our first real taste of the bush,” says Michael. “There were snakes,snakes everywhere. At night,you could stand in any spot and shine a torch,and it was guaranteed you’d see them. The young ones were the worst. They could move so quickly and couldn’t control their venom,so if they felt under threat,they’d just inject you with everything they had.”
At the start of 2015,the owners returned,but the nearby Indigenous community at Ardyaloon was looking for a volunteer to help them repair and maintain local houses in exchange for food and accommodation. Nick and the family were given a small two-room office to sleep in and told they could have anything they wanted from the community store. In return,Nick and Michael fixed up the dilapidated shacks in which the elders lived. When they finished,any thought of returning to city life vanished on the news that former Russian deputy PM and Putin critic Boris Nemtsov had been shot and killed.
The Burrguk Aboriginal Community,about 140 kilometres north of Broome,was looking for some outside help for a bush campsite they ran called the Banana Well Getaway,on Beagle Bay Creek. The Strides volunteered and received a food allowance of $400 a month. But it wasn’t easy. “We were all bitten[by mosquitoes] so many times,we ended up impervious to them,” says Nick,who assumed the false surname of “Ashcroft” to deal with any officialdom. “And every single day,without fail,I’d look out and think,Is this going to be the day when someone comes,whether Russians or immigration officials,and destroys everything? It was hell.”
The family spent much of their time helping searches for missing people,locating holidaying fishermen who’d got lost in the salt marshes,pulling out bogged cars,navigating local politics and fixing everyone’s cars with Michael,in particular,becoming an excellent bush mechanic. There were bushfires and lightning strikes that blew out all the electrics and damaged their vehicles. They had to compete with crocodiles for fish,constantly deal with snakes in their cabin,and hunt wild cows and bulls for food. The guns they borrowed were often a greater danger to them than to the animals.
Michael,then 16,helps Nyul-Nyul rangers trap a croc.Courtesy of Nick Stride
But Nick could see the children were really suffering from having no contact with anyone of a similar age – the nearest Indigenous children were 20 kilometres away at Beagle Bay and kept very much to themselves – and missing out so completely on their education. He wondered if they should just go back to Bunbury,despite the news from Russia being even worse:the Kremlin being implicated in the shooting-down of flight MH17;its declaration that Crimea was now part of Russia following the first invasion of Ukraine;Putin’s former press minister Mikhail Lesin dying in a hotel room in Washington,DC,under circumstances some found suspicious. Luda,however,was resisting. She was still terrified of being sent back to Russia.
Eventually,in June 2017,they agreed on a compromise. Nick had been told about a really remote beach 100 kilometres to the north where they could all go and stay in an empty house while they worked out what to do next. It had been two years and seven months since they’d left their Bunbury home to go into hiding. When he and Luda told the children,they both looked relieved.
Red shells is a tiny Aboriginal community set on a beach on the National Heritage-listed coastal wilderness of Pender Bay to the north-west,with only one house,a shed and no permanent residents. The beach took its name from the millions of tiny blood-red crab shells scattered on the white sands fringing the turquoise ocean. “The idea was that we’d have our final happy moment before we handed ourselves in,a final taste of paradise,” says Michael,then 17. “And Red Shells was a beautiful place,but it felt like the walls were closing in. We were starting to lose hope for a good outcome.”
Anya,then 16,was also suffering. “That was the point[at which] I started to self-harm,” she says. “I found a rusty old knife on the beach. I didn’t really understand it,but I thought this is what people do when they’re sad.”
As the family began their second week at Red Shells,Nick emailed the then Department of Immigration and Border Protection to tell them where they were. He had no idea there was yet another immigration minister in place,Peter Dutton. He heard nothing back.
Anya and Michael with Nick and his new partner,Mila,in New Zealand,where the family was given residency.Courtesy of Nick Stride
But if the authorities did arrive,he realised that local people could get into trouble for harbouring fugitives. In order to avoid that,he decided to go even further off the grid to a completely isolated beach a few hours south where tourists weren’t allowed – so remote that it didn’t even have a name. The family called it The Beach.
It was a brutally harsh place,with the pindan absorbing so much heat from the sun that it was often too painful to walk on. Every day felt hotter than the last. Their only shade in the day was an old,tattered bedsheet they’d strung up and there was never any breeze;just hot,hot air filled with flies,the unrelenting chirping of insects and the endless crashing of waves on the shoreline.
Anya hated it. “I was miserable,lonely and desperate,” she says. “We were all unhappy. One time,I didn’t brush my hair for three months. It seemed like a waste of time. After a while,I also became reluctant to clean my teeth as I knew we were running out of water,and it seemed such a waste. I wasn’t in a good place. The boredom and loneliness eats away at you.”
In the fifth month of living on The Beach,the family were startled one day to see an older man drive up in the latest model of 4WD campervans. He was
clearly taken aback to see a bunch of such dishevelled and gaunt people. “Hey,” he said,looking at the dog,Molly. “I’ve got a bit of chicken here.” He tossed a couple of chicken wings,still with plenty of meat attached,to the ground and Molly pounced on them. The family stood transfixed,watching.
“We were open-mouthed,all thinking,‘We could have eaten that,’ ” Nick says. “It looked so good. We were all close to starving,but suddenly,Molly is eating better than any of us!”
The man noticed the distraught expressions on their faces,and coughed politely. “Actually,” he said,“I’ve got some beef burgers in the truck. Would you like some?”
Michael,Anya and Nick Stride today. “We were all absolutely as tough as nails,but we were starting to crack under the pressure,” Nick recalls of the months before they surrendered to immigration authorities.Supplied
“The taste of meat after so long,it was incredible,” Nick says. “It was then I realised we couldn’t go on like this any longer. We had to get out. This was a living death.”
In November 2017,the family finally made their way back to Bunbury,after three years and 18 days of living hand-to-mouth on the run. But they still had no luck with immigration;yet again they were threatened with deportation. In the end,Nick,Michael and Anya fled to New Zealand,where they have been granted protection and refugee status. They were given residency in 2022.
Nick’s relationship with Luda didn’t make it,and she stayed behind in Australia,still seeking asylum. She is now estranged from the rest of the family. “Of course,I wish her nothing but the best,” says Nick,now 55,looking back on the events of the last 25 years from the security of the house he rents with Michael,now 23,Anya,22,and his new partner Mila,also in her 50s,in a secret location on the North Island. “But the situation with Russia and then Australian immigration put us under so much stress,it effectively destroyed our marriage. It was desperately sad.”
Lifeline:13 11 14
Sue Williams’Run for Your Life (Simon&Schuster,$35) is out April 3.
To read more from Good Weekendmagazine,visit our page at, and.
