by Andrew Watts
Colt: Is it normal for him to keep operational details to himself?
Marisha: No. Normally we brief everything together.
Colt: When did this pattern begin?
Marisha: A few weeks ago. He brings one of his low-level men with him. Agapov. A man who is more for security. Or for wet work, if there is any.
Colt: I understand. What do you think they are doing?
Marisha: I don’t know. I am sorry.
Colt: It’s okay. Thank you, this is helpful.
Colt didn’t like the sound of Petrov keeping information from SANDSTONE. It was possible that he was recruiting new agents and would assign them to subordinate SVR officers one at a time. But it could also be something else . . .
Colt: Do you think he is behaving this way because he suspects something with you?
He watched the video of Marisha. She paused, taking a breath before typing her response.
Marisha: I don’t think so. But we must watch this and be careful.
Colt updated her on communications procedures for their next meeting. He also gave her a refresher on extraction procedures should they need to make her disappear from her Russian friends forever. He asked a series of questions about contact with possible counterintelligence personnel. She quickly answered no to each one.
Then they moved on to the big agenda item.
Several months ago, the SVR had struck gold. The Russians—like other intelligence agencies all over the world—were attempting to develop penetrations inside artificial intelligence companies. Pax AI was one of their main targets, and the Russians had identified a top scientist at the company by the name of Kozlov. Russian by birth, he was now a naturalized US citizen of several years, though his parents and siblings still lived in their home country.
The SVR used his Russian family to recruit him. Promises and threats were made. The threats worked best. Scared of what might happen if he didn’t obey, Kozlov quickly became a compliant agent, helping to plant SVR malware on the Pax AI computer network and describing some of Pax AI’s most hush-hush technological breakthroughs to Marisha Stepanova, his new SVR handler. They met at tech conferences and out-of-town corporate events. Kozlov traveled for work almost every week, and her travel destinations soon matched his.
Colt’s superiors were very concerned with this development.
Aside from capturing the minds of tech enthusiasts around the world and having a CEO with a cult-like following, Pax AI was quietly involved in cutting-edge projects with the US government. Special-access programs that were classified at the highest level, with occasional supervision from secretive federal research agencies like the Intelligence Advanced Research Projects Activity and Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (IARPA and DARPA).
But Kozlov’s recruitment, while horrifying, might be turned into something useful, if the CIA could pull it off.
Tonight, members of a joint FBI-CIA counterintelligence team were planning to meet with Kozlov, in hopes they could turn him into a source. Colt’s handler, Ed Wilcox, was several blocks from Colt’s current location, supervising the Kozlov meeting. Colt had worked carefully with Marisha on this. No one wanted her to get burned. Kozlov would have no idea Marisha knew anything about it. And the CIA wouldn’t tell him.
By the end of the night, if everything went well, Kozlov would begin acting as a double agent. He would still spy on his American company for Russian intelligence, but everything he passed on would be screened and manipulated by the CIA.
Pax AI’s security was state of the art, however. And for all of Kozlov and the SVR’s efforts, actually stealing the technology had, so far, not been possible.
Marisha: There is a new development. A security breach we have been able to take advantage of. Kozlov was able to bring us Pax AI’s weather-prediction algorithm. Very advanced. Our scientists confirmed it was legitimate.
Colt: How was he able to access that data?
Marisha: Pax AI has four levels in its San Francisco headquarters. Each floor of the building is progressively more secure. With Kozlov’s access, Russian cyber operations specialists have been able to see data stored on servers from the first three levels of the Pax AI headquarters building. But the top floor has a physical barrier and very sophisticated firewall. These new files, including the weather-prediction algorithm, could only have come from the fourth floor.
Colt: So how did Kozlov get them?
Marisha: We think someone has transferred data from the fourth floor and moved it onto a server on the third level.
Colt: Someone? Not Kozlov?
Marisha: Correct. Not Kozlov.
Colt: Who?
Marisha: We don’t know.
Colt: How were they able to do that?
Marisha: Our cyber team was unable to determine the method.
Colt: Why would someone else be removing data from level four and taking it to level three?
Marisha: The same reason we were trying to do it. To obtain Pax AI information.
Colt sat back in his chair, letting out a slow breath. The Russians had stumbled onto another organization’s espionage operation inside Pax AI. Wilcox was going to flip out.
Colt: Can you describe the security breach?
Marisha: Our cyber team found it while exploring the third-floor network. Each floor’s network has a separate firewall. Kozlov works on the third floor. We gave him a device to take to work. When he logs into his computer, our device is able to do the rest. From there, we can get the data onto our drive, and he can walk out the front door without being discovered.
Colt: So he is at the mercy of whoever is doing this? You guys don’t know what information you are getting, or when?
Marisha: Correct. So far there have only been three data dumps. Two were less significant. The last was the weather algorithm.
Colt: Why would they store it on the third floor? Why wouldn’t the person who stole it from the fourth floor just transfer it out themselves?
Marisha: It is possible they have a multi-person team. One person with fourth floor access to remove the data. And then a courier transports it out. If the internal transfer is less risky, it would protect the identity of the higher-level person.
Colt checked his watch. Wilcox’s surprise meeting with Kozlov should now be taking place in a hotel three blocks away. Colt would need to head over there soon and meet with Wilcox in person. Marisha had scheduled a meet with Kozlov later tonight, their normal agent-handler rendezvous. It would also serve as a test of Kozlov’s viability as a CIA-controlled double agent. Would Kozlov tell Marisha that the Americans had approached him? Or would he keep quiet and serve his new master?
Colt: Do you have any concerns about tonight?
Marisha: Of course I do. But I trust you will make sure it will not be traced to me. Kozlov is scared for his family. If your team provides him with reassurance about his family and his future, that should work well.
Colt: You are sure that he won’t report this to your superior?
Marisha: He doesn’t have a direct line. And as long as you don’t demand he do anything different, he should continue to report information to me.
Marisha was smart. She knew what Colt and the CIA would do without having to be told. Wilcox wanted to recruit Kozlov and keep him sending information to the SVR, allowing the CIA to modify the Russian intelligence stream.
But because this operation was on US turf, FBI counterintelligence would likely take the lead tonight. Colt would find out from Wilcox momentarily what the plan was going forward. The CIA’s priority was to protect Marisha and keep the intelligence stream flowing. Whatever happened, she had handed them quite a victory.
Colt: You know what to do if you see any sign of Kozlov trying to contact someone else in the Russian government?
Marisha: Yes. I will contact you. Then I will live in a wonderful American farm town for the rest of my life, just like you have promised.
Colt: Okay. It is very important we watch for signs. Thank you once aga
in. This is exceptional work. I need to go. I’ll check back in at our scheduled time, after your rendezvous.
Marisha: Goodbye
Colt finished typing and looked at the zoomed-in video feed on his phone. Marisha’s face was somber as she closed her phone and keyboard. Colt sighed. Wilcox had talked to him about this—the great dilemma of the case officer. When the risk to one’s agent must be weighed with the value of future gains. Everything was a measurement of pros and cons, with human lives on the line and terrible consequences for those agents who were discovered.
Colt turned off the video and made sure the digital record had been sent to Langley before double-checking the program had deleted all stored data.
Then he sent a text to Wilcox, who replied seconds later.
Ed: It’s going well. Come on over.
Colt looked back out into the darkness between the two hotel towers. He could still see Marisha, now sitting on her bed, legs crossed. Her face lit by the soft blue glow of her phone, the rest of the hotel room dark. A minibar bottle of wine in one hand. Colt worried for her. The risk she was taking was enormous.
Colt knew she liked the money the CIA paid her. But greed wasn’t her motivation. Marisha wanted freedom and knew it would take money to get there. One night, during a wine-heavy in-person meeting, she told him that the thought of retiring in her forties and living out her days on a vacation-destination island, away from the danger and hypocrisy of her SVR life, was what kept her going. He hoped she would reach that goal.
Colt knew she was not without flaw. Like many informants, Marisha was probably more flawed than good, but he saw flecks of character in her secret mission. She could have made money in other ways, used her training to avoid the long reach of any Russian black bag men who might come after her if she went AWOL. But she chose to do this. Colt admired her bravery in the face of a government that was merciless to its enemies.
The Moscow Rules were the legendary rules CIA officers had developed while running covert operations in Moscow during the Cold War. Back then, fifty thousand KGB agents made it their mission to stop a few dozen American CIA case officers. Both countries raced to develop technological capabilities that would strengthen their nation’s grip on power and make the other obsolete. Was today much different? China had dramatically increased its participation in the game. But other than that? The agency names had changed. The technology had changed. But the game itself hadn’t. And certainly not the stakes.
Colt wiped down the grease pencil marks on his window, threw his computer and phone in his travel bag, strapped the bag over his shoulder, and headed out the door. He took the elevator down to the ground floor, walked past the crowded bar area and out the revolving doors. The Seattle streets awaited him, alive with the sounds of traffic and pedestrians. The smells of international street food and gourmet coffee shops filled his nostrils.
The walk to Wilcox’s hotel took several minutes, and he had time to think over what he had just learned from Marisha. Russian intelligence had stumbled upon another espionage operation aimed at stealing from the most secure floor of the Pax AI headquarters.
One question kept popping into his mind: whose operation had the Russians found?
3
Colt reached Wilcox’s hotel and headed up to his room on the seventh floor, knocking twice. Wilcox opened the door and offered Colt a seat at a small round table. His computer was open on the desk, the video image of a man in his late forties or early fifties on the screen.
“Is that him?”
Wilcox nodded. “It just wrapped up. Everything with SANDSTONE go well?” Wilcox had served as Colt’s sole handler—the only CIA officer Colt had face-to-face contact with—for the past eight years. Four years ago, he had been made the CIA’s Vancouver station chief. The city had turned into ground zero for the CIA’s counter-espionage work in the tech sector.
“It was very productive,” Colt replied, running Wilcox through everything he had just learned from Marisha. Wilcox responded with his trademark eyebrow raises. More of a unibrow, really, but that was what made it special.
“Kozlov is a remarkable pickup,” said Wilcox, stroking his beard. “I’ll ask Langley to give SANDSTONE a bonus.”
“She’ll like that,” Colt said, looking at the video screen. Kozlov was sitting in the hotel loveseat near the window, his arms folded across his chest. “The Kozlov meeting go all right? He looks like he’s in deep thought.”
Wilcox nodded. “It went surprisingly well, actually.”
“FBI led it?”
“Yes. A veteran agent out of the San Francisco office. Ron Rinaldi. Don’t tell him I said this, but he’s very good. He and a few others are part of our interagency tech counterintelligence program.”
“Cool,” Colt replied. “The video kind of sucks, though.”
Wilcox looked at the screen, narrowing his eyes. “It’s the FBI’s. Secure wireless.”
“Really? I thought they had the big budgets. Woulda thought their surveillance equipment would be higher resolution than this.”
“Maybe the lens got smudged or something.”
“Yeah, maybe. Never underestimate a human being’s ability to screw up technology.”
“It’s good enough for government work. Kozlov signed on, so we’re in business. That’s all that matters. I was just happy I got to observe from down the hall.”
“He’s on this floor?”
Wilcox nodded. “Old boy here is four rooms down. Don’t stray on your way out.”
Colt frowned. The proximity was a little too close for comfort. That was unlike Wilcox, but Colt knew this operation had a lot of moving pieces. “What’s the plan with running Kozlov?”
“The FBI has agreed to let us continue to run him, at least for a while. DOJ and the DNI both recognize the importance of protecting your agent. And based on what Marisha just told you, we’ll need to keep Kozlov in place so we can identify what other organization is stealing from Pax AI.”
“Did he mention anything about that?”
“No. They didn’t get into the details of his operation with the Russians. It was mostly just a recruitment.”
Colt nodded. “Okay. Pretty crazy how they stumbled onto another op, though. And to think we wouldn’t have found it without the SVR. Did you ever think the Russians would be doing counter-espionage for us?”
Wilcox frowned. “We’ll see.”
“You don’t believe SANDSTONE?”
“I don’t know yet. We’ll proceed with caution. But we sure as hell need to follow the trail. The FBI will schedule us to meet with Kozlov again tomorrow. I’ll join this time. The meeting Kozlov has with SANDSTONE tonight will give him a chance to screw up. You’ll need to speak with your agent as soon as it’s finished and find out if Kozlov has divulged our contact so we can determine if he’s trustworthy.”
“Understood. He’ll probably be pissing himself.”
“Probably. But if there’s another operation inside Pax AI, we don’t have the luxury of time. The programs they work on are too sensitive.”
Colt checked his watch. “SANDSTONE is scheduled to meet with Kozlov in two hours.”
Wilcox studied Colt’s face. “How much do you trust her?”
“SANDSTONE?” Colt shrugged. “She’s always provided us with reliable intel. Including things that the SVR wouldn’t want out.”
“But . . .”
“But . . . she is SVR,” Colt said. The implication was obvious. The SVR was unlikely to use one of their case officers in a long-term disinformation play like this, but it wasn’t impossible.
“Yes. She is.” Wilcox sighed.
Two hundred yards away from Kozlov’s hotel room, a McMillan TAC-50 sniper rifle was being aimed at its target. The shooter lay in the prone position on a sturdy dining room table that had been moved to a far wall, positioned fifteen feet back from an open window. One boot made contact with the wall to help brace him for the power of the recoil.
They had chosen to execute thi
s shot from the furnished model on an unoccupied floor of luxury condos. Construction was still going on in and outside the building. The loud noise would mask the sound of the mechanical clink of the suppressed fifty-caliber rifle fire. There were few personnel in the building, and no one within two floors of the assassination team. The suppressor would also mask the muzzle flash to anyone but the most direct viewers from the hotel across the street.
His spotter stood behind him, looking through a scope. A third team member stood behind both, ready to clean up and help with their quick escape when the job was done.
The sniper breathed slowly, readying himself for the shot. The spotter’s phone lit up with a text notification. After reading it, the spotter gave the shooter a thumbs up.
One final breath, bracing himself for the kick, and then his finger pressed the trigger.
The powerful subsonic fifty-caliber rifle fired with a mechanical clink that shook the room. The round traveled the two-football-field distance across the street, penetrating the high-rise glass of Kozlov’s hotel room and slamming into his chest.
4
“What the hell was that?” Wilcox said, hearing the noise.
For a brief moment, Colt’s brain couldn’t understand what his eyes were telling it. He had been watching the screen with Kozlov’s surveillance feed. One second, he was sitting quietly in the loveseat. The next second, the chair had flipped over and dark red blood surrounded a gaping hole in the wall. Kozlov’s body was on the floor, ripped to shreds at the torso, his lifeless head now pressed into the chair at an impossible angle.