A priority target like the Chinese cyber program could be reduced to a handful of leads traveling or working outside of China. An abstract term like “Chinese cyber program” became a map on the wall showing the locations of all the Chinese cyber units; a series of cyberattacks would get traced back to a particular unit in Beijing, which resulted in the construction of an organization chart for that unit. Closer investigation would then surface social media accounts with photographs of Chinese hackers doing normal things—posing with sunglasses at happy hours, and so forth.
The “Chinese cyber program” thus transformed itself into an intriguing man named Lieutenant Colonel Li, who, it soon transpired, was singlehandedly managing to inflict more damage and destruction on our nation than entire armies of the past. When we identified him as a key player, someone China should want to protect at all costs, he got assigned to D.C.
There was a saying in the Intelligence Community that if a would-be source looked interesting to us, he looked interesting to other intelligence services as well, which forced allies to share information to avoid tripping over each other.
It was no surprise, then, when we received queries from the UK, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, our “Five Eyes” partners, and others, all asking about Li’s arrival in the U.S.
One theory was that he had been removed from cyber operations to serve a tour as an Army Attaché. This meant he couldn’t comment on current Chinese cyber operations, but this didn’t make him any less of a valid target because he could tell us about his past operations. Either way, we advised our allies that we were monitoring his activities closely and would tell them about any significant developments. Everyone understood that the Chinese would be watching him like a hawk and send him home at the first sign of trouble.
Just as we trusted our most respected Intelligence Officers to serve in countries such as Russia and China, it wasn’t inconceivable that China would trust Li to live and work in D.C.
Given the limited number of game-changing targets like Li, it was no surprise that my database searches surfaced scores of documents and reports from the past ten years, with a swathe of them related to the recent cyberattacks on the Pentagon. Just as many best-selling writers emerged from relative obscurity before skyrocketing to fame—the hockey stick curve—Li’s story told of a humble beginning.
As far as I could tell, our meetings with him in Islamabad marked the first known contact, but I couldn’t access the CIA files. A nostalgic smile crept across my face as I read the report from my initial contact with him during the diplomatic function. I still remembered the gaudy décor of the Islamabad Marriott Hotel salon and feeling as though I was in a movie set from the 1970s, surrounded by drunken Slavs with rows of medals on their uniforms.
The response from Washington was boilerplate language about no previous contact with Captain Li, and encouragement to sustain discreet contact during future diplomatic functions.
For reasons that had nothing to do with cultural or historical affinity, China and Pakistan had a “special relationship,” which meant that any traditional approach to then-Captain Li on the diplomatic circuit, including phone calls or email, would instantly come to the attention of Pakistan’s notorious Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI). This, of course, would grind the relationship to an immediate halt.
The U.S. gave hundreds of millions of dollars to the Pakistani Army, one of the few functional institutions in the country, and cooperated on counterterrorism operations, primarily in the Federally Administered Tribal Areas (FATA), but we could never crack the nut of the “special relationship” with China.
Brett and I separately met Captain Li a few more times at other diplomatic functions, including a most memorable event at the Serena Hotel with a spectacular buffet that left a lasting impression on my palate. However, neither of us ever was able to convince him to meet up for high tea, to hike the Margalla Hills, or play golf. He remained gracious on each occasion—as he declined us each time.
He was always polite and bowed with a gentle smile, always careful not to cause offense or appear objectionable or mistrustful, but Brett and I figured that others observed our repeated failed encounters with him during these public events in our fishbowl of an existence.
After Li’s assignment in Islamabad, there were a few reports and travel records, two or three times a year, about Captain and later Major Li taking vacations with his wife or attending cyber-related conferences. There was no reason to believe that Major Li was a big fish, but the infrequency of his travels over the years made it difficult to get officers in front of him, and there were no records of our offices making plans to bump him.
His name was mentioned in a few cables following chance encounters with military attachés, with Washington thanking the offices for their attention to the China target and welcoming additional assessment and biographic information during future travel.
This type of activity continued for a few years, but things got really interesting when we received a signals intelligence (SIGINT) report indicating that now-Lieutenant Colonel Li was running a cyber unit in Beijing, about the same time I arrived in Bangkok. The PLA was expanding into cyber operations and had consolidated operations by establishing the Cyberspace Force under the Strategic Support Force, with a mission including computer network exploitation.
We pieced together information about where the cyber unit was located, what they were targeting, and the types of tools and malware they were using, but the alarm bells really sounded after the first attack on the Pentagon.
Those of us in the intelligence business would never use NIPRNet or SIPRNet to share or transmit sensitive information, but military personnel, civilians, and contractors around the world did, and Li’s unit had now experienced great success in shutting them down and hacking them to steal information.
Years after Islamabad, I found myself back in Li’s orbit.
As so often happened, a file review revealed a narrative that pointed forward in a purposeful way, keeping in mind that reports were written with the specific goal of creating a narrative—the hope of peeling the onion to move a case toward recruitment.
From the first contact in Islamabad to the credit card incident at the museum, one couldn’t help but connect a series of interesting dots to conclude that the time was ripe for success. After all these years, we finally found Li in a vulnerable position, and were ready to take advantage of it, to strike while the iron was hot. I couldn’t help but feel that fate was bringing us together.
FIFTEEN
There was a last-minute flurry of bureaucratic scrambling to determine who would ultimately approve and fund the plan to recruit Lieutenant Colonel Li. This was a big step for me because I had never gotten the green light to recruit or pay a source; it wasn’t the way military attachés normally did business. Thank goodness, DIA found the funding—not CIA or FBI—thus giving us the all-important “credit” if Li were to accept the pitch.
Everyone had to get credit as bureaucrats with windowless cubicles insisted on exerting their authority. In the end, some heavies intervened with special waivers and authorizations. To my surprise, everyone agreed that implicit blackmail was the best way to go. Go figure.
Easier said than done.
There was still the small but crucial detail of convincing Li to join me for dinner.
He knew full well that we wanted him to work for us. The credit card incident during our previous meeting had made him vulnerable, and we knew that he knew that we would investigate the issue. This alone might prompt him to decline the invitation.
I breathed a sigh of relief, however, when he said he was available, with a spot report up the chain of command that the meeting was a go. I credited his acceptance to my charm and the rapport we had built, but didn’t want to read too much into it.
Under normal circumstances, asking a source to commit espionage and provide secrets in exchange for money would only happen after several months of cultivated friendship.
In this
case, we didn’t have that much time, so there was no way to assess with any degree of confidence how he might respond. But too much was at stake.
If he found a way to pay off his credit cards in the interim, our opportunity would be lost.
Convincing a would-be source to betray his country and provide secrets wasn’t a matter of bureaucratic decree. This was a serious business that sometimes rose to the level of ritual, with the Intelligence Officer and the newly minted source both leaving the event transformed, similar to how the marriage ceremony transforms husband and wife.
The secrets resulting from the operation, whether spoken or written—just like marriage vows—assumed a life of their own that merited special care and respect. The recruitment ritual sometimes involved hugs and slaps on the back over a cold beer, but other times, hearts raced and voices cracked as both sides contemplated the magnitude of the journey ahead.
There was nothing to stop Li from declining and reporting the pitch to his embassy.
He would probably get sent home and we would receive a slap on the wrist through formal diplomatic channels—aka, a demarche.
While I recognized that whether or not Li would accept the pitch was largely beyond my control, I also acknowledged that my promotion to brigadier general was probably hinging on it.
So, I sought to calm myself and, with the stage set for the big night, I tuned the radio to classic rock as I shaved and showered with intermittent air guitar solos.
The feeling wasn’t close to how I had felt before getting married to Beth but given the damage Li was wreaking on our government computers, I could hardly control myself.
Given that Li would face a pitch and might say no, I thought it was best for us to arrive separately, in case he wanted to excuse himself without making a scene.
Spies often tell the apocryphal story of a French diplomat who stood up in the middle of a restaurant and shouted with a thick accent, “Espionage, you want me to commit espionage?” before storming out to shocked onlookers.
◆◆◆
“I imagine you and Jiao are pleased to be overseas again?” I asked, slicing my prime rib and bathing it in the red wine and mushroom reduction. The implicit message hidden in my seemingly innocuous question was that we had been tracking his career and knew that this was his first overseas assignment with his family since Islamabad.
He set his silverware down neatly and finished chewing with a slight nod.
“We wanted our daughter to attend an American school to learn English.”
I nodded back, seeking evidence of an emotional reaction on his blank canvas—not out of the ordinary for the Chinese—but we had missed this important detail, a possible angle. It wasn’t clear whether China’s one-child policy had shaped their decision to have one child. “I know many Chinese diplomats aren’t allowed to travel overseas with family.”
“We are most fortunate,” he said and sipped his red wine. “How are Beth and the boys—Andrew and Troy, correct?”
“Good,” I said, managing the demands of eating and sustaining a polite conversation. “Thanks for asking. Beth is teaching at West Point. I hope to join them shortly.”
He smiled and nodded. “I enjoyed her book. Please pass on my congratulations.”
Nicely done, I thought, embarrassed that I hadn’t even finished her book myself. “I will,” I said as I sliced my steak. The dozen or so tables near us seemed oblivious to what was happening.
“If I am correct,” he said, with a glance upward as if consulting his memory, perhaps for effect, “you should be pinning on your first star soon?”
I nodded, pondering the best response. “Fingers crossed for this year.”
He was revealing his knowledge of my situation and pushing my buttons to show that he too could play the same game, which didn’t bode well for the pitch.
“Now that you’re here in Washington,” I said, deciding to shift gears and counterpunch, “I imagine you’ll go on some family vacations. Travel can be expensive, but you can find many good deals on the Internet.”
He bowed his head with a gentle smile. “I would appreciate any recommendations you have.” He set his silverware down again and looked at me. “Although my wife and I are hoping to save some money during this tour.”
Come again?
Every professional Intelligence Officer knows that it’s verboten to hint at any kind of a vulnerability to a foreign counterpart, financial or otherwise. He was practically begging me to ask why. But I restrained myself as my heart raced, and merely nodded.
As we continued our dinner, I raised mundane topics and cleared the pitch from my mind. Many Intelligence Officers underestimate would-be sources, forgetting that most people can discern when a conversation is being manipulated. For that reason, it was beneficial to set aside your true intentions and dissolve Zen-like into spontaneous discussion, to tap into the flow of the dialogue with natural responses and pauses. As we ate dessert, our chitchat served its ultimate purpose: setting his mind at ease and allowing the magic of rapport to operate again below the surface.
When the waiter arrived with the check, I offered a subtle raise of the eyebrows to indicate I would pay, with nary a protest from Li, which was a positive sign. “How about one for the road before we call it a night?”
He looked at his empty wine glass, paused, and nodded—why not?
Time to get down to business. I gestured to the waiter that we were moving to the bar, where an attractive cougar flirted as she brought us two Scotches on the rocks and a bowl of warm salted nuts. We clinked our glasses, sipped our drinks, and set them down—here we go.
“I imagine it was competitive for you to get assigned here,” I said. “Your English is much improved, by the way.”
He smiled. “Thank you. Yes, I have worked hard for a few years to get assigned here. My family is pleased.”
Time to dive in. “We’re both Intelligence Officers, so we know the game.”
“A great game,” he replied.
“So it should come as no surprise that we take a keen interest in your activities here.” He seemed to be waiting for more, so I retrieved the credit card statements from my inside breast pocket and set them on the table with a gesture.
He picked them up and stared blankly as he flipped through the pages.
Then he set them down, took a deep breath, and looked at me before lowering his head and drumming his fingers. “Where did you get these?”
“Jiao has a shopping problem and you’re having a hard time coming up with the money. Women, right?” It might not have occurred to him that we would dedicate surveillance resources to his wife. He wasn’t showing it, but I was certain he was swearing to himself under his breath. “Look, you haven’t committed a crime,” I continued, “but if your government were to know, it would end your tour here.”
“You would show these to my government?” he asked, waving them in my face, then looking around with caution and regret before setting them down. “Would you?”
I shook my head with a frown to put his mind at ease. “You have my word that we won’t show these to your government, but we would like to offer you an opportunity that would benefit both of us.” He might have been on the verge of storming out like the French diplomat. No reason to beat around the bush. “If you agree to work with us, we can eliminate these debts.”
He reviewed the statements again and with wide eyes, seeking to focus. I gently removed the statements from his hand and set one on the table. “We paid the balance on this one—$24,289.”
He raised an inquisitive eyebrow, began dialing on his phone, and hit a sequence of numbers to access his account. His reaction was priceless. I could see a light go off in his head.
“We’ll pay off the other cards as well,” I continued. “On top of that, we’ll pay you one million dollars to work with us during the remainder of your tour here.”
He shrugged with a confused look. “My access to information in the military attaché office probably is not
of interest to you. We are very transparent about our activities.”
We couldn’t rule out the possibility that he was out of the cyber game during this tour, but our experts were convinced that he was still running the show. “You know that we know about your cyber operations. After your attacks on the Pentagon, you’re lucky we don’t arrest you, or worse.”
He took a deep breath and sipped his drink. “What do you want to know?”
Holy shit—are you kidding me?
“Do we have a deal?” I asked, almost holding my breath.
He swirled his drink, stared blankly as he gulped it, and just like that, he nodded. I reached across the table to shake his hand.
This wasn’t binding, legally or otherwise, but would help solidify the decision in his mind.
I could hardly contain myself.
“This is moving fast, I know, but to continue with the credit card payments, we’ll need some sensitive information as proof that you’re on board. We could start now.”
He paused to think and leaned forward. “Captain Howard is working for us in Bangkok. We have a video of him having sex with a dancer.”
Nice try. They knew the case was blown after Tom returned to America and fell off the grid. His death hadn’t been publicized, but he clearly wasn’t responding to their repeated attempts to contact him. “That’s not exactly what we had in mind. We were thinking details for the next cyberattack.”
After a mental calculation with closed eyes, he removed a notepad from his suit coat pocket, jotted a note, and slid the piece of paper across the table.
I grabbed it to read the technical details.
“We will use this tool to attack this IP address in the Pentagon tomorrow,” he said and finished his drink. “Please make your defensive posture discreet.”
I folded the piece of paper. “Of course.” We discussed more details, including the time and place of our next meeting, which I planned in advance with Brett and Nguyen.
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