After Alex’s initial shock wore off, Emmi told her that she and a handful of other officers within Suojelupoliisi—better known as Supo—had been investigating the incidents that initially seemed unrelated. But after further analysis, it seemed more like the series of events going back a year or so were, in fact, connected.
The heir apparent for blame in all such matters was the security services of the Russian Federation—the SVR, GRU, and FSB. But over the past few months, their investigations had uncovered signals intelligence that had shifted suspicions toward a different party altogether.
“And who else knew of these findings?” Alex asked.
“Naturally, the interior minister was made aware. He has ultimate accountability for Supo investigations. Then he briefed the prime minister, Sanna Rantala, and she briefed President Jarkko Ruusu.”
Alex considered this. How many others knew? Such secrets were hard to keep, even where secrets were the name of the game.
“Anybody else?” she asked.
“No, but we transmitted a packet to US intelligence.”
“What kind of packet?”
“An intelligence summary from the analyst assigned.”
That was news to Alex. Maybe Caleb or Kadeisha Thomas knew something about it.
“And the prime minister was supposed to brief her cabinet,” continued Emmi. “But she and President Ruusu elected to keep the circle small, so they excluded them.”
“Probably a good call.”
Three can keep a secret if two of them are dead, Alex thought. So said Benjamin Franklin.
She stopped walking and touched Emmi’s arm lightly. “Hey, I’m sorry about your uncle. Valtteri seemed like a very good man.”
“Not just seemed like. He was a good man.” Alex acknowledged the statement with a warm smile. Emmi went on. “He took very good care of his family. His whole family. And I don’t just mean financially. When I was growing up, life wasn’t always carefree and easy. I didn’t get along with my parents. I mean, even by Finnish standards, they were very stoic about life and living. I wasn’t like that, and as I’m sure you could see, neither was my uncle, who believed a life should be well-lived and fun. That often put me at cross-purposes with my parents, and Valtteri was always there if I needed someone to talk to.”
Emmi stopped talking and looked across the park. The wind rustled the leaves along the narrow trail they were following, but they were otherwise alone.
“What is it?” asked Alex.
“Nothing.” Emmi didn’t sound convincing.
Alex followed her line of sight. The woman who had passed them minutes before was disappearing around a bend in the trail a couple of hundred feet away.
“Did you recognize her?”
“I don’t think so.”
“But you’re not sure.”
“We are in a business that requires us to be suspicious, Alexandra. But no, I am not sure.”
“I noticed her earlier. Outside my hotel. When I saw her again just now, I thought she might be with you, one of your team.”
“She is not.”
They watched as she slipped out of sight. She and Emmi hadn’t exactly been meeting in obscura.
“I’m sorry,” said Emmi.
“For what?”
“I thought it would be better to go for a walk. That hotel is a known hangout for agents and spies. I was afraid the walls might have ears.”
They resumed walking.
“What was the nature of the intelligence you uncovered?” asked Alex.
“There was a series of phone calls intercepted, but their origins had been masked behind various technical tricks.”
“Such as?”
“Simple things, really. Using commercial messaging apps to make encrypted voice calls over the internet, and hiding connections behind daisy-chained VPN strings.”
“What did the phone calls reveal?”
“The conversations were mostly in English. The voices and accents were multinational—some American, some European, some Middle Eastern. A real hodgepodge of subjects. Veiled references to the incidents. And we found a lot of money being moved around. Some was through standardized financial procedures, but much of it utilized the hawala system.”
Hawala was less a system and more an informal way of transferring money across borders. It was one of the methods preferred by transnational criminal and terrorist groups because of the trust established within those networks and because it avoided banking fees and the systemic tracking and reporting of large transactions. And because it was suitable for transfers to remote parts of the world.
A brick wall loomed ahead, an iron gate obstructing their path forward. Emmi tugged it open and they strolled through, out onto Scheveningseweg, a long, straight road constructed in the mid-seventeenth century that joined the old Hague to Scheveningen.
“I shouldn’t be saying any more at this moment,” said Emmi.
“Then why exactly are we here?”
Just then, an SUV pulled alongside them. Two beefy men dressed casually in low-profile paramilitary garb emerged. But there was nothing casual about their demeanor.
Alex looked at Emmi. “What’s going on?”
“These men are going to take you to the airport, where a plane is waiting.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your bag is in the car.”
“Emmi, where am I going?”
Emmi checked the watch on her wrist. “You have a meeting scheduled in three hours. You better get going.”
One of the men opened the rear door of the SUV for her.
“A meeting with who? Where?”
“It was nice meeting you, Alexandra. I hope we meet again. Enjoy your flight.”
DEFENSE INTELLIGENCE AGENCY HEADQUARTERS, JOINT BASE ANACOSTIA-BOLLING, WASHINGTON, DC
Caleb hated going to DIA—it was such a pain in the ass to get to.
As usual, the Anacostia Freeway was backed up as far as the Navy Yard Bridge with a car-versus-transport collision, adding ten minutes to his already late start. The headquarters for the Defense Intelligence Agency was located on Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling, where the Potomac and Anacostia Rivers met in southwest DC.
He rolled up to the Arnold Gates at the base entrance, where security personnel checked his ID against a printed list of names, then directed him to the main building.
“Pick up your visitor’s pass at the security desk inside the front door, sir,” the polite young guard had instructed him.
Visitor’s pass, my ass. He might as well have sent me to the South Gate with the tour group.
He parked the Tahoe and hurried inside.
The operations center for the joint task force was a windowless conference room on the second floor. Associate Deputy Director Gault was already addressing the small group of team leaders but interrupted his briefing when Caleb walked in.
“Good of you to join us, Copeland,” said Gault.
He quietly took a seat at the table. It was his own fault that he was late, but he still hated eating crow for anyone, let alone Hacksaw.
Gault handed the briefing over to Special Agent Willie Tam from the Diplomatic Security Service—the DSS. Happily, there was no accompanying PowerPoint presentation, and Tam updated the group on what Caleb had discussed with Deputy Director Thomas and Alex the day before, which had also been reinforced during the White House briefing.
The special agent summarized a subset of incidents that had taken place over the past twelve months or so, the kind that pointed directly back to the Russians in the apparently careless way in which GRU missions always seemed to go off.
“In your estimation, Tam? Is the guilty party Russia or other?” asked Gault.
“Too soon to call categorically, sir, but if it walks like a duck and quacks like one … Our signals intelligence has been hampered by the sophisticated procedures employed by whoever’s responsible. But we’re getting closer.”
“Oh?”
“Nothing definitive yet, but I deployed a new signal-tracking algorithm. I’d say we’ll be better able to make a clearer determination in a day or two.”
Gault shook his head. “Not good enough. I’ll connect you with additional resources down the hall. It’s a step above what you’ve been authorized for at DSS. Alright, next,” he said.
There was some additional conversation around the meaning and purpose of these disruptive events, with the consensus being that they could be a way for Russia to soften up its target and to put the populace, the media, and the government of Finland off balance ahead of any military incursion.
“Keep working that angle. And let me know the second you have anything. Obviously, there’s a lot riding on this.”
FBI Special Agent Clare Duffries spoke next. “And while a determination that Russia might be to blame seems a foregone conclusion, we have to consider the misdirection angle carefully, as Special Agent Tam alluded.”
“Is there any evidence to support that someone other than the Russians is responsible?” asked Caleb.
Duffries looked at Gault, who nodded.
“We’re all on the same team here, Agent Duffries. Even Mr. Copeland.”
Asshole, thought Caleb.
“Yes, sir,” she said. Then addressing Caleb directly, she continued. “We received information from Finnish intelligence strongly suggesting that another entity could be setting the Russian Federation up to take the blame.”
“But why?” asked Caleb. “Why would anyone want to lead the world to the brink of another world war? I mean, Eastern Europe is a powder keg already again. It won’t take much of a spark for everything to blow up, and we know what that would look like.”
“It would be Armageddon,” said Tam.
Caleb was nodding. The thought of how close they had come in Paris still haunted him.
Gault chimed back in. “I don’t have to tell you this, Agent Duffries, but the key here is motive. Why would someone want to make Russia the patsy?”
“That’s obviously the reason this task force was struck, sir,” Duffries said.
“It is,” said Gault. “But I’m going to have to agree with Copeland.” Hearing those words, Caleb could have fallen out of his chair. “Our mission is straightforward. First, defend America’s interests at home and abroad. Second, find out who’s behind these disruption operations and what their motive is. Tam, continue to work with State to ensure our Foreign Service employees and facilities are not on anyone’s target lists. For my part, I’ll set you up here at DIA with resources beyond your everyday. Copeland, you’re the primary liaison with our allies’ intelligence people—the Five Eyes, NATO, German, French, Dutch, and Finnish intelligence, as well as the EU Intelligence and Situation Centre. And in the event it’s necessary, you’ll be tasked with spearheading any direct action, of course, as authorized by Joint Special Operations Command. Duffries, Copeland’s going to need help with intelligence.” Duffries snickered. “You two dovetail your resources however you see fit. Copeland, your deputy director has approved the use of your team, minus one, I understand.”
“Martel’s on another assignment,” Caleb replied.
“Still can’t keep your ISA pet on a leash, huh, Copeland?”
Caleb envisioned his fist connecting with Gault’s face and the satisfying feeling of bones splintering beneath knuckles. With that image in mind, he turned to Duffries. “We might all be on the same team here, but the coach is a fucking asshole.”