The Devil's Ransom, page 7
At this point, Ahmad was willing to give up any claim or payment for the treasure. All he wanted now was to be let go, but he was worried the men he’d crawled into bed with would consider that option to be permanent. Outside of Jahn, he was the only one who knew he’d left Afghanistan with the treasure. And he was sure his friend was dead.
After Jahn had left them in the airport, the Russian with the scar had transported the treasure to a private Learjet, a small team of men appearing out of nowhere to conduct the manual labor, all of them hard, with scars like the leader.
The Russian had forced him to board the aircraft, ignoring all questions about where they were going. Eventually they’d landed at an airport somewhere, hopefully in Europe. All Ahmad could see were mountains covered in snow in the distance. As they taxied to the hardstand for private aircraft, he’d seen signs for the Zurich airport in Switzerland, giving him some relief. For a minute, he’d thought they’d landed in Russia.
They’d transferred from the jet to a helicopter, and then had taken off again. Thirty minutes later, they’d landed at a helipad, and Ahmad was taken to a fancy hotel called the Park Sonnenhof. He was told to simply wait until someone came to get him.
It was a full day and a half before he even learned he was no longer in Switzerland, but instead in Liechtenstein, a small microstate sandwiched between Switzerland and Austria and known as much for its loose tax laws and a preponderance of expat billionaires as its spectacular alpine views.
Eating breakfast at the included buffet, he asked the man cooking omelets how far it was to the airport in Zurich, and was told it was “fairly close, just across the border.” Seeing the confusion on his face, the chef had said, “The border to Liechtenstein. To us.”
Acting like it had all become clear, Ahmad had smiled and nodded his head, now completely confused. A day later, the Russian with the scar had returned, putting him in a fancy Mercedes SUV and driving him on a winding road into the foothills. They stopped at a spectacular chalet that looked as if it were built into the mountain itself. Led into the foyer, he’d been seated on a marble bench across from the younger man. The pockmarked, greasy-haired man showed no fear, like he belonged in the palatial estate.
Ahmad wished he could generate the same feelings.
The guy finally looked up from his phone and seemed to notice Ahmad for the first time. In English, he said, “You look a little worn out.”
His accent was Eastern European, and Ahmad assumed he was from Russia. He let out a tired smile and said, “Yeah, it’s been a little bit of a trip.”
“Where’d you come from?”
“Afghanistan.”
“No kidding? I didn’t know Andrei was working in Afghanistan. What were you doing?”
Ahmad didn’t want to continue the conversation, not knowing who he was or what he had to do with Andrei. And then he thought the opposite; this man could be useful. It might help if Ahmad learned why he was here.
He said, “I was doing this and that. Came here on the jet from Tajikistan. You?”
The man smiled and said, “Yeah, same. From Zagreb. That’s a pretty good perk, but he’ll make you pay for it in the end.” He chuckled, then said, “Are you one of those refugees I see on the news?”
“Sort of. Not really. Not with Andrei.”
The man nodded, interested in the story. He said, “That’s true, that’s true. So you do computer work?”
Ahmad chuckled and said, “No. I wish I had that skill. You do?”
The man nodded and said, “It pays the bills, no doubt. But you left Afghanistan for good, huh?”
“Yes, unfortunately, it was time.”
“No kidding.” He said, “I’ve had my share of not being wanted, trust me. But that was just my parents.” He laughed again at his joke and said, “My name’s Branko. If you get to Zagreb, look me up. I’ll show you a good time, courtesy of Andrei.”
He theatrically looked left and right, then whispered, “Don’t tell him I said that.”
Ahmad smiled and said, “I’m not sure where I’m going next.”
He held up his phone and said, “Let me pass you my number. Call me if you get to Zagreb. I’ll show you the town.”
Embarrassed, Ahmad said, “I don’t have a phone. I lost it.”
Branko said, “Wow. That must have been some trip.” He dug into his jacket, pulled out a piece of paper, and wrote something down, saying, “This is my email. I’m not kidding. You give me a ring and I’ll show you the town.”
He passed across the slip of paper, and they both heard the clacking of heels down the hall, the sound reverberating against the colossal walls, growing louder. Branko put a finger to his lips, then leaned back and played with his phone. The Russian with the scar appeared and pointed to Ahmad, then waved him forward. Branko looked up for a second, but immediately returned to his screen.
Ahmad followed the Russian down the hallway, passing through an enormous great room with a fireplace the size of a Volkswagen Beetle, and into a smaller study. Behind an ornate desk, the view through the window beyond something from a postcard, sat Andrei Obrenovic. He was a little older, but the same man Ahmad had met in Kabul years before.
If Ahmad could describe Andrei in one word, it would be “oligarch,” one of the famed Russians who seemed to have absolute power without needing a government position, and he looked the part. A balding head of gray hair, corpulent cheeks saddled with a graying goatee, and a waistline that stretched out enough to make his legs look sticklike, he’d made his money in the burgeoning tech sector just as the Soviet Union was collapsing. Granted multiple licenses by President Putin in 1999, he’d expanded his empire just as other Russians had in the oil, construction, or defense sectors, until the term oligarch had become almost a definition in and of itself to describe a Russian man of significant means.
At the time, Ahmad knew Andrei was intimately wedded to the infamous Russian Internet Research Agency and its “troll farms” under the sway of the GRU, but that hadn’t stopped President Ghani from asking him for digital support in Afghanistan.
Andrei had offered a suite of banking software solutions that would streamline the payroll for all personnel working within the Afghanistan government, and President Ghani had pushed hard to implement the software in an effort to stem the massive graft of the Afghanistan system. Because of Andrei’s connection to Russian GRU, Ahmad, as the national security advisor, had been tasked as the intermediary.
The deal had never been consummated, primarily because of a little bit of a bait and switch on the oligarch’s part. It turned out Andrei wanted more than simply money. He had plenty of that. A collector of antiques, he wanted some pieces from the Bactrian Treasure, a request that was clearly off the table for President Ghani.
But not for Ahmad, now that Afghanistan had fallen and Ghani had fled.
Andrei stood when Ahmad entered the room, holding his arms wide and saying, “Welcome, welcome.”
The scar-faced Russian took a position next to the door, hands clasped in front of his waist in a position of attention. Ahmad hesitantly circled the chair in front of the desk and was embraced in a bear hug for a moment, then Andrei placed his hands on his shoulders and looked him up and down, saying, “That must have been some trip out of Afghanistan. You look a little worse for wear.”
Ahmad was still wearing the suit he’d worn on his last day of work. The tie was gone, and the shirt and jacket were becoming threadbare, with glaring sweat stains on his back and under his arms.
He smiled weakly and said, “It was a quick trip, as you can imagine.”
“We’ll get you fixed up. Nikita here will take you into town for some proper clothes.”
Ahmad thought, So he does have a name, but said nothing, wondering if the conversation was a trick.
Andrei said, “So, besides the clothes, what can I do for you?”
Ahmad wasn’t sure how to answer. They already had the treasure, meaning he had no leverage. He decided to broach that very thing, just to see where it would go. “I remembered you wanted pieces of the Bactrian Treasure for your collection. I brought most of it.”
“Yes, yes. I appreciate it. It is splendid.”
The conversation died into an uncomfortable silence. Ahmad finally managed to splutter, “I was hoping a donation for my efforts would be in order.”
“So you don’t feel my helping you flee was donation enough? If it weren’t for me, you’d still be in Tajikistan, running for your life like that friend you had with you.”
Ahmad said nothing. Andrei continued, circling back around the desk as he spoke, finally sitting again. “But I can see you need a stake to continue on your journey. Clothes alone won’t be enough.” He held up a finger, saying, “Understand, the price I was offering last year in the form of digital infrastructure is no longer on the table, but I can get you some seed money for a new start. Where is it you’d like to go?”
Ahmad realized that was the best he was going to get, and considered himself lucky that the man didn’t simply kill him. He said, “The United States embassy. Take me to the embassy so I can get a visa for onward travel.”
Andrei clucked his tongue, blew out a breath, then said, “That may be difficult. Would you be willing instead to travel to Russia?”
Feeling the sweat beginning to flow under his arms, visions of Soviet gulags flitting in his head, he said, “That is very kind, but the Americans will provide me free passage to the United States because of my position.”
Andrei laughed and said, “So you want to be an Uber driver or run a McDonald’s? Is that it?”
When Ahmad remained silent, Andrei said, “Unfortunately, there is no U.S. embassy here in Liechtenstein, and even if there was, I wouldn’t allow you to go there for obvious reasons. In no way can I be connected to you in Liechtenstein. I can, however, take you back to Zurich, where you’ll have to do the rest by yourself. I believe there is a U.S. consulate in Zurich.”
Ahmad nodded again and said, “That would be fine. Thank you.”
Andrei left his seat, came around the desk, and leaned into his face, his expression turning cruel. He was so close that Ahmad smelled the garlic on his breath and saw the red-lined veins in his eyes.
He said, “But you understand that the method you used to get to Europe is a little delicate—along with the payment for that travel. Correct?”
Ahmad nodded his head furiously, saying, “Of course. I don’t want anyone to know I stole a cultural treasure from Afghanistan any more than you want anyone to know you have it.”
Andrei’s visage relaxed again, a false smile appearing. “Good, good. Return to the foyer and wait for Nikita. I have other business to conduct.”
Chapter 14
Andrei watched the door close behind Ahmad, then looked to Nikita, saying, “What do you think?”
“Sir, I think we make him disappear. My views haven’t changed. I should have tossed him out of the helicopter coming here.”
Andrei laughed and said, “You might be right, and he still has a helicopter flight left. But I think he might be valuable. He gets to America, and we get to control him. For the rest of his life. Might be useful, even if he ends up as an Uber driver.”
“Not if he gives up that you have the treasure. It’s sitting here in the garage. One slip out of his mouth, and you and I will be persona non grata here. Liechtenstein will not look kindly on looting treasures when the European Union and America get in the fray, especially because of the debacle that is happening with Afghanistan. America will be looking for a way to be the hero, and this is it. They already don’t like us. We’ll have to find a new base of operations, and they’re getting fewer and fewer for Russians on the European continent.”
Andrei pursed his lips, putting a finger to them, thinking. He said, “Yes. That is a risk. But I can’t send it back to Russia. It’ll end up in Putin’s hands within days. Or some other thief working in the government. It’s why I’m here instead of in Moscow.”
“Then send it somewhere else, just for safekeeping. It’ll give us a cutout if it’s found. Maybe to a safe in Zurich at a bank, or something like that. Just to get it away from us if this guy talks.”
Andrei paced a bit, then said, “Get him his clothes. Give him some loaded credit cards and a sheaf of U.S. dollars. Say, ten thousand. Let him stay at the hotel for a few days until I make an ultimate decision. You’ll either take him to Zurich, or lose him out of the helicopter over the border. Not sure yet.”
Nikita nodded, saying, “Up to you, boss.”
Andrei waved his hand and said, “Bring in Branko. We have more important things to do than collecting antiquities.”
Nikita left the room, returning a few moments later with the scraggly twenty-something Ahmad had sat across from. Branko entered the room and plopped down like he belonged, belying his clothing. Andrei saw it as a sign of disrespect, but one he was used to. The kids he employed had a skill in computers that few others possessed, but he was a little sick of the insolence. Well, not insolence, just a lack of understanding of the power he wielded. Which he knew Nikita would solve.
Nikita came up behind him and snatched him out of the chair by his hair.
In Russian, he snarled, “Show some respect.”
Branko’s eyes flew open as he flailed around. Nikita slapped his hands away and held him upright, his hand still in the hair, Branko’s head bent back.
Branko nodded as best he could, shouting, “I meant no disrespect!”
Andrei flicked his eyes, and Nikita released the youth, letting him fall back into the chair.
He rubbed his head, feeling the pull of the hair, and said, “What did I do?”
Andrei said, “You disrespected me. You and your men need to learn respect. I pay you for your services, but I can just as easily kill you. Do you understand?”
Now fully attentive, the slacker attitude from the foyer long gone, Branko nodded, his eyes wide.
Andrei said, “So, where do we stand?”
Branko said, “The test went perfectly. The zero-click penetration worked just as advertised.”
The usual penetration of a computer system for ransomware employed social engineering, whereby one enticed someone to click on a malicious link through email or some other communication and inadvertently caused a cascading effect of malware in the system, such as John Podesta had done in 2016 when he’d tried to change a password from a site that wasn’t authentic, allowing the Russian state to penetrate his entire system. Zero click meant they’d no longer need such efforts from the far end. They could inject the malware without anyone’s help. It was unique, in that it didn’t require someone in the targeted organization being dumb enough to click on a link.
“So it will work on the final target?”
“Yes, as long as they’re running Windows or Linux. Which they will be. Nobody is going to use the Apple operating system for what we want to hit.”
“Good. Who did you attack?”
“We just picked a company out of Washington, DC. Someplace called Blaisdell Consulting. They do work for the government, so we figured it was a good fit, but you wouldn’t believe what we found.”
“What?”
“We thought Blaisdell Consulting would be just a one-off, where we’d get some ransom and test the system, but the Trojan horse kept going. Before we knew it, we were embedded in like twenty different companies. It was like that Kaseya hack last year, where the infected operating system was used by a bazillion different companies, and they in turn were infected. We had no idea it would go so far.”
“So Blaisdell Consulting is a software firm?”
“No. Not at all. We have no idea how the various companies were connected, but their IT architecture sure was, and we flooded the entire system.”
That didn’t sound good to Andrei. Having worked at the height of the Russian state doing controlled penetrations of ostensibly secure government systems, he knew there was a fragile line between ransomware attacks by criminal gangs and state-sanctioned penetrations that could be traced. Most of the ransomware attacks against corporations could be denied by Russia, but if they hit the wrong system, it was a very fine line. In no way did he want the U.S. government to start investigating. Especially with what he had planned.
He said, “Did any of those systems turn out to be government? Did you infect a United States government system?”
“No. They were all private.” He chuckled and said, “And they have about two more days to pay up. We’ll get a good payday for this test.”
“Can any of this be tracked back to Russia? To me?”
“Nope. We’re working out of Croatia. They don’t really like Serbs there, but it’s better than working out of Belgrade. The U.S. has already started shutting those farms down through sanctions and arrests. It’s why we chose Croatia, because of the scrutiny. We have a little cell set up. It doesn’t take much.”
“Where in Croatia?”
“Actually, we bounce around. We’re like a group of gypsies. All we need is an internet trunk.”
“And you can penetrate the final target?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure we can after this test. But I need the gateway. And the date. When do I get that?”
“When I get it. Just be ready. It won’t be like the test. It’ll have to be precise, on a certain date at a certain hour. Understand?”
Andrei didn’t tell him he already had the gateway. All he was waiting on was the timing, and he was afraid that Branko would attempt penetration early, which would invite compromise. His target took cybersecurity very seriously, and while the zero click would solve the problem of penetration, remaining in the system for days before initiation was inviting discovery.
“Yes, that won’t be a problem if I get the gateway. But . . .”
Branko rubbed his hands on his jeans and Andrei said, “What?”
“Well, we aren’t making any money with our usual ransomware attacks because you told us to quit that. So we did. And we haven’t gotten any ransom yet from this test. And we’re running out of money. Croatia isn’t cheap.”
