Parovsky smiled a disinterested smile, but asked, “What’s the big deal if Estonia didn’t pay its gas bill?”
“It’s way more than that!” Chaseman added. “The plot thickens. Gazprom said it also saw risks to the gas it supplies to Europe through pipelines running through disputed areas. Europe relies on this gas for heating during these freezing winters. That sure got the Europeans’ attention!”
Parovsky didn’t share Chaseman’s enthusiasm for Russian expansionism. “I haven’t heard anything about this,” he said, trying to cut off the conversation.
“It’s still a regional story, a simple dispute between neighbors. But threatening Europe’s gas supplies is big. That might actually get a small paragraph in some big city American newspaper!” He flashed his boyish grin, proud of his joke.spacing
After they finished discussing arrangements to meet for the following day’s conference, Chaseman rose from the table, leaving 200 rubles on the table for his cup of coffee.
“1 apologize but I need to run. Do you have rubles already or do you need me to cover you?”
“I’m good,” Parovsky answered as he pulled out his wallet and left two 100 ruble notes under the coffee saucer. “I’m gonna’ stay a few more minutes to finish my coffee.”
In parting, Chaseman said, “I’ll see you at the conference tomorrow morning,” adding, “If you get a chance, take the subway and check out some of the more impressive stations. There’s even one not far from here. I’ll jot some names down for you.” He pulled a pen from his shirt’s breast pocket and jotted Komsomolskaya and Ploschad Rcvolutsi on a napkin. When he did this his embassy badge swung out of his breast pocket and nearly hit him in the face, causing Parovsky to chuckle. Chaseman smiled and tucked it back in his shirt pocket. Parovsky couldn’t understand what would be special about a subway station, not knowing that the Soviets had built some rather elegant stations bedecked with chandeliers, sculptures and mosaics as showcases of Soviet architecture and design.
Chaseman headed off, leaving Parovsky alone. Parovsky pulled out his personal iPhone, flipped it on and began browsing his INNapp using the mall’s free WiFi to see what was going on in the world. As he searched, he noticed a “downloading” notification.
“Sons of bitches!” he said out loud as he shook his head in amazement. Hackers had found him and struck, downloading malware, or malicious software, to hijack his phone, possibly tapping it, recording his calls or locating his precise whereabouts. At least he knew about it, thinking of all the unsuspecting people who are probably targeted yet have absolutely no idea. He made a mental note to include a joke in his conference speech about coming all this way to present at a cyber- security conference, only to find himself a victim of a hacker. But he would have to be careful not to insult his host country since they might very well be behind it.
Parovsky had been briefed by DCA security folks to expect no true privacy, not even in his hotel room. “You’ll be immediately exposed as soon as you try to communicate with anything,” his friend Tim in security back home had told him, which Parovsky dismissed as typical security department paranoid and exaggerated bullshit. It was this same group of idiots that sent out worthless security notices advising travelers to remain aware of their surroundings and to take appropriate steps to enhance their personal security.
“As soon as people flip on their Smartphones at baggage claim after arrival,” Tim had told him, “they basically open themselves to exploitation, and should expect to be hacked.” More so, travelers believed to have access to sensitive information are even more likely to be targeted by foreign collectors. Now Elliot Parovsky was a believer, since he gathered he was in that targeted category. The Russians were known to scour cyberspace for new electronic devices that might provide them with something interesting, they were even open about this at times, announcing not long before his trip that all subway stations in Moscow would be equipped with devices that can read data on mobile telephones, claiming it was a crime-fighting measure to locate stolen mobile phones.
Back at the Radisson a while later, Parovsky decided to check out the situation on his loaner laptop; security forbade him from bringing his regular laptop to Russia. Security counseled against having anything work-related, obviously—other than his public domain conference presentation, but also any important or meaningful data like banking information or even photographs on personal devices. The loaner had only an internet connection, a few movies from Netflix and his conference presentation, but was loaded with specialized software to monitor whether it had been compromised, along with an analysis tool on the source of the server being used in the hack.
Sitting at the polished wood desk in his hotel room, with his computer plugged in with a power adaptor to Russia’s 220 volt outlet, he used the hotel’s internet connection to look at the Washington Post’s website for some local news, and to see if he could bait a hacker. He did prefer reading the Post on his laptop rather than using his iPhone for surfing. Actually, despite being an information technology professional, he still preferred the experience of reading a paper newspaper, magazine or book.
While reading an article about plans to expand Washington’s Metrorail further into the suburbs, the hacking detection software generated a warning that it detected an intrusion. He shook his head in disbelief as he considered that he had been on the ground for less than a day, and both his smartphone and computer had been found and hacked.
Parovsky woke up at 3:30am from jetlag. His mouth was dry from the room’s heating so he sipped some water from a bottle provided in his room. With hopes he might be able to fall back to sleep, he peed and then crawled back under the warm duvet, which he preferred over American style bed sheets and blankets. At this hour, he had no patience to watch a feature-length movie on his computer, so he flipped on the television only to find a selection of mostly Russian late-night programming and a Russian movie until finally settling upon BBC. At least he could finally understand something, although he quickly grew bored and flipped around some more, stopping on a Russian-language news channel that showed rioters smashing shop windows, followed by video footage of what looked like Russian troops gearing up for exercises. Or more. He wondered if it was about Estonia.
4. ALEXANDRA
“Vygovotite Po-russki!” Parovsky was greeted by the very blond piece of eye candy working the registration desk, after giving his name. He was used to this already from his Russian-sounding name, having been greeted at the airport and at the hotel with the same question of whether he spoke Russian.
“Nyet,” he answered with a smile. “Amerikanski.”
Even though this had exhausted his entire Russian vocabulary, his proper response in Russian made the girl think he truly did speak Russian. The blond bombshell had high cheekbones accentuated with rouge, and wore a revealing white blouse whose buttons were stressed around the breasts. She smiled back at him and asked where he is from.
“I’m not Russian,” he replied, again with a smile. Well, technically speaking, he was. His Jewish grandparents had fled state-sponsored persecution and pogroms in turn-of-the-previous-century Czarist Russia, seeking out a new and better life in America, whose streets they heard were paved with gold. Given that more than a century had passed, it was fair to say he was not Russian.
“I’m Elliot Parovsky. I’m speaking at today’s event,” he told the girl in English, in the American tradition of assuming everyone in the world understands English. She caught his name and typed it into the laptop computer before her. A moment later a printer spat out a sticker with his name, which she affixed to a blank plastic conference name badge attached to a green lanyard with ‘Kostrinsky Labs’ printed on it repeatedly. She held it up to show him to make sure she got his name right, and he nodded his head in approval with a warm smile.
“Powjaosta,” the pretty girl said with a warm, overly-friendly smile that he swore was suggestive as she handed Parovsky his b
adge, intentionally touching his hand. “Meenya Zavoot Alexandra,” leaving her perfectly-manicured hand outstretched for him to take. I am Alexandra.
He shook her hand, which was soft and delicate, while he undressed her with his eyes and very much liked what he saw, which she immediately picked up on. He wondered what she would be like in bed.
“Hello!” The ‘L’ was heavily accentuated as common to native Russian speakers. He was jolted from his brief fantasy by Eugene Kostrinsky himself, who had come over to welcome him personally, having been notified of Elliot Parovsky’s arrival. The chubby, jolly, self-made 50 year-old multi-millionaire was very friendly and down-to-earth. Kostrinsky put his arm on the small of Parovsky’s back and led him into the meeting hall, offering Parovsky a seat in the front row. Parovsky didn’t like being touched but dismissed it as something cultural.
The conference was far smaller than some of the cyber events he regularly attended, like the annual RSA Conference USA each February. This one was a more intimate event, sponsored by Kostrinsky Labs—the cyber outfit credited with identifying the notorious Stuxnet zero-day type worm that cyber-attacked Iran’s centrifuges. It was being held at the company’s Moscow headquarters in a converted electronics factory a few miles northwest of the city center.
Eugene Kostrinsky stepped up onto the risers and went up to the podium to officially open the conference in his typical charismatic fashion. A large arrangement of colorful flowers hid its base and the microphone wire running to an electricity socket on the floor. The stage was handsomely decorated with a background of stage drapes and was well- lit, with no distracting shadows.
Ever at ease on stage, even as he effortlessly switched between Russian and English, the smiling Kostrinsky was unquestionably an industry heavyweight, having built his company to arguably one of the industry’s leading antivirus software companies, and then some. He was known to be a bit megalomaniacal, claiming he is out to save the world, rather than the pursuit of his own riches. No need to worry on that one, Parovsky thought. He seems to have amassed enough money along the way. As he pranced around the stage, flanked by large banners emblazoned with his company’s logo, Kostrinsky mentioned some of his attention-grabbing ideas like calling for banning malware by international treaty, and for limiting some internet freedom as a way of protecting it. Kostrinsky also weaved privacy into his opening remarks, saying that “with advertisers, search engines and governments tracking us, there is no privacy left anyway.”
And with the segue of privacy, Kostrinsky dropped a bombshell, announcing a surprise guest speaker had been added to the agenda.
“Please welcome Mr. Edward Snowden!” [or: a former NSA contractor now sought after for prosecution by his former USG employer]
“No fucking way!” Parovsky blurted out uncontrollably, shaking his head in disbelief as the thirty-something year-old boyish-looking Snowden [or NSA fugitive, etc etc throughout the book] made his way to the dais—just an arms-reach before his front row seat. Conference guests pulled out smartphones to snap photographs or catch video of the elusive American fugitive who had leaked copious classified information from the National Security Agency to the media. Parovsky entertained thoughts of tackling the sonuvabitch, but knew that would not go over very well with his hosts, or with his management back home. So he sat there wondering if he should listen to Snowden and then report back, or make a statement by getting up and walking out. He anxiously looked over his shoulder, searching the audience for his DCA colleague Dan Chaseman from the embassy, figuring he would take his cue from the local guy, but he couldn’t locate him.
He finally spotted Chaseman standing at the back of the hall and caught his eye. Immediately understanding Parovsky’s dilemma, Dan raised his chin slightly and held a hand upward, as if to say “what can 1 do?” So they were staying put. Parovsky motioned for Chaseman to come forward, nodding his head to the side to signal that there was a seat available next to him.
Chaseman worked his way forward to the first row to seat himself next to Parovsky, trying not to bother people with the oversized black military-looking backpack he inexplicably carried. Parovsky looked him over in his khaki cargo utility pants and short sleeve gold shirt with colorful U.S. Embassy emblem embroidered on the left breast, and rolled his eyes. “Not conspicuous at all!” Parovsky said with a sarcastic grin, looking him over.
Ignoring the barb, Chaseman reached over and touched Parovsky’s suit jacket sleeve. “Nice threads!” Chaseman responded, admiring Parovsky’s tailored suit and stylish textured silk tie. Parovsky was starting to like Chaseman.
Dressed in khakis, a blue button-down shirt open at the collar and navy blazer and sporting his trademark two-days-without-shaving whiskers— more like razor stubble-on his chin, which for some reason reminded Parovsky of Palestinian terrorist kingpin Yassir Arafat, boyish looking Snowden received a rousing ovation as he took the podium.
“I’m not against online intelligence gathering in principle,” Snowden began his talk. “However, there must be a clear line between spying on suspects and monitoring the general population like the NSA does.” During his talk, he called for a rethink of the role of the internet in our lives, and the laws that protect it, adding that individuals’ rights matter, and from personal experience, “you never know when you’re going to need them!” It elicited a chuckle from the crowd, although Parovsky was shaking his head in anger that such a disgusting figure would be given a forum to spread his poison.
Parovsky leaned over to Chaseman and whispered, “What the fuck does he mean by ‘rethinking the role of the internet in our lives’? We all use it and know there are risks. And who is this asshole to talk about people’s rights when he endangered lives and compromised U.S. national security?”
Chaseman nodded but did not respond, and returned to listening intently to the speech, which included the contention of a military occupation of cyberspace, and warned of massive government spy programs infringing on the free-spirit of the internet, just as the 9/11 terror attacks were used to justify curtailing Americans’ civil liberties. “Few will dare to stand up and raise any objection lest they be blamed after the next cyber- attack.” And he praised the esoteric Deep Web as being a place that preserves an individual’s privacy, such as his own.
Following another two speakers, it was Parovsky’s turn at the microphone. Parovsky was relieved the room was too small for image magnification—those large screens projecting close-up video of the presenters’ every expression and motion. It made him very conscious to speak with a three-meter tall image of himself peering over his shoulder.
Event host Eugene Kostrinsky introduced each of the conference speakers in his heavily-accented but very good English. “Elliot Parovsky is the Director of the United States National Computer Incident Response Team—or CIRT- at the Department of Cyber Activity. Whew, that’s quite a mouthful!” he deadpanned before continuing from the bio Parovsky had provided in advance. “He is responsible for a team that detects, assesses and mitigates advanced information security threats to U.S. Government networks. Mr. Parovsky has held various roles on the U.S. national CIRT since joining it as an analyst. He holds a master’s degree in international relations and a law degree, and Mr. Parovsky is a regular speaker at both government and cyber industry events around the world, and we welcome him to Moscow for his first trip to our country,” Kostrinsky added, beginning applause that was joined by the crowd. Parovsky quickly removed his conference badge from around his neck before going up to speak so it wouldn’t detract from his appearance.
Though he projected an air of outward confidence and calm, deep inside Parovsky’s bowels were churning and he could already feel perspiration dripping into his undershirt sleeve. Heat generated by the overhead down lighting didn’t help either and blinded him from much of the audience. He knew his voice would break as he spoke, and he remained anchored behind the lectern for security. A sweat broke out across his brow.
He smiled warmly at the welcome he received, beaming in response to the attention and respect. Rather than the mundane, “Thank you. It’s so nice to be here...” or “Good morning everybody. My name is...” bits that merely repeat what the introduction already told the crowd, Parovsky immediately jumped into the crux of his talk.
“If someone breaks and enters into your critical infrastructure site and starts damaging equipment with a sledgehammer,” he began, “a security guard would certainly be within his right not only to stop this intruder, but perhaps to shoot him. But what happens when the damage is being caused by some 17 year-old pimple-faced kid carrying out his attack from a distant computer?
“Can you harm that person? If yes, then how? You can stop him, but then justice hasn’t been done. If it’s your own citizen, you can arrest him. But if the attack comes from a foreign country, or is sponsored by a foreign country, then it becomes an act of sabotage, an act of war. Would it be within our right to kill the perpetrator? If he’s in my power plant, water treatment facility or other critical facility, damaging equipment with a sledgehammer, then yes. But what about when the same damage is being done from the safe confines of his bedroom in, let’s say, Beijing, is he a legitimate target?”
“These are no longer merely rhetorical and theoretical questions. Today’s cyber operations are waged in a domain that lacks rules of engagement. A country under cyber-attack could conceivably respond with kinetic retaliation,” he said, using the term for armed conflict where people are shooting and dropping bombs on one another.
A side-burned photographer armed with a professional-looking SLR camera equipped with a long telephoto lens approached the podium and snapped a series of photographs of him speaking, which startled Parovsky for a moment, but he quickly found his place and continued.
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