The Russian Cyber Threat and How Israel Treats It

October 3, 2026
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Moscow’s largest achievement against Israel, keeping it out of the coalition arming Ukraine, was won with diplomacy over Syrian airspace rather than with code. The half of the Russian threat that does reach Israel is the cognitive half, and it is the half no Israeli institution owns.

ENSI research — built on a library of 164 primary documents and 52 company dossiers, compiled 23 September 2026.


The argument, before the list

Microsoft’s 2025 Digital Defense Report counts 603 observed nation-state events against targets in Israel over a twelve-month window — the highest figure in the Middle East and Africa, and second in the world only to the United States at 623. Israel takes 3.5% of all attacks Microsoft observes anywhere, behind the US at 24.8% and the UK at 5.6%, ahead of Germany and ahead of Ukraine (Microsoft 2025, pp. 8, 43–44). By any reasonable measure Israel is one of the two most-attacked countries in the world.

Now look at who is doing it. Israel accounts for 64% of all Iranian nation-state targeting — “Iran views Israel as its top regional rival,” the report notes drily. And Israel does not appear at all in the top ten regions targeted by Russian state actors. That list reads: United States 20% · United Kingdom 12% · Ukraine 11% · Germany 6% · Belgium 5% · Italy 3% · Estonia 3% · France 3% · Netherlands 3% · Poland 3% (Microsoft 2025, pp. 46, 48). Outside Ukraine, every country on it is a NATO member, and the set grew 25% year on year. Russian state cyber power is pointed at the alliance that arms Kyiv. Israel is not on the list because Israel is not in that coalition.

That absence is the finding this report is built around, and it is not an accident of telemetry. It is the visible output of a policy. Michelle Grisé and Alexandra Evans, writing for RAND on the Russian–Iranian relationship, list among the indicators an analyst should watch the possibility that Israeli action in Syria might “strain Iranian patience with Russian efforts to preserve positive relations with Israel and minimize Israeli support to Ukraine“ (RAND 2023, p. 15). Moscow’s Israel policy has an explicit objective, it is stated in the open literature, and it has been achieved. Israel has declined to send air-defence systems to Ukraine, and its Defense Export Controls Agency blocked Ukraine from buying Pegasus and barred Estonia from using it against Russian targets (Feldstein and Kot, Carnegie 2023, p. 23). The most effective Russian operation against a first-rank cyber power was a diplomatic one, and no amount of technical resilience defends against it.

But the absence from the Russian state top ten is not the same as absence of Russian pressure, and this is where the picture gets interesting. Recorded Future’s thirteen-month telemetry on NoName057(16) — the pro-Russian DDoS crowd-sourcing operation that is Europe’s most persistent nuisance actor — shows attacks on 3,776 unique hosts, with the burden distributed by share of attack days as: Ukraine ~29.5% · France 6.09% · Italy 5.39% · Sweden 5.29% · Germany 4.60% · Israel 4.50% · Czech Republic 4.00% · Poland 4.00% (Insikt Group 2025, p. 12). Israel is the fifth most-targeted country by the most industrialised pro-Russian proxy operation in existence, ahead of Czechia, and the only non-European state in that tier. Nataliya Tkachuk, a senior official of Ukraine’s National Cybersecurity Coordination Centre, supplies the mechanism: “Since late 2022, Russian intelligence has taken full command of all pro-Russian hacktivist groups… following the 7 October 2023 terrorist attack in Israel, dozens of new pseudo-hacktivist groups were launched to attack Israeli infrastructure. During this period, Ukraine saw its lowest number of cyber incidents in years” (CCDCOE Tallinn Paper 15, 2025, p. 18). The same deniable capacity, redirected by geopolitical requirement.

So the Russian vector reaches Israel — but it arrives through proxies, through capability transfer to Iran, and through a third channel that cyber telemetry cannot see at all. Since April 2023 a Kremlin-steered Hebrew-language operation codenamed “Normal Israel” has been running inside Israel: media clones of N12, sponsored articles bought in Walla, The Jerusalem Post and Channel 13, a costed proposal to found a political party of Russian-speaking immigrants targeting three or four Knesset seats, and a proposal to spray provocative graffiti in Arab neighbourhoods while posing as Jewish right-wing extremists (Rakov, JISS 2025, pp. 7, 31–32).

This is where Russian doctrine stops being an academic point. Michael Connell and Sarah Vogler open their CNA study with the observation that ought to reorganise every European cyber agency: “The Russians generally do not use the terms cyber (kiber) or cyberwarfare (kibervoyna), except when referring to Western or other foreign writings on the topic” (CNA 2017, p. 11). What Moscow operates is informatsionnoe protivoborstvo — information confrontation — with an information-technical limb and an information-psychological limb under one chain of command, which Mandiant draws as an actual organisation chart: GRU Information Operations Troops (Unit 55111) above Unit 26165 and Unit 74455, with espionage, attack and influence as three columns of one unit’s mission (Mandiant 2024, pp. 5–6). A state that buys cyber defence from one agency and counter-disinformation from another is fighting a single adversary with two disconnected halves.

Israel has the best of the first half and almost none of the second. Colonel (res.) Daniel Rakov — a former Israeli intelligence officer writing for the Jerusalem Institute for Strategy and Security — states the position without varnish: “Israel lacks a national strategy for dealing with such foreign interventions: the Israeli Security Agency has insufficient legal powers to act, and the government’s cooperation with civil society bodies on this issue is in its infancy” (JISS 2025, p. 9). The February 2025 national cyber strategy does list a public mindspace resilient to foreign influence among its objectives (Shabtai, BESA 2025). It names no owner, and no law gives anyone the power to act on it.

The reframe, then, is this. Israel treats Russia as a diplomatic problem that occasionally expresses itself in cyber, not as a cyber adversary — and on the technical evidence that reading is correct. The cost is that Israel is superb at the half of the Russian threat its system was designed for, and institutionally absent for the other half. That other half is also, uncomfortably, the half where Israel is a documented actor: Citizen Lab assesses that an Israeli state agency or a subcontractor under its supervision published an AI-generated video of the strike on Evin Prison while the bombs were still falling, a minute ahead of the first real footage, and international outlets republished it as fact (Citizen Lab 2025, pp. 6–8).

For a mid-sized European state — the Czech Republic is our default home example — the practical consequence is a split verdict, and it is the cleanest one in this whole series. On the technical half, copy Israel. On the cognitive half, do not: copy Sweden, France and the EEAS, because Europe is ahead of Israel here and knows it. Report 1 in this series ranked the fifty companies Israel’s machine produced; Report 2 distilled sixteen principles a state can act on; Report 3 specified the twenty-four features of the most advanced defence anyone could assemble; Report 5 sorted the 2026 threat claims by the evidence behind them. This one asks a question none of them asked: what happens when the world’s second cyber power meets an adversary it has decided not to treat as an adversary.

Summary of main points

  • Russia does not target Israel at state level, and the data is unambiguous. Israel is absent from the top ten regions targeted by Russian state actors, all of which outside Ukraine are NATO members, while it absorbs 64% of Iranian nation-state targeting and 603 observed nation-state events overall (Microsoft 2025).

  • Russian pressure still reaches Israel, by three indirect routes. Pseudo-hacktivist proxies redirected after 7 October 2023 (Israel is fifth at 4.50% of NoName057(16) attack days); capability transfer to Iran, including a reversal of Moscow’s prior prohibition on sharing offensive cyber (RAND 2023); and a Hebrew-language Doppelgänger campaign running since April 2023.

  • The doctrine makes the split between “cyber” and “disinformation” a Western administrative artefact. Russian theorists do not use the word kiber. Mandiant reads APT44 as “a characteristic representation of the information confrontation concept”, with espionage, technical attack and psychological influence as three columns of one mission.

  • Ukraine proved Russian cyber power is real but not decisive above the threshold — and that resilience, not security, is what blunted it. Ukrtelecom lost 87% of network capability and restored it in 15 hours; Kyivstar recovered from a GRU attack in a week; Viasat was not repaired but discarded and replaced with something better (Kott et al 2024). Below the threshold is where Russia is genuinely good: 63% of all ransomware attacks come from Russian-affiliated groups that are only 26% of publicised strains, and 99.52% of their located victims are outside Russia (Brantly and Mason 2026).

  • Israel’s technical answer is excellent and was built for a different enemy. Three layers, a civilian authority deliberately denied police powers, sector SOCs, binding regulation of named entities, and an industry that doubles as a national sensor network. It works against Russian-aligned proxies as a by-product.

  • Moscow’s biggest win over Israel required no operation. RAND names the objective — “minimize Israeli support to Ukraine” — and Israel duly withheld cyber assistance, air defence and, through its export authority, Pegasus from Ukraine and Estonia. Deconfliction over Syria is the price Israel pays and Russia collects.

  • The cognitive half is unowned. No national strategy, a security service without the legal powers, civil-society cooperation “in its infancy”, and an Israeli protest to Moscow in July 2023 that changed nothing (Rakov 2025). Israel is also unusually permissive: a large Russian-speaking population, heavy air links and no published restrictions on Russian intelligence officers, who retain diplomatic immunity where Europe has expelled them.

  • Israel is an actor as well as a target, and that costs it standing. PRISONBREAK, the STOIC/”Zero Zeno” network disrupted by OpenAI, Team Jorge and Archimedes Group are all documented. A state that runs deniable synthetic-media operations cannot credibly ask allies to treat synthetic media as illegitimate.

  • The sceptical literature is the most important input and the least quoted. Eady et al find no measurable effect of Internet Research Agency exposure on attitudes or votes, with 1% of users absorbing 70% of exposures. EU DisinfoLab calls Doppelgänger “a failure”. OpenAI reports that the most-reached deceptive activity of 2024 was a hoax about AI, not AI.

  • The serious answer is to attack the enablers, not the narratives. Registrars, hosting, tracker software, bulletproof ASNs, contractors and payment rails — with sanctions, law enforcement, the DSA and trademark and data-protection law. That is the EEAS FIMI Deterrence Playbook, and it is available to a Czech-scale state today.

  • The targeting follows domestic politics, which should frighten a Czech reader more than any wiper. NoName057(16) stopped attacking Austria once the Freedom Party was excluded from coalition, and stopped attacking Czechia in January 2025 after reporting suggested the government would lose the October 2025 election (Insikt Group 2025, p. 15). The tap is a reward-and-punishment signal, not a weapon.


How this report is organised

Twenty-four numbered points in six sections, then the transfer. I sets out what the Russian threat actually is, doctrine first, because the doctrine determines the shape of everything else. II traces how it reaches Israel, and what conspicuously does not. III describes how Israel treats it across four layers — technical, intelligence, private and diplomatic. IV is the gap. V turns the mirror round and looks at Israel as an actor. VI is the sceptical literature on effects, which should discipline everything proposed here. VII is what a mid-sized European state does on Monday morning: eight concrete moves, and a plain statement of what to copy and what to refuse. Sources are cited inline by institution or lead author and year, and all of them sit in the library behind this series. Where the evidence is circumstantial or contested — on Russian sponsorship of criminal groups it always is — we say so.


I · What the Russian threat actually is

Four things have to be established before Israel can be judged: what Moscow thinks it is doing, who does it, what the largest live test of it proved, and where the capability has actually migrated.

1. The doctrine is one confrontation with two limbs, and it never stops

The conceptual point is the load-bearing one in this entire report, so it is worth stating precisely. Connell and Vogler record that Russian writers reserve the word kiber for describing Western thinking; their own category is informatsionnaya voyna, “a holistic concept that includes computer network operations, electronic warfare, psychological operations, and information operations” (CNA 2017, p. 11). Bilyana Lilly and Joe Cheravitch supply the authoritative definition from the Russian Ministry of Defence’s own 2011 Concept on the Activities of the Armed Forces in the Information Space: information warfare is the confrontation between states in the information space “with the purpose of inflicting damage to information systems, processes and resources, critical and other structures, undermining the political, economic and social systems, a massive psychological manipulation of the population to destabilize the state and society, as well as coercing the state to take decisions for the benefit of the opposing force” (CCDCOE 2020, p. 133).

Read that sentence as an organisational design brief. Damaging information systems and manipulating a population are not two missions requiring two ministries; they are one sentence describing one campaign. A GRU training official wrote after the 2008 Georgian war that modern information confrontation is directed “at both information-technical systems… as it is on human psychology. Activity against an enemy is organized and conducted in two aspects (directions): technological and psychological” (quoted in CCDCOE 2020, p. 143).

Two operational consequences follow. First, the threshold for action is permanently low, because the confrontation is doctrinally constant: it “is more or less constant and unending… It knows no boundaries, physical or temporal” (CNA 2017, p. 13). There is no peacetime in which nothing is happening. Second, the doctrine is declaratively defensive and operationally offensive on purpose. Official documents omit offensive cyber entirely while the military-scientific journals debate it openly; Lilly and Cheravitch judge that “the continuous omission of an official endorsement of offensive cyber capabilities in its doctrine allows the Russian government to claim plausible deniability and maintain a narrative… of a defensive power under threat by an aggressive West” (2020, p. 139).

There is also a stated theory of why it is worth the money. Russian military scientists estimated in 2012 that “total defeat of the information infrastructures of major powers such as the United States or Russia could be conducted by up to 600 ‘information warriors’… about two years and cost no more than 100 million dollars” (Bazylev et al, cited at CCDCOE 2020, p. 138). Whether or not the number was ever plausible, it explains the investment logic: information confrontation is the asymmetric equaliser that lets an economically weaker state neutralise a stronger one. That is why a state with Russia’s GDP behaves this way — and why it will not stop when the war in Ukraine does.

2. The services, the units and the journal that says the quiet part

Structure explains behaviour, and Russian cyber structure is a product of one institutional accident. FAPSI, the Russian analogue of the NSA, was dissolved in 2003 and its parts absorbed into the FSB, MVD, FSO and SVR (CNA 2017, p. 15). For two decades afterwards the FSB, not the military, held the commanding heights — and the FSB’s Center for Information Security covered its own staffing gaps by co-opting criminal hackers, with attacks on Western banks helpfully alleviating financial shortfalls (CCDCOE 2020, p. 139). The proxy model was not a clever innovation. It was a workaround that became doctrine.

The GRU’s rise was partly a reaction to Western posture: US Cyber Command in 2009, Stuxnet, and the collapse of cyber arms-control talks “necessitated that Moscow redouble efforts” inside its military (CCDCOE 2020, p. 140). The units that resulted are now named in indictments: Unit 26165 (85th Main Special Service Center, APT28/Fancy Bear), descended from late-Cold-War military cryptography; Unit 74455 (Main Center for Special Technologies, APT44/Sandworm), built for computer-based operations; and Unit 54777 (72nd Special Service Center), the psychological arm, which had 80 specialists in five sections before 2014 and has moved “in lock-step with GRU hackers since at least 2014” (CCDCOE 2020, pp. 144–146).

Mandiant’s 2024 report on APT44 closes the argument. It places Unit 74455 and Unit 26165 together under the GRU’s Information Operations Troops (VIO, Unit 55111) and diagrams the mission as three limbs of one body: KRIKS (cryptographic reconnaissance, espionage), ITV (information-technical effects, attack) and IPV (information-psychological effects, influence). In Mandiant’s words: “We therefore view APT44 as a characteristic representation of the information confrontation (IPb) concept that underpins Russia’s present-day cyber forces” (pp. 5–6). Unit 74455 is linked to the 4th Central Scientific Research Institute, whose officers publish in the journal Information Wars — including a 2018 paper titled “Threat Models of Joint Information-Technical and Information-Psychological Effects in Hybrid Wars” (CCDCOE 2020, pp. 145–146). The adversary publishes its integration doctrine in a peer-reviewed journal. Western defenders keep the two halves in different buildings.

One unglamorous constraint is worth recording, because it dates in the right direction. In 2017 the Russian military could not recruit for its cyber units, because “recruits have better and more lucrative prospects in the private tech sector” and conscripts serve only one year (CNA 2017, p. 16, fn. 18). Human capital, not intent, was the binding constraint — the same constraint NÚKIB reports for Czechia today, from the other side of the line.

3. What Ukraine proved, and what it disproved

The largest live test of Russian cyber power produced two findings that are usually reported as if only one of them were true.

The activity was enormous. Google measured a 250% increase in Russian phishing against users in Ukraine in 2022 against a 2020 baseline, and an over-300% increase against users in NATO countries, the latter driven primarily by a Belarusian group (Google TAG and Mandiant 2023, p. 6). Preparation began in 2021. “We observed more destructive cyberattacks in Ukraine during the first four months of 2022 than in the previous eight years,” with at least six unique wiper families. Jaclyn Kerr’s CNA assessment adds nine new wiper families and two new ransomware types against more than 100 Ukrainian organisations, Russian espionage in at least 17 European countries in 2023, and a new GRU actor, Cadet Blizzard, aimed specifically at NATO states supplying military aid (CNA 2023, p. 20).

The impact was not decisive. No nationwide blackout, no banking collapse, and — the most important negative finding in the library — “in contrast to NotPetya, we’ve seen little evidence of a spillover effect outside Ukraine” (Google TAG 2023, p. 6). Kerr’s framing resolves the apparent contradiction: “Prominent arguments about the role of cyberspace in the Ukraine war mostly focus on the domain’s impact, not its activity level… It may very well have been immensely active, but it has not been decisive.” Technical analysts measure activity, strategic analysts measure effect, and both are right about different things. The bluntest datum is substitution: “When Russia wanted to shut off internet services, troops took over internet service provider facilities… When they wanted to take down the power grid or affect other critical infrastructure, they used shelling and explosives” (pp. 22–23).

Why did it underperform? Kerr offers explanations that may prove temporary and should not be banked: inadequate planning for a long war, over-estimation of pre-war capability, poor deconfliction between GRU, SVR and FSB, and the fact that Russia’s best offensive capabilities sit in agencies built for intelligence and subversion rather than combined-arms warfare.

And she attaches the warning that must travel with every optimistic reading. There are two symmetrical errors. The first is assuming “too close a relationship between adversarial cyber activity and strategically relevant effect”. The second, worse one, is “assuming that ineptitude demonstrated above threshold must necessarily translate to a similar weakness in below-threshold showing” (CNA 2023, pp. 29–30). Russia’s craft depends on implausibly deniable volume, proxies and slow salami-slicing. That fails against a galvanised, warned wartime society. It works very well against a distracted peacetime one — which is precisely the condition of every EU member state, and of Israel before 7 October.

4. Resilience, not security, is what actually blunted it

The most transferable idea in the Russian angle is not a threat finding at all. It comes from a paper co-written by Ukraine’s deputy minister of digital transformation and US Army engineers, and its argument is a distinction: “cyber security is about risk avoidance — preventing threats from affecting the system — while cyber resilience deals with response and recovery… Employing cyber security strategies is ineffective once a breach has occurred” (Kott, Dubynskyi, Paziuk et al, Computer 2024, p. 2). Against a peer adversary you cannot buy your way out with prevention alone.

The evidence is four named paradigms. Discard and replace: Viasat’s KA-SAT modems were bricked by AcidRain an hour before the invasion, and the network was not repaired but abandoned for Starlink, which turned out to be better than what was destroyed, enabling aerial and maritime drone control. Deflect and absorb: a “diverse and decentralized patchwork” of hundreds of independent telecom operators plus universal national roaming, so the network “inherently lacks centralized chokepoints”. Reconfigure and relocate: legislated pre-war authority to migrate critical state and private data to foreign clouds. Dynamically regenerate: a new secret secure link between the Ukrainian military and US European Command, stood up just before the invasion (pp. 3–6).

The recovery numbers are the ones to quote in a budget meeting. Ukrtelecom, March 2022: a cyberattack eliminated 87% of its network capability, and full connectivity was restored within 15 hours. Kyivstar, December 2023: a GRU attack devastated thousands of virtual servers, and pre-planned resilience strategies restored full operations within a week (p. 5). Security still mattered at the decisive moment — in April 2022 Ukrainian defenders neutralised malware aimed at electrical substations that could have cut power to roughly two million people — but the survival mechanism was recovery, not prevention.

Two details deserve underlining for a European reader. Decentralisation is a defensive asset that cannot be retrofitted in a crisis, and consolidated European telecom markets do not have it. And the Viasat collateral is the escalation model European utilities should plan against: an attack aimed at Ukrainian command and control “impacted tens of thousands of other fixed broadband customers across Europe”, with Enercon reporting a massive disruption of satellite connections affecting the operation of 5,800 wind turbines in central Europe (Google TAG 2023, p. 12). A targeted operation against a third country degraded a NATO member’s energy sector within the hour, and nobody had to decide to attack it.

5. The deniable layer is now the main instrument against Europe — and it is centrally run

The single most consequential change in Russian cyber behaviour since 2022 is not a new wiper. It is the professionalisation of the proxy layer. Connell and Vogler predicted in 2017 that the crowd-sourced model “is likely to be replaced by more tailored approaches, with the FSB and other government agencies playing a more central role” (CNA 2017, pp. 27–28). Half of that came true. The state did move to the centre — but the proxy layer did not disappear. It was absorbed.

Tkachuk states the position from inside Ukraine’s coordination centre in terms no threat report can match: “There are no independent ‘hacktivists’ in Russia and any illegal activity in cyberspace is strictly controlled by the state,” and since late 2022 Russia “has developed a ‘turnkey’ methodology for creating, disguising and managing these pseudo-hacktivist groups, deploying them strategically based on geopolitical goals” (CCDCOE 2025, pp. 16, 18). Mandiant documents the same relationship technically for APT44’s fronts — XakNet Team, CyberArmyofRussia_Reborn (CARR) and Solntsepek. Google’s Threat Analysis Group saw CARR’s YouTube channel created from APT44 infrastructure; Mandiant saw APT44 infrastructure exfiltrate data that later appeared on the CARR channel; and in one case CARR’s Telegram claim preceded the attack it referenced (Mandiant 2024, pp. 14–15). The fifth and final phase of APT44’s playbook is not an intrusion technique. It is Telegraphing “Success” — amplifying the operation through hacktivist personas “regardless of the actual impact of the operation”. The influence limb is wired into the attack chain by design.

Recorded Future’s thirteen-month study of NoName057(16) shows the industrialised version in daily operation. Across 3,776 unique hosts the group ran a median of 50 unique targets per day, peaking at 91, with government and public sector taking 41.09% of attacks, transport and logistics 12.44%, technology, media and telecoms 10.19%, and finance and insurance 8.88% (Insikt Group 2025, pp. 2, 12–14). The DDoSia client is written in Go, distributed through Telegram, requires a per-volunteer “User Hash”, needs no technical skill and pays contributors in cryptocurrency. Behind the volunteers sits real infrastructure engineering: 275 unique Tier 1 command-and-control IPs with a mean lifespan of 9.33 days and a median of about two, 38% alive for a single day, fronting static Tier 2 servers protected by access-control lists. The hosting is a sanctioned economy in itself — BL Networks/BitLaunch at 8% of autonomous systems, the sanctioned Russian Aeza International at 7.5%, and Global Connectivity Solutions, “the UK front for Russian hoster 4vps”, at 6% (pp. 18–19).

Two further findings are the report’s most useful and least technical contribution. The first is attribution by timesheet: new targets are added in two daily waves peaking at 05:00–07:00 and around 11:00 UTC on weekdays, the second wave largely absent at weekends — “strongly indicating operations from within a Russian time zone” and a manual target-selection process on a standard Russian working week (pp. 2, 17). The second is what that working week is used for. Austria was hammered before its September 2024 election, and activity “abruptly halted following the election and only resumed in mid-November, once it became clear that the Freedom Party would be excluded from the governing coalition”. And the targeting of Czechia throughout 2024 “notably ended in January 2025 after public reporting indicated that the ruling government was expected to lose the October 2025 election to the ANO party”, whose leaders had said they would halt ammunition transfers to Ukraine (p. 15).

The DDoS tap is a reward-and-punishment signal keyed to the target’s domestic politics, not a weapon aimed at its networks. That is a category error most national threat pictures make, and correcting it changes what you do about it: the countermeasure to a political signal is political inoculation and public explanation, not more scrubbing capacity.

6. The criminal layer, and the merger nobody has priced in

Aaron Brantly and Ryan Mason built an open-source dataset of 19,128 ransomware incidents across more than 110 groups over two years, and the directional finding is the strongest quantitative evidence of state–criminal symbiosis anyone has published. Russian-affiliated strains are the top three by victim count, five of the top ten and 26 of the top 50. “While Russian-affiliated groups only make up 26% of the total publicised ransomware strains since 2020, they account for 63% of all attacks“ (ACIG 2026, p. 8). The top six Russian groups alone produced 7,142 victims, 56% of the global total.

Then the smoking gun. Of Russian-affiliated incidents with an observed victim location (n = 2,508), 99.52% targeted entities outside Russia and 0.48% inside. In the complete-case sample of 6,339 incidents, the United States has 2,793 identified victims and Canada 586; the Russian Federation has 17, of which 15 came from a single short-lived group active for three months (p. 18). The Czech Republic appears in the second tier of sustained victims, alongside Australia, Brazil, Canada, France, Germany, India, Italy and Spain, each with more than 50 attacks from Russian-affiliated groups (p. 19).

The mechanism the authors propose is not command but selective non-enforcement: Russia polices its domestic internet ferociously for content and dissent while placing “little in the way of limitations on their activities that extend beyond their borders” (p. 8). They frame this as a failure of the international-law duty of due diligence over one’s own networks — a legal hook a European state can actually use, and a better one than attribution. The bargain itself was stated on a dark-web forum after a round of Western seizures: “Mother Russia will help… Love your country and nothing will happen to you.” To the authors’ credit they publish their own limitation: “All analyses of Russian involvement in its prolific ransomware industry are based largely on circumstantial evidence.” The contribution is the convergence of independent strands, not any single proof.