They left the settlement just after first light, when the morning air still carried the coolness of the Caucasian foothills. The eastern horizon glowed pale gold as the sun climbed above the ridges, setting the snowfields ablaze. Every fold of the mountains stood in sharp relief against the deep blue shadows of the valleys. They seemed impossibly close, as though one could drive to them before breakfast, yet the distance remained deceptive, the peaks forever withdrawing as the road advanced.
The Caucasus dominated southern Russia with the same indifference it had shown for millennia. Governments rose and fell beneath its slopes. Empires drew borders across maps only to erase them again. The mountains remained, vast enough to render every political ambition temporary. Villages, highways, railways, pipelines—even military bases—appeared insignificant against those ancient walls of granite and ice.
The highway toward Mineralnye Vody kept the range continually in view. Snow still clung to the higher elevations despite the lingering warmth of late summer. As the morning progressed, heat rising from the plains began to blur the lower slopes. Banks of mist formed along the valleys until the summits appeared suspended in the sky, detached from the earth itself. The great ridges dissolved into brilliant white masses that merged almost seamlessly with the clouds. Within another hour, the haze thickened until the mountains vanished altogether, replaced by an endless pale sky that gave no hint they had ever existed.
The road continued northward across the Stavropol steppe. Rolling hills gradually replaced the dramatic escarpments of the Caucasus. Familiar landmarks emerged one after another: Mount Camel, with its unmistakable profile against the horizon; Mount Bull; the rounded summit locals called Snake Mountain; and Iron Mountain, its wooded slopes dark even beneath the midday sun. For generations travelers had measured their journeys by these isolated heights.
They had departed before the dust began to rise from the asphalt. At dawn the fields shimmered with dew, and skylarks filled the air with constant song. Later, as the sun climbed higher, the chorus diminished to scattered whistles and the rustle of insects hidden among the grasses. By early afternoon the landscape had surrendered entirely to the heat.
Their battered Lada rolled into Mineralnye Vody beneath a white, unforgiving sky. Waves of shimmering air distorted the rail yards beyond the station. Freight trains sat motionless on sidings, tanker cars lined up beside pipelines carrying oil and gas south toward the Caucasus. Passenger trains arrived with families returning from Black Sea holidays, conscripts reporting to their units, businessmen carrying briefcases, pensioners visiting relatives. Nothing in the scene hinted that history was already beginning to shift.
The air smelled of dust, hot asphalt, diesel exhaust, and dry grass baked beneath the southern Russian sun. Cicadas droned from the roadside trees. The windows of roadside cafés stood open to catch whatever breeze might pass through. News bulletins spoke of sanctions, diplomatic disputes, military exercises, and another routine day in Vladimir Putin's Russia. People argued about pensions, wages, football, and the coming autumn.
No one in Mineralnye Vody—or anywhere else along that quiet highway—could have imagined that thousands of kilometers to the south, a chain of decisions had already begun that would soon alter the course of the twenty-first century.
The world they knew still existed.
It simply did not know that its remaining days could now be counted.
Their father had grudgingly loaned them his aging UAZ Patriot, warning them twice to keep off the unpaved farm roads if rain began. The suspension had long since given up pretending to soften the ruts, and every washboard stretch sent the vehicle shuddering from bumper to bumper. Before long they had abandoned any thought of making good time. The speedometer rarely climbed above forty kilometers an hour.
They drove through broad wheat fields already turning gold beneath the southern sun, past grazing cattle, abandoned collective farm buildings slowly surrendering to weeds, and the occasional sunflower field stretching toward the horizon. Here and there irrigation canals cut across the plain, but the rivers themselves were small and unimpressive. Villages appeared only every thirty or forty kilometers—clusters of brick houses, blue-painted fences, Orthodox church domes restored after decades of neglect, and roadside kiosks advertising bottled water, cigarettes, and mobile phone top-ups.
It was Sunday morning. The highway was unusually quiet. A handful of battered KamAZ trucks headed north, while the occasional Lada or Hyundai drifted south toward Mineralnye Vody. Otherwise the road belonged to them.
Dmitri, who was twenty-three and had always possessed more patience than anyone in his family, rested one hand lightly on the steering wheel. He could have driven another five hundred kilometers without complaint. Beyond the windshield the Caucasus dominated the southern skyline, snow still visible on the highest peaks despite the lingering warmth of early autumn.
His younger half-brother, Kirill, occupied the passenger seat but rarely remained there for long. Every few minutes he leaned across the dashboard to point at something outside—a military helicopter crossing the distant sky, a freight train loaded with armored vehicles, an eagle circling high above the fields. He scrolled endlessly through his phone until the signal disappeared, then peppered Dmitri with questions.
"Do you think they'll send you to Syria?"
"You think the VDV really jumps at night?"
"If NATO and Russia ever fought, who'd win?"
Dmitri answered only when necessary. Most of the time he smiled and kept his eyes on the road.
Kirill had just entered his second year at the secondary school in Pyatigorsk. Their father had resisted sending either of his sons away from home. The farm needed hands, not university diplomas. Dmitri had won that argument only through quiet persistence. He had never shouted. He had simply refused to let the matter die until his father finally relented.
He loved their village in the Stavropol countryside. During every holiday he returned to help with the harvest, repair machinery, and tend the livestock. For years he had imagined a future in which he might combine education with the family farm. Yet each passing year made that vision more distant. The world he encountered in the cities bore less and less resemblance to the one in which he had grown up.
Among the older villagers he was known simply as the student. Among the younger men he was the soldier, although he had not yet signed his contract. They joked that he spoke like someone from Moscow now, quoting professors and history books instead of weather signs and crop prices. Whenever he returned home, he instinctively exchanged clean jeans for work clothes within minutes of arriving, as though trying to bridge two increasingly incompatible lives.
His father seldom spoke against higher education anymore, but neither did he conceal his disappointment. Books did not repair tractors. Degrees did not bring in the wheat. Whenever Dmitri left for another semester, his father stood in the yard watching until the bus disappeared, looking less like a proud parent than a man wondering whether he had already lost his eldest son to another world.
The distance between them was widened by his stepmother, Marina. Practical, ambitious, and fiercely protective of her own children, she ran the household with unmistakable authority. Dmitri's older siblings had already moved away. Each visit home felt a little less like returning and a little more like calling on distant relatives.
University had changed him in other ways as well. He had grown up attending Easter liturgies, blessing baskets at Pascha, and crossing himself before long journeys simply because everyone else did. At university he encountered every imaginable opinion—Orthodox revivalists, atheists, liberals, nationalists, Marxists, and internet philosophers who seemed to construct entire political systems from YouTube videos and Telegram channels. Like many young Russians of his generation, he found himself surrounded not by certainty but by competing certainties, each claiming exclusive possession of the truth.
Yet none of these arguments seemed especially urgent.
Television spoke constantly of sanctions, NATO exercises, and tensions with the West. Syria appeared nightly on the news. Military parades celebrated new weapons. Politicians promised strength and stability. But in the villages of southern Russia those matters still belonged to another world. The harvest mattered more than geopolitics. Diesel prices mattered more than diplomacy.
No one on that quiet September morning imagined that somewhere beyond the Black Sea, decisions were already being made that would carry young Russian soldiers thousands of kilometers into Africa.
Least of all Dmitri.
The growing distance between Dmitri and his family had made the decision easier, but it could not be spoken of openly. He had told his father that he was returning to the university several weeks early to complete a research project before the autumn semester. Explaining what the project actually involved proved more difficult than inventing it in the first place. His father understood tractors, weather, and wheat yields. Universities remained a mystery.
During those final weeks of summer, little in their village suggested that anything beyond the ordinary was about to happen. The television in the kitchen spoke endlessly of sanctions, trade disputes, a heat wave in Europe, and the latest remarks from President Vladimir Putin. The evening news showed factory openings, road repairs, and, on every channel, the disappearance of Demi Lovato in Kenya. Reporters repeated that a multinational search team had been assembled, with helicopters and local rangers combing the savannah. Yet none of it felt immediate. Politics belonged to Moscow. Their lives belonged to the fields.
Nothing in Sablinskaya had changed.
The harvest continued. Tractors worked from dawn until sunset. Children rode bicycles through dusty lanes. Weddings filled the weekends with music and vodka. The only military presence consisted of the occasional convoy rumbling south toward the Caucasus or aircraft passing high overhead, too distant to identify.
No one in Dmitri's family expected to be caught up in anything larger than the annual harvest. His eldest brother was settled with a family of his own. Another worked construction in Krasnodar. Dmitri remained enrolled at the university, while Kirill still had school ahead of him. Military service was something that happened to other people, somewhere else.
Nor did the journey across the steppe suggest that the world stood on the edge of upheaval.
They crossed the Kuma River, passed beneath the railway overpass outside Mineralnye Vody, and entered the broad streets leading toward the station. Cafés were open. Petrol stations advertised discounted fuel. Holidaymakers with wheeled suitcases waited outside hotels for taxis to Kislovodsk and Pyatigorsk. The spa towns still welcomed visitors seeking mineral waters and mountain air, just as they had for generations.
Life possessed an extraordinary reluctance to acknowledge anything beyond the present.
They parked beneath an old elm beside a public fountain.
Kirill was to wait with the vehicle while it cooled. Dmitri stripped off his T-shirt, splashed cold water over his face, neck, and shoulders, laughing as his brother emptied a second plastic bottle across his back. He dried himself, pulled on a clean white shirt, slung a small backpack over one shoulder, and headed toward the railway station on foot, preferring the shaded sidewalks to the hot pavement.
Flower beds lined the station entrance, though the late-summer dust had dulled their colors. Beyond them stretched the familiar platform canopy with its painted steel columns wrapped in climbing vines. A warm breeze drifted along the tracks from the direction of the Caucasus, carrying the faint scent of hot rails and diesel fuel.
The station looked exactly as it always had.
Families queued for trains to Moscow and St. Petersburg. Backpackers compared itineraries. Business travelers stared at laptops over paper cups of coffee. Children tugged impatiently at their parents' sleeves, asking for ice cream from a nearby kiosk.
At another stand he bought a newspaper, then a second.
Standing beneath the canopy, he scanned the headlines.
The front pages spoke of the economy, sanctions, another round of diplomatic expulsions, and the disappearance of Demi Lovato in Kenya. Reporters said a multinational search team was combing the area, with helicopters, local rangers, and officials from several countries working through the heat and dust. Commentators debated whether she had been kidnapped, lost, or simply vanished from the convoy she had been traveling with. The story had already pushed everything else aside.
Nothing suggested that the day would become anything more than another ordinary stop on the way north.
Carefully folding the newspapers beneath his arm, Dmitri turned toward the ticket office.
He was weaving through the crowd when he heard his name.
"Dmitri!"
He looked up just as Sasha and Misha came toward him from the kiosk, grinning as if they had been waiting for the right moment to ambush him with a question.
The greeting lasted scarcely a second before Sasha pointed at the newspaper under Dmitri's arm.
"Who is Demi Lovato?" he asked. "And why is everyone in Kenya looking for her?"
Misha frowned. "Is she a singer?"
Dmitri laughed despite himself.
"Yes," he said. "An American singer. A pop star. She was on Disney when she was younger. The papers are making a huge deal because she's gone missing in Kenya, and there's a multinational team searching for her."
Kirill snorted. "I've never heard of her."
"Exactly," Dmitri said, folding the paper under his arm. "That's why I have to explain."
For the next few minutes he talked over the station noise, naming songs, films, and television shows until their blank expressions began, slowly, to give way to recognition.
Then Sasha glanced at the backpack slung over Dmitri's shoulder.
"So where are you really going?" he asked. "You said university, but you look like you're leaving for something else."
Misha's grin faded a little. "You're not going to Rostov for classes."
Dmitri did not answer at once.
The station loudspeaker crackled overhead. Somewhere behind them a train shuddered into motion, metal wheels shrieking against the rails.
At last he said, quietly, "No. Not for classes."
Sasha studied him for a moment, then looked away first.
"Then what?" he asked.
Dmitri tightened his grip on the newspapers.
"I'm going to report in," he said. "I volunteered for the army."21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7PctYG7JKT
21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5LsCShKPji
21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTf1JHSvzJo
21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6WhL5E4HHE
It was true—they had met by chance once before.
Anna had been a first-year student then, still trying to find her place in the university, while Dmitri was already well known among the history faculty for taking ideas far more seriously than most of his classmates. Their first conversation had begun outside the university library after a lecture on twentieth-century Russia and somehow lasted until the campus lights came on.
After that they met whenever circumstances allowed.
Their walks through the parks of Stavropol or along the boulevards of Pyatigorsk became long conversations about history, politics, literature, and the strange uncertainty that seemed to surround modern Russia. Anna treasured those evenings. She had never before known anyone only a few years older who treated her opinions as though they genuinely mattered.
Even when darkness fell and couples around them drifted naturally closer together, Dmitri never took her hand unless necessity required crossing a busy street. She sometimes wondered whether it was shyness or discipline. Perhaps both.
Later, after Anna transferred to St. Petersburg for graduate study, they stayed in touch through long emails and occasional late-night messages. His replies were thoughtful, carefully composed, almost old-fashioned in an age of emojis and abbreviated texts. Though the city introduced her to professors, journalists, entrepreneurs, and people whose names regularly appeared in newspapers, she often found herself thinking about the quiet young man from the Stavropol countryside.
Three weeks earlier she had been leaving a metro station on Vasilyevsky Island when every screen seemed to be showing the same story.
AMERICAN SINGER DEMI LOVATO MISSING IN KENYA.
The report replayed endlessly.
A humanitarian visit.
A convoy.
Conflicting eyewitness accounts.
Search helicopters.
Kenyan police.
Foreign investigators.
No confirmed sightings.
For reasons she could not entirely explain, the story unsettled her. Perhaps it was because someone so famous had vanished as completely as if the earth had opened beneath her feet. Perhaps it was because the uncertainty itself seemed contagious. For days afterward she caught herself wondering how a modern world filled with satellites, drones, smartphones, and surveillance cameras could simply lose a human being.
During the long train journey south she found herself thinking unexpectedly of Dmitri.
Not because the two events were connected—how could they possibly be?—but because whenever the world became confusing, he was the one person she imagined would have an explanation.
The train rolled steadily through central Russia, then the fertile plains beyond Voronezh, and finally toward the North Caucasus. At nearly every major station she saw young soldiers boarding or disembarking. Some wore fresh uniforms that still held their factory creases. Others looked scarcely older than schoolboys, embracing parents who tried unsuccessfully not to cry.
Military service had always been part of Russian life.
No one regarded these departures as extraordinary.
No demonstrations opposed them.
No speeches predicted disaster.
The conversations on station platforms revolved around ordinary things—contracts, salaries, apartments, girlfriends, football, whether someone would be stationed near Rostov or farther east. The television screens hanging from station ceilings continued alternating between reports about the search in Kenya, economic news, and President Putin's latest meeting with regional governors.
Russia appeared entirely at peace with itself.
Yet Anna sensed something she could not name.
It was as though the country had paused without realizing it.
As though millions of people were continuing with perfectly ordinary lives while somewhere, far beyond their horizon, unseen machinery had already begun to turn.
When she saw Dmitri standing beneath the station canopy in Mineralnye Vody, newspaper tucked beneath one arm, backpack over his shoulder, she suddenly understood why she had wanted so badly to find him.
Not because she believed he could explain the disappearance in Kenya.
But because, for reasons she could never have articulated, he made the world seem less uncertain.
Now, hearing him quietly admit that he had volunteered for the army, that certainty vanished.
She searched his face.
"You're serious."
He nodded once.
"What unit?"
"I don't know yet."
"And after training?"
He offered the smallest of smiles.
"They'll tell me when it's time."
Neither of them noticed that the newspaper tucked beneath his arm had slipped open.
Across the front page, above the fold, the same headline looked back at them:
SEARCH FOR DEMI LOVATO ENTERS ITS FIFTH DAY.
Neither imagined they had just stepped into the margins of that story.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWDB9MXwDgh
21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡU4WGKErcSl
21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQTH3cyMu4p
21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSHJ02swKjW
21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡG14xdaBAUw
Dmitri, standing there in his freshly pressed white shirt, looked more than ever like a son of the southern steppe. Weeks spent helping with the harvest had left his skin darkened by the sun. His short blond hair, bleached almost white by long days in the fields, caught the afternoon light beneath the station canopy.
Anna had embraced him the instant she recognized him. It had been impulsive, but not entirely. Somewhere during the endless train ride from St. Petersburg she had resolved that, if fate allowed this impossible meeting, she would not let the awkward reserve that had always existed between them return. Surely they would abandon whatever plans they had made, find a café, walk through the park, talk until evening.
Instead, Dmitri was making everything more complicated.
That familiar, thoughtful half-smile still rested beneath his light blond stubble. His blue eyes never stopped thinking. She had always admired that about him. Today, however, she saw something else behind them—a quiet determination that frightened her.
He had already made up his mind.
Without thinking, she gripped both of his shoulders.
"Dmitri... don't do this."
He looked at her without surprise.
"Don't leave."
The words came faster now.
"You don't have to prove anything."
The station around them continued its ordinary rhythm. A conductor blew a whistle. Children laughed somewhere near the ice cream kiosk. The loudspeaker announced another arrival from Rostov. Yet for Anna everything else seemed to recede into the background.
"You've worked too hard to get where you are," she said. "You've got your degree almost finished. You always talked about teaching... maybe graduate school. Why throw all of that away?"
He listened without interrupting.
She searched desperately for an argument that might reach him.
"What is this really about?"
He hesitated.
"I don't know."
"No," she replied quietly. "You do."
He lowered his eyes.
"The world feels..." He searched for the word. "...different."
She glanced at the folded newspaper under his arm.
"You mean because of the singer? Because of that story from Kenya?"
"No."
"But everyone is talking about it."
"I know."
She took a slow breath.
"People disappear every day, Dmitri. The news finds one story and turns it into the only story. In a month everyone will be talking about something else."
He remained silent.
She continued, almost pleading now.
"Look around."
She gestured toward the crowded platform.
"Families going on holiday. Students heading back to university. Businessmen worrying about contracts. Life goes on."
"It always does," he answered softly.
"Exactly."
"But sometimes it only looks that way."
The sentence lingered between them.
Anna frowned.
"You sound like you've already convinced yourself something terrible is coming."
"I hope I'm wrong."
"So do I."
She stepped closer.
"Whatever politicians say on television... whatever NATO says... whatever President Putin says... none of that has to become your life."
For the first time since they had met beneath the station canopy, emotion crossed his face.
"I've been thinking about that."
"And?"
"I don't think we get to choose as much as we'd like."
She laughed bitterly.
"That's exactly what people always tell themselves before history proves them wrong."
He gave the faintest smile.
"Maybe."
She folded her arms.
"So this is patriotism now?"
"No."
"Duty?"
"I don't know."
"Adventure?"
He almost laughed.
"No."
"Then what?"
Dmitri looked out beyond the station, toward the distant blue outline of the Caucasus.
"When I was a kid," he said quietly, "I thought history was something that happened to other people."
He looked back at her.
"Now I think history is coming."
Anna shook her head.
"History is always coming."
"No."
His voice was barely above a whisper.
"This feels different."
For several seconds neither spoke.
Finally she said, almost in frustration,
"You've spent years telling me not to let television shape how I think. Not to let politicians manufacture fear. Now you're doing exactly that."
He considered the accusation.
Perhaps she was right.
Perhaps she wasn't.
At length he answered with a sadness that surprised even himself.
"I don't know what comes next."
His hand tightened unconsciously around the folded newspaper.
"But whatever it is..."
He glanced down at the headline about the missing American singer.
"...I don't think the world will stay the same for very long."21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡi7t9ZoeNfM
21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ96eM2pugBj
21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡj9CR9FnPbr
21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6TwatKHLR1
TOP SECRET — EYES ONLY21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIn8kpWz0hA
Russian Federation21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlUhOqRGn8D
General Staff of the Armed Forces21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡByRqNpsmcz
Secure Presidential Communications Network
Tuesday, September 18, 201821Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjb0NU5bZkc
18:42 Moscow Time
COMMANDER, KAMINSKI AIR GUARDS TASK FORCE21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡi2Whh1C5Ks
TO: PRESIDENT VLADIMIR V. PUTIN21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSA7L2blaiY
PRIORITY: FLASH
SUBJECT: MISSION REPORT
Mr. President,
I respectfully report that Operation LOVATO '18, as designated by General Orlov, has concluded.
The designated objective was located on the Maasai Mara National Reserve at approximately 1617 hours local time.
The mission has been completed.
Demi Lovato is confirmed deceased.
Friendly forces have disengaged and are proceeding according to the approved withdrawal timetable. Initial indications suggest no personnel have been left behind. Equipment accountability is underway.
Local authorities have not yet established the identity of the deceased. Public reporting remains fragmented, with early accounts describing an attack by unidentified foreign personnel. International media have begun carrying breaking coverage.
At present there is no public attribution linking Russian Federation forces to the operation.
The Ministry of Foreign Affairs recommends maintaining complete silence pending assessment of foreign intelligence collection and forensic reporting.
The General Staff anticipates immediate international attention once positive identification is made. Diplomatic consequences are expected to be severe if attribution occurs.
A comprehensive after-action assessment will be submitted under separate cover.
Mission status: SUCCESSFUL
Respectfully,
Colonel General Aleksandr Kaminski21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡT7RSONl2Mu
Commander, Kaminski Air Guards Task Force
HANDWRITTEN RECEIPT NOTATION21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡo8cs4bkVRT
Received by the Presidential Secretariat at 18:47 MSK.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3clJNlQBjX
Forwarded immediately to the President.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡb4ZYZYE84v
No written response recorded.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYj0nydpnRP
21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfJ0fV8Ko90
21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡllqg4J3Xsj
21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdJOaMWziTS
U.S. EMBASSY NAIROBI21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNWsG2mrjJe
NAIROBI, KENYA
September 23, 2018
Mrs. Dianna De La Garza21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡk986n93Nzi
Albuquerque, New Mexico21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKKmyttr1Nk
United States of America
Dear Mrs. De La Garza,
Please accept our deepest condolences on the tragic loss of your daughter, Demi Lovato. The staff of the U.S. Embassy in Nairobi mourns with you and your family.
We are working closely with Kenyan authorities to confirm the circumstances of her death and to provide all appropriate consular assistance. In the immediate term, we recommend that you designate one family member or representative in the United States to serve as the primary point of contact with the Embassy so that information can be relayed clearly and without delay.
As we understand that you will be remaining in the United States and attending the funeral services in Los Angeles, please keep your telephone and email available, as our staff will provide updates as soon as they are confirmed by local authorities. If you or your family require assistance coordinating with the funeral home or with the designated representative handling arrangements, our American Citizen Services unit can help facilitate communication.
For the short term, we also advise that you retain copies of Demi's passport, travel documents, and any available medical or police reports, and that you avoid relying on unofficial information circulating on social media. Our consular team can help you understand what documentation may be needed and can coordinate with the appropriate Kenyan offices on your behalf.
Please know that you are not alone in this difficult time. The Embassy stands ready to assist you and your family in any way we can.
With sincere sympathy,
Robert F. Godec,21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAXgBlFKxge
Ambassador / Chargé d'Affaires21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoOesiiELsE
U.S. Embassy Nairobi21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUGDnkEt866
21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZcQAIdo3FG
21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3HWGtRxZb4
SECURE VIDEO TELECONFERENCE (SVTC)21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCTEyj48QiY
WHITE HOUSE SITUATION ROOM21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡO4GxwWEv3H
WASHINGTON, D.C.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡonyp7Q8Neq
September 23, 2018
PARTICIPANTS
President Donald J. Trump
Vice President Mike Pence
Secretary of State Mike Pompeo
Secretary of Defense James Mattis
Attorney General Jeff Sessions
National Security Advisor John Bolton
Chairman, Joint Chiefs of Staff General Joseph Dunford
FBI Director Christopher Wray
CIA Director Gina Haspel
U.S. Ambassador to Kenya Robert F. Godec (via secure video from U.S. Embassy, Nairobi)21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYapa1j0TT9
21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXVRUomQthl
[Secure connection established.]
AMBASSADOR GODEC: Mr. President, can you hear me?
PRESIDENT TRUMP: Loud and clear, Bob. Tell me what you've got.
AMBASSADOR GODEC: Mr. President, approximately two hours ago Kenyan authorities completed the formal identification procedures. I regret to report that the deceased recovered yesterday on the Maasai Mara has been positively identified as Ms. Demi Lovato.
[Silence in the Situation Room.]
PRESIDENT TRUMP: One hundred percent?
AMBASSADOR GODEC: Yes, sir. The identification was confirmed through multiple forensic methods conducted jointly with American personnel. At this stage there is no reasonable doubt.
SECRETARY POMPEO: Have her family been informed?
AMBASSADOR GODEC: Yes, Mr. Secretary. Notification has been completed through the appropriate channels. Embassy personnel remain in close contact with Ms. Lovato's family.
PRESIDENT TRUMP: Jeff, the FBI agents I told you to send—are they in Kenya yet?
ATTORNEY GENERAL SESSIONS: Yes, Mr. President. The FBI agents you ordered me to dispatch are on the ground in Nairobi and have been integrated with the investigative team. They are working alongside Kenyan authorities and Embassy personnel.
PRESIDENT TRUMP: Good. Keep them there. I want everything looked at.
AMBASSADOR GODEC: Mr. President, the Bureau team has already begun reviewing the scene with Kenyan investigators. They are preserving evidence and interviewing witnesses.
PRESIDENT TRUMP: What do we know about what happened?
AMBASSADOR GODEC: Mr. President, we can establish the broad sequence with reasonable confidence.
Ms. Lovato's humanitarian party entered the reserve as scheduled. Communications ceased shortly thereafter. Search teams located evidence of an armed engagement over a wide area. Yesterday afternoon, Baran Talbani, a Kurdish rider assisting with the search, and private investigator Jack Mallory discovered Ms. Lovato's remains approximately three kilometers from the last confirmed position of her convoy.
Kenyan Rangers and local authorities secured the area immediately after the discovery, and the crime scene has since been preserved jointly by Kenyan authorities and U.S. investigators.
In addition, UN troops assigned to the regional security mission have been placed on alert to assist with perimeter control around sensitive sites, and U.S. National Guardsmen attached to the Embassy security augmentation detail are helping secure the compound and the airfield.
GENERAL DUNFORD: Ambassador, do we have any indication who carried out the attack?
AMBASSADOR GODEC: General, at this hour we do not have sufficient evidence to make a definitive attribution.
Numerous possibilities remain under active investigation, including extremist organizations, criminal elements operating in East Africa, and the potential involvement of a state-sponsored actor.
I want to emphasize that we have not reached a formal conclusion.
CIA DIRECTOR HASPEL: Any surviving eyewitnesses?
AMBASSADOR GODEC: A limited number, Director. Interviews are ongoing. Their accounts are broadly consistent regarding the professionalism and discipline of the attackers, but inconsistent regarding uniforms, language, and equipment.
JOHN BOLTON: Professional military?
AMBASSADOR GODEC: That is one working hypothesis.
PRESIDENT TRUMP: What's the mood over there?
AMBASSADOR GODEC: Somber, sir.
This has become much larger than the death of an entertainer.
The Kenyan government is treating Ms. Lovato's death as an international incident. Crowds have gathered outside both Parliament and our Embassy. Churches, mosques, and community organizations have held public vigils throughout Nairobi. We've received condolences from governments across Africa, Europe, Asia, and Latin America.
There is widespread concern that whoever was willing to carry out an attack of this magnitude may have intended consequences extending far beyond Kenya.
PRESIDENT TRUMP: Are Americans safe?
AMBASSADOR GODEC: At present, yes, sir, though we have raised the Embassy's security posture and advised American citizens to remain vigilant pending further developments. The FBI agents you ordered Attorney General Sessions to send are helping us maintain that posture and coordinate with Kenyan security services.
SECRETARY MATTIS: Your recommendation?
AMBASSADOR GODEC: Mr. President, my recommendation is straightforward.
Allow the investigation to proceed without interference.
Preserve every piece of forensic evidence.
Coordinate closely with President Kenyatta's government.
And refrain from assigning responsibility until the intelligence and forensic communities are prepared to support that conclusion.
If this proves to have been the work of a nation-state, the consequences will extend well beyond East Africa.
If it proves to have been a terrorist organization, the international response will be equally significant.
Either way, the decisions made over the next several days will shape events for years to come.
PRESIDENT TRUMP: Understood.
Keep us informed every step of the way.
And tell President Kenyatta... the United States appreciates everything Kenya is doing.
AMBASSADOR GODEC: I will, Mr. President.
[Secure connection terminated.]
21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbR7hUQxcRp
21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtsC6ahKnhE
21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0ErFISnOqM
21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjVRuid372r
United Nations General Assembly
Statement by Mr. Osip Lyagushov21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡj1ZXl1FV50
Senior Official of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Russian Federation21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡL2lVD9QF74
New York21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡItWzifByiK
October 28, 2016
Mr. President,
Our ambassador, Mr. Churkin, has repeatedly warned this Assembly that the conflict in Syria and Iraq is being prolonged not only by terrorist organizations but also by irresponsible foreign interference carried out under humanitarian, journalistic, and entertainment pretexts.
Today I wish to draw the attention of Member States to one particularly disturbing example.
Several days ago, the American entertainer Ms. Demetria Devonne Lovato entered territory controlled by armed Kurdish formations operating in northern Iraq.
Our leadership recognizes the humanitarian concerns expressed by many private individuals regarding the suffering caused by terrorism. Humanitarian assistance is welcome when coordinated with legitimate authorities and conducted in accordance with international law.
What occurred in this instance was something very different.
While present in an area under the authority of armed non-state actors, Ms. Lovato participated in highly publicized events that openly celebrated organizations actively engaged in military operations. During this visit she was presented before assembled fighters and foreign media as a symbolic representative of international support for one side of an ongoing armed conflict.
More troubling still were reports received by our authorities concerning an incident near Mosul in which personnel from our country, operating in an advisory capacity, were subjected to harassment and provocation by individuals accompanying Ms. Lovato's delegation.
According to testimony available to us, this confrontation occurred at a local training compound where our advisers had been invited to observe anti-terrorist coordination activities. Instead of respecting the neutrality expected of international visitors, members of the American delegation chose to engage in inflammatory rhetoric directed toward my countrymen.
The incident escalated into a physical confrontation after members of the delegation interfered with local security arrangements and encouraged hostile behavior toward legitimate Russian aid workers.
Although injuries were fortunately limited, we consider such conduct wholly unacceptable.
No celebrity, regardless of international fame, possesses diplomatic immunity from responsibility.
No entertainer should become an instrument of military propaganda.
No private citizen should be encouraged to insert herself into active combat zones in ways that heighten tensions among states already confronting terrorism.
Unfortunately, this episode reflects a wider trend.
Increasingly, certain governments appear willing to employ famous personalities as informal political actors while denying responsibility for the consequences of their actions. Public influence is transformed into geopolitical influence. Entertainment becomes information warfare. Popular culture becomes another instrument through which pressure is exerted against states whose policies are deemed inconvenient.
I call upon you, Mr. Secretary, to remind all Member States of their obligation to discourage unofficial political missions conducted by public figures inside active conflict zones without proper international coordination.
Humanitarian concern must never become a cover for political provocation.
Respect for sovereignty must apply equally whether the individual crossing borders is a soldier, a diplomat, or a celebrity.
My country remains committed to defeating terrorism through lawful international cooperation rather than theatrical political spectacle.
Thank you, Mr. Secretary.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqLLHSHJFtV
21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4AX8wSjqXn
21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPokSqd68iy
21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjaEcjR98u6
21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡN5GVNa5pi6
UNITED STATES DEPARTMENT OF STATE21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVUiKerh7Nj
U.S. CONSULAR ANNEX – FRANKFURT AM MAIN, FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF GERMANY, REGIONAL SECURITY OFFICE21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9Ba2gcI7wR
CASE FILE: FRA-2016-11-02-41721Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1AuduFxx6V
SUBJECT: Mandatory Witness Statement21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡppsYzZfv1g
21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡETFhApNi8K
===============================================================21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3d1HMRbt8O
WITNESS IDENTIFICATION
Legal Name: DEMETRIA DEVONNE LOVATO21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡe7lCkPtZHg
Professional Name: Demi Lovato21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2zOgjlXIBg
Date of Birth: August 20, 199221Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeT7mQskYVo
Place of Birth: Albuquerque, New Mexico, United States21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡINMcZXt8Ps
Citizenship: United States21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡev7S8SP75I
Passport Presented: United States Passport21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡenuKIapbqO
Passport Number: [REDACTED]21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVgmQf0HaSe
Identity Verified By: Physical examination of passport and comparison with Department of State records.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxph5yoLmWJ
Current Residence: Los Angeles, California, 21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7nS1aV9JAo
Occupation: Singer / Songwriter / Actress21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡt7RmrXgNTL
===============================================================21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡi6y5a9tLW2
21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzRhU8VT0Th
INTERVIEW INFORMATION21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7yRvg5j2jn
21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbEEKXs2aXO
Date: November 2, 201621Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoSljRGdbNf
Location: United States Consular Annex, Frankfurt am Main, Federal Republic of Germany21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlbwHEkcwo5
Interview Commenced: 1438 CET21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡx3kwC5EC6y
Interview Concluded: 1647 CET21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrTwKP1BMaO
Interview Conducted By:21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡw4CSxyYx68
Regional Security Officer __________________21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ31dV4OMhTT
Special Agent, Diplomatic Security Service __________________21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgzdTXJghLp
Federal Bureau of Investigation (Legal Attaché Observer) __________________21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡG9ZkIQ52yS
Interpreter Required: No21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxUIFowWIkH
Audio Recording: Yes21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXqbjZ3kxu6
Video Recording: No
Statement Taken Pursuant to Official Investigation21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlDN2y3y1c2
The undersigned was admonished to provide a complete and truthful account of the events described below as part of an official investigation conducted by the United States Government. Prior to giving this statement, the undersigned was advised that knowingly making false, fictitious, or fraudulent statements or representations to federal officials may constitute a criminal offense under 18 U.S.C. § 1001 and other applicable provisions of federal law. The undersigned acknowledged this advisement before the interview commenced.
The witness acknowledged understanding that this statement may be distributed to agencies of the United States Government with responsibility for diplomatic security, intelligence, criminal investigation, or national security.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoeH8yQ73iD
21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMTdoBVlPAy
===============================================================21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRRRlssXwd9
SWORN STATEMENT
I, Demetria Devonne Lovato, voluntarily make the following statement.
I traveled to Erbil, Kurdistan Region of Iraq, during the last week of October 2016 as part of a privately organized humanitarian visit.
Before leaving the United States I understood that the trip would involve meeting displaced civilians, humanitarian organizations, and Kurdish security personnel involved in operations against ISIS.
During my stay I was introduced to Lord Eustace Boyle, a British peer who appeared to possess extensive experience operating in northern Iraq. I was told that he had longstanding relationships with local authorities and humanitarian organizations. Throughout the visit he exercised primary responsibility for transportation and security arrangements.
Several days after arriving in Kurdistan, Lord Boyle informed members of our group that we would briefly observe what he described as a gathering of local athletes outside Mosul.
I believed this would be a controlled visit.
Upon arrival I realized the location was not an official military installation or organized sporting event. It appeared to be an improvised fighting venue attended by numerous armed individuals representing several different organizations.
The atmosphere was tense.
I immediately expressed concern about remaining there.
Lord Boyle advised that leaving immediately would attract attention and instructed everyone in our party to remain calm until transportation could be arranged.
While present, I was introduced to a Russian-speaking man.
At the time I did not know his identity.
No one introduced him by name.
I later learned from Mr. Halvorsen that the individual was Osip Lyagushov, whom he described as an influential Russian official with connections to Russian military and intelligence personnel operating in the region.
The individual appeared to recognize me immediately.
He initiated a conversation concerning the United States, Syria, and Russia. Unfortunately, that discussion became increasingly confrontational.
Although I cannot recall every sentence exactly, I distinctly remember objecting to attacks against civilians and stating that innocent people should not suffer because of political disputes between governments.
The individual became visibly angry.
He stepped closer to me.
At that point Lord Boyle physically moved between us.
He instructed me not to continue the discussion.
He then spoke privately with the Russian individual for approximately one minute.
I was unable to hear their conversation.
When it concluded, the Russian individual looked directly at me and stated, in English:
"Russia does not forgive."
He spoke quietly without raising his voice.
I interpreted the statement as a warning.
Lord Boyle immediately directed our party to depart.
Once we were safely away from the location, I asked him whether I had been in danger.
He replied that there were parts of the world where public insults were remembered differently than they would be in Europe or the United States.
He advised me not to discuss the incident publicly while I remained in the region.
For the remainder of my visit our movements became noticeably more restrictive.
Travel plans changed repeatedly without explanation.
I never again encountered the Russian individual.
Only after being taken to Germany had I been informed by Mr. Halvorsen that the man I had spoken with was named Osip Lyagushov.
Until that time I had not known his identity.
Everything contained in this statement is true to the best of my knowledge and recollection.
Where I have been uncertain of precise wording, I have indicated that uncertainty rather than speculate.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnIqBSqMMsA
Witness Signature
Demetria Devonne Lovato
November 2, 2016, Frankfurt am Main, Germany
Witness sworn before the undersigned officials.
Regional Security Officer21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8GSUlDQQr1
Special Agent, Diplomatic Security Service21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8LcosKGNRV
Federal Bureau of Investigation (Observer)21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpuPRLyYHnb
and then Add to home screen.