Moscow proposed a quid pro quo to the U.S. under which the Kremlin would stop sharing intelligence information with Iran, such as the precise coordinates of U.S. military assets in the Middle East, if Washington ceased supplying Ukraine with intel about Russia. Two people familiar with the U.S.-Russia negotiations said that such a proposal was made by Russian envoy Kirill Dmitriev to Trump administration envoys Steve Witkoff and Jared Kushner during their meeting last week in Miami. The U.S. rejected the proposal, the people added. They, like all other officials cited in this article, were granted anonymity due to the sensitivity of the discussions. Nevertheless, the sheer existence of such a proposal has sparked concern among European diplomats, who worry Moscow is trying to drive a wedge between Europe and the U.S. at a critical moment for transatlantic relations. U.S. President Donald Trump has voiced anger over the refusal of allies to send warships in the Strait of Hormuz. On Friday, he lambasted his NATO allies as “COWARDS“ and said: “we will REMEMBER!” The White House declined to comment. The Russian Embassy in Washington did not respond to a request for comment. One EU diplomat called the Russian proposal “outrageous.” The suggested deal is likely to fuel growing suspicions in Europe that the Witkoff-Dmitriev meetings are not delivering concrete progress toward a peace agreement in Ukraine, but are instead seen by Moscow as a chance to lure Washington into a deal between the two powers that leaves Europe on the sidelines. On Thursday, the Kremlin said that the U.S.-mediated Ukraine peace talks were “on hold.” Russia has made various proposals about Iran to the U.S., which has rejected them all, another person familiar with the discussions said. This person said the U.S. also rejected a proposal to move Iran’s enriched uranium to Russia, which was first reported by Axios. Russia has expanded ‌intelligence-sharing and military cooperation with Iran since the war started, a person briefed on the intelligence said. The Wall Street Journal first reported the increase and wrote that Moscow is providing satellite ⁠imagery and drone technology to help Tehran target U.S. forces in the region. The Kremlin called that report  “fake news.” Trump hinted at a link between the intelligence-sharing with Iran and Ukraine during a recent interview with Fox News, saying that Russian President Vladimir Putin “might be helping them [Iran] a little bit, yeah, I guess, and he probably thinks we’re helping Ukraine, right?” The U.S. continues to share intelligence with Ukraine, even as it has reduced other support. Washington briefly paused the exchanges last year after a disastrous Oval Office meeting between Trump and Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy. That abrupt halt to U.S. intelligence sharing triggered a chaotic scramble among allies and exposed deep tensions in the partnership with Kyiv. One European diplomat sought to downplay the risk of the Russian proposal, noting that French President Emmanuel Macron had said in January that “two-thirds” of military intelligence for Ukraine is now provided by France. Still, intelligence-sharing remains a last crucial pillar of American support for Ukraine after the Trump administration stopped most of its financial and military aid for Kyiv last year. Washington is still delivering weapons to Ukraine but under a NATO-led program where allies pay the U.S. for arms. Deliveries of critical air defense munitions, however, are under strain amid the U.S.-Israel war with Iran.  Most recently, the Trump administration decided to ease sanctions on Russian oil to alleviate pressure on oil markets, causing strong concern and criticism from  European leaders like German Chancellor Friedrich Merz. Hans von der Burchard reported from Berlin, Felicia Schwartz and Diana Nerozzi from Washington and Jacopo Barigazzi from Brussels.

The EU is exploring options to protect the Strait of Hormuz including by changing the mandate of its naval missions in the region, top EU diplomat Kaja Kallas said Monday after U.S. President Donald Trump threatened NATO allies if they don’t help. But some EU states are already pushing back, with Luxembourg’s Deputy Prime Minister Xavier Bettel saying that his country would not give in to “blackmail” from the United States to participate in the Iran war. “With satellites, with communications, we are very happy to be useful. But don’t ask us with troops and with machines,” Bettel, who is also foreign minister, said on his way into a gathering of foreign envoys in Brussels on Monday. “Blackmail is also not what I wish for,” Bettel added. The EU is under growing pressure from Washington to help secure freedom of navigation in the Strait of Hormuz, with Trump telling the Financial Times over the weekend that it would “very bad for the future of NATO” if European allies fail to respond to his appeals or refuse to participate. “It is in our interest to keep the Strait of Hormuz open,” Kallas told journalists. “That’s why we are also discussing what we can do from the EU side. We have been in touch with the U.S. on many levels, but of course the situation is very volatile.” Among the options, Kallas said she was discussing with United Nations Secretary-General António Guterres whether the U.N. and the EU could work together on a plan to secure navigation through the strait, a vital artery for trade through which 20 percent of the world’s oil transits. The mission could echo the Black Sea Grain Initiative between Turkey, Russia, Ukraine and the U.N. to allow Ukrainian crops to be safely exported despite an ongoing war, she added. ASPIDES AND ATALANTA Kallas also said that EU foreign ministers would look into changing the mandate of two ongoing EU-backed naval protection missions — Operations Aspides and Atalanta — so that they could help to open the Strait of Hormuz. Currently those missions — originally conceived to protect EU commercial vessels from attacks by Houthi rebels in Yemen — are not operating in the strait and are bound by rules of engagement that would limit their effectiveness, a senior EU diplomat said. “We will discuss with the member states whether it’s possible to really change the mandate of this mission,” said Kallas. “We have proposals on the table … The point is whether the member states are willing to use this mission.” “If the member states are not doing anything with this then of course it’s their decision, but we have to discuss to show we help to keep the Strait of Hormuz open,” Kallas said. In her remarks, Kallas blasted Trump’s decision to lift sanctions on Russian oil exports as a “dangerous precedent,” saying it was important that the ongoing war in the Middle East did not overshadow Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. Washington lifted the sanctions on Rosneft and Lukoil exports for one month to alleviate pressure on global oil markets amid a surge in the price of oil to more than $100 per barrel following the attacks on Iran. Even so, the top EU diplomat underscored European efforts to help clear the Strait of Hormuz. Another possibility, she said, was to use a so-called coalition of the willing to secure the strait. This refers to a group of countries rather than the entire 27-member bloc. “But of course you can see it’s difficult,” she said.  Indeed, no sooner had Kallas spoken than EU foreign ministers started pouring cold water on the idea of joining any mission to clear the strait, with Romania’s foreign minister arguing that NATO was a defensive alliance that had no immediate duty to act in the Middle Eastern war. Milena Wälde contributed to this report.

Anton, a 44-year-old Russian soldier who heads a workshop responsible for repairing and supplying drones, was at his kitchen table when he learned last month that Elon Musk’s SpaceX had cut off access to Starlink terminals used by Russian forces. He scrambled for alternatives, but none offered unlimited internet, data plans were restrictive, and coverage did not extend to the areas of Ukraine where his unit operated. It’s not only American tech executives who are narrowing communications options for Russians. Days later, Russian authorities began slowing down access nationwide to the messaging app Telegram, the service that frontline troops use to coordinate directly with one another and bypass slower chains of command. “All military work goes through Telegram — all communication,” Anton, whose name has been changed because he fears government reprisal, told POLITICO in voice messages sent via the app. “That would be like shooting the entire Russian army in the head.” Telegram would be joining a home screen’s worth of apps that have become useless to Russians. Kremlin policymakers have already blocked or limited access to WhatsApp, along with parent company Meta’s Facebook and Instagram, Microsoft’s LinkedIn, Google’s YouTube, Apple’s FaceTime, Snapchat and X, which like SpaceX is owned by Musk. Encrypted messaging apps Signal and Discord, as well as Japanese-owned Viber, have been inaccessible since 2024. Last month, President Vladimir Putin signed a law requiring telecom operators to block cellular and fixed internet access at the request of the Federal Security Service. Shortly after it took effect on March 3, Moscow residents reported widespread problems with mobile internet, calls and text messages across all major operators for several days, with outages affecting mobile service and Wi-Fi even inside the State Duma. Those decisions have left Russians increasingly cut off from both the outside world and one another, complicating battlefield coordination and disrupting online communities that organize volunteer aid, fundraising and discussion of the war effort. Deepening digital isolation could turn Russia into something akin to “a large, nuclear-armed North Korea and a junior partner to China,” according to Alexander Gabuev, the Berlin-based director of the Carnegie Russia Eurasia Center. In April, the Kremlin is expected to escalate its campaign against Telegram — already one of Russia’s most popular messaging platforms, but now in the absence of other social-media options, a central hub for news, business and entertainment. It may block the platform altogether. That is likely to fuel an escalating struggle between state censorship and the tools people use to evade it, with Russia’s place in the world hanging in the balance. “It’s turned into a war,” said Mikhail Klimarev, executive director of the internet Protection Society, a digital rights group that monitors Russia’s censorship infrastructure. “A guerrilla war. They hunt down the VPNs they can see, they block them — and the ‘partisans’ run, build new bunkers, and come back.” THE APP THAT RUNS THE WAR On Feb. 4, SpaceX tightened the authentication system that Starlink terminals use to connect to its satellite network, introducing stricter verification for registered devices. The change effectively blocked many terminals operated by Russian units relying on unauthorized connections, cutting Starlink traffic inside Ukraine by roughly 75 percent, according to internet traffic analysis by Doug Madory, an analyst at the U.S. network monitoring firm Kentik. The move threw Russian operations into disarray, allowing Ukraine to make battlefield gains. Russia has turned to a workaround widely used before satellite internet was an option: laying fiber-optic lines, from rear areas toward frontline battlefield positions. Until then, Starlink terminals had allowed drone operators to stream live video through platforms such as Discord, which is officially blocked in Russia but still sometimes used by the Russian military via VPNs, to commanders at multiple levels. A battalion commander could watch an assault unfold in real time and issue corrections — “enemy ahead” or “turn left” — via radio or Telegram. What once required layers of approval could now happen in minutes. Satellite-connected messaging apps became the fastest way to transmit coordinates, imagery and targeting data. But on Feb. 10, Roskomnadzor, the Russian communications regulator, began slowing down Telegram for users across Russia, citing alleged violations of Russian law. Russian news outlet RBC reported, citing two sources, that authorities plan to shut down Telegram in early April — though not on the front line. In mid-February, Digital Development Minister Maksut Shadayev said the government did not yet intend to restrict Telegram at the front but hoped servicemen would gradually transition to other platforms. Kremlin spokesperson Dmitry Peskov said this week the company could avoid a full ban by complying with Russian legislation and maintaining what he described as “flexible contact” with authorities. Roskomnadzor has accused Telegram of failing to protect personal data, combat fraud and prevent its use by terrorists and criminals. Similar accusations have been directed at other foreign tech platforms. In 2022, a Russian court designated Meta an “extremist organization” after the company said it would temporarily allow posts calling for violence against Russian soldiers in the context of the Ukraine war — a decision authorities used to justify blocking Facebook and Instagram in Russia and increasing pressure on the company’s other services, including WhatsApp. Telegram founder Pavel Durov, a Russian-born entrepreneur now based in the United Arab Emirates, says the throttiling is being used as a pretext to push Russians toward a government-controlled messaging app designed for surveillance and political censorship. That app is MAX, which was launched in March 2025 and has been compared to China’s WeChat in its ambition to anchor a domestic digital ecosystem. Authorities are increasingly steering Russians toward MAX through employers, neighborhood chats and the government services portal Gosuslugi — where citizens retrieve documents, pay fines and book appointments — as well as through banks and retailers. The app’s developer, VK, reports rapid user growth, though those figures are difficult to independently verify. “They didn’t just leave people to fend for themselves — you could say they led them by the hand through that adaptation by offering alternatives,” said Levada Center pollster Denis Volkov, who has studied Russian attitudes toward technology use. The strategy, he said, has been to provide a Russian or state-backed alternative for the majority, while stopping short of fully criminalizing workarounds for more technologically savvy users who do not want to switch. Elena, a 38-year-old Yekaterinburg resident whose surname has been withheld because she fears government reprisal, said her daughter’s primary school moved official communication from WhatsApp to MAX without consulting parents. She keeps MAX installed on a separate tablet that remains mostly in a drawer — a version of what some Russians call a “MAXophone,” gadgets solely for that app, without any other data being left on those phones for the (very real) fear the government could access it. “It works badly. Messages are delayed. Notifications don’t come,” she said. “I don’t trust it … And this whole situation just makes people angry.” THE VPN ARMS RACE Unlike China’s centralized “Great Firewall,” which filters traffic at the country’s digital borders, Russia’s system operates internally. Internet providers are required to route traffic through state-installed deep packet inspection equipment capable of controlling and analyzing data flows in real time. “It’s not one wall,” Klimarev said. “It’s thousands of fences. You climb one, then there’s another.” The architecture allows authorities to slow services without formally banning them — a tactic used against YouTube before its web address was removed from government-run domain-name servers last month. Russian law explicitly provides government authority for blocking websites on grounds such as extremism, terrorism, illegal content or violations of data regulations, but it does not clearly define throttling — slowing traffic rather than blocking it outright — as a formal enforcement mechanism. “The slowdown isn’t described anywhere in legislation,” Klimarev said. “It’s pressure without procedure.” In September, Russia banned advertising for virtual private network services that citizens use to bypass government-imposed restrictions on certain apps or sites. By Klimarev’s estimate, roughly half of Russian internet users now know what a VPN is, and millions pay for one. Polling last year by the Levada Center, Russia’s only major independent pollster, suggests regular use is lower, finding about one-quarter of Russians said they have used VPN services. Russian courts can treat the use of anonymization tools as an aggravating factor in certain crimes — steps that signal growing pressure on circumvention technologies without formally outlawing them. In February, the Federal Antimonopoly Service opened what appears to be the first case against a media outlet for promoting a VPN after the regional publication Serditaya Chuvashiya advertised such a service on its Telegram channel. Surveys in recent years have shown that many Russians, particularly older citizens, support tighter internet regulation, often citing fraud, extremism and online safety. That sentiment gives authorities political space to tighten controls even when the restrictions are unpopular among more technologically savvy users. Even so, the slowdown of Telegram drew criticism from unlikely quarters, including Sergei Mironov, a longtime Kremlin ally and leader of the Just Russia party. In a statement posted on his Telegram channel on Feb. 11, he blasted the regulators behind the move as “idiots,” accusing them of undermining soldiers at the front. He said troops rely on the app to communicate with relatives and organize fundraising for the war effort, warning that restricting it could cost lives. While praising the state-backed messaging app MAX, he argued that Russians should be free to choose which platforms they use. Pro-war Telegram channels frame the government’s blocking techniques as sabotage of the war effort. Ivan Philippov, who tracks Russia’s influential military bloggers, said the reaction inside that ecosystem to news about Telegram has been visceral “rage.” Unlike Starlink, whose cutoff could be blamed on a foreign company, restrictions on Telegram are viewed as self-inflicted. Bloggers accuse regulators of undermining the war effort. Telegram is used not only for battlefield coordination but also for volunteer fundraising networks that provide basic logistics the state does not reliably cover — from transport vehicles and fuel to body armor, trench materials and even evacuation equipment. Telegram serves as the primary hub for donations and reporting back to supporters. “If you break Telegram inside Russia, you break fundraising,” Philippov said. “And without fundraising, a lot of units simply don’t function.” Few in that community trust MAX, citing technical flaws and privacy concerns. Because MAX operates under Russian data-retention laws and is integrated with state services, many assume their communications would be accessible to authorities. Philippov said the app’s prominent defenders are largely figures tied to state media or the presidential administration. “Among independent military bloggers, I haven’t seen a single person who supports it,” he said. Small groups of activists attempted to organize rallies in at least 11 Russian cities, including Moscow, Irkutsk and Novosibirsk, in defense of Telegram. Authorities rejected or obstructed most of the proposed demonstrations — in some cases citing pandemic-era restrictions, weather conditions or vague security concerns — and in several cases revoked previously issued permits. In Novosibirsk, police detained around 15 people ahead of a planned rally. Although a small number of protests were formally approved, no large-scale demonstrations ultimately took place. THE POWER TO PULL THE PLUG The new law signed last month allows Russia’s Federal Security Service to order telecom operators to block cellular and fixed internet access. Peskov, the Kremlin spokesman, said subsequent shutdowns of service in Moscow were linked to security measures aimed at protecting critical infrastructure and countering drone threats, adding that such limitations would remain in place “for as long as necessary.” In practice, the disruptions rarely amount to a total communications blackout. Most target mobile internet rather than all services, while voice calls and SMS often continue to function. Some domestic websites and apps — including government portals or banking services — may remain accessible through “whitelists,” meaning authorities allow certain services to keep operating even while broader internet access is restricted. The restrictions are typically localized and temporary, affecting specific regions or parts of cities rather than the entire country. Internet disruptions have increasingly become a tool of control beyond individual platforms. Research by the independent outlet Meduza and the monitoring project Na Svyazi has documented dozens of regional internet shutdowns and mobile network restrictions across Russia, with disruptions occurring regularly since May 2025. The communications shutdown, and uncertainty around where it will go next, is affecting life for citizens of all kinds, from the elderly struggling to contact family members abroad to tech-savvy users who juggle SIM cards and secondary phones to stay connected. Demand has risen for dated communication devices — including walkie-talkies, pagers and landline phones — along with paper maps as mobile networks become less reliable, according to retailers interviewed by RBC. “It feels like we’re isolating ourselves,” said Dmitry, 35, who splits his time between Moscow and Dubai and whose surname has been withheld to protect his identity under fear of governmental reprisal. “Like building a sovereign grave.” Those who track Russian public opinion say the pattern is consistent: irritation followed by adaptation. When Instagram and YouTube were blocked or slowed in recent years, their audiences shrank rapidly as users migrated to alternative services rather than mobilizing against the restrictions. For now, Russia’s digital tightening resembles managed escalation rather than total isolation. Officials deny plans for a full shutdown, and even critics say a complete severing would cripple banking, logistics and foreign trade. “It’s possible,” Klimarev said. “But if they do that, the internet won’t be the main problem anymore.”

Hungary said a government “delegation” crossed into Ukraine on Wednesday in a bid to find out more about damage to a major pipeline that has knocked out its supplies of Russian oil — a mission Kyiv says has no official status. Ukraine’s Foreign Ministry pushed back on the trip. Spokesperson Heorhii Tykhyi said the Hungarian team had no official status and had entered the country “as tourists.” He added that it was “incorrect” to describe the group as a formal delegation. Hungarian Energy State Secretary Gábor Czepek, who is leading the mission, announced the trip at the Záhony border crossing on Wednesday morning. “Hungary does not accept the shutdown of the Druzhba oil pipeline,” Czepek said, adding that the delegation’s job is to verify the pipeline’s condition and “create the conditions necessary for restarting it.” The pipeline delivers roughly 5 million metric tons of Russian crude to Hungary each year and is key to supplying the country’s Danube refinery, he said. Czepek said the delegation, which was joined by Slovak experts, plans to meet Ukrainian energy officials as well as EU representatives and diplomats stationed in Kyiv to discuss the situation surrounding the Druzhba pipeline and the possibility of restarting deliveries. The southern branch of the Druzhba pipeline has been offline since late January after a Russian drone strike hit oil infrastructure near the western Ukrainian hub of Brody. Ukrainian officials say the attack caused severe damage that will take time to repair. Budapest disputes that assessment, insisting the technical issues have already been resolved and accusing Kyiv of intentionally blocking the restart. Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orbán has raised the stakes in recent weeks, publishing satellite images he says prove the line could be restarted and giving Kyiv three days to allow inspectors access to the pipeline. Orbán also wrote an open letter to Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy warning that Hungary could halt diesel shipments and restrict electricity exports if deliveries do not resume. On Friday he announced a joint Hungarian-Slovak “fact-finding” committee to investigate the pipeline. The inspection effort comes as relations between Budapest and Kyiv have sharply deteriorated in recent weeks. Hungary in February blocked approval of a €90 billion EU loan package for Ukraine, and last week Hungarian authorities seized an Oschadbank convoy carrying tens of millions of dollars in cash and gold — an incident Kyiv’s foreign minister Andrii Sybiha denounced as “state terrorism and racketeering.” Kyiv rejects Hungary’s accusations. Zelenskyy has said he would prefer not to repair the Druzhba pipeline at all, arguing it transports Russian oil to Central Europe and undermines efforts to curb Moscow’s energy revenues. It also comes as Europe faces rising global oil prices due to the war in the Middle East.

Scattered among the candy shelves and freezer cabinets in Russian supermarkets across Germany are advertisements promoting a business with a service the government has tried to outlaw: a logistics company specialized in moving packages from the heart of Germany to Russia, in defiance of European Union sanctions. Trade restrictions have been in place since 2014 and were tightened just after the 2022 invasion of Ukraine, when Western nations began to impose far-reaching financial and trade sanctions on Russia. But an investigation by the Axel Springer Global Reporters Network, which includes POLITICO, has identified a clandestine Berlin-based postal system that exploits the special status of postal parcels to transport all kinds of European goods — including banned electronics components — into President Vladimir Putin’s empire. We know every stop and turn in the route because we sent five packages and used digital tracking devices to follow them — through an illicit 1,100-mile journey that undermines the sanctions regime European policymakers consider their strongest tool to generate political pressure on Russian leaders by weakening their country’s economy. LS Logistics said its internal controls make violations of EU sanctions “virtually impossible” but that it was not immune from customers making fraudulent declarations about the goods they ship. “Sanctions enforcement is whack-a-mole,” said David Goldwyn, who worked on sanctions policy as U.S. State Department coordinator for international energy affairs and now chairs the Atlantic Council Global Energy Center’s energy advisory group. “It’s a hard process, and you have to constantly be adapting to how the evaders are adapting.” THE UZBEK LABEL In late December, we packed five square brown parcels with electronic components specifically banned under EU sanctions and addressed the parcels to locations in Moscow and St. Petersburg. When we brought our parcels to the counters of Russian supermarkets in Berlin, we told salespeople the packages included books, scarves and hats. But they never checked inside the packages, which in fact held banned electronic components we rendered unusable before packing. Salespeople charged us 13 euros per kilogram, about $7 per pound, refusing to provide receipts. What makes these cardboard packages even more special is their disguise: The employee does not affix Russian postal stickers to the boxes, but rather those of UzPost, the national postal service of Uzbekistan. The former Soviet republic is not subject to EU sanctions. UzPost maintains close ties to the Russian postal service, according to a person familiar with the entities’ history of cooperation granted anonymity to discuss confidential business practices. Tatyana Kim, the CEO of Russian ecommerce marketplace Wildberries and reputedly her country’s richest woman, recently acquired a large stake in UzPost, according to media reports. “We work with partners, including private postal service providers,” the Uzbek postal service stated in response to our inquiry. “They can use our solutions for deliveries.” In Germany, registered logistics companies are permitted to provide postal services — including pick-up, sorting and delivery — for international postal operators. However, the Federal Network Agency, which is responsible for postal oversight, says the Uzbek postal service is not authorized to perform any of these functions in Germany. (The Federal Network Agency said in a response to our inquiry that it is “currently reviewing” the case and that it would pursue penalties for LS if it is found to be using Uzbek documents without authorization.) After our packages spent one to two days at the supermarkets, we saw them begin to move. Inside each package we had placed a small black GPS device, naming them “Alpha,” “Beta,” “Gamma,” “Delta” and “Epsi.” We could track their movements in real time in an app, watching them closely as they wound through Berlin’s roads to Schönefeld, site of the capital’s international airport. There they stopped, unloaded into a modern warehouse that has been repurposed into a Russian shadow postal service. COLOGNE, TECHNICALLY In 2014, a retired professional gymnast was tasked with launching a subsidiary of Russia’s national postal service, the RusPost GmbH, which would operate with official authorization to collect, process and deliver postal items in Germany, according to a former employee granted anonymity to speak openly about the business. For 18 years, the St. Petersburg-raised Alexey Grigoryev had competed and coached at Germany’s highest levels, winning three national championship titles with the KTV Straubenhardt team and working with an Olympic gold medalist on the high bar. But he had no evident experience in the postal business. RusPost’s German business model collapsed upon the imposition of an expanded sanctions package in the weeks after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in February 2022. Much like American sanctions on Russia, the European Union blocks sensitive technical materials that could boost the Russian defense sector, while allowing the export of personal effects and quotidian consumer items. “The sanctions are accompanied by far-reaching export bans, particularly on goods relevant to the war, in order to put pressure on the Russian war economy,” according to a statement the Federal Ministry of Economics provided us. In March 2022, while conducting random checks of postal traffic to Moscow, customs officials discovered sanctioned goods (including cash, jewelry and electrical appliances) in numerous RusPost packages. The Berlin public prosecutor’s office launched an investigation of the company, concluding that a former RusPost managing director had deliberately failed to set up effective control mechanisms, in breach of his duties. He was charged with 62 counts of attempting to violate the Foreign Trade and Payments Act over an eight-month period; criminal proceedings are ongoing. The Russian postal network did not quite disappear, however. A new company called LS Logistics Solution GmbH was formed in December 2022, according to corporate filings. LS filled its top jobs, including customs manager and head of customer service, with former RusPost employees, according to their LinkedIn profiles. The new company listed as its business address an inconspicuous semi-detached house in a residential area of Cologne, across from a church. When we visited, we found an old white mailbox whose plated sign lists LS Logistics alongside dozens of other companies supposed to be housed there. But none of them seemed to be active. The building was empty during business hours, its mailbox overflowing with discolored brochures and old newspapers. The operational heart of LS is the warehouse complex in Berlin-Schönefeld, just a few minutes from the capital’s airport. The building itself is functional and anonymous: a long, gray industrial structure with several metal rolling doors, some fitted with narrow window slits. Through them, towering stacks of parcels are visible, packed tightly, sorted roughly, stretching deep into the hall. Trucks arrive and depart regularly, from loading bays lit by harsh white floodlights that cut through the otherwise quiet industrial area. Behind the warehouse lies a wide concrete parking lot where a black BMW SUV with a license plate bearing the initials AG is often parked. We saw a man resembling Grigoryev enter the car. The former head of RusPost officially withdrew from the postal business after authorities froze the company’s operations. Unofficially, however, the 50-year-old’s continued presence in Schönefeld suggests otherwise. According to one former RusPost employee, the warehouse near the airport serves as a collection point for parcels from all over Europe. Other logistics companies with Russian management have listed the warehouse as their business address, some of their logos decorating the façade. LS Logistics Solution GmbH has the largest sign of them all. THE A2 GETAWAY According to tracking devices, our packages spent several days in the warehouse before being loaded onto 40-ton trucks covered with grey tarps, among several that leave every day loaded with mail. They were then driven toward the Polish border, through the German city of Frankfurt (Oder). Without any long stops, the 40-ton trucks traversed Poland on the A2 motorway, past Warsaw. Two days after leaving Berlin, they were approaching the eastern edge of the European Union. They arrived at a border checkpoint in Brest, the Belarusian city where more than a hundred years ago Russia signed a peace pact with Germany to withdraw from World War I. Now it marked the last place for European officials to identify contraband leaving for countries they consider adversaries. In 2022, the European Union applied a separate set of sanctions on Belarus because its leader, Alexander Lukashenko, a close ally of Putin, has supported Russia’s presence in Ukraine. Yet despite provisions that should have stopped our packages from leaving Poland, they moved onward into Belarus, their tracking devices apparently undetected. What makes this possible is the special legal status that accompanies international mail. While a formal export declaration is required for the export of regular goods, such as those moving via container ship or rail freight, simplified paperwork helps speed up the departure process for postal items. At Europe’s borders, this distinction becomes crucial, as postal packages are examined largely on risk-based checks rather than comprehensive inspections. “International postal items are subject to the regular provisions of customs supervision both on import and on export and transit and are checked on a risk-oriented basis in accordance with applicable EU and national legislation, including with regard to compliance with sanctions regulations,” the German General Customs Directorate stated in response to our inquiry. Two of our tracking devices briefly lost their signal in Belarus — likely part of a widespread pattern of satellite navigation systems being disrupted across Eastern Europe — but after a journey of around 1,100 miles, they all showed the same destination. Our packages had reached Russia’s largest cities. Ukrainian authorities told us they were not surprised by our investigation. The country’s presidential envoy for sanctions policy, Vladyslav Vlasiuk, said at the Ukrainian embassy in Berlin that his government regularly collects intelligence on such schemes and shares it with international partners. “Nobody is doing enough, if you look at the number of cases,” Vlasiuk said. ONE STEP BEHIND After the arrival of the packages, we confronted all parties involved, including LS Logistics Solution GmbH, the mysterious shipper that helped transport the goods from Europe to Russia. We called Grigoryev several times, but he never answered; efforts to reach him through the company failed as well. An LS executive would not answer our questions about his role. “Our internal control mechanisms are designed in such a way that violations of EU sanctions are virtually impossible,” LS managing director Anjelika Crone wrote to us. “Shipments that do not meet the legal requirements are not processed further. We are not immune to fraudulent misdeclarations, such as those that obviously underlie the ‘test shipments’ you refer to.” Crone said she could not answer further questions due to data protection and contractual confidentiality concerns. This month, Germany took steps to strengthen enforcement of its sanctions regime, expanding the range of violations subject to criminal penalties. The law, passed by the Bundestag in January, amends the country’s Foreign Trade and Payments Act to integrate a European Union directive harmonizing criminal sanctions law across its 27 member states and ensure efficient, uniform enforcement. Germany was one of the 18 countries put on notice by EU officials last May for having failed to follow the 2024 directive. The Federal Ministry for Economic Affairs, which is responsible for implementing the new policy, argued in a statement to the Axel Springer Global Reporters Network that the very ingenuity of the logistics network we unmasked operating within Germany was a testament to the strength of the country’s sanctions regime. “The state-organized Russian procurement systems operate at enormous financial expense to create ever new and more complex diversion routes,” said ministry spokesperson Tim-Niklas Wentzel. “This confirms that the considerable compliance efforts of many companies and the work of the sanctions enforcement authorities in combating circumvention are also having a practical effect. Procurement is becoming increasingly difficult, time-consuming, and expensive for Russia.” According to those who have tried to administer sanctions laws, that argument rings true — but only partly. “It’s probably more fair to say that sanctions had a material impact and increased the cost of bad actors to achieve their goals. But to say that they’re working well is probably overstating the truth of the matter,” said Max Meizlish, formerly an official with the U.S. Treasury’s Office of Foreign Assets Control and now a research fellow at the Foundation for Defense of Democracies. “When there’s evasion, it requires enforcement,” Meizlish went on. “And when you need more enforcement I think it’s hard to make a compelling case that the tool is working as intended.” The Axel Springer Global Reporters Network is a multi-publication initiative publishing scoops, investigations, interviews, op-eds and analysis that reverberate across the world. It connects journalists from Axel Springer brands—including POLITICO, Business Insider, WELT, BILD, and Onet— on major stories for an international audience. Their ambitious reporting stretches across Axel Springer platforms: online, print, TV, and audio. Together, these outlets reach hundreds of millions of people worldwide.

Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orbán is seizing on fears of an energy price shock from the Iran war to try to claw back ground against his challenger Péter Magyar ahead of an April 12 election. About 10 percentage points behind in the polls, Orbán is now putting energy costs at the heart of the election race. He accuses Magyar’s Tisza party of conspiring with the EU and Ukraine to cut Hungary off from cheap Russian oil, arguing those flows could have cushioned Budapest from the spiraling crude costs triggered by the war on Iran. Sensing an electoral advantage in a showdown with Brussels, Orbán last month vetoed the EU’s all-important €90 billion funding line for Kyiv, accusing the Ukrainians of slow-walking repairs to the Druzhba pipeline that carries discounted Russian oil across Ukraine to Hungary. On Jan. 27 the pipeline was blown up in a drone attack, Kyiv reported at the time. That ruptured pipeline has now become even more politically sensitive thanks to the supply crisis in the Persian Gulf. Orbán is a close ally of Donald Trump, and the Iran war is a rare point of dissonance between him and the U.S. president. Still, the main target of Orbán’s attacks is not Washington but the domestic opposition, which he claims put Hungary in a vulnerable position by siding with the EU and Ukraine rather than fighting to preserve Russian oil supplies. Orbán and his ruling Fidesz party are also playing up alleged security threats from the war in the Middle East — raising the country’s terror level. ORBÁN PLAYS THE ENERGY CARD “Developments involving Iran may have an indirect impact on Hungary’s security, with particular regard to our energy security,” Orbán said on Sunday. “Due to the conflict, significant energy price increases are expected on global markets. In this situation, it is crucial that we break President [Volodymyr] Zelenskyy’s oil blockade against Hungary.” Orbán accuses Péter Magyar’s Tisza party of conspiring with the EU and Ukraine to cut Hungary off from cheap Russian oil. | Bálint Szentgallay/NurPhoto via Getty Images The Hungarian prime minister’s political director, Balázs Orbán, on Monday pushed to make the link to Magyar, accusing him of “acting against the Hungarian people” by teaming up with Brussels and Kyiv on oil supplies. “[Magyar] dismissed the government’s warnings about the Ukrainian oil blockade as fearmongering and panic-mongering, claiming there is no danger and no war, while at the same time openly campaigning for Hungary’s detachment from Russian energy — the very core of the Brussels- and Kyiv-backed program he represents,” he said. “Hungarians are not naïve. They can clearly see that, given the global instability and the escalating Middle East conflict, advocating for decoupling from Russian oil and accepting Ukrainian blackmail would be madness,” Balázs Orbán added. Members of the Hungarian government have posted satellite imaginary claiming Kyiv lied about the pipeline’s not being operational, and have demanded Zelenskyy immediately resume oil deliveries. Foreign Minister Péter Szijjártó accused Zelenskyy of “not telling the truth,” claiming that “at a time when maritime oil transport is uncertain due to the closure of the Strait of Hormuz, blocking a functioning land supply route is a direct attack against Hungary.” The Hungarian prime minister’s political director, Balázs Orbán, on Monday pushed to make the link to Magyar, accusing him of “acting against the Hungarian people.” | Attila Kisbenedek/AFP via Getty Images Hungary also raised the matter on Sunday when EU ambassadors met for crisis talks on the situation in Iran. Budapest’s top envoy, Bálint Ódor, used his intervention to accuse Kyiv of “weaponizing the pipeline” to interfere in Hungary’s elections, according to a diplomat who was present. MAGYAR’S REPLY Magyar has built his lead over Orbán by focusing on the government’s cronyism and economic mismanagement, and has been keen not to be cast as an ally of the EU and Kyiv. His Tisza party’s program does indeed vow to halt Russian energy supplies, by only by the distant date of 2035. Indeed, far from fighting the Fidesz government’s claims over the pipeline, he issued a letter on Monday proposing a joint on-site inspection of Druzhba. “The Hungarian people rightly expect their responsible leaders to make decisions based on facts and in a transparent manner, and not via messages on Facebook and in propaganda,” the letter read. Magyar has also insisted that if the Ukrainian threat to Hungary’s energy infrastructure is as serious as Orbán claims, he should trigger NATO’s Article 4, which allows member states to consult with their allies if they believe their territorial integrity or security is under threat. Geoffrey Smith and Jamie Dettmer contributed reporting to this article

Satellite images captured after Saturday’s US and Israeli strikes on Tehran show that the residence of Iran’s supreme leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, sustained severe damage. The photos, which show several collapsed buildings inside a compound in Tehran known to be one of Khamenei’s main residences, were provided to Business Insider by Airbus. It’s unclear if the Iranian leader was present at the time of the strikes, and his exact status is unknown. Reuters, citing an unnamed source, earlier reported that Khamenei had been moved out of Tehran, and Iran’s foreign minister, Abbas Araghchi, told the BBC on Saturday evening that Khamenei was still alive. It’s also not yet clear if it was Israel or the US that carried out this particular strike. Representatives for the Pentagon and Israel Defense Forces declined to comment on the hit when asked by Business Insider. One of the heavily damaged buildings in the compound is the House of Leadership, which is known as Khamenei’s office and principal place of residence. In the images, smoke appears to be rising from its roof. Much of the compound has been obliterated, with felled trees and several more smoking buildings. The images show the Imam Khomeini Hussainia, a place of worship used by Iranian leaders for religious ceremonies and political speeches. It’s unclear whether this larger building was also attacked, but what looks like debris can be seen on its roof. A satellite image taken a year earlier shows the complex included at least six buildings, all of which are now damaged by the strikes. “It will be yours to take. This will be, probably, your only chance for generations,” Trump said. The US and Israel began their attacks on Saturday morning local time, hitting Tehran and several other Iranian cities in what has been one of the largest strike campaigns in recent years. The full outcomes of these strikes are still being assessed, and much remains unclear about Tel Aviv and Washington’s exact objectives behind the attacks. Meanwhile, Iran has responded by firing dozens of ballistic missiles and drones at its neighbors, saying it is targeting US military bases. The Axel Springer Global Reporters Network is a multi-publication initiative publishing scoops, investigations, interviews, op-eds and analysis that reverberate across the world. It connects journalists from Axel Springer brands — including POLITICO, Business Insider, WELT, BILD, and Onet — on major stories for an international audience. Its ambitious reporting stretches across Axel Springer platforms: online, print, TV, and audio. Together, these outlets reach hundreds of millions of people worldwide.

Europe enters a more contested decade than any since the end of the Cold War. Yet the frontline shaping its security is no longer limited to land, sea, air or even space.   It runs directly through the digital backbone that powers modern life: the networks, data infrastructures and connectivity systems on which governments, economies and armed forces depend.  But Europe will not be secure until it takes this digital backbone’s security seriously, and governs its openness through risk-based, verifiable sovereignty rather than isolationism or complacency.  >  Europe will not be secure until it takes this digital backbone’s security > seriously, and governs its openness through risk-based, verifiable sovereignty A digital frontline that remains dangerously exposed  Hybrid threats no longer sit at the margins of European security. In reality, they cut straight through its core systems. Hospitals, energy grids, transport networks, financial markets and military command-and-control all rely on constant, resilient connectivity.   Via Vodafone. Joakim Reiter, group chief external and corporate affairs officer, Vodafone. And when those systems falter, nations falter. Recent blackouts in Portugal and Spain revealed what this means in practice. A ‘digital failure’ is not an IT incident. It is a national security event.   Adversaries have already drawn the lesson. Subsea cables carrying 95 percent of the world’s internet traffic face mounting sabotage risks. Satellites have become open theatres of geopolitical competition. And cyberattacks now routinely target both critical national infrastructure and the commercial networks that underpin defense readiness.   Despite this, much of Europe’s digital backbone is still approached as a utility, not a strategic asset. Market forces, on their own, cannot deliver the resilience, redundancy and diversity that modern deterrence requires. Piecemeal upgrades and fragmented responsibilities across civil, military and regulatory silos leave avoidable gaps that adversaries will inevitably exploit.  > A ‘digital failure’ is not an IT incident. It is a national security event.   Europe must therefore elevate secure connectivity to the level of defense preparedness — politically, financially and operationally. It requires moving beyond incrementalism to a coordinated framework that fosters and defends critical digital infrastructure — one that enables governments and operators to plan, train and respond together before, not during, the next crisis.  Sovereignty is about control, not isolation  Connectivity alone is not the issue. Europe’s strategic vulnerability also stems from how it governs the technologies on which its digital backbone depends.  And while digital sovereignty is one pillar of Europe’s wider resilience agenda — spanning critical value chains such as defense, automotive, chemicals and energy — it is the pillar without which none of the others can function.  Europe cannot attain digital sovereignty by continuing excessive dependence on a small number of non-European providers. But it also cannot achieve it by walling itself off from global innovation. Both extremes weaken resilience.  That’s why sovereignty done right means governing openness on Europe’s terms. Europe must keep critical operations in trusted European hands while maintaining access to the scale, performance and innovation that global platforms can provide.   This approach starts with understanding sovereignty across three dimensions:  — Data sovereignty: who has lawful access to information.  — Operational sovereignty: who runs and can intervene in critical systems.  — Technological sovereignty: which capabilities Europe must own or control.  The false choice between ‘ban foreign tech’ and ‘do nothing’ is a trap. The real path forward is risk-based, proportionate and verifiable. We must define what truly requires European control and work with like-minded international partners to build a trusted technology ecosystem. Sovereignty needs to be demonstrated in practice, not merely asserted in policy.  This approach would also enable Europe to pool industrial capacity with trusted partners such as Japan, Canada, Australia, the United Kingdom and South Korea. This is cooperation that strengthens Europe rather than diluting control.   From principles to verifiable control  Europe should reject blanket bans based on EU borders that raise costs, slow next-generation deployment and fail to deliver true control. Instead, sovereignty must be translated into concrete, auditable mechanisms that strengthen resilience.   To deliver it, Europe should follow four core principles:   1. Harden the backbone: Europe must create a much better business case for investing in resilient fiber, advanced 5G technologies and future networks built with defense-grade security. And it must fortify subsea cables, satellite systems and cross-border infrastructure against hybrid threats. This is defense spending by another name.  2. Engineer sovereignty into operations: ensure Europe retains verifiable control over access to sensitive systems and require European oversight of critical operations. Authorities must be able to verify who operates critical systems, where data is processed and which legal jurisdiction applies.  3. Certify ‘Trusted European Operators’: establish an EU-wide certification enabling European-anchored providers to manage access to global platforms within EU-governed environments. Make interoperability and portability mandatory to prevent lock-in and ensure resilience.  4. End ‘sovereignty washing’: providers claiming sovereign capabilities must prove it. Europe must require auditable disclosures and rigorous, risk-based assessments. If claims cannot be verified, they should not determine Europe’s critical infrastructure decisions.  In parallel, Europe should adopt a single EU framework defining practical levels across the data, operational and technological dimensions. This would give CIOs, regulators and public bodies clarity and consistency.   From doctrine to delivery  As the dust settles on the annual Munich Security Conference, Europe faces a defining choice. It can carry on treating its digital backbone as regulatory plumbing and watch vulnerabilities compound. Or it can recognise this backbone for what it is — a core line of defence.  > The real test of seriousness is whether governments and operators can plan > together, train together and respond together when systems are stressed.  The real test of seriousness is whether governments and operators can plan together, train together and respond together when systems are stressed. And this depends on whether investment, procurement and certification systems finally move at the speed security demands.  The way forward lies neither in dependence nor in fantasies of self-sufficiency. It must be grounded in risk-based sovereignty, delivered through verifiable control, modernized infrastructure and deeper public–private cooperation, aligned with trustworthy allies.  Ultimately, Europe cannot defend what it cannot connect, and it cannot compete if it closes itself off. Europe will fail this critical strategic test if the regulatory agenda for connectivity — the Digital Networks Act, Cybersecurity Act and merger guidelines revisions — does little to strengthen the very networks its security depends on.  If Europe gets this right, it can build a digital backbone capable of deterring adversaries, supporting allies, protecting citizens and powering innovation for decades to come.  -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Disclaimer POLITICAL ADVERTISEMENT * The sponsor is Vodafone Group plc * The ultimate controlling entity is Vodafone Group plc * The political advertisement is linked to EU-level security and digital policy with particular focus on the Digital Networks Act, Cybersecurity Act, merger guidelines and broader digital sovereignty strategy. More information here.

“All we’ve got left now,” the Russian soldier said, “are radios, cables and pigeons.” A decision earlier this month by SpaceX to shut down access to Starlink satellite-internet terminals caused immediate chaos among Russian forces who had become increasingly reliant upon the Elon Musk-owned company’s technology to sustain their occupation of Ukraine, according to radio transmissions intercepted by a Ukrainian reconnaissance unit and shared with the Axel Springer Global Reporters Network, to which POLITICO belongs. The communications breakdown significantly constrained Russian military capabilities, creating new opportunities for Ukrainian forces. In the days following the shutdown, Ukraine recaptured roughly 77 square miles in the country’s southeast, according to calculations by the news agency Agence France-Presse based on data from the Washington-based Institute for the Study of War. SpaceX began requiring verification of Starlink terminals on Feb. 4, blocking unverified Russian units from accessing its services. Almost immediately, Ukrainian eavesdroppers heard Russian soldiers complaining about the failure of “Kosmos” and “Sinka” — apparently code names for Starlink satellite internet and the messaging service Telegram. “Damn it! Looks like they’ve switched off all the Starlinks,” one Russian soldier exclaimed. “The connection is gone, completely gone. The images aren’t being transmitted,” another shouted. Dozens of the recordings were played for Axel Springer Global Reporter Network reporters in an underground listening post maintained by the Bureviy Brigade in northeastern Ukraine. Neither SpaceX nor the Russian Foreign Ministry responded to requests for comment. “On the Russian side, we observed on the very day Starlink was shut down that artillery and mortar fire dropped drastically. Drone drops and FPV attacks also suddenly decreased,” said a Ukrainian aerial reconnaissance operator from the Bureviy Brigade who would agree to be identified only by the call sign Mustang, referring to first-person view drones. “Coordination between their units has also become more difficult since then.” The satellite internet network has become a crucial tool on the battlefield, sustaining high-tech drone operations and replacing walkie-talkies in low-tech combat. Since Russia’s February 2022 invasion, which destroyed much of Ukraine’s traditional communications infrastructure, Western governments have provided thousands of the Starlink units to Kyiv. With the portable terminals, there is no need to lay kilometers of cable that can be damaged by shelling or drone strikes. Drone footage can be transmitted in real time to command posts, artillery and mortar fire can be corrected with precision, and operational information can be shared instantly via encrypted messaging apps such as Signal or Telegram. At the outset of the Russian invasion, Starlink access gave Ukraine’s defenders a decisive operational advantage. Those in besieged Mariupol sent signs of life in spring 2022 via the backpack-size white dishes, and army units used them to coordinate during brutal house-to-house fighting in Bakhmut in 2023. Satellite internet became “one of, if not the most important components” of Ukraine’s way of war, according to military analyst Franz-Stefan Gady, an adviser to European governments and security agencies who regularly visits Ukrainian units. “Starlink constituted the backbone of connectivity that enabled accelerated kill chains by helping create a semi-transparent battlefield.” The operational advantages of Starlink did not go unnoticed by Russian forces. By the third year of the war, Starlink terminals were increasingly turning up in Russian-occupied territory. One of the first documented cases surfaced in January 2024 in the Serebryansky forest. Month by month, Ukrainian reconnaissance drones spotted more of the devices. The Ukrainian government subsequently contacted Musk’s company, urging it to block Russian access to the network. Mykhailo Fedorov, then digital minister and now defense minister, alleged Russian forces were acquiring the devices via third countries. “Ukraine will continue using Starlink, and Russian use will be restricted to the maximum extent possible,” Fedorov pledged in spring 2024. Yet Russian use of the terminals continued to grow throughout 2025, and their use was not limited to artillery or drone units. Even Russian infantry soldiers were carrying mini Starlink terminals in their backpacks. “We found Starlink terminals at virtually every Russian position along the contact line,” said Mustang. “At some point, it felt like the Russians had more devices than we did.” In the listening post this month, he scrolled through more than a dozen images from late 2025 showing Russian Starlink terminals set up between trees or beside the entrances to their positions. “We targeted their positions deliberately,” Mustang continued. “But even if we destroyed a terminal in the morning or evening, a new one was already installed by the next morning.” In the Russian-occupied eastern Ukrainian city of Kreminna, there was even a shop where soldiers could buy Starlink terminals starting in 2024. According to Ukrainian officials, these devices were not registered in Russia. SpaceX’s move in early February to enforce a stricter verification system effectively cut off unregistered Starlink terminals operating in Russian-occupied areas. Only devices approved and placed on a Ukrainian Ministry of Defense “whitelist” remained active, while terminals used by Russian forces were remotely deactivated. “That’s it, basically no one has internet at all,” a Russian soldier said in one of the messages played for Axel Springer reporters. “Everything’s off, everything’s off.” The temporary shutdown allowed Ukraine to slow the momentum of Vladimir Putin’s forces, although the localized counteroffensives do not represent a fundamental shift along the front. Soldiers from other Ukrainian units, including the Black Arrow battalion, confirmed the military consequences of the Starlink outage for Russian forces in their sectors in interviews with the Axel Springer Global Reporters Network. By mid-February, Russian shelling had increased again, though largely against frontline positions that had long been identified and precisely mapped — suggesting that Russia has yet to fully restore all of its lost capabilities. Now, analysts from the Bureviy Brigade say Russian forces are scrambling for alternatives. They have been forced to rely far more heavily on radio communication, according to Mustang, which creates additional opportunities for interception. Russian units will likely attempt to switch to their own satellite terminals. But their speed and connection quality are significantly lower, Mustang says. And because of their size, the devices are difficult to conceal.”The shutdown of Starlink, even if only of limited effect for now, highlights the limited ability of the Russian armed forces to rapidly implement ongoing cycles of innovation,” said Col. Markus Reisner of the Austrian Armed Forces. “This could represent a potential point of leverage for Western supporters to provide swift and sustainable support to Ukraine at this stage.“ The Axel Springer Global Reporters Network is a multi-publication initiative publishing scoops, investigations, interviews, op-eds and analysis that reverberate across the world. It connects journalists from Axel Springer brands — including POLITICO, Business Insider, WELT, BILD, and Onet — on major stories for an international audience. Its ambitious reporting stretches across Axel Springer platforms: online, print, TV, and audio. Together, these outlets reach hundreds of millions of people worldwide.

PARIS — Prosecutors in Paris opened an investigation Wednesday into allegations that Chinese citizens had sought to capture sensitive French government and military data using Starlink. “Four people were brought before the investigating judge for indictment, with two of them being remanded in custody,” the public prosecutor’s office said in a statement. Investigators are looking into possible acts of “delivering information to a foreign power or a company or organization under foreign control, or to their agents, in a manner likely to harm the fundamental interests of [France],” the statement added — a crime that can lead to up to 15 years in prison. The prosecutor’s office said police had been notified last week that the arrested pair were suspected of conducting satellite interception operations from an AirBnB they had rented in the Gironde region, near the city of Bordeaux, after neighbors noticed that “a satellite dish approximately two meters in diameter” had been installed and local residents were experiencing internet outages. “The device installed was used to illegally intercept satellite downlinks, including exchanges between military entities of vital importance,” the statement added. On their visa application to enter France, the suspects said they worked for a company that focuses on “smart beams, signal recognition and satellite networks, and cooperates with universities establishing military-oriented projects.” POLITICO has reached out to the Chinese Embassy in Paris for a comment.