I can't betray them all by simply disappearing, especially out of fear
Across Europe, a quiet war is being waged not on battlefields but in beach towns, parking lots, and residential streets, where Russian security services have escalated a coordinated campaign to silence activists, defectors, and Ukraine supporters through assassination. Since the 2022 invasion of Ukraine, Moscow has adapted its methods — turning to recruited proxies after the expulsion of its own operatives — but not its intent, which Western intelligence officials describe as carrying explicit political authorization from the highest levels. The targets are not random; they are chosen because their voices, their work, or their defection represents a challenge the Kremlin has decided it cannot tolerate. In this shadow campaign, the act of simply refusing to disappear has become its own form of resistance.
- Russia has dramatically widened its list of targets since 2022, now pursuing not just spies and defectors but activists, arms suppliers, and foreign citizens who support Ukraine — a shift that signals the campaign is as much about intimidation as elimination.
- Disrupted plots span the continent: surveillance operations in France, a gunman waiting in the dark in Lithuania, bomb threats in mailboxes, assassination schemes against weapons manufacturers and military officers in Germany and Poland — and one defected helicopter pilot killed in Spain.
- Forced out of Europe's diplomatic corridors after the Skripal poisoning triggered mass expulsions, Russian intelligence pivoted to cheaper, less reliable proxies — often criminals or draft evaders — whose failures reveal operational strain even as the attempts themselves cause real harm.
- Targets like Vladimir Osechkin and Ruslan Gabbasov have refused relocation and new identities, arguing that to vanish is to hand Moscow exactly what it wants: the erasure of a voice their communities depend on.
- Intelligence officials warn that foiled plots should not be mistaken for safety — Russia has demonstrated it can kill in Europe when sufficiently motivated, and the attempts alone succeed in consuming law enforcement resources and spreading fear among the diaspora.
Vladimir Osechkin calls the police before he takes his children to school. The Russian activist has lived under armed protection in southwestern France since 2022, and in April 2025, a team of men from Dagestan arrived in his beach town and spent hours photographing his home — groundwork, court documents suggest, for an assassination. Osechkin founded a prisoners' rights organization and expanded his work after the invasion of Ukraine to document alleged Russian war crimes and help military defectors escape. That expansion, he believes, is what moved his name onto a kill list.
He is far from alone. Three Western intelligence officials told the Associated Press that Russia has substantially escalated targeted killings across Europe since Putin's 2022 invasion, broadening its scope from traditional targets like defectors and former spies to Russian activists abroad and foreign citizens who support Ukraine. The campaign, one senior European official said, carries explicit political authorization — it is not opportunistic, it is directed.
The pattern is continent-wide. Lithuanian authorities disrupted plots against a Ukrainian supporter and a Russian activist. German officials broke up two assassination schemes — one targeting the head of a weapons manufacturer supplying Ukraine, another aimed at a Ukrainian military officer. Polish authorities arrested a man linked to a plot against President Zelenskyy. In Spain, a defected Russian helicopter pilot was killed, with Russian operatives considered the prime suspects.
The tactical shift traces to 2018, when the nerve-agent poisoning of Sergei Skripal in Salisbury prompted Western nations to expel hundreds of Russian diplomats and intelligence officers. Unable to rely on trained personnel, Moscow turned to proxies — often people with criminal records or those fleeing Russia to avoid conscription. The men who surveilled Osechkin's home fit that profile precisely.
Ruslan Gabbasov, a Bashkortostan independence activist in Lithuania, found an AirTag hidden on his car in February 2025. Police tracked his trackers. Weeks later, during independence day celebrations, officers called to warn him away from home — a gunman had been waiting outside all night. Authorities offered him a new identity and a new life. He refused. His region's people, he said, see him as a leader; to disappear would be to betray them and to give Moscow exactly the silence it sought.
Valdas Bartkevičius, a Lithuanian activist who raises money for Ukraine, faced a bomb plot targeting his mailbox. He too declined relocation, calling it "social death." Lithuanian prosecutors have charged 13 people from at least seven countries in connection with the two plots, with many linked directly to Russian military intelligence and organized crime networks operating across the continent.
That most plots have been foiled may reflect the limitations of proxy operatives compared to trained Russian officers. But the attempts themselves serve purposes beyond killing — they frighten, they exhaust law enforcement, and they send a message. Maxim Kuzminov, the defected pilot, was threatened on Russian state television before he was killed in Spain. For that reason, one European intelligence official said plainly: the targets will never be truly safe.
Vladimir Osechkin keeps his phone close when he leaves the house. Before taking his children to school or stopping at the supermarket in southwestern France, he calls the police. The Russian activist has lived under armed protection since 2022, after French officials determined that Moscow wanted him dead.
In April 2025, a team of Russian men arrived in Biarritz, the beach town where Osechkin lives, and spent hours surveilling his home. They photographed the building, recorded video, took notes. Court documents reviewed by the Associated Press describe the operation as groundwork for an assassination. Years earlier, Osechkin said, a red dot appeared on his wall—what he believed was a laser sight from a rifle scope. He founded a prisoners' rights organization and now runs a project documenting abuses in Russia's prison system. His work expanded after 2022 to include investigations of alleged Russian crimes in Ukraine and assistance to military defectors seeking escape. That expansion, he believes, is why his name moved to a kill list.
Osechkin is not alone. Three Western intelligence officials, speaking on condition of anonymity, told the Associated Press that Russia has substantially escalated a campaign of targeted killings across Europe since Vladimir Putin's 2022 invasion of Ukraine. The officials described a shift in both scope and method. Russia's security services are now going after not just the traditional targets—military defectors, former spies—but also Russian activists living abroad and foreign citizens who support Ukraine. The campaign operates with what one senior European intelligence official called "political authorization." It is not random. It is directed.
In Lithuania, authorities disrupted plots to kill a Ukrainian supporter and a Russian activist. German officials broke up two separate assassination schemes: one targeting the head of a weapons manufacturer supplying Ukraine, another aimed at a Ukrainian military officer. Polish authorities arrested a man in 2024 in connection with a plot against President Volodymyr Zelenskyy. In Spain, a Russian helicopter pilot who had defected was killed, with Russian operatives considered the prime suspects. The pattern extends across the continent—191 acts of sabotage, arson, and other disruption linked to Russia by Western officials since the war began.
The shift in tactics traces back to 2018. That year, former Russian spy Sergei Skripal was poisoned with a nerve agent in Salisbury, England, in an operation the British government attributed to Russian military intelligence. The response was swift and costly for Moscow. Britain and other Western nations expelled hundreds of Russian diplomats and intelligence officers, making it far harder for Russian operatives to work openly in Europe. Unable to rely on their own personnel, Russian security services turned to a cheaper model: recruiting local proxies, often people with criminal histories or those fleeing Russia itself. The men who surveilled Osechkin's home all came from Dagestan. One had multiple criminal convictions. Another had been arrested by Russia's domestic security service and fled to avoid conscription into the war.
Ruslan Gabbasov, an activist from the Russian region of Bashkortostan who advocates for independence, discovered an Apple AirTag tracker hidden on his car in February 2025. Lithuanian police followed the people following him. Weeks later, officers called him during celebrations marking Lithuania's independence from the Soviet Union. He was with his wife and five-year-old son. They told him not to come home. The next day, they explained: a man with a gun had been waiting near his house all night, ready to shoot. Authorities offered Gabbasov a way out—a new identity, a new location, a new life. He refused. Many people in his region, he said, see him as a leader in their independence movement. Bashkortostan matters to the Kremlin because of its gold reserves and because thousands of its men have been sent to fight in Ukraine. "I can't betray them all by simply disappearing, especially out of fear," he said. To hide would be to surrender exactly what Moscow wanted: the silencing of a voice.
Valdas Bartkevičius, a Lithuanian activist who raises money for Ukraine and gained attention for acts of protest including urinating on a Russian war memorial, faced a different threat. Authorities discovered a plot to kill him with a bomb placed in his mailbox in March 2025. He too was offered the chance to disappear. He too refused, calling it "social death." Lithuanian prosecutors have charged 13 people from at least seven countries in connection with the two plots. At least 20 people have been detained, charged, or identified as involved in such schemes across Europe in the past year. Many were directly ordered by Russian military intelligence, prosecutors said, and some had ties to organized crime networks that also carried out arson and espionage operations elsewhere on the continent.
The fact that most of these plots have been foiled suggests something important: it may be harder for Russia to execute assassinations through proxies than through its own trained officers. Yet the attempts themselves may serve purposes beyond killing. They frighten opponents into silence. They consume European law enforcement resources. And they send a message. Maxim Kuzminov, the helicopter pilot who defected, was threatened on Russian state television by masked men in military uniforms. He was later killed in Spain. The message was clear: Russia can reach you in Europe if it chooses to. For that reason, one European intelligence official said, the targets will never be truly safe. Putin's spokesperson declined to comment. Russian officials have previously denied involvement in any such operations.
Citações Notáveis
This campaign is not by accident or chance. There is political authorization.— Senior European intelligence official
If it weren't for them, I probably would have been killed.— Vladimir Osechkin, Russian activist under police protection
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why would Russia shift to using proxies instead of its own operatives? It seems riskier, less reliable.
After the Skripal poisoning in 2018, the West expelled hundreds of Russian diplomats and spies. Suddenly Russia couldn't operate openly in Europe anymore. Proxies are cheaper, more deniable, and they don't require maintaining a large intelligence presence. The trade-off is exactly what you said—they're less reliable. Most of these plots have been caught.
So why keep trying if they keep failing?
Because failure itself is useful. It terrorizes the targets, wastes police resources, and sends a signal: we can reach you. Osechkin lives under police protection. Gabbasov was told a killer was waiting outside his house. Whether the plot succeeds or not, the fear is real.
Gabbasov refused to disappear. Why would he take that risk?
Because disappearing is a kind of death too. He said it would be betraying the people in his region who see him as a leader. If he hides, Moscow wins without firing a shot. The Kremlin gets what it wanted—his silence.
Is there any indication Russia is actually winning this campaign?
That's the unsettling part. The plots keep getting disrupted, which suggests Russia is struggling with the proxy model. But an intelligence official said targets will never be safe. Russia has shown it can kill in Europe when it really wants to. The foiled plots might just be the ones we know about.