Thirteen days that almost shook the world

He always wore a bowtie and probably still does. A big man who enhanced his academic appearance by wearing rimless glasses.

He initiated his morning ritual by immersing himself in The International Herald Tribune. Neatly dressed, he hardly ever volunteered conversation. On those occasions when he did speak, it was with a distinct American accent.

Introducing myself, he reciprocated: "Toomas Hendrick Ilves, Estonia". For the next two years we were to sit next to each other in the European Parliament. In 2006, he resigned: he had become President of Estonia.

My first visit to Tallinn, Estonia's capital, took place in May 1995. The old city is surrounded by impressive fortifications. Its narrow roads are cobbled. I was surprised at the number of historic landmarks - the town hall, an old apothecary, the Holy Ghost church - which survived the onslaught of both the Nazi and the Russian bombings.

One of the three Baltic states, Estonia is overshadowed by both Scandinavia and Russia. In 1944, having enjoyed a few years of independence after the fall of the Russian empire, it once again reverted to that empire's successor, the Soviet Union. And this state of affairs persisted until it declared independence in 1991, once the Soviet Union had imploded.

It took another three years for the last Russian soldier to leave. And every occupation always leaves latent effects. Ethnic Russians make up more than a quarter of Estonia's population of 1.4 million. Language barriers are making life difficult for them. Estonia pushed the Russo-German gas pipeline from its own territory into Finnish territorial waters. Relations between Estonia and Russia reached rock bottom when, on April 27, 2007, Estonian officials started to uproot a Soviet-era war memorial and eventually took it to an undisclosed location.

Toomas Hendrick Ilves had seen it coming. The previous February, he had vetoed the controversial bill relating to the removal of this memorial. The bronze statue itself is unremarkable. Standing only six-foot high, it represents a soldier of the Red Army, helmet in hand, rifle slung over his back, his head slightly bowed. Beneath the memorial are said to be buried a number of Soviet soldiers. But President Hendrick Ilves only managed to stall the process.

In Tallinn, the interior security forces were well prepared for conventional protests and responded with water-cannon, rubber bullets and baton charges. The demonstrators used Molotov cocktails, broke windows and protested in the usual way that protests go. Meanwhile, in Moscow, the Russian Foreign Minister cried "blasphemy" and crowds engulfed the Estonian Embassy, blockaded the Ambassador and tore down the flag of Estonia. But nothing could prepare the Estonian authorities for what was about to happen.

At the same time, a secret meeting was being held in Seattle on the west coast of the United States. Top Nato experts were putting into place Nato's first line of defence against cyber terrorism. When the emergency phone rang, the senior in command grabbed it. His face went pale: "Gentlemen, we have a crisis".

It transpired that Estonia was effectively paralysed. All official websites including those of the President, Parliament, ministries and political parties were down. The main banks, media and communication firms were also hit.

The meeting adjourned and the top three experts, one of whom an American, started to make their way to Tallinn.

For the next 13 days Estonia was to endure what was to become known as a cyber attack. Thousands of compromised computers bombarded selected websites, simultaneously overloading the broadbands, which, in turn, shut down the servers. The consequences of a strategy whereby your opponent is destabilised are almost infinite. The effect of such a strategy in time of war can be "disarming".

Since then, a year has passed. And this very month Estonia hosted a multinational conference on virtual warfare. It broached a question that could be traced back directly to the cyber attack it had suffered.

Nato did not classify cyber attacks as clear military action with the effect that collected self defence could not be extended automatically to Estonia. But the latter is a member of the EU and Nato and was in continuous contact with all other members of both organisations.

The conference argument was: What does it take to invoke collective self defence? If a communication centre is attacked by a missile, that is undoubtedly a real act of war. If the same facility is disabled by a virtual attack, which has the same effect, what is that called?

Few realise how close we were to war during those 13 days.

Dr Attard-Montalto is a Labour member of the European Parliament.