DIVA’s handwritten report meticulously documented the Security Council debate in the Kremlin regarding the GRU military covert action in Turkey encrypted OBVAL, put forth by Major Shlykov, who argued that Turkey was in chaotic transition: Fundamentalist Islamic political parties were eroding the secular military Atatürk traditions. The country had, since 1984, been struggling with a prolonged, low-intensity armed urban insurrection by the socialist Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK) in their bid for political rights and self-determination. Current US military aid to the Kurdish Peshmerga in Iraq had discommoded the Turkish government (even though the Iraqi Peshmerga had no political connection to PKK terrorists). Ankara moodily conflated this military support in Iraq with American endorsement of Kurdish desires to secede from the country and to claim a substantial swath of sovereign Turkish territory as their hereditary homeland. Recognizing a developing bilateral schism and subsequent opportunity to drive a wedge between Washington and Ankara—something Putin and his coterie of valets knew how to do best—GRU planners had developed a plan for Turkey.
DIVA’s narrative—printed in Russian in space-saving letters so small that translators had to use magnifying glasses to read the text—reported that the aggressive Shlykov had laid out his plan by which Moscow would supply PKK cells in Istanbul with RPG-18 “Mukha” antiarmor rockets, MON-200 antipersonnel mines, and larger PMN-4 pressure-fired blast mines, for use in urban terror attacks in Istanbul, designed to create a crisis in the government, exacerbate tense relations with Washington, and ultimately to destabilize Turkey, the traditional southern bulwark of NATO.
Russian Naval Special Forces would support the operation. The matériel would be delivered in a series of nighttime forays by small boats disguised as fishing vessels to PKK members waiting at a deserted out-of-season picnic grounds on the banks of Riva Creek, four navigable miles inland from the Black Sea coast of Turkey. PKK would then truck the weapons into Istanbul, stage them in a number of warehouses, and distribute them among cells. Despite objections to the covert-action plan from the civilian intelligence services, President Putin had approved the operation. He was willing to undertake this foreign adventure and run the risks—which the GRU assessed as minimal—to weaken NATO, and especially to destabilize the only Muslim member state of the coalition. After that, no one objected any longer. DIVA concluded her report by writing of Shlykov: “This Golden Youth intends to provide enough explosives to PKK to set Istanbul ablaze on both sides of the Bosphorus, from Europe to Asia.”
* * *
* * *
DIVA’s reporting triggered a hasty meeting in CIA Headquarters in Langley.
Benford recently had designated Gable as DIVA’s primary handler.
Benford, Forsyth, Gable. These three veteran officers were as different in temperament and style as imaginable. But they had come together as a team when Nate Nash recruited DIVA in Helsinki, and under their subtle tutelage she had developed into a world-class reporting source. Nash, the fourth and most junior member of the coterie, was absent from this meeting: he had recently been posted as Chief of Operations in CIA’s London Station, on the face of it a plum assignment in a solidly advancing career, but really designed to keep him busy and away from DIVA. Forsyth—arguably the best case officer among them—had called Nash “a magician” on the street, working against hostile surveillance in denied areas. Forsyth had been Nate’s Chief of Station twice before, and he knew what a good officer he was, despite the sex-with-DIVA problem.
“I seem to remember your unapproved infatuation twenty years ago with a certain safe-house keeper in Rome,” Forsyth had once reminded Gable while discussing Nash. “You knew it was against the rules, but you used to run over there bowlegged to see her every week.”
“That was different,” growled Gable. “We were young, she used to cook carbonara for me, and I was helping her out.”
Forsyth looked at him deadpan. “Carbonara? Did she use pancetta, guanciale, or some other pork product?”
“Very funny. If it was such a big fucking deal, why didn’t you kick me in the balls?” said Gable, red faced.
“Maybe I knew you could handle it, or maybe I knew you had the discipline to keep her safe,” said Forsyth. “Like maybe we give Nash the same slack. I’m not saying he’s a choirboy, but Domi’s half to blame. Godammit, they’re in love with each other, you said so yourself.” Gable shook his head, but agreed.
Today, Forsyth had included Lucius Westfall, who, as Benford’s new assistant, was cleared for DIVA material, and thus was on the very small BIGOT list for the case, the abbreviated roster of officers who had been read in to her file, and who were cleared for the RH (restricted handling) compartment. Westfall sat quietly in a chair in the corner—he knew his place on the food chain in this room.
“The facility these Russians have for mayhem is awe inspiring,” said Forsyth. He looked up from DIVA’s reports about Istanbul, and pushed his half-moon glasses to the top of his head.
“They’re fuckers,” said Gable, “but we take this to Turkish liaison and help them, they’re gonna kiss our asses for a decade.”
“I agree,” said Forsyth. “But not to TNIO, the intel guys. They don’t trust us. We take it to the TNP, Turkish National Police; they’re serious and accessible.”
“And when you say ‘help them,’?” said Benford, turning to Gable, “you mean exactly what?”
“Interdict the shipments, wrap up the gomers waiting in the swamp for the delivery, let the TNP sweat ’em, and clean out the rest of the cells,” said Gable.
Lucius Westfall cleared his throat and scraped his chair. Gable looked over at him. He liked the young guy, but as with Gable’s protégé Nate, he would never say so. “If you have something to say, say it,” said Gable. “Don’t keep us squeezing our legs together.”
“I was thinking,” said Lucius. “Istanbul’s population is over fourteen million. The Kurds in the city number about four million.”
“Admirable command of the facts, which I trust will soon be shown to be relevant to this discussion,” said Benford, rubbing his face.
“The point is that we’ll never be sure of taking out one hundred percent of the PKK cells with a couple of raids and a score of arrests,” said Westfall, swallowing. “The city’s too big, the Kurdish population is too diffuse. We have to consider this in three parts.”
“Tell us,” said Benford. He liked linear thinking, which, he frequently raved, was uniformly absent in the US government.
“We have to interdict all the Russian matériel without exception,” said Lucius. “We can’t let even one mine get through. We then have to identify as completely as possible the PKK organization in the city. Finally, we have to neutralize the source of the problem: GRU Major Valeriy Shlykov.” The men in the room shifted in their seats.
“You’re a regular Alfred Einstein,” said Gable. “Keep going.” For all his gruffness, Gable knew how to draw young officers out, make them think, stick up for what they believed.
“To stop the whole thing I think we have to beacon the weapons before they get to Turkey,” said Westfall. “That way we track them from inland creek, to warehouse, to backyard potting shed, to safe-house cellar, so we get them all.”
“Before they get to Turkey?” said Gable. “As in Russia?” The others were quiet, thinking the same thing.
“Out of the question,” said Benford. “DIVA’s already in jeopardy as it is, reporting this unique intelligence. We fuck up in Istanbul, she’s one of twenty Council members in the room—not even a full member yet—who know about the PKK covert action. Trying something with the shipment when it’s still in Russia would be doubly suicidal for her.”
“Maybe not,” said Westfall. “DIVA told us the crates were going to be trucked to Sevastopol and staged in a warehouse, then ferried across the Black Sea to Turkey in small fishing boats when they get the green light from Shlykov. It’s a GRU covert action; they’ll keep this quiet, and they’ll stay away from official Russian naval installations. It’ll be a commercial warehouse, an easy target.”
“Okay, hotshot, you take the responsibility for invading Russia and starting World War Three?” said Gable. Westfall kept quiet.
Benford got up from the couch and started pacing, looking at Westfall sideways. “How would you propose to break undetected into a warehouse in Russian-controlled Sevastopol and install beacons on a dozen crates?” he said.
“We could use the WOLVERINEs,” said Westfall.
Heads around the room came up. “Ain’t they all retired?” said Gable.
“They’re on reserve status,” said Forsyth. “They didn’t like to be sidelined. I kept them busy for as long as I could.”
“I heard they were pretty effective,” said Westfall. “The file is fascinating.”