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.
