Читать книгу A Colder War - Чарльз Камминг - Страница 17

Alexander Minasian, the SVR rezident in Kiev, the Directorate C officer whose recruitment of KODAK would surely make him a legend in the halls of Yasenevo, was a ghost on visits to Turkey. Sometimes he would come by aeroplane. Sometimes he would cross by car or truck from Bulgaria. On one occasion, he had taken a train across the frontier at Edirne. Always under alias, always using a different passport. Three times on the KODAK operation, Minasian had taken a ship from Odessa – his favoured method of reaching Turkey – later meeting the asset in a room at the Ciragan Kempinski Hotel. They had drunk chilled red Sancerre and talked of the political and moral benefits of KODAK’s work. Showing good instincts from the very beginning, the asset had always refused to meet undeclared SVR officers on Turkish soil, as well as cut-outs and NOCs. KODAK would only deal with Minasian, whom he knew simply as ‘Carl’.

Their arrangement was straightforward. Whenever there was product to be shared, KODAK would present himself at one of two cafés in Ankara or Istanbul and produce the agreed signal. This would be seen by a member of the Embassy staff and a telegram immediately sent to Kiev. For reasons that Minasian had always accepted and understood, KODAK did not believe in handing over every piece of information or intelligence that crossed his desk. The product he chose to share with the SVR was always ‘cherry-picked’ (KODAK’s phrase, one that Minasian had been obliged to look up) and usually of the highest quality.

‘I’m not interested in giving you streams of reporting about investment goals, energy budgets, crystal ball stuff. That’s what’s going to get me caught. What I choose to give you, when I choose to give you it, will be hard, actionable intelligence, usually with very high clearance.’

There were two dead-letter boxes in Istanbul. One in the men’s bathroom of a tourist restaurant in Sultanahamet owned by a former KGB officer, long since retired and now married to a Turkish woman who had borne him two sons. A dry cistern in the second of two recently modernized cubicles, detached from all plumbing, was ideal for the purposes of leaving memory sticks, hard drives and documents – whatever KODAK wished to pass on.

The second site was located among the ruins of an old house – said once to have belonged to Leon Trotsky – on the northern shore of Büyükada, an island in the Sea of Marmara. This was KODAK’s preferred location, because the asset was friendly with a journalist on Büyükada who lived adjacent to the site, so that any journeys made to the island could pass as social visits. KODAK had recently expressed his distaste for the cistern – though of course it had been thoroughly cleaned and disinfected during the bathroom renovations – complaining to Minasian that he felt ‘like Michael Corleone going to shoot somebody’ whenever he lifted the lid to make a drop. Minasian had promised to find a third site, although KODAK seemed increasingly fond of the box on Büyükada, concealed as it was among the ruins, and protected from rains and vermin.

It was towards this box that Minasian was headed, though his journey, as always, was to be a six-hour masterpiece of counter-surveillance, involving two changes of clothing, five different taxis, two ferries (one north to Istinye, the other south to Bostanci), as well as three miles on foot in Beşiktaş and Beyoğlu. Only when Minasian was certain that he had picked up no surveillance did he board the private vessel at Marinturk Marina and make the short crossing to Büyükada.

While on the island he still exercised caution. It was possible that MIT or the Americans could have advanced surveillance on Büyükada and pick Minasian up on foot (no vehicles were allowed on the island, only bicycles and horse-drawn carts). For this reason he effected his second change of appearance in a restaurant near the ferry terminal, leaving by a rear exit. Having completed a circuit of the island by cart, Minasian instructed the driver to take him within three hundred metres of the Trotsky house, completing the last section of his journey on foot.

He was carrying a leather shoulder bag, in which he had placed his changes of clothing, as well as a pair of swimming trunks and a towel. During the warmer months, Minasian would often take a swim before collecting the product. Anything to add to a sense of blameless leisure. Today, however, he was keen to return to Kadiköy on the ferry so that he could dine with a male friend in Bebek. For this reason, he went directly to the location, discerned that he was alone, and removed the contents left for him the previous day.

The paper was folded and protected from the elements by a transparent plastic folder that had been bound with a rubber band. This was usual. Minasian opened it and immediately photographed the contents. To his surprise, he saw that there was only one piece of information.

LVa/UKSIS Tehran (nuclear) Massoud Moghaddam

Cryptonym: EINSTEIN