RED Hotel

by Fuller, Ed; Grossman, Gary;

  Edward Jefferson Shaw was standing with his hand out for Reilly. He was two inches shy of six feet, wearing a black sweater-vest and white shirt with a red tie and black slacks. He had a full head of hair and a robust, open face. Though he was as shrewd as any CEO, he also retained the business ethic that was the foundation of Kensington Royal. Everything mattered and everyone mattered. It fit the company decades ago when he had ten employees and one food delivery truck in downtown Chicago. It defined the corporation as a Fortune 500 business today.

  Shaw had long ago given Reilly virtual carte blanche, recognizing that he couldn’t keep his international executive grounded. He had hired Dan Reilly from the ranks of the State Department, where he had worked after he retired from the army. Shaw needed an executive with a global view. What Reilly didn’t know about the hospitality industry he’d learn, and what he understood about the world was exactly what Kensington Royal needed to expand.

  “Edward, good to see you.”

  “Likewise, my boy.” Edward Shaw was twenty-five years older so Reilly didn’t mind the term. It was another endearing part of his boss’s personality.

  “Let’s go over to the couch. Have you had coffee yet?” Shaw asked.

  “Just a quick sip. I could use more.”

  Shaw laughed. “I’m sure you could.” He poured a cup from a silver pot in the seating area. “Here you go.”

  Once they were sitting, Reilly brought Shaw up to date as best he could. So far no organization had claimed responsibility for the attack. A few people were able to leave the hospital. Another died. In short, nothing he hadn’t heard from Alan Cannon.

  “I know you want to stay connected to this tragedy,” Shaw began, “but you’ll have to move on, my boy. There’s a lot of work that—”

  Reilly rarely interrupted his boss, but now he interjected, “Sir—”

  “Dan,” Shaw stopped him. “It’ll help take your mind off the tragedy. Alan can stay with the investigation. Lord knows Chris will keep legal buttoned down. Right now I need you elsewhere.”

  This wasn’t what Reilly wanted to hear. He closed his eyes for two seconds to clear his thoughts and took a deep breath, deciding what to say.

  But before he could, Shaw continued. “There are three immediate challenges. Opening up discussions with Tehran and Russia, and tracking that damned hurricane. Have you heard?”

  Reilly hadn’t, so Shaw explained, finishing with, “So that’s where you need to focus.”

  “Of course, I’ll work on those areas,” Reilly began. “But I can’t let Tokyo go.”

  “Not completely,” Shaw conceded. “I wouldn’t ask you to do that. I want you to oversee the rebuilding.”

  “It’s beyond rebuilding. It’s rethinking our whole approach to security. We were an open, easy, vulnerable target. There were lapses. Ones we can learn from.”

  “We’re not a security organization, Dan. You said as much in Washington.”

  “Sir, we need to take the long view. If you’ll allow me an extended metaphor?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Well, I’d prefer you not put it that way,” Reilly said.

  “Go on. You’ve had a hard time. The pulpit is yours.”

  “The best example I can think of is Henry Ford. His road to the top began when he doubled his workers’ pay to $5.00 a day so they’d be able to afford the product they were manufacturing. At that same time he trimmed the cost of his Motel T from $850 to $290. Win-win for his assembly-line workers and the nation’s economy. As a result, the Model Ts rolled off the lots—fifteen million of them. But something else happened. Something we can’t let happen to us.”

  “What was that?” Shaw asked.

  “Hubris. Ford started pontificating on things he knew nothing about. History. Politics. Right down to the customers’ tastes. He dismissed the notion that people might want a Model T in a color other than the black he manufactured.”

  “Are you suggesting hubris in this office, Daniel?”

  “I’m saying we can’t afford to let it happen. Look, there’s a lesson here. What Ford wouldn’t consider, Chevrolet did. And in addition to color, they made accommodations for customers who were short on cash. Enter the General Motors Acceptance Corporation. They facilitated loans by becoming the bank.”

  “And?” Shaw pressed.

  “And Henry Ford’s salespeople tried to alert him to GM’s practices and the threat to their business. One chief executive, a member of the inner circle and extended Ford family, was so concerned he cautioned Ford in a letter. Ford responded by firing him. Model T sales subsequently tanked. Hubris, sir. Henry Ford failed to be open to changes he didn’t understand, to listen to views other than his own. We can’t afford to make mistakes like that.”

  Holding Shaw’s attention, Reilly doubled down. “Sir, you know as well as I do that according to market research, customer safety is number one.”

  “Yes, the corporation—”

  “Beyond the corporation, it has to be number one in our minds, too. As responsible people.”

  “You better not be suggesting that I don’t care!”

  “Of course not. But if we don’t visibly act now in the interest of safety and security, if we don’t seize this moment, from a business standpoint we risk losing our position of leadership and devaluing our brand. But an even greater risk? This could very well happen again, and we have to work toward preventing it through every means we can. People put their trust in us. Let me help.”

  The company founder settled back into his dark brown Westminster leather chair without speaking. He folded his hands. This was his thinking time.

  Reilly eased back in the couch to wait.

  After thirty seconds, Shaw huskily cleared his voice and said, “Go on.” It was neither an affirmation nor a dismissal, but a sign that he was forming a position.

  “My testimony to the Senate was to officially get what we’re only hearing very unofficially. And because of our limited information, we have little to act on. But we’re not alone. Virtually the entire industry suffers from the same problem. We have to change our approach.”

  “And do what?” This was Shaw at his sharpest.

  “Research, prepare, and implement.”

  “Implement what?”

  “I’ll be able to tell you that after our research,” Reilly promised. “But a way to protect our properties.”

  “This isn’t what we do.”

  “No?” Reilly now risked arguing with his boss. “You’ve seen what’s happened at Middle Eastern and African sea resorts. After attacks they’ve had to slash their prices. But who wants to go get shot up even at bargain prices? Terrorists are trying to kill Germans in bikinis. They want to destabilize the economy and make people lose faith in the government. Kill tourism and you give birth to radical ideologies.”

  “Cannon says that may not be the case in Tokyo.”

  “But it could be in many other cities. And if we build in Tehran …” Reilly trailed off, allowing the implication to speak for itself.

  Shaw rose and walked over to the large window behind his desk. He looked out onto Lake Michigan as Reilly had earlier. Answers always seemed to be out the window.

  “And this plan of yours?”

  “Not formed yet, but yes, a security plan,” Reilly said.

  “This security plan will be a game changer for us. You might be putting a big fat target on the front of every one of our properties.”

  “Or preventing them from actually becoming a target if we look harder to penetrate.”

  Shaw turned back to the room. His voice was serious and steady when he said, “So when do we do whatever this is that you want to do?”

  “Now. Today.”

  “Chris will balk.”

  “I’ll handle him.”

  “No, you’ll include him. And Alan will have to be involved.”

  “Absolutely. Alan’s essential.”

  “If I agree, what do you need to get started?”
<
br />   Reilly smiled. “Money. A lot of money.”

  MOSCOW

  Sergei Kozlov loosened his tie, opened his collar, and removed his suit coat, draping it over his arm. It was unseasonably warm and humid for Moscow, and the air-conditioning in the Kremlin couldn’t keep up with the need.

  Kozlov wished he had time to stop at home and shower before seeing his mistress. It had been a long, hot day of conferences for the outspoken minister of commerce. Positions to defend, reports to make, critics to crush … But his urge to fuck was greater than his desire to refresh, so he told his driver waiting at the ministry carport to head directly to Ivana’s apartment.

  The Russian bureaucrat relaxed into the backseat of the sleek black ZiL limousine dispatched from the Kremlin fleet. It wasn’t his usual car. When Kozlov asked about the change, the chauffeur explained that he had been assigned a different vehicle for the afternoon, a more comfortable upgrade to try out. The limo had a Rolls-Royce-inspired design with a unique swept-back look, one of the new generation of ZiLs that Nikolai Gorshkov had ordered into service.

  The minister relaxed for the first time in hours. Much of the day’s sessions had focused on Belarus’s trade dispute with Russia. Kozlov was the face of the Russian trade position and Gorshkov’s designated attack dog against the Belarusian president, a rogue dictator in his own right. Trade agreements were at the root of the dispute, which grew with every report in Izvestia, on the Russian side, and the Belarus News, which obediently covered the Belarusian despot. It had been a tense day with terse threats and counter threats that were leaked to Russia’s press before the meeting had concluded.

  Sergei Kozlov was the perfect front man, brusque and crude, a bully on a bully’s team. He was careful never to challenge Gorshkov directly, but at the same time, he never wanted to appear weak in the eyes of the president. So he used his bluster when and where it was needed and according to his instructions.

  Soon he would be in his lover’s arms. He drifted into a light haze, fantasizing about the ways she would please him as they drove onto the Khoroshevsky Bridge over the Moskva River Shortcut. Lost in anticipation and at ease in the new limo, Kozlov didn’t hear the sound of an SUV downshifting next to them. He also didn’t hear his driver curse as the vehicle began to crowd them. But he did hear the car horn.

  “What’s up?” he complained.

  His driver took one hand off the steering wheel and pointed to the car on their left. Kozlov looked over just as the darkened right rear window of the SUV rolled down and a man wearing a ski mask raised a Saiga-12 shotgun. Before Kozlov could comprehend what was happening, the assassin fired. Kozlov was the first to die. Then the driver. Neither had time to question why the car they were assigned that day didn’t have bulletproof glass.

  CHICAGO

  “Bullshit!” Chris Collins exclaimed.

  Livid at Reilly’s proposal, the Kensington Royal attorney jumped to his feet. “It’s not our job. Show me where our business plan says we’re in the anti-terrorism profession! Jesus, Dan, I know you like being in the field, but who appointed you field general?”

  This was the meeting Shaw had instructed Reilly to call. Reilly, Cannon, and Collins were in neutral territory—one of the smaller conference rooms on the sixteenth floor of the KR building. Reilly sat at the table, remaining perfectly calm. Alan Cannon did the same. It would take composed, thoughtful discussion, and both men knew Collins would quiet down and ultimately listen to reason. Ultimately, but not yet.

  “It’s not like that, Chris. So take a breath.” Reilly wished he hadn’t added the last comment.

  “You take a breath!” Collins retorted. “You know how many lawsuits I’ll probably have on my desk after Tokyo? Any idea how deep into international law I’ll be diving? The cost of outside counsel, depositions, settlements? And now you want to make us more of a target?”

  “We’re already a target, Chris. Tokyo proves that. So I’m proposing we make it harder for anyone to consider us a good one.”

  “What, with mercenaries and AK-47s? Paramilitary forces? That’ll be just great for the stock.” Collins was agitated now, and had begun sweating. He rolled his chair under one of the AC vents. It served to cool off his rant.

  “Look, soon we’ll be the largest hotel chain going, right?” Reilly asked.

  “And?” was all that Collins offered to the known fact.

  “Well, that makes us a leader. Leaders lead. And we are going to take the lead on this.” It was a declarative statement.

  “You’re right about one thing,” Reilly added. “It’s not in our business plan, but going forward it must be a key part of our business strategy. We can do it quietly and internally and hopefully not draw a lot of attention in the process.”

  The back-and-forth moved into Alan Cannon’s expertise and responsibility. “Actually, we do want some public attention,” the head of security stated. “Some defensive measures should be visible to the people who count.”

  “And who’s that?” Collins asked.

  “The bad guys.”

  OUTSIDE OF MOSCOW

  Acting on an anonymous tip, Moscow police and the FSB tracked down the SUV to Shchyolkovo, twenty kilometers north of Moscow. Minutes later they narrowed the search to a block of brownstones. Years earlier it had been home to a conclave of Belarusians, a key element that led authorities to believe that Belarus operatives could be behind Kozlov’s assassination an hour earlier. If so, Gorshkov would certainly put the blame squarely in the hands of the Belarusian president.

  The FSB searched buildings one by one as police closed off the area. They moved quickly, focusing on one residence mid-block. Seemingly out of nowhere, twenty heavily armed Spetsnaz officers, each with Izhmash AN-94 assault rifles, tore out of black SUVs and hit the building. Firing at a rate of up to six hundred rounds per minute, they secured the first floor killing two, rushed the second floor taking out three, and then took out four more on the top floor.

  The assault was perfectly executed in under ninety seconds. There were no survivors.

  Within minutes, Russian media had details on the mission, which was considered completely successful by all counts. The stories were accompanied by commentary on the worsening relationship between Russia and Belarus. The killing of the minister of commerce was seen as a provocation that might require a response.

  The long game, not mentioned in the discussion, was the fact that Belarus was on the western border of Russia and a gateway to its other former Soviet satellite nations. It was one of many countries that Gorshkov wanted fully back under Russia’s thumb and well outside NATO’s grasp.

  CHICAGO

  “Okay, so what do you propose?” Collins asked.

  “A phased plan,” Reilly explained. “First, we set up a committee of experts. They listen to our concerns, identify the major challenges, and together—and I said together—we come up with a prioritized program.”

  “It’ll cost,” barked the lawyer.

  “I’ve got the seed money covered.”

  “From your budget?” Cannon asked. “I sure don’t have it in mine.”

  Reilly pointed a finger upwards.

  “Shaw approved this?” Collins asked incredulously.

  “I wouldn’t be talking to you now if he hadn’t.”

  “I hope you know you’re a real shit,” Collins said finally, laughing.

  Reilly took it as a compliment and laughed as well. “Been one for years. But I promised Shaw I wouldn’t move forward without you both onboard.”

  “Kiss ass,” Collins said.

  “Consensus builder,” Reilly replied.

  “Well, I’m in,” Alan Cannon said. “I have some ideas for potential committee members. It may take time to coordinate schedules, but we can do it.”

  “I’ve got a few suggestions, too,” Reilly replied. However, he still needed one more member of the management to agree. He opened his hands wide, encouraging a decision from Chris Collins.

  The head of legal sat
down, grabbed a yellow pad from the center of the conference table, and simply said, “Let’s get to work.”

  Reilly was more than ready. “Thank you,” he said, pulling multiple copies of a report from his briefcase. “We can start with some basic research courtesy of the State Department. It’s worth looking at. Nothing classified, but eye-opening.”

  He distributed the printouts.

  “Every day, the State Department evaluates threats to US interests around the world.”

  “Heard your testimony,” Collins said.

  “Yes, but that barely scratched the surface. They cover Asia, the Middle East, Africa, Europe, South America, Mexico, and here at home. I suppose they also track Antarctica, but there’s nothing to report from down there. But I’ve dug a little deeper. I’ve got a white paper on the kinds of threats terrorists could unleash on an American city, well beyond a lone wolf with a gun, which we’ve seen far too many times.”

  Reilly prompted them to turn to page seven.

  “Holy shit,” Chris Collins exclaimed while reading ahead. “Everything from a ten-kiloton nuclear device to an aerosol anthrax attack. Jesus! All of this is possible?”

  “Possible enough for us to get smarter,” Reilly said. “Keep reading.”

  The study chronicled widespread casualties caused by a pandemic influenza attack, a chlorine tank explosion, and the release of chemical and biological nerve agents, with deaths in the hundreds of thousands.

  To Reilly’s point of view, there was little Kensington Royal could do to prevent such a massive attack. But they could do more to defend against a bold, hyperlocal, scalable attack on a hotel.

  He found support for his plan deeper in the State Department report: Scenario 12.

  “This is what we have to protect against. Terrorists hit a property with LVBs, large vehicle bombs. In addition, they have time-delayed IEDs, improvised explosive devices, set to go off in the escape routes. Sound familiar?”

  “Completely,” Collins admitted.

  “It’s all here, perfectly describing the attack in Tokyo. The first detonation is designed to create fire, smoke, and havoc. The building might be structurally damaged, but people survive and flow into the common areas and exits. Then the next wave is timed for when the first responders arrive.”