“Well, thank you. I do.” Reilly swallowed hard and decided that if this were the only opportunity he might have, he better raise the issue. “But if you’ll allow me perhaps an imprudent notion, I am also aware of business practices in Moscow.”
The president laughed. “Ah yes. Our beloved mayor.”
“In fact, yes.”
Gorshkov put his arm around Reilly’s shoulders and brought him closer. “A man of action,” he said. “I am aware of your American laws, and that is good enough for me. You have my word that no problem will impede our business.”
“Mr. President, thank you. Your personal assurance means a great deal to Kensington Royal. Of course there are many steps.”
“Yes, yes, yes. But we can,” he struggled for the right phrase, “fast …”
“Fast track?” Reilly suggested.
“Thank you. Fast track. We can make this work. Then perhaps expansion into other key cities in the Russian Federation.” He laughed broadly. “Tourism. Don’t we all look toward expansion?”
Gorshkov squeezed his upper arm—just a little too hard.
A warning? Reilly wondered. Don’t fuck with me?
Before he could give it another thought, Gorshkov released his arm and added, “Remember. You have my word.”
As Reilly shook Gorshkov’s hand and the photographer clicked away, Reilly played back the last statement. You have my word. He’d report that to Shaw after seeing how the meeting with the mayor went. But it was another line that perplexed him. We all look toward expansion. That one would go to Langley.
“That was pretty amazing,” Babbitt said enthusiastically after her moment with President Gorshkov. She earned a kiss on both cheeks and a photograph.
During the exchange Reilly, who had stepped back, was aware that she’d spoken Russian with the president.
“And he knew my name. I didn’t see anyone tell him.”
“They say he has a photographic memory,” Reilly commented. He also tapped his ear to indicate how they were communicating.
“Well, pretty amazing either way. I’m impressed.”
They walked away from the staging area, her hand back on his arm.
“So, Mr. Reilly,” she cooed, “you had quite the conversation with the president. Care to enlighten me?”
“Our years in Boy Scouts together, favorite Bond movies, the usual.”
“Stop it. What did he say?”
Reilly shrugged his shoulder. “He’s eager to do business.”
“Well, that’s great news coming from the president. Means he’ll clear the forest.”
“Seems that way.”
“Then why don’t we talk about Barclays making this even more possible? I’m prepared to discuss terms.”
“Well aren’t you the sly fox?”
“Eager beaver,” she quickly responded. “Let’s go to dinner.”
Reilly chose Varvary based on recommendations that Brenda had provided. Reservations would have been difficult, but a woman at the desk spoke English and had gone to Emerson College in Boston. The Boston connection earned him an 8:45 p.m. reservation.
Arriving, Reilly and Babbitt took in the opulent décor, reflective of tsarist Russia, with lace, plush carpets, heavy silverware, and the color red everywhere. Following cocktails they started with black bread pudding served on a silver spoon with sunflower oil gel that dissolved in their mouths with a sensual intensity. Next, a bewildering borscht, unlike any Reilly had ever had, infused with slivers of beets with garlic ice cream. There was an unforgettable veal shank with horseradish, a play on herring under a fur coat, and so much more. The meal proved to be a gastronomical explosion of flavors, with foams and gels that were as much fun to see as to taste.
Three hours of delicacies. Three hours of getting to know one another. Three hours with an undercurrent of desire.
They talked about their marriages: both over.
They talked about children: none
They talked about work: all-encompassing.
“What went wrong with your marriage?” Marnie inquired. The second bottle of wine made it easier to ask and answer.
“Lots of things. My lack of commitment.”
“Oh, bad boy.”
“We met after I retired from the service. Things were good when I was consulting some in Washington.” He didn’t get into any other details. “But when I joined Kensington Royal I was on the road three weeks a month, twelve months a year. Two years of that was enough for Pam, and I couldn’t blame her.”
“Didn’t she ever travel with you?”
“A few times early on, but remember it was anything but vacation for me when we traveled together. I worked. She waited. I came back to our rooms exhausted.”
“Are you still in touch? I’m sorry. That’s none of my business.”
“That’s okay,” Reilly responded. “Circumstances keep us in touch. She’s living in Virginia, went back to her maiden name, and working high up in Veterans Affairs. Her boyfriend is a CNN producer. He’s always after me for a quote whenever there’s a related story.”
“Like recently?”
“Absolutely.”
“Uncomfortable?”
“Only when I dodge him.”
“How often does that happen?”
“Constantly,” Reilly laughed. “And you? How long were you married?”
“Four years. A starter marriage with no second in sight. All that practice going nowhere.” She laughed, but only to cover her feelings. “A few affairs that flamed out. You know, last minute rendezvous canceled, plans that fall apart. The excitement wears off fast.”
“And your ex? Still in your life?”
She laughed again, this time with reason. “The modern way. We’re Facebook friends.”
Reilly chuckled. It was the modern way.
They talked about their management style, which dovetailed into the work that brought them both together.
“You do know that Barclays had a controlling stake in Russia’s retail Expobank,” Marnie commented.
“I heard it was an unmitigated disaster?”
“Well if you consider we acquired it for £373 million in ’08 and sold it for, shall we say an ‘undisclosed amount.’”
“About a tenth of your purchase price,” noted Reilly.
“My lips are sealed.”
But they weren’t. Reilly leaned over and kissed Marnie Babbitt.
“And it’s not even the third date,” Marnie said breathlessly as they disengaged.
“I forgot the rules,” Reilly explained.
“Who needs rules?” she replied. Marnie leaned back in, this time initiating.
“I think we have three more courses coming,” Reilly said, needing to breathe.
“We could write the Yelp review with what we had and with no regrets of what we’re about to miss. Get the check, Mr. Reilly.”
The only remaining decisions were which hotel room to go to and top or bottom or a lot more.
35
MOSCOW, RUSSIAN FEDERATION
THE KREMLIN
As far as Nikolai Gorshkov was concerned, Ukraine embodied the failures of the Soviet Union. Moreover, a union between NATO and Ukraine, and for that matter, any other former Eastern Bloc nations, represented the ultimate threat to the Russian Federation’s economic and political survival.
It had to do with energy. Natural gas and Gorshkov’s own power as a president. Energy was the commodity that fueled both. Oil shipped out globally on tankers and train cars. Russia’s enormous gas reserves ran through pipelines that connected much of Europe to Russia. The resource was the foundation of the entire economy, but the lifeline lay under Ukraine, where most of Russia’s gas flowed.
Retaining control of the network was fundamental to Gorshkov’s goal of restoring Russia’s formal glory under his command. However, in the new century elections in Ukraine had gone against Moscow’s interests and NATO was constantly knocking on Ukraine’s door.
Seven former Soviet Bl
oc nations and other spin-off countries had already joined the pact: Albania, Bulgaria, Czech Republic, Hungary, Croatia, Slovakia, Slovenia, Romania, Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia, Poland, and of course East Germany, now unified in the Federal Republic of Germany.
Moscow viewed NATO’s encroachment into Russia’s sphere as a violation of the pledge Mikhail Gorbachev secured during the reunification of Germany in 1989—a pledge that stated NATO would not expand to the east toward Russia.
Now, Gorshkov vowed that Ukraine, the skies above and the gas pipelines below, were not going to go west.
“Gentlemen!” The president addressed his ministers of Defense, Internal and Foreign Affairs, Energy, Emergency Situations, Finance, Natural Resources, and Crimean Affairs. They sat across the large conference table adjacent to the president’s Kremlin office. “The future is upon us.”
His cabinet had heard this declaration time and again. It was embedded in Gorshkov’s very being. The real evidence was the dramatic visible steps he had already taken to undo the perceived mistakes of the past. The impact also served to advance his own image in the world.
It began with Chechnya and extended to Georgia. The annexation of the Crimean peninsula demonstrated the depth of the Kremlin’s strategy. Now that Gorshkov was in charge, he sought to restore the historic concept of the Russian nation and establish the Russian Federation as a reinvigorated world power. The new Russia would be safe within borders Nikolai Gorshkov alone defined. The new Russia would be economically secure in the energy-driven economy.
“Millions of our fellow citizens and compatriots, native Russians, and Russian loyalists live as second-class citizens outside Russian territory,” he continued.
The president abruptly stood, commanding complete attention. “No more! NATO expansionism continues. It is a violation of trust. Do you remember the words of NATO General Secretary Wörner in Brussels on May 17, 1990? I do.”
He saw well-mannered nods, not the fervor he expected.
“Do you?” he shouted.
“Yes!” they replied in unison.
Gorshkov scrutinized his ministers for any sign of disunity. Satisfied, he continued.
“Wörner declared that no NATO army would threaten the USSR outside of German territory. Well, we are no longer the Soviet Union, but where are the guarantees? Where?”
The ministers grumbled in agreement. “Nowhere.”
“Nowhere!” Gorshkov echoed. “The stones and concrete blocks of the Berlin Wall have long been distributed as souvenirs as far off as California. The physical representation of the dividing line between East and West is gone. But now they are imposing new dividing lines and walls on us. These walls cut through the continent. They build the walls, not us. And then they send their troops to defend them. Where are the guarantees?” he repeated.
“Nowhere!” they exclaimed.
“Where are the promises our Russian-speaking brothers and sisters in neighboring countries, former Russian protectorates, heard that they would be given rights, privileges, and citizenship under NATO dominance?”
Once again Gorshkov’s question was answered with a chorus of “Nowhere!”
“Nowhere,” Gorshkov said quietly, heightening the drama in the room. “The end of the Cold War left us emasculated, disheartened, and all but disarmed. What did they leave us with?” He didn’t wait for a response this time. “Disaster. Rather than reducing conflicts, global tensions have increased. There’s more war and more death than in the world where a wall symbolized a political divide.
“One state, one nation has overstepped its national borders in every way. One country. It’s apparent in the economic, political, cultural, and educational policies it imposes on other nations. One government: the United States. And with its influence and through its surrogates, we are at greater risk today than any time since Russia was viewed with fear and respect. We will protect our interests and citizens in countries who owe their allegiance to Mother Russia. And once again, we will have our borders back.”
His ministers pounded the conference table in enthusiastic support. Gorshkov again scanned the room, judging how sincere the others were in their affirmation. He was uncertain about one member of his cabinet. If the feeling persisted, there’d be more work for Andre Miklos when he returned.
The president looked at his watch. It was time. He turned on a 52-inch Chinese-built television monitor and said, “I suspect there’s some relevant news coming on any moment.”
36
MOSCOW, RUSSIAN FEDERATION
Reilly and Marnie were walking hand in hand toward Marnie’s room on the seventh floor of the Swissotel Krasnye Holmy when his phone vibrated. Incoming texts.
He automatically put his palm over the inside jacket pocket and read the vibration. He programmed incoming messages different ways. A general, unspecific number would produce a series of two vibrations separated by two-second pauses. Nonstop, almost annoying pulses meant a text from his ex-wife. He usually ignored them. Brenda’s important but not urgent, as in the Eisenhower grid, carried vibrations to the first notes of Beethoven’s Fifth, in Morse code, the letter Q. A fourth vibration, indicating important and urgent, was also identified by Morse code. No matter what he was doing, Dan Reilly checked his cell phone when this alert triggered.
It was that fourth defining signal … /_ _ _ /… cycling three times. SOS. SOS from a special cell phone Alan Cannon used in emergencies.
Reilly stopped short of the door.
“What? You’re not getting cold feet, Mr. Reilly?” Marnie asked mischievously.
“No, but …”
He removed the phone as the vibration began again.
She nibbled his ear and whispered, “You can turn it off.”
Reilly opened his messages.
“Oh my God.” The words were more somber than exclamatory.
“What is it, Dan?”
“Another hotel bombing.” He read further.
“Where? How bad?” She asked, but Reilly was absorbed in Cannon’s message.
“Not one of ours,” he finally said. “Not anymore. It had been, but we sold it a few years ago. The Klovska Classic Hotel in Kiev. But I know many of the staff. Good people.” Reilly stepped back. “I’m sorry, I have to go. I’m really sorry.”
“No, please come in. I’ll order coffee, we’ll put the TV on. You can make your calls. No pressure. Trust me, I’m used to work coming before me.” She smiled. “Well, I didn’t mean it that way.”
Reilly pulled her close and kissed each of her eyelids and then her lips. But it was a kiss that said Goodbye.
“I want to, but I’ll be on the phone all night. We will pick up where we left off. I promise.”
Marnie returned to his ear and whispered, “I’ll hold you to it.” Then she pulled back, put on a professional face, and said, “Get to work, Mr. Reilly.”
He nodded and smiled. A woman who understood.
Twenty minutes later, Reilly was in his room. Bugged or not, he openly used his phone to call Brenda in Chicago and Alan Cannon for updates, but right now he was getting more from CNN International on his TV than they had.
He considered dialing Heath’s cell. While there might be no immediate exposure by calling, there’d be a number on record through a Russian tracking system.
Damn! He wanted to find out more. But how?
There was a way. Reilly left his room and took a cab to the US Embassy in the city center at No. 8 Bolshoy Devyatinksy Lane.
The new American Embassy building had a checkered history. Construction of the glass and cement structure began in 1979 by Soviet builders. Under Kremlin orders, covert listening devices were laced throughout the columns. Upon detecting the spy equipment, the US had to traffic all classified information through the old embassy. The political Cold War fallout hit Washington. In retaliation, Soviet diplomats weren’t allowed to occupy their new embassy in DC.
That’s where the diplomatic row remained until well after the fall of Communism, when an Ameri
can construction team was permitted to dismantle part of the new embassy and add four floors. The building, never deemed completely secure, reopened in 2000. Classified matters were conducted on the upper floors, while other embassy business was relegated to the lower, security-vulnerable floors.
Reilly showed his KR identification to the guard outside the embassy. After a check on his status, he was allowed in and ultimately permitted upstairs.
A marine lieutenant politely led Reilly to an office and gave him a piece of paper with a one-time dial-out code. This would get him to a secure line at Langley. He had no doubt that his friend would be in the building, even with the eight-hour time difference. Kiev was in Ukraine, and Ukraine was a flashpoint between US and Russian relations.
Heath came on the line after five minutes. He wasn’t surprised that Reilly had gone to the embassy.
“It’s bad,” the CIA operative admitted. “And based on the reports, it’ll get worse.”
“How so?” Reilly asked.
“Death estimates are ninety to a hundred, maybe more. You know how it goes. At night more people are in the hotel, so there’s a bigger rush at exits of people trying to escape. That’s where timed secondary devices exploded.”
“Anyone taking credit?”
“That’s where it gets complicated and even more worrisome. A group of pro-Russian separatists were at Klovska Classic Hotel with a delegation from Moscow. They were meeting into the night.”
“And?”
“A bomb went off in their conference room. Russians and pro-Russian separatists are among the dead.”
“They were the target,” Reilly surmised.
“That’s our initial assessment. You can bet that’s going to be Moscow’s as well. We’ll track whether it’s enough of a provocation for Gorshkov to make a move and fulfill his wet dream of expansion.”
“Jesus!” It was only five hours earlier that Reilly had been struck by the same word Heath had just used. Expansion. He relayed his conversation with President Gorshkov.
“Bob, play that thought out. What would Gorshkov do?”
RED Hotel Page 20