RED Hotel

by Fuller, Ed; Grossman, Gary;

  “Well, if there’s proof that Ukrainian nationalists wanted to take out the separatists and retaliate against Russia, Moscow could launch a full-scale attack. Hell, even if there isn’t real proof, Gorshkov could gin up the possibility and still act. Or he could bring troops closer and keep the threat alive for a long time.”

  “And if it’s one of the usual terrorist groups?” Reilly asked.

  “Then why would they have picked this specific target on this specific night? This feels like it was a strategic inside job to take out pro-Russian separatists.”

  A thought came to Reilly. “And not the first at a hotel.” He jotted down a name on a piece of paper.

  “What? I don’t know of any others,” Heath responded.

  “Tokyo,” Reilly replied.

  “What are you talking about? There were no Ukrainian separatists there.”

  “No, there weren’t. But there was a pro-Russian Romanian separatist. A singer.” He read from his note the name “Janusz Kretsky.”

  “Spell that.”

  Reilly slowly spelled the Romanian singer’s name. “There’s been an outcry of support for Kretsky from Russian nationals in Romania. And still no one’s come forward. Call me crazy, but what if there’s a connection?”

  “I’ll never call you crazy, but it’s likely more of a coincidence.”

  Reilly hated the reference, but he didn’t push the point. Heath had the name now and could check.

  “Will the SBU help any in Kiev?” Reilly asked. “CCTV cameras, hotel check-in info?”

  SBU stood for the Security Service of Ukraine. The Sluzhba Bezpeky Ukrayiny, the country’s leading anti-terrorism and counterintelligence agency.

  “Working on it,” Heath replied. “Too soon to know what kind of cooperation we’ll get.”

  “Send them the screen grab of Smug,” Reilly recommended. “See if anybody saw him.”

  Heath thought about it and replied. “Long shot, but I’ll kick it upstairs.”

  “Worth a try.”

  Before they hung up, Heath had a warning for Reilly. “I’m glad we talked, but you’ve got to be careful leaving. You start the night with a private conversation with Gorshkov and end it with a trip to the US Embassy. It has the appearance of you reporting in. Better than an even chance you’ll be followed back to your hotel and thereafter. There’s been an uptick in harassment of our people. Windows in their rooms left open in the winter, for instance.”

  “It’s warm out.”

  “Arrests for jaywalking”

  “I cross at corners.”

  “Overt tailing.”

  “They already have my schedule.”

  “You get what I mean. They’re going to be on you.”

  “Here’s what I’ll do. Play it head on. I’m scheduled to meet the mayor early. I’ll tell him I checked in at the embassy to find out about Klovska Classic staff I knew since it used to be in our portfolio. No mention of separatists and politics. Only business, which is why I’m here.”

  “Why wouldn’t you have just called your own office?”

  “I did. They didn’t have anything. I figured the embassy could make appeals to Kiev.”

  “Okay, then make sure you speak with someone who can do that. But still watch yourself.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be much more interested in having me recommend the Moscow deal than in thinking I’m a spy.”

  “I hope you’re right buddy,” Heath said.

  At 3:45 in the morning Reilly hailed a cab passing the embassy. He immediately noticed a car pull out of a parking space and follow him back to his hotel.

  37

  MOSCOW, RUSSIAN FEDERATION

  CITY HALL

  The next morning Dan Reilly arrived at Moscow City Hall, the office of the mayor, ten minutes before the appointed time.

  The red brick building in Pushkin Square, built and rebuilt over 250 years, housed the executive branch of Moscow’s political system, an arm of the Kremlin. Hundreds of city bureaucrats oversaw the administration of police, fire, and public property. Many had direct access to Gorshkov’s ministers, but no one had quicker access than the mayor. The reverse was also true, but at a more intense level. The Mayor of Moscow reported to and served at the pleasure of the president.

  Reilly’s own reading suggested that Vadim Markovich, the latest mayor, was a puppet Gorshkov crafted, manipulated, and tolerated. When Gorshkov told Reilly that there’d be nothing to impede the Moscow hotel deal, Reilly understand it to mean that the mayor had been instructed not to ask for, demand, or even count on any kickback as part of the deal.

  As a result, Reilly predicted the meeting would be pro forma. But then again, this was Russia, where power and money were intertwined.

  Vadim Markovich stepped from behind his desk to greet Reilly. He was a short, stocky man with bushy brown eyebrows that made up for the lack of hair on his head. His brown suit was anything but stylish, and his tie too wide for today’s fashion. Reading glasses hung from a red lanyard around his neck. If Reilly hadn’t known he was the Mayor of Moscow, he’d have guessed he was some thug who hung out at a local bar.

  He would have been right about the thug part. Vadim Markovich was anything but metropolitan. He was Gorshkov’s appointee, in office for as long as Gorshkov desired.

  “Mr. Mayor, so good to meet you,” Reilly said. According to his research, the conversation could be conducted in English.

  “Indeed, Mr. Reilly. I trust this will be the first of many such meetings, though I had come close to canceling. You’ve heard the news from Kiev.”

  This provided the perfect opportunity for Reilly to explain his late-night trip out of the hotel, a report which undoubtedly had been passed along to Markovich.

  “Absolutely. Shocking. I went to our embassy as soon as I heard to check on associates and colleagues who worked at the hotel. My company had managed it until fairly recently.”

  “I didn’t know that,” the mayor lied.

  Reilly lowered his eyes. “I’m still waiting to find out whether I lost some friends in the explosion.” He bowed his head and continued. “The news reported that Russian diplomats were there. I hope …”

  “A terrible tragedy. Ten members of our trade delegation. Maybe more.”

  “I’m sorry. If my company can be of any help …” Reilly feebly offered.

  “Thank you, but no. Let us move on to making some good news and talk about how we can turn the Moscow Excelsior Hotel into one of your brand operations.”

  “We are very interested, Mr. Mayor. However you must realize we have not come to terms, nor considered financing options.” He was thinking of Barclays, and that made him smile. “But Moscow would be a wonderful addition to our Kensington Royal luxury brand.”

  “I suppose we should talk unofficially about aspects of the approval process.”

  Reilly straightened up, surprised by Markovich’s sudden detour.

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “Traditionally Moscow participates.”

  This was in direct contradiction to the assurance the president had given him. What’s he trying to do? Reilly thought. Going rogue? Reilly decided to see where it went.

  “Please explain, Mr. Mayor?”

  Markovich waved his hand as if to dismiss the seriousness of the point. “Call it a luxury tax. A small percentage that helps the city. Not at all unusual. Capped at 10 percent, but negotiable. Perhaps on a sliding scale over ten years. You just pass it on to your clientele. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

  “I’m sorry, but I need to get this clear.” Reilly proceeded to tickle the tiger. “I’ve had assurances that officially the city VAT will not apply to this transaction. Are you proposing something different?”

  “Well, in fact, yes, but—”

  Reilly interrupted. “Sir, in April 2015, the Moscow City Duma adopted amendments that provide for special tax benefits, not additional taxes for, among other business ventures, hotels. Are you proposing something
different?”

  “Perhaps tax is not the correct word. It’s my English,” the mayor said with feigned sincerity. “Call it a service charge.”

  Reilly decided to end the chess game. Vadim Markovich not only revealed himself as a thug, but a stupid thug.

  Reilly stood. He now towered over the sitting mayor who, with one additional conversation with Gorshkov, might not be the sitting mayor any longer.

  “Mayor Markovich,” Reilly said angrily, “your English is not failing you at all. So I’ll use some English vernacular. To be kind, you’re proposing a sweetheart deal, with Moscow the sweetheart. There’s another term, however, less kind: a shakedown. If that doesn’t translate, try side deal.” For impact, Reilly said it in Russian. “Pobochnaya sdelka.”

  The Russian blanched.

  “For the record,” Reilly continued, “our legal department will not permit it. Moreover, the U.S. Department of Justice will prosecute us for entering into such a relationship. And here’s the bottom line, which should end this discussion once and for all. I met with President Gorshkov last night. It was a short conversation, the substance of which included his personal pledge to me that you would not make the very proposal you’ve just made. And I’m being polite when I call it a proposal.”

  The mayor tried to recover, but Reilly would not allow him the time to pull an excuse together.

  “As I see it, I have four choices,” he pressed on. “I agree to your pobochnaya sdelka and subject myself to prosecution. I walk away from an important management opportunity in Moscow and you stumble through an explanation. I consider this conversation never to have happened. Or my favorite, I notify President Gorshkov that his promise to me was subverted by you. I know current circumstances in Ukraine have made this a busy day for him, but I’m certain I can get the message through.”

  Then Reilly added insult to injury, turning on his heel and starting to walk toward the door.

  “Mr. Reilly, wait!”

  “Yes?” Reilly did not immediately turn.

  “You spoke of another choice. The third, I believe.”

  Reilly remained facing the door.

  “We met and I agreed to help you in every way,” the mayor continued. “No impediments. No special agreements.”

  “No pobochnaya sdelka?” Reilly said coldly.

  “No side deal,” Markovich said in English. “Do we have an understanding?” His voice cracked. “Your assurance that this will not go beyond my office?”

  Reilly slowly pivoted and faced the corrupt bureaucrat. “Yes.”

  He waited for the mayor to cross the room to him. Markovich shyly put out his hand. Reilly took it.

  “I’m glad we understand each other, Mr. Mayor. I look forward to seeing you at our grand opening should the remainder of the negotiations be fruitful.”

  “I will do everything to make it happen with the current owners.”

  The current owners of the Moscow Excelsior Hotel were his friends. He would make it happen at all costs. Even a loss, if necessary.

  38

  KIEV, UKRAINE

  Russian press dropped its normal coverage and ran with the attack in Kiev. With 93,000 media outlets, 27,000 newspapers printing 8.2 billion copies, 330 TV channels, and hundreds of online news outlets, not to mention Twitter and other social media portals, Russians couldn’t escape the news.

  The government-owned daily Rossiyskaya Gazeta had access to Kremlin sources and leaks.

  Last night, terrorists intentionally targeted Russian nationals and pro-Russian supporters in a brutal attack at the Klovska Classic Hotel in downtown Kiev. Authorities report 72 dead and more than 100 injured. Among the dead are ten confirmed members of a delegation from Moscow who were meeting with pro-Russian sympathizers. Local Kiev police are heading the investigation. The Ministry of Defense is sending its own team.

  President Nikolai Gorshkov stated, “This cowardly act, obviously directed at Russian diplomats and freedom loving supporters, has echoes of the Moscow apartment bombings that took so many lives years ago. I join with the nation in expressing our sorrow to the families of those killed.”

  Izvestia added:

  No group has taken responsibility, but a source at the Klovska Classic told Izvestia that interior hotel diagrams and what could be a detailed timeline were recovered by housekeepers from a waste basket in a guest’s room. Police have not confirmed the report.

  Gazeta.ru put out quicker online updates.

  In response to fears of Russian loyalists residing in Ukraine, the Ministry of Defense has deployed an undetermined number of Mikoyan MiG-31 to Kursk Vostochny Airport. The ministry also acknowledged that troops were assembled across the Russian border with Ukraine.

  Russia 1, Channel One, and Rossiya 1 TV dropped normal programming in favor of live news from Kiev, taped reactions from Moscow and other Russian cities, and Kremlin statements.

  Russia 1 has just learned that Kiev police, acting on evidence found at the Klovska Classic Hotel, have begun a search in the Lukyanivka district of the city. We have no further information at this time.

  Thirty minutes later:

  We’re at a police barricade in northwest Kiev where police have instructed residents to leave neighborhood buildings. They’ve taken up positions across the street from an apartment building where the Kiev bombing suspects are said to be held up. Channel One and other news organizations have not been permitted closer.

  At 1545 hours Rossiya 1 went live with long lens helicopter coverage.

  It’s been four hours since police and now Ukrainian armed forces set up a perimeter around the apartment building where we have unconfirmed reports of gunfire. As you can see from our overhead cameras—

  Suddenly, the camera shook as the helicopter banked. The sound of an explosion, delayed a second by the half-kilometer distance to the building, was audible over the reporter’s microphone. The pilot steadied the helicopter and the camera zoomed in on a dark plume rising over where the building had stood. The reporter for the Russian-owned TV station vamped the best he could, not knowing if Ukraine armed forces had fired on the presumed stronghold or suspects had detonated a bomb.

  39

  WASHINGTON, DC

  THE WHITE HOUSE

  “What the hell’s going on, Gerald?” The president didn’t mince words. He wanted it straight from his CIA director and national security advisor, both of whom had been summoned to the Oval Office.

  “Frankly we don’t have enough to go on,” CIA Director Gerald Watts admitted.

  “Not enough?” National Security Advisor Pierce Kimball exclaimed. “How about Googling the 1999 apartment bombings that led Moscow to move against Chechnya? Looks an awful lot like that.”

  “You believe this could be totally scripted?” the president asked. “Gorshkov’s not that crazy.”

  “Not crazy, Mr. President. Tactical,” Kimball clarified.

  “But killing his own delegation?” Gerald Watts said, sounding skeptical. “Too politically dangerous for him if his fingerprints are on it.”

  “Who’s going to investigate Gorshkov? Gorshkov?” Kimball replied. “You forget he controls the press, Gerald. Like the old days. No one’s brave enough to dig anymore. The people who tried are all dead. But what’s the expression? I read it in a thriller a while ago … ‘The absence of evidence is not the evidence of absence.’ Just because it can’t be proven doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

  “You could apply that to any theory,” the CIA director countered.

  “Right, I could, but I’m not. I’m specifically talking about Kiev.”

  “To what end?” President Crowe hadn’t yet taken a position in the argument.

  “Moral high ground to move in and finish what he started in Ukraine, Mr. President,” Kimball explained. “The reason to invade.”

  “There’s no evidence yet that …” The president didn’t complete the sentence. He caught himself on yet.

  “Correct. Not yet,” Kimball added, emphasizing th
e last word.

  Crowe thought for a moment. “What are we hearing from Moscow, Gerald?”

  “We’re monitoring reports and getting firsthand updates from our assets. Sources report that there’s activity at Russian Aerospace Defense Forces bases. Particularly the 4th and 5th brigades in Moscow and the 6965th aviation base at Vyazma Airport.”

  “Where the hell is that?” the president asked.

  “Western border. Just before Belarus. More to the point, close to Ukraine.”

  “Jesus. Time Gorshkov and I talked,” Crowe said.

  After the meeting broke up, the CIA director responded to a text from Bob Heath. Heath explained that Reilly was in Moscow and perhaps could provide more intel, considering who he’d just met.

  “He saw who?” Director Watts was flabbergasted to hear where Reilly had been.

  “The president. Hotel business.”

  “And you said he works for us?”

  “Informally,” Heath replied.

  “Well then get him the fuck in gear!”

  Heath called Dan Reilly’s office. He gave Brenda just enough information to patch him through to Reilly. All of this occurred before Director Watts even reached his car.

  “What, Brenda?” Reilly answered the phone. “I’m packing.”

  “Not Brenda. It’s your old army buddy. Been looking for your sorry ass. Tracked you down. Your assistant was kind enough to connect me.”

  Reilly stopped packing. This was a dangerous call. He had to handle it carefully.

  “Oh my God. How the hell are you? It’s been how long?” Reilly said, trying to be upbeat for the listening devices.

  “Seven years, buddy. Seven stinking years. Looks like you’re doing okay.”

  “Oh, I’m fine. And you?”

  “The same old. They’ll probably bury me in my suit.”

  Reilly feigned a laugh.

  “Brenda said you’re in Moscow. Jesus buddy, don’t you ever sit still?”

  “Never,” Reilly replied, still not knowing where this was leading.

  “Too bad. Thought we could get together. I’m only in town for today. Would have loved seeing you. But since you’re halfway around the world, that’s not going to happen. You might as well stay put a few days and meet a nice Russian bride to bring home.”