There was one more call he had to make. The hardest one.
“Edward, sorry to bother you at home, but it’s important.”
“All okay, Dan?”
“Afraid not. Brussel’s has been cased thoroughly. Top to bottom. Confirmed photos.”
“Jesus,” the Kensington Royal president exclaimed. “How did you find out?”
“In the course of briefing Schorel.”
Shaw mulled over the comment. “Care to explain?”
Reilly decided not to torpedo Schorel for now, since he needed him to carry through on the security upgrades. “Let’s just say we got lucky, but there’s more.”
“I’d expect so.”
“We know who it is,” Reilly added. “The bomber from Tokyo.”
Reilly heard Shaw gasp.
“You’re certain?” he asked.
“100 percent.”
“I can assume that percentage comes from some pretty well-connected friends of yours.” It wasn’t really a question.
“Yes. But I can confirm it as well.”
“What?” Shaw asked.
“I saw him myself. In Moscow. Inside the Kremlin. We have every reason to believe that this is a Russian mission and has been from the beginning.”
“Against us?”
“Not directly.”
“Then how?”
“Our guests.”
“Who?”
“In Tokyo it may have been just one person and although not our property, we believe a similar attack in Kiev targeted a visiting delegation. We’re looking into who it could be in Brussels. But considering NATO, we’ve got a lot to consider.”
“Dan, you keep saying we.”
Shaw was right. Reilly wished he had been more careful with his language. There was definitely a bigger we than Kensington Royal.
“Yes, sir. This is going way up the ladder.”
“Way up?”
“Way up.”
Reilly got another incoming. He asked to put his boss on hold. Shaw obliged.
“Hello, Daniel.” Marnie Babbitt had that certain hunger in her voice. It had been more than a month since their last rendezvous. “When can I see you?” she asked.
“Soon. I’m so sorry. It’s been nonstop.” He automatically gathered up the papers even though she couldn’t see them.
“You go to bed every night?” she asked.
“Of course.”
“So do I. Shame I have to make mine when I get up in the morning.”
Reilly laughed. “Yeah, tough not having room service.”
“My point exactly,” she added.
“Hey, can I call you back in a few?” Reilly pleaded. “I’m on with Chicago.”
“Sure.”
Reilly returned to Shaw.
“Cannon up to speed?” Shaw asked.
“Completely. He’ll be getting photographs he can distribute to all the GMs on our lists.”
“Okay. Beyond whatever you’re doing, engage that special committee of yours. They may have some worthwhile ideas.”
“Will do.”
“And daily updates.”
“Right,” Reilly said.
“Daily, Dan,” Shaw emphasized in a sharper tone.
They said goodbye. Reilly breathed deeply. He needed a moment before calling Marnie back, but she beat him to it.
“You realize anywhere in Europe is a puddle jump away,” she said.
“Oh yeah.”
Marnie’s pitch was having the desired effect.
“Hours. Maybe minutes.”
“I’m sorry. It’s been busy.”
“Sure would love not to have to make the bed tomorrow.”
“I may be in London soon.”
“Soon? Too long. I’m thinking right now.”
“Now?”
“Yes! I’m in the lobby. On my way to Bonn for a meeting tomorrow. Just figured …”
“Oh, you figured wonderfully.”
“Then how about giving me your room number or risk me taking the wrong man down, if you get my drift?”
Reilly got the message and put away all his work. After all, he thought, Spike Boyce had work to do before he could make his next move.
For the next twelve hours Reilly dealt with varying forms of pressure. Marnie took care of some. The rest Reilly dealt with in the adjacent living room area of his junior suite.
“I need you, buddy. Serious shit here in Brussels,” he told Alan Cannon on the phone.
“Which box?” Cannon referenced the Eisenhower Method.
“Upper left. Number 1. URGENT and IMPORTANT. It knocks everything else out.”
“I’ll get a flight as soon as I wrap up Stockholm.”
“Thanks.”
More calls.
Shaw phoned for an update, then Heath called in with news.
“Severi’s still working on Smug’s identity. And we’re checking if any of our older agents recognize him. Or retirees. The hard part is tracking down decommissioned agents. You know, they often like to disappear. Spain, Portugal’s coast, the Caribbean. If they stick around, chances are they’ll get a fat offer from a security consulting firm, write their novel, or find their way to Fox News. Sometimes they’re willing to help us out.” He paused, “Sometimes they won’t.”
“The Caribbean is beginning to sound pretty good to me.”
“In another life,” the CIA agent joked. “You like your frequent flier miles too much.”
Reilly pushed the bedroom door open. The sight of a beautiful woman asleep in his bed made him think.
“I don’t know. Three retirement checks and no calls in the middle of the night. I could live with that.”
When he hung up another notion nagged at him again. Was there more to Marnie Babbitt?
He hated having the suspicion and finally put it to rest at 1:14 a.m. when he returned to bed.
Reilly quietly crawled under the sheets and pulled Marnie Babbitt into his arms. He thought it would have to be their last night until the crisis was over. She moaned softly, but didn’t wake. At least she was right. She wouldn’t have to make her bed in the morning.
63
WASHINGTON, DC
THE WHITE HOUSE
“Let’s have it,” the president ordered.
Alex Crowe expanded the scope of the intelligence briefing to include Secretary of State Elizabeth Matthews, a senator he had defeated in the primary.
Crowe considered himself lucky that he had knocked Matthews out early. The 55-year-old Nebraskan knew much more about international relations than he did. It was her stiff, relatively humorless personality that hurt her with voters on the campaign trail. But Matthews’s personality served her for the job at hand.
She was the last to enter the situation room in the basement of the White House. Already around the table were the president’s leading military experts, collectively the Joint Chiefs. Army General Jeffrey Jones, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, along with Admirals Steve Hirsen and JJ Koehler, and Air Force General Ed Stuckmeyer. Also present was CIA Director Gerald Watts.
Crowe went to the CIA director first. “Gerald?”
“Mr. President, we don’t like what we’re seeing. All indications point to Gorshkov attempting a repeat of Crimea, or worse, one not so covert. He could respond to a direct provocation to justify ground troops, or he could inflame tensions between ethnic Russian minorities and the standing governments of Russia’s former satellites to create a moral imperative. He sees those countries and the Russian minorities living a second-class status as the ‘near abroad,’ well within his sphere of influence.”
Admiral Koehler raised his hand. “Sir, it could happen in one or more nations quickly. I’d be lying to you if I said NATO was prepared across the board. Some countries more, most less. Romania and Poland are among the best defended. But against a full-scale assault, they’d all be pushovers. Gorshkov bragged he could take Warsaw or Bucharest in—”
“Yes, yes, yes. Two days,” the president said. “Te
ll me something I don’t know.”
“I think he’s testing NATO,” Secretary Matthews said. “And he’s testing you, Mr. President. He’ll move on one nation, and depending upon what you do, another and another. He’s expecting you’ll do nothing.”
“Not we?”
“No,” she declared. “It really does come down to you.”
“Come on, we don’t offer any threat,” Kimball interrupted.
Matthews continued. “We, and by we, I now mean the United States and NATO, continue to do nothing. Russia’s flights over the English Channel? His submarines in the North Sea, the joint operations with China in the South China Sea. His attacks against our interests in Syria, and the sleepers that he still sends to the US? What have we done?”
“Nothing,” General Jones interjected. “He’s checking for our resolve and our appetite for engagement. Unfortunately, no one in Congress will want to put his—”
“Or her,” Matthews interrupted.
“Or her signature on a war authorization vote. Once again, he’s counting on that. The same from EU nations, which will invariably argue that a regime change won’t matter. We’ll still trade with Russia. Sure, there may be renewed sanctions, but he’ll have his spoils. Then game over.”
“So unless the president of the United States, pardon the third person,” Crowe said, “leads the way, Gorshkov will restore the old map just the way it was.”
“More or less,” was Matthews’ response.
“Come on Elizabeth. Which is it?”
“Both. After his land grabs, those nations will project a modicum of independence, greater than they had under Stalin, Khrushchev, or Gorbachev. But they’ll be the buffer to the West that Gorshkov seeks, locked into his power grids, his oil and gas reserves, or whatever resources come from a new Chinese-Russian consortium that’s developing.”
“Authoritarian at its core, Elizabeth?”
She paused. “The Syrian immigration issue and Islamic terrorism will be the deciding factors. To contain both, it will take an authoritarian regime. A dictatorship makes for a much more effective policeman than a parliamentary or democratic rule of law.”
The president wasn’t hearing anything new, including solutions.
64
BRUSSELS, BELGIUM
Miklos welcomed his men with hearty handshakes and bear hugs. One had the look of a salesman, another a college professor, the third a tourist on a Canadian passport. They were all ex-KGB and loyal to Andre Miklos. It was their first meeting since Kiev. They’d have more, but never at the same place. Today’s was at a $144 a night Airbnb on Rue St. Bernard.
They spent the first half hour trading stories about their travels over the last few months and the women they had had. With the second glass of vodka, Miklos brought them to the business at hand. He’d prepared a detailed map of the area on a poster board. It was everyone’s job to memorize the one-way streets, the locations of known CCTV cameras, and the likely trouble spots.
Once everyone was ready to move on, Miklos introduced another board, this one with photographs.
“Jesus,” said Miklos’ man, the one dressed as a salesman. “You getting booked on a National Geographic photography excursion? Look at all those pictures!”
“I had a most hospitable hotel manager.”
“I’d say,” the salesman laughed.
“But this plan’s different than the others,” Miklos continued. He reviewed what he had come up with: an amazingly simple mission compared to their previous strikes. “The main challenge, getting the device in. Here’s how we’ll do it.”
When he finished running through the plan, Miklos invited questions.
Miklos was so thorough there were none. The team liked the approach. It was elegant from an operational standpoint. Little exposure. Little risk. All the better to get back to spending their money.
“One more thing.” Miklos produced an envelope from his jacket. It contained more photographs, all the same.
“Don’t lose these,” Miklos said as he distributed the pictures.
Now questions followed.
“Who’s the guy?” the man posing as a visiting college professor asked.
“Someone to look out for. Someone who may be looking for me. For us. If you see him, notify me immediately.”
“A cop?” the salesman asked.
“Not a cop. He’s an executive with the hotel company.”
“We’re worried about a suit?”
“Yes. This one.”
“Does he have a name?”
Miklos’ eyes narrowed. “Reilly. Daniel Reilly.”
Schorel unfurled blueprints for the Kensington Diplomat Hotel. The business at hand: prepare active defenses against the anticipated strike.
As they spread the sheets out, Reilly asked about the subject. “Did he seem happy when he left?”
“I wouldn’t call him happy. I’d say satisfied. Yes, he was satisfied.”
“No shit. He got everything he needed.”
“Not these blueprints,” Schorel volunteered. “I didn’t show them to him.”
“Are these the only ones?”
“Yes, here,” Schorel said confidently.
Reilly picked up on his answer. “Here, Liam?”
“Well,” he hesitated. “There’s a duplicate set at the Royal Library of Belgium and probably elsewhere. But that doesn’t mean he got them.”
“Trust me,” the CIA-side of Reilly said, “he has a copy. Send over your head of security to ask if the librarians have any record of him coming in. Have him bring the photograph, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he used a different disguise. If they come up with anything positive, I want a description, maybe even a sketch, and definitely a signature if one exists.”
Schorel made the call. When he was off, Reilly reviewed more in his urgent and important boxes.
“Okay, first, pull together a list of all upcoming events in the city,” Reilly continued. “Conferences, group meetings, everything related.”
Schorel stammered, “I can get that. Or at least what we have.”
“Everything! And then these.” Reilly passed him a list of structural changes.
“These will be difficult because of city regulations,” Schorel pleaded.
“Fuck the regulations. Start without permits.”
Schorel looked nervous.
“Now, Liam.”
Once out of his office and beyond Reilly’s sight, Liam Schorel took two puffs of his inhaler. The last twenty-four hours had not been good for his asthma.
Reilly checked his watch, anxious to hear from Heath. Two hours now. No text. No calls. There was so much beyond his control.
He went to Schorel’s computer and, not waiting for Schorel’s research, he typed two key words into Google: Brussels, events. A series of music festivals came up on the search. Ommegang, Festival Musiq′3, Royal Park, and Classissimo. He also checked out a number of film festivals and the Belgium Beer Weekend. Nothing had the ring of politics.
Reilly’s cell rang. Heath.
“Reilly, Severi’s got some things for us,” he said nonspecifically. “She aged our friend back to his early twenties. Multiple versions from the screen grabs, and the renderings generated from your description. She also put him in different outfits. Army, agency, and plain clothes. With shades, without. Moustache and beard, and clean-shaven. You’ll get them in a bit.”
“In a bit?”
“Yeah. Chain of command. Meeting with the director first. Then you.”
“Okay,” Reilly said. “At least everyone’s taking this seriously. But for my money, Smug’s proximity to the top is not coincidental.”
“Step by step. And once we’ve got the go-ahead, we’ll reach out to Belgium and other EU nations’ customs to see if they ID’d Mr. Smug at transit points.”
“Good luck, but I doubt they’ll come up with anything. This guy’s far too careful.”
“We’ll be working it, brother.”
“Just hurry.
”
Schorel returned a few minutes later. “Our security chief is on his way.”
“Good. Now let’s pick up where we left off.”
Reilly began with the easiest upgrades from threat condition Blue. “American flag?”
“Down.”
“Review threat evacuation plan with staff.”
“Starting today at 1400 and 2000. Hitting both the day and night shifts,” Schorel replied. “I’ll be there.”
“Good, I’ll join you. Next, increased security patrols in all public areas. And report anyone suspicious or suspicious packages.”
“It’ll be part of our meeting. We’ll also drum that into all staff members including maintenance and housekeeping.”
“Check all ID’s at check-in, remove any large containers, restrict and lock roof access, all electrical, engineering and mechanical rooms, check public restrooms hourly, keep meeting rooms not in use locked.”
“Understood. I’ll issue those orders,” Schorel said. “We’ll also check outside vendors at entry and make sure fuel trucks don’t have access until inspected.”
“You may need more staff. Put them through complete background checks. No one gets hired without passing.”
“Understood.”
“Now onto the additional Orange upgrades. Since there’s a higher level of protection in the final threat condition, this is a shorter list.”
The basics included a ban on stored luggage, all incoming packages would have to be inspected with the guest present, all entrances would require ID’s, and the hotel would enforce strict supervision at shift changes.
Finally, the changes that would make the Kensington Diplomat a Red Hotel.
“Everyone goes through metal detectors, Liam. Guests and staff.”
“I’ll order the equipment now.”
“You’ll need more security. We’ll talk about covering you with a vetted outside company. I have a committee that can make solid recommendations.”
“Thank you.”
“No vehicles can be left unattended within twenty meters of the building. That means you’ll need to have the police ban parking and immediately tow cars that do park.”
“Harder.”
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