by Jim Plautz
Previous major renovations to the Roland Garros complex took four years and cost 46 million Euros. The work was divided into three phases. Phase One was to reconfigure and modernize the grandstands and locker rooms at Centre Court, resulting in increased comfort for both players and spectators. The new 15,059-seat stadium was ready for the 2000 French Open.
A year later Centre Court was renamed Philippe Chatrier court to honor the man credited with the renaissance of French tennis. Serving dual roles as president of the French Federation of Tennis and the International Tennis Federation, Chartrier was largely responsible for placing the French Open on par with the other three majors and overseeing the splendid updating of an aging Roland Garros in the 1970’s and ‘80’s.
The second phase took place in 2001 and recognized the ever-growing popularity of the French Open and the importance of catering to the international media. Two practice courts were eliminated to make room for a modern press area and space for camera crews and equipment.
Tenniseum, built under Court 3, opened in the spring of 2003. This high-tech tennis museum is a tribute to French tennis and the French Open. Permanent and temporary exhibits pay tribute to the Four Musketeers, Guy Forget, Yannick Noah, Francoise Durr and other great champions of the past. This final phase of the renovation was completed in 2002, but the opening was delayed for six months until the exhibits were ready.
We had 21 months to complete work that would cost seven times the cost of the four-year renovation project finally completed in 2003.
Marco’s Gantt chart was a good place to start, but just scratched the surface. A Gantt chart is simply a horizontal bar chart that provides a graphic illustration of a work schedule. Henry L. Gantt, an American engineer and social scientist, developed this method as a production control tool in 1917.
Marco divided the project into seven broad tasks. Tasks would later be divided into sub-tasks, activities and work disciplines.
“Jim, my CAD system is a blend of PERT and CPM philosophies that I’ve customized over the years. It’s a perfect day-to-day management tool.”
“Whatever, Marco, just so it works.”
I had assembled our project tem into our new conference room. “Gentlemen, we need to make some basic decisions,” I began, as Roger computer-projected the Gantt chart onto the wall. “The way I see it, our first and most important job is to determine how we can divide the workload to accomplish our mission within the two-year time frame. Marco, start us off.”
“As you see from the timeline, most tasks can be done in parallel. The key inhibitor is next year’s French Open. The French don’t want the stadium to look like a construction site, so it limits what we can do in the next eight months. Basically, all we can do the first year is repair the damage caused by the explosions, and get everything else ready so we can go like hell the Monday after the tournament.”
“Why not start Sunday right after the final match?” Ken suggested. “That would shorten the award ceremony and the thank-you speeches. Mary Pierce did tend to ramble last year, and she was just the runner-up. Just think if she had won.”
“The ladies final is on Saturday, Ken, so I don’t think that’s a major factor,” I answered. “Let’s stay on track,” I admonished gently.
“Okay,” Ken responded in a more serious tone. “Switching subjects, how are we going to keep control of the project? We can’t just tell Hunt or Bouygues that they are responsible for an entire task, and then stand back and hope they complete their work in time. How do we control these guys once we bring them in?”
“Good question. Anyone have any ideas?”
“Has anyone considered assigning responsibility by function rather than end product?” asked one of the young engineers. “Let one group do the electrical for all tasks, let another contractor do the concrete, and so on. That way, we keep the overall responsibility for each task.” I could see that Ken and Marco were about to jump all over this suggestion so I decided to intervene diplomatically.
“That’s not a bad idea, Robert, but we rejected it for a couple reasons. It’s my management philosophy that people, and companies, will work better if they are made responsible for the finished product rather than finite activities. Besides, I’m not sure if the big-boys, particularly Bouygues, would accept such a limited role.” Translated, it was a terrible idea, but I didn’t want to stifle junior staff from making suggestions. Who knows, his next idea might be a winner.
Marco took my lead. “Actually, we intend to use your suggestion in two areas, purchasing and sub-contractors. We will control the purchasing of raw materials including concrete and steel, to avoid situations where Bouygues or anyone else has a sweetheart arrangement with a supplier that might adversely impact project costs or schedule. We will also have final say over hiring subcontractors. I don’t want someone’s brother-in-law hired unless they are qualified.” I glanced over at the young engineer who was pleased that his suggestion had merit. I’m sure Marco would talk with him later, but at least we avoided a public thrashing. His idea had been stupid, at best.
“Are you going to require that Hunt and Bouygues use your project control system?” Ken asked.
“Absolutely, at least at a certain level. I need this to monitor their progress and to identify problems and bottlenecks. The Gantt chart represents the seven major project tasks as being independent of each other, but believe me they are not. Roger will be responsible for the project control system and providing the underlying progress reports for weekly staff meetings which every contractor will be required to attend.” Marco left no doubt in our minds that he would retain overall responsibility.
“Let me add that each contractor; Hunt, Clark, Smoot, Bouygues or whomever, will be allowed to use their own time reporting and project management system,” Roger explained. “These are big, successful companies that have a method that works for them and their systems tie in to their invoicing and billing systems. That’s their lifeblood and we can’t change that. My job will be to work with their software people to automate the interface with our system and avoid duplicate entry of the raw data.” I knew this sounded much easier than it was.
“I’ve heard a lot of names thrown out,” Robert asked. “Have we decided whom we are going to use and how to divide the work?”
“Not yet. The three of us are flying to Indianapolis Wednesday to meet with Hunt. I spoke with George Hunt and Carl Lindner Sunday, and I’m sure they will play a big role. We want their input before we go too far on this.”
“And Bouygues,” Marco added, “they will need to be part of this in some way, God forbid. We have a meeting set up with them the following Monday.” It was obvious that Marco saw his former employers as a potential problem.
“And after that, Marco gets to work and Ken and I head to Zurich to make sure we can pay for this.”
“Sven, what a pleasant surprise. You didn’t need to meet us.” Ken and I had just arrived at the Zurich airport after a short, two-hour flight from Paris’ Charles De Gaulle airport. I recalled our first trip to Zurich five years ago when we met with Sven’s investment group to obtain financing for the Cabo San Lucas Casino project. They had sent a limo to meet us that time. It never entered our mind that Sven would meet us personally.
“Jim, Ken, it’s great to see you. I have been looking forward to your visit ever since you called two weeks ago. Besides, I couldn’t wait until tomorrow to bring you the good news. Let’s get you checked into your hotel and I’ll bring you up to date.”
The St. Gotthard was as majestic as I remembered from my first visit. Located on the Bahnhofstrasse, it was only a short walk to the business district and fine restaurants. “Sven, I’m so glad you were able to get us a room here. This place has some good memories.”
“It’s still one of our finest hotels, and it’s so convenient. My offices are just down the street and we have dinner reservations five minutes away at the Kronenhalle.”
My recollection of the restaurant was of a beau
tiful, ornate dining room decorated with original Rembrandts and Chagalls, but only ordinary food. I kept my opinion to myself. “Excellent, give us ten minutes to check in and we will join you at the bar.”
Sven was sipping a stein of German ale when Ken and I arrived. We ordered the same. “Well, Sven, tell us the good news. What have you got for us?”
“No-no, you first. Tell me how your visit with Bouygues went and who you have on your team. I’m sure they didn’t want any partners on this.”
“You nailed it, Sven, the French sure don’t like sharing responsibility, especially for a high-profile project on French soil. I thought Marco was going to lose it a couple times when their negotiation team kept referring to Roland Garros as ‘their project’, but he did a pretty good job of keeping his temper in check. Sven, let me set the stage by telling you a little about our meetings with Hunt and Clark.”
Twenty minutes later Ken and I wrapped up our little summary of our two-day meetings with George Hunt and Carl Lindner, followed by Friday’s meeting with the Clark people. “Needless to say, Sven, we were pleased with how things were progressing.”
“I should think so,” Sven agreed with a little understatement. “It sounds like you have a fantastic relationship with George Hunt. Giving them broad responsibility for everything inside Roland Garros other than the domes is a good idea. They will act as a great buffer between you and Bouygues. What made you choose Clark to do the domes?”
“Carl Lindner was adamant that Clark was the best in the business. Hunt and Clark have worked on over a dozen dome projects including the new baseball stadium in Washington, DC, Pittsburgh, San Diego, San Francisco, Milwaukee and others. They also did Tropicana Field in Tampa which is an eyesore, but that is more of a critique on what can happen if you try doing a complex project on a shoestring. This brings us to your role in this deal. What can you do for us, Sven?”
“Not yet, my friends; you still haven’t told me about your meetings with Bouygues. Let me order a couple more pints before you start. This should be interesting. I want to hear their reaction when you told them that Hunt and Clark would be doing the glamour jobs.”
“You guessed it, Sven,” I continued after the waitress refreshed our drinks. Clark had the two domes and Hunt had the restaurants, seating, scoreboards, security, sound and video, mechanical and most of the skilled labor parts of the project. That’s not to say that the French tradesmen wouldn’t be used as sub contractors, but it would be difficult for Bouygues to put their stamp on it and call it theirs. They actually have the biggest piece, but definitely not the most glamorous.”
“Who else was better qualified to expand Marta and improve the roads and transportation system around the stadium?” Ken asked with a grin. “They built most of it.” We all knew this was true, but not the real reason the project was divided as it was.
“So, how did you get them to agree to settle for this?” Sven asked. “I assume this has a happy ending.”
“It does, Sven,” I answered with a smile. “Actually this was George Hunt’s idea for a compromise. We didn’t offer it until yesterday when it looked like we were at an impasse, but we had this idea in our hip pocket for a week.”
“Go on, I can tell you fellows are proud of it,” Sven prodded.
“We are,” Ken agreed. “We offered Bouygues almost total authority to redesign the exterior of the stadium including facing, statues, gargoyles or anything else they want. They can even put in a little cornerstone with their name. You should have seen them; they were like kids in a candy store. They couldn’t wait to say yes, and break off the meeting so they could meet with their architects.”
“Our only stipulations were that this process could not delay the other tasks and must be completed in time for the grand opening. The Roland Garros foundation would have final say and approval of their proposed changes.”
“Brilliant,” Sven replied. “Now let me tell you my good news, after we order another round.”
I was starting to feel the beers, but I sobered up when Sven outlined his financing plan. The interest rates were more favorable than he had initially quoted and the construction performance bonds would cost only 2% a year. “You did it, Sven,” I said as a raised my glass. “We can talk about the details over dinner. Let’s get something to eat.”
“I’ve already made dinner reservations for 7 PM. Finish your drink, the bill is taken care of.”
“Sven, you and Ken go ahead without me, I’ll meet you there. I need to make a couple calls.”
“Say hi to Mary for us,” Sven said with a grin. “We’ll see you at Kronenhalle.”
Agbu was constantly amazed at how easy it was for a hacker to get private information off the Internet. Agbu studied Simpson’s itinerary and saw that Simpson was staying two nights in Paris and then flying to Zurich for two days. He decided to wait in Zurich rather than Paris. Security in Switzerland was lax and it would be easier to get close to his quarry. Agbu wanted to look Simpson in the eye and let him know why he was going to die. Agbu wanted to see the fear and feel the satisfaction when he avenged Anton.
Agbu saw the three men enter the hotel and waited for an opportunity to get Simpson alone. He was still there when Ken and Sven left the hotel and overheard part of their conversation. “I’ll bet you $10, Sven. Jim will be on the phone for at least 30 minutes.”
“You’re on.”
Agbu decided that this was his opportunity. He had hoped it was not necessary to kill the others; he had no quarrel with them. It took Agbu only a few minutes to get Simpson’s room number.
Ken would have lost his bet. It was mid-afternoon in Tampa and Mary wasn’t home, nor did she answer her phone. I left a message on her cell, visited the rest room and hurried out. I opened the door just as a young man was about to knock. We both were startled.
“Excuse me,” I started to say, but stopped in mid sentence. There was something wrong. The man’s expression contorted, changing from surprise, to anger, to hate.
Agbu jumped back a half step, surprised to see the face of the man he had hated for so long. He had intended to gain entry into the room by claiming to have a message from Simpson’s friends and was momentarily confused. He could think of nothing to say. Agbu recovered quickly and started to raise the gun he held at his side.
Who was this person? I thought. Do I know him? May I help you?” I asked, before seeing the gun in his right hand. My reactions took over. “Oh shit,” I exclaimed, as I stepped back and slammed the door. “Blam!” The noise of the bulled echoed down the corridor.
Agbu saw the man closing the door and tried to get off a shot before the door closed. He was a moment too late, as the bullet lodged in the heavy, oak door. He threw his shoulder into the door out of fury, but to no avail. He had failed.
“Next time you will die,” Agbu screamed in frustration as he ran to the stairwell.
I dialed the operator and waited for the operator to pick up.
“Hello, may I help you?”
“I’m in room 1244. Get security up here, someone just tried to kill me.”
“Sir, you may reach security by dialing 8234, or by pressing the security speed button on your telephone pad, identified by a little policeman.”
“Don’t you understand? This is an emergency,” I shouted.
“I’m sorry sir, but I cannot connect you to that line. Please hang up and dial extension 8234 or press…”
I hung up and dialed #8234. I was in no frame of mind to look for the right button to press. Minutes later two security men were in my room listening to my story. They didn’t believe me until they saw the bullet in the door.
Hotel security called in the French police and ordered me to stay in my room with the door locked until the police arrived. I had no intention of going anywhere. Hotel security searched for the man I described, but Agbu was long gone.
The phone rang four times before I noticed. It was Ken. “What’s the holdup? We are on our third drink and need some food.”
“Go ahead and order without me, I’m going to be a while. Someone just tried to kill me.”
A few minutes later I heard a knock on the door. Expecting it to be the police, I was surprised to see my two friends. “I didn’t think the restaurant was that close,” I said as I opened the door.
“It isn’t,” Ken said, still obviously out of breath from running the three blocks. “What happened?” Ken asked. “Every time we go somewhere someone tries to kill us. This has got to stop.”
The police arrived so fortunately I needed to tell the story only once. “There isn’t much to tell,” I started. “I was heading out the door and ran into a young man. We both were surprised. I noticed how angry he looked, and then saw him raising a gun. I slammed the door in his face just before he fired,” opening the door for effect. The bullet hole said it all.
“Did he say anything?” the policeman asked.
“Not a thing. He was surprised when I opened the door on him. I’ll never forget how his face started to contort in rage. That’s what warned me something was wrong.”
“What did he look like? Can you identify him?”
“I think I would know him if I saw him again; Caucasian, about 25, 6 feet, short, dark hair. He wore faded jeans and a blue jacket. If I had to guess, I would say he was Spanish.”
“Do you have any idea why he wanted to kill you?”
“None; I never saw this guy before.”
“We will need you to come down to police headquarters tomorrow and look at some pictures. Try to remember anything else that might help. The hotel is going to put you into a new room so we can dust for prints and get that bullet out.”
“There is one other thing,” I said remembering the voice as the intruder ran away. “The gunman shouted something after I slammed the door and he realized he wasn’t going to get in. Something along the lines of, I’ll get you next time, or next time you die.”
“You pissed someone off pretty good,” Ken mused.
We nibbled on sandwiches in the hotel coffee shop, trying to make sense of what happened. There was nothing random about the attack, the man was after me, but why?
“You need to understand the French culture, Jim. They don’t take lightly to bringing in an American firm for a project like this,” Sven emphasized. “Maybe that’s the motive?”
“I don’t know, Sven. That seems pretty far fetched,” I replied. “Nobody kills people over a business deal, do they? What do you think Ken?”
“There is another option I’ve been kicking around in my head,” Ken replied pensively. “I was kidding earlier when I said that every time we go somewhere, someone shoots at us, but what if there is a connection? Remember Mexico City?”
“Who could forget? You heard about that incident, didn’t you Sven? Ken ended up in the hospital for four months, and I was forced to shoot the terrorist. Gee, was that two years ago, but I still remember the face of the man I killed. You don’t think it’s the same group, do you?”
“If I remember correctly, the man you shot was Basque,” Sven piped in. “Didn’t you say that you thought the guy tonight might be Spanish?”
“You might be on to something here,” I replied trying to see the assassin’s face. “I didn’t get a long look at him tonight, but the two men definitely had similar complexion and features.”
“Let’s ask Chris,” Ken replied as he grabbed his cell phone. An hour later we were relaxing in my room with Ken’s computer hooked up to the hotel’s high-speed internet access, when Chris called and said she just emailed Ken photos of known Basque terrorists and sympathizers. A second file contained pictures of Anton’s family members.
“That’s him,” I said. “He looks a little older now, but that’s definitely the guy that tried to kill me tonight.”
Agbu’s face stared back at us from the computer screen.
“Who is he, Chris?”
“You just identified the younger brother of the man you killed in Mexico City. There’s your motive,” she added. “He is also suspected to be the leader of the ETA, the Basque military wing.”
“When you piss someone off, Jim, you don’t mess around.”
Part Four
The Long Way Back
Chatrier 29
College Tennis