“Got them all. I’m fine, sweetheart.” He decided not to go into any specifics. “Just landed in Chicago. On my way to the office.”
“You should have called me.”
“I know.”
“Damned right you know. No excuses.” He smiled.
“You’re right. I’ll be jumping into a crisis team meeting as soon as I’m in.”
Cannon caught the PA alert announcing their flight back into town. He tapped Reilly on the shoulder. He nodded.
“Look, I’ve got to go. I promise to call you later. Might even see you tomorrow night.”
“Really?” She sounded more than pleased. Excited. “Please. I need you.”
Need was just one confession short of commitment. Neither had used the word yet, but Reilly felt it was coming. He ended the call assuring Marnie he would phone with his travel plans. On board, he buckled up, leaned back, closed his eyes, and pictured the dangers certain to come.
10
CHICAGO
KENSINGTON ROYAL CORPORATE HEADQUARTERS
Reilly walked into his scheduled international crisis team meeting with his head of security, Alan Cannon.
In attendance were Kensington Chief Operating Officer Lou Tiano; Senior VP of Legal Chris Collins; newly appointed International VP under Reilly, Scott Allphin; VP of Human Resources Mark Pilarski; and marketing chief Patricia Brodowski. On the phone were two consultants, retired Army General BD Coons and former FBI Director Tom Reardon. Others were scheduled to arrive over the next four hours.
“Sorry I’m late,” Reilly volunteered. “What do we have?”
“Fear and worry,” Allphin reported. “And not just in Kiev and Riga, but at all our properties that border Russia. We’ve elevated them to Red status. Going Orange in Germany, France, and Poland.”
“Lou,” Reilly said, “We should consider moving our major U.S. domestic operations up to at least Yellow. IDs and key cards required to enter the elevators.”
The COO agreed.
“Mark, you and Pat should get on it with the regional teams.” Tom Reardon jumped in.
“So far they’ve targeted infrastructure,” the former FBI chief offered. “Strategic, like straight out of a handbook.” The phrase echoed in Reilly’s mind. He forced himself to focus.
“General Coons, any thoughts?”
“Listening now. But if you’re considering action in Europe, you should do it quickly.”
“To that point, is Klugo coming online?” Reilly asked. Donald Klugo, a private security consultant working with Kensington Royal, had special contacts who could act quickly. Very quickly.
International VP Scott Allphin replied, “He’ll be with us in ten.” Reilly heard the answer but couldn’t shake Reardon’s comment. Like straight out of a handbook.
BRUSSELS
NATO HEADQUARTERS
NATO command worked through the early evening. They reviewed the latest field reports and aerial surveillance footage of Russian Federation troops on the Latvian and Ukrainian borders.
“Probably forty thousand troops now facing Kiev. About half that number up against Latvia. Ukraine looks like their first move,” General Rochemont speculated.
“How will they go in?”
“From all directions,” the NATO military commander stated. “Not so hard when you plan for it. Especially with paratroopers dropping in overnight. Based on Russia’s training exercises, which they take very seriously, I’d say they’re ready to deploy at any minute. However, now that the cat’s out of the bag and we know, and Gorshkov knows that we know, I expect he’ll bolster with more force. That would mean a few more days, maybe a week. That also gives him more time to psychologically fuck with us.”
Another update came in. An aide distributed it. Rochemont finished reading first.
“Like I said, more force. Another 500 armored divisions. And he’s testing our patience with his bombers flying low and even closer to the border.”
The report had nothing new on Latvia, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t coming. Secretary General Phillipe leaned forward to address that point.
“I’ve spoken briefly with Secretary of State Matthews. She assures us that America will meet its commitments to NATO, but…”
No one liked a but from Phillipe.
“…politically and militarily, from America’s perspective, NATO comes second.”
Left unsaid was what that meant for Ukraine’s future. Ukraine was in third position (or further back) since the country still wasn’t part of NATO—a longstanding concession to Russia.
CHICAGO
The Kensington Royal team turned on CNN International during a coffee break. News feeds from Riga, Latvia showed massive confusion: traffic out of the city snarled, thousands lined up at airline ticket counters, people heading west on scooters, bicycles, whatever means they had. The London-based news anchor described it as an ‘uncoordinated evacuation.’ A member of the on-air panel used a different word: Escape.
The anchor read a Kremlin statement declaring that Russia was merely engaged in scheduled military exercises. But these simultaneous, seemingly coordinated exercises on both the Latvian and Ukrainian borders were creating panic. Russia wanted its satellite states back, noted one analyst. It appeared as if Gorshkov was prepared to take two at once.
The newscast broke for a commercial and Reilly’s team returned to work. Klugo, the security consultant, was now on the line from Brussels, briefed and ready with information.
“Don, thanks for joining in. We don’t have a lot of time. How quickly can we get teams out?”
“Your first concern is Kiev. Thirty hours,” Klugo reported, “with a squad from Jordan to coordinate the exfil and get civilians to the airport and out. Total time on the ground—six hours. Five if everything goes well. If it doesn’t…” He left the notion hanging.
“Not Riga?” Pat Brodowski asked.
“Kiev first.” Klugo repeated. General Coons nodded agreement.
“And how large is your team, Don?” Reilly probed. “How many people can you get out?”
“They’re outsourced. Experienced. Fourteen, heavily armed. Two-eighty comfortably in our Airbus, three hundred plus if we’re not interested in comfort and you forgo all but essential carry-ons. So, go or no go?” the security consultant asked.
Reilly looked at CEO Lou Tiano, who was texting furiously. Reilly suspected he was communicating with the company’s founder, EJ Shaw. Tiano held up a finger. Seconds later he received a reply.
Reilly excused himself after twenty minutes discussing logistics, money, and timing. According to texts from Brenda Sheldon, he had to get on his way. Again. But waiting in her outer office, pacing the floor, was a surprise visitor.
“Special Agent Moore. Twice in one day?” Reilly said sarcastically. “To what do I owe the honor?”
“You apparently have a friend in…”
“High places,” Reilly didn’t acknowledge that he’d phoned Heath at the CIA. Word had undoubtedly gone up the chain quickly.
Moore shook his head. “That doesn’t excuse you from being a pain in my ass.”
“And you in mine,” Reilly replied.
He extended his hand. Moore accepted the gesture.
“Got any coffee?” the FBI agent asked. “It’s been a long day.”
“For both of us.”
“Coming right up,” Brenda offered.
“Meanwhile, let’s talk inside. Oh, just so you know, in this building the mirrors only reflect.”
Vincent Moore chuckled as they both sat down at Reilly’s table.
“I want to talk more about your report.”
“First a question for you,” Reilly replied.
“Now you’re asking the questions?”
Reilly studied Moore for a moment.
“Milk? Sugar?”
“What?”
“Do you want anything in your coffee?”
“Do I look like a milk and sugar kind of guy?” Now it was Reilly’s turn to s
mile.
“No, I suppose not.” They volleyed small talk for a few minutes until Moore got to his point.
“Back to your report.”
“Like I said before, I can’t discuss anything.” Moore opened his briefcase and removed the report.
“Your friends have released you from your obligations. You can talk to me.” Reilly stood, walked to the entrance, and closed his office door.
“I haven’t been told that. So for now, same rules. But it’s not such a good idea to be walking all over town with a copy of it,” Reilly said.
“Really, I wouldn’t worry about this one.” Moore slid the material across the table. “Take a look.”
Reilly turned it face forward and opened it up. Beyond the first page, the rest were blank.
“You know, you’re a son of a bitch.”
“So I’ve been told,” the FBI agent replied. “Now tell me what you can, and what we need to be worried about.”
Reilly glanced out the window before replying gravely, “Everything.”
11
TWO YEARS EARLIER
Pak Yoon-hoi lived in an American town, ate American food, watched American movies and TV shows, and read American newspapers. All of these in Russia.
Nicolai Gorshkov had resurrected the idea of secret American towns from past Soviet regimes. During the Cold War, Russia trained spies to pass as Americans, to infiltrate society, business, academics, politics, and the press. They were schooled to look and sound like natives. They had to be able to fill out mortgage applications, go to supermarkets, buy without haggling, and speak openly without fear of anyone watching.
Over the years, many sleeper spies were discovered and expelled by the FBI. However, with the fall of the Soviet Union, others imbedded in American society decided to just blend in and live the rest of their lives comfortably in the west.
Then Putin came to power. And Gorshkov rose in influence.
Nicolai Gorshkov never forgot that President Gorbachev and the last of the Communist regime folded. In his mind, they gave up. Surrendered. Abandoned Russian ideals and the Russian people.
In the years since, it became his goal to ultimately turn back the clock, one deliberate rewind at a time. To do that, Gorshkov determined he needed new sleepers to slip into U.S., UK, and EU society. However, compared to the height of the Cold War, there was an interesting difference in today’s spycraft. Contemporary spies didn’t have to look like the typical white westerners, or even sound like them. In the intervening years, immigrants from around the world became commonplace in cities throughout the United States and Europe. Foreign accents were everywhere: in schools, in businesses, on TV and the radio.
So, slipping spies into America’s infrastructure was easier than ever. Invariably, some were discovered. But for every one that was, there were dozens who were never detected.
Gorshkov recruited from Russian ranks. He also pulled in talent from outside, North Korea included.
Pak Yoon-hoi began his training with a singular purpose: to be the best. He became proficient in English; studied American popular culture, sports, and politics; developed a taste for Western cuisine; and, most importantly, learned nearly one hundred ways to kill. In fact, by the end of his first year of studies his fellow students avoided fighting him. Broken arms and legs were the least of what could happen: he’d killed two opponents. But Pak Yoon-hoi had no regrets—as far as he was concerned, those fallen sparring partners had been too weak to survive.
The Russian president watched videos of his star pupil and received monthly updates. He had natural charisma that gave his men confidence and assurance that their own contributions were honored. He encouraged them to go further, train harder, be better—though they would never be the best. Yoon-hoi was. He’d progressed so quickly that Gorshkov expanded the scope of his plan.
Not wanting him to become bored, Gorshkov gave his North Korean recruit special assignments—internal assignments. Eliminating dead wood in the Russian Federation: men and women, oligarchs and journalists. Burned spies and washouts who wouldn’t make it. In each case he performed admirably, without hesitation or remorse.
A slit throat. A car bomb. A choking in the height of passionate sex. A sniper shot from 600 meters. A poison pellet shot at close range from an umbrella. A gas explosion at a dacha. A fall from a bridge.
All unexpected. All quick—except when it was necessary to extract confessions, apologies, or simply pleas for forgiveness that usually came from traitors or incompetent bureaucrats.
Pak Yoon-hoi was exceptional. A born assassin, Gorshkov thought, who might actually defy statistics and make it to age forty.
Yoon-hoi was told he was on loan from the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea to prepare for the most secretive assignment the Supreme Leader had ever envisioned. The Russians would prepare him and with the Russian-Korean team, he would bring honor to his motherland. And Yoon-hoi, a follower and true believer, had no reason to question authority.
12
SUMMERLIN, NEVADA
Richard Harper consulted on the new security plans for the Southern Nevada Water Authority’s Intake Station No. 2. Recommendations, changes, patrol routes. He understood that Lake Mead itself would be an unlikely, wasted target for anyone intent on introducing chemical or biological poisons: it was far too big. It would take hundreds of trucks loaded with chemicals or bio-toxins to have any impact. Detection would be easy and, once discovered, the supply would quickly be cut downstream.
The hard target—the physical structure—Hoover Dam was itself too hardened. The road across the structure now prohibits heavy commercial vehicles, making a truck bomb attack difficult. A jumbo jet on a crash course from the south could impact the dam, but heightened air defense systems after 9/11 vastly reduced the possibility of success.
But there were other vulnerable spots along the water supply route to Las Vegas, and Harper knew them all.
Above-ground sections of the Southern Nevada Water Authority’s system were more than 60 years old and in serious need of attention. Harper considered those areas Target One. Since the World Trade Center bombing, no one was permitted to fish, land boats, or even hike along the southern two-thirds of Lake Mead’s Saddle Island, where intake pipes were located. Security guards and cameras covered the area, but the pipes could be Target Two: more difficult to hit since they were underwater, but vulnerable to experienced divers with explosives.
Target Three: the entrance to the treatment plant. Patrolling duties were transferred from Metropolitan Police to a private security agency after 9/11. But should a terrorist cell infiltrate the security force, they’d have an ally on the inside. Cyber threats made the internal computer system Target Four. The delivery pipes and smaller downstream reservoirs were Targets Five and Six. Target Seven: Train tank cars loaded with chlorine gas. Chlorine gas is classified as a toxic inhalation hazard. It’s hazardous and deadly in its purest form, though used judiciously in treatment plants to purify water. However a chlorine train spill, as deadly as it might be, was still highly localized.
So he focused on the impact of explosions inside the treatment plant. Not just one plant—multiple plants. Security assumed that it would be impossible. Richard Harper believed otherwise, and knew that even bomb sniffing dogs could be thrown off.
It would take patience and time, training—exceedingly specific training—and access. Truly inside access, trusted and unquestioned. The foreign national working under the assumed name of Richard Harper had all three.
13
CHICAGO
Reilly took one of the yellow pads from a credenza behind the conference room table and removed a simple ballpoint pen from his suitcoat pocket. In the center of the top page he drew three slightly overlapping circles aligned as a triangle: a variation on the Olympic logo. One at the top, two at the bottom. He wrote a word inside each circle. Infrastructure in the top circle, Transpo and Comm in the two overlapping bottom circles. Then he enumerated.
“T
hree key areas from my report: first, infrastructure. Electrical grid and power plants, highways, bridges, government buildings.”
“The Internet,” FBI agent Moore noted.
“Correct,” Reilly said. “And overlapping with natural intersects—transportation. Airplanes, cars, trucks, buses, subways and trains, and the feeder routes they use.”
“All of which we’ve considered at the Bureau.”
“I’m sure you have, along with the third, Comm. TV, radio, cell phones. Even GPS satellites. Not an immediately likely target, but you don’t need a missile to affect transmission. As you know, GPS signals can be blocked on a small scale by spoofing gadgets and mobile phone jammers, and on a larger scale drone jamming equipment can send planes off course. And one step beyond: computer viruses or false commands sent to GPS satellites. That kind of tech can take satellites offline or reposition them to render them useless.”
“Terrorists have that capability?”
“Individuals? Not necessarily. Rogue states, most likely. Major technological nations.” Reilly now shaded the overlapping areas of each circle with his pen.
“Okay, Moore.” Reilly got to his bottom line. “Was the main target transportation?
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Well, yes. The attacks disrupted transportation in D.C., New York, St. Louis and other hubs.”
“But it also tied up infrastructure—emergency procedures for government. Homeland Security, you guys, let alone protection for facilities, services, and people.”
“Yes,” the Agent conceded.
“And what about communications?”
“Not this attack. Nothing disrupted.”
“Disrupted, no,” Reilly offered. “Because the enemy wants to spread panic, publicize the chaos. Undermine faith in the government.”
The last observation resonated. Vincent Moore saw where Reilly was leading him.
Red Deception Page 6
