Turbulence Page 3

  As difficult a task as it was, certain cultural peculiarities exacerbated the process. For instance, we had decided to acquire as much FF&E as we could in South Korea, realizing it would not only be cheaper to manufacture there, but it would also eliminate freight costs from the United States, a tremendous savings. For example, early in development our engineering VP, an architect, and I visited Seoul. In a competitor’s hotel we rented a ballroom and invited craftsmen from all around the area to bid on various furniture and furnishings that could easily be built in South Korea. We started with small furniture, lamps and tables. But this would be a huge order because they were required in every one of the five hundred guestrooms.

  We promised those that were interested that we would go back to the United States and send catalogue cuts by fax for them to recreate samples. One such item was a small bedside lamp. When we went back several months later to see their work, we got many different lamp models in somewhat different sizes and shapes, but there were maybe about a dozen that were completely different than the catalogue cut. Instead of straight vertical lamps, these lamps and shades leaned over at a forty-five degree angle. With repeated questions and laborious translations, we learned that the fax machine feeder inadvertently wrinkled the fax copy and the craftsman followed the diagonal fold to perfection. They were committed to authority.

  But outside of their culture, our American marketing desires added to the mix. Again, the Asian flight attendants reminded me of that. During the last visit several months ago, I approved Helmut’s proposal to staff our discothèque with South Korean female servers wearing blond wigs. Since almost every woman in the country and continent was dark haired, we thought it would be a super marketing ploy. That was one of the decisions that was kept from Russ. No sense disclosing it until it happened, but I had to admit that I felt it would be a huge come-on to Asian males and I chuckled.

  But there were other cultural differences that were brought to light as we planned our marketing, information dissemination, public relations, advertising, positioning in the international market, and obviously our place versus our current competition. While we were aware that we would enjoy a decent demand from Australian, European, and American tourists and businessmen because South Korea was a prime example of an non-communist, democratic Asian country, it was equally true that it was a country that embraced capitalism and had the discipline and productivity to fare well in the regional and international marketplace.

  However, the country’s prime competitor, who had already made their international mark, was also going to be our major source of hotel business and that was Japan. Japanese businessmen and tourists already were the major source of business in the existing hotels. While there was no question that we were about to open the most luxurious hotel up to that time not only in Seoul, but the entire country, we had certain strategies to consider, none more devilish than local custom and local law.

  One major concern was prostitution. It was not only legal, but it was also a hotel amenity that hotel guests, particularly the Japanese, had enjoyed and expected as part of the landscape, especially in a business where one of the product mainstays were rooms with beds. This was a problem that Helmut and I agreed to discuss with no one else, and we also agreed to defer this decision until much later after opening.

  As I digested all of our past and current ongoing strategies regarding the property, I thought about how and when to handle the special problem that put me on this plane. I think it is pretty obvious that we are going to try to reach the highest level of government to state our case directly, rather than try to go through channels. First of all, we will only have a little more than a week left and secondly, the decision has to be a singular one and done, no passing the buck. That means the “Blue House,” akin to our White House, but to whom and how handled is all important.

  We must avoid embarrassing anyone, since saving face is an Asian must. Helmut and his assistant manager, Kim Yang, will meet with me on this ASAP. During my first visit to the country, I was so confused in trying to remember names, of which I’m very good at, as one needs to be in the hotel business. I found out the source of the confusion when I was told that half of the seventy-five million people on the peninsula had the surname Kim, Lee, or Park, and of course, many of them were used as first names from the pre-marriage family.

  During my silent soliloquy, I had been served a fish and vegetable appetizer that tasted heavenly, and I sipped my drink and refill while devouring the serving, not even knowing the concoction, but would make inquiries later. Not only is the service on JAL, and ANA, superior to most airlines, but the food is otherworldly, and the reputation among sophisticated flyers as well as their airline competitors is well deserved.

  The dinner, of course, surpassed all, and the exquisite china, silver, and stemware used with the accompanying wine selections almost boggles the mind that we and coach passengers are traveling on the same transport. I decided to take in a recently released movie since we will not be landing and checking into the hotel until after midnight my time, but it will be about noontime Tokyo time the next day.

  Four

  I was settled comfortably in my room in Tokyo after calling Helmut and confirming with him my early afternoon arrival in Seoul. With clothes unpacked and hung, I breathed a huge sigh of relief to be rid of the incessant hum of the jet engines and confinement for all those hours, except for my occasional aisle strolls. I decided on a walk outside the hotel, first in the hotel gardens and then beyond for a longer bit.

  It was an era in which the exercise craze had hit America and nowhere more than New York, and while I tried to find them, most hotels were not yet outfitted with their own workout facilities. Most of my attempts to exercise were limited to either the room while traveling or at my gym back in the city.

  But if the walk was not considered sufficient exercise, it still allowed me to clear my mind and to ready me for all that I faced. Surprisingly, instead of the South Korean problems that had commanded most of my thoughts while airborne, I found myself thinking once again of my extremely valuable storage in Fort Worth and the implications it generated.

  First of all, while I took decisive action concealing from anyone the contents of the suitcase I had discovered, I recognized the danger to my employer and their partner, but with the time demands imposed by corporate events, I foolishly did not immediately consider my own present danger in terms of self preservation, I based my decision on the overall effect on my job and my career and the protection of my corporate employer, but now as I sort things out, I realized that what has happened is a result of a well conceived plan to transport drugs out of Mexico. There had to be a sophisticated network of people in place to receive them. If the senders had access to the Acapulco airport baggage department to be able to open, remove, and insert items into my bag, then there would have to be access on the other end to intercept the bag on landing.

  “Holy shit,” I thought as it became clearer. I had read several pieces in the newspaper about the government cracking down on flights into Dallas from Mexico, with that city being the greatest, by far, traveled to city in the United States from Mexico. I knew from our Mexican partners that Dallas was their second city, where the affluent traveled extensively there for shopping, the theatre, and even for sports. In fact, the Dallas Cowboys were not only America’s team, but Mexico’s as well.

  It made sense that drug dealers would never attempt to transport drugs by plane to Dallas. It was far too risky. Besides, the battle in the war on drugs was heaviest on the Texas border, and the risk there was even greater. So, the cartels found an ingenious way to move product to their biggest and almost, by affluence and contiguity, their only customer, the American drug user, by way of their sophisticated dealer network.

  Back from my walk, I was in my hotel room with my mind racing, wondering how this scheme, of which I was now a recent innocent participant, would play out. I looked at my watch and it was close to 4 p.m. Japanese standard time. That mea
nt close to midnight Pacific daylight time yesterday and my biological time, but I knew I couldn’t sleep. There was more to the story and I had to think this through.

  All right, I reasoned, you know something about the airline business, more so than the ordinary person, not only because I travel so extensively, but also because I have some insight into the workplace nuances and problems when I meet socially on occasion with fellow execs from Rainbow. How can these cartel guys get away with this without risking heavy losses, but more importantly, risking discovery of their plan, such as I did? How do they prevent discovery? How? If they intercept the bag and remove their drugs, what happens when someone retrieves their bag and finds out that their items were stolen? Wouldn’t they report it, and wouldn’t baggage people consider that odd and investigate?” I was now frantically asking these questions to myself out loud in my room. “Wait a minute. If you wanted to avoid discovery of any crime, you would avoid any questions by getting rid of the evidence. Of course,” I told myself again out loud and hoped I didn’t disturb anyone in my excitement. “the scourge of every airline, THE LOST BAG!”

  I had been told by Rainbow people that lost bags are the number one problem of airlines all over the world, and the great majority of these are primarily employee caused somewhere in the system. Despite great technological advancements by airlines before most other commercial entities were computer literate, airlines primarily used massive computer systems to control selling time sensitive seats with a daily disappearing inventory. Using that same technology to control baggage, they still had one and a half million domestic bags a year lost, stolen, or damaged. It is a fact of life for airline executives and causes most of their ulcers trying to prevent or reduce this scourge. It represents a significant cost in terms of airline ratings, more so than the actual costs reimbursed to travelers, where a disclaimer on every ticket reduces their liability to a flat amount of a few hundred dollars. Even so, the numbers are so great that they are considered just a cost of doing business.

  Now I’m wide-awake just roughly doing the math. Even if the scheme only included a half dozen major cities, say three on each coast, such as my San Francisco destination, and the lost bag ratio was in the tenths of one percent of checked baggage, the total drug revenue undetected and chalked up to lost baggage could be in the billions of dollars. My head reeled with the implications. Even if the amount of drugs that I had found totaled one million dollars, it was insignificant compared to the scheme that I uncovered and the damage the cartel could suffer if the plan was exposed. So now I’m asking myself why, even if those cartel leaders are in this great risk, great reward business, would they choose me as their accidental courier? Am I just a random pick?

  I now know that they probably wouldn’t pick someone with direct baggage to Dallas. So out of Acapulco they might look for someone going to either coast since that’s where the bulk of the drug users reside. But was it a random selection or not? And if random, how do they choose? Is there a current demand among the destinations at that moment? And with my frequent travel to Mexico, does that have anything to do with it? I can’t answer these questions, of course, and I’m thankful, at least, that at the moment, they don’t know where I am, or where the drugs are, but on the other hand, I don’t know what I don’t know, and I need to get ready for tomorrow.

  After a hearty breakfast, dressed in my only suit, the shiny gray mohair, and one of my new shirts, tie, and shoes, I take leave of my hotel and cab to the airport. I’m not terribly concerned about the suit situation, because in my short call to Helmut, I asked if that tailor was still in the competing hotel across the garden from us. “No, he’s now our tailor, moved over to the lower level here two weeks ago.”

  “Great,” I said. “I have some business for him. I thought it would be convenient, but now it’s super convenient. I’m delighted.” I had been introduced to him on my first trip eighteen months ago and was blown away by his price and efficiency. I visited him one morning before the next day’s evening flight to select material.

  “Good wool from England,” he had claimed in the chopped dialect he used in his Korean language. He thoroughly measured me and then floored me by asking if I needed it the next morning.

  “No, but I was told you could make it before leaving tomorrow night, is that Okay?”

  “Yes. I will have it ready by noontime, you will want to wear it when you leave.”

  “I do?”

  “Yes you do.”

  Helmut had later explained that they asked at customs when they opened your bag what you were taking with you, and you declared whatever was in your suitcase, usually gifts for friends and family. And then you departed South Korea dressed in your new suit.

  The flight to Seoul from Tokyo is almost the same distance as between Acapulco and Dallas. While I was now solidly rested and normal once again, I had experienced difficulty going to sleep even at that early biological clock hour, but when I finally collapsed, it was only about five-thirty local time. The reason for my difficulty was, of course, my internal revelations about Mexico, and the flight similarities now brought me back to the dilemma I would face after leaving South Korea.

  There was no question that I was in trouble. Ruthless people had an interest in me, and my unintentional disruption of their plans would constitute a danger to them and consequently to me. I picked up where I had left off last night, thankful they didn’t know where I was or where the drugs were. But now I’m only sure that they don’t know what happened to the drugs, I’m not as confident of the former as I was last night. Lets see, Russ clearly has my full itinerary and so does Al, and that’s all, I reassured myself. And then like a bolt, it hit me. What about Maria? Who is she, what’s her background, is she single or married, was she vetted when she was hired, who recommended her, was there anything in her background that would be concerning? When I have a free moment at the new hotel, I will give Al a call. Shit—it’s becoming my middle name, I gritted through my teeth.

  My plane was right on time, and so was square-jawed Helmut. He was well built, with Teutonic posture and impeccably dressed with a pocket hanky matching his tie, no less. I knew that prior to meeting me, he would have been in his jeans and denim shirt supervising all of the incoming FF&E, supplies, and inventory so close to the grand opening. In truth, I felt guilty being forced upon him in these most difficult of circumstances. In the entire range of responsibilities that a hotel general manager will ever face, here, in the United States, or anywhere around the world, it’s the opening of a brand new hotel that is the greatest. Many successful hotel managers with great curriculum vitae and substantial recommendations from owners as to their managerial ability have been known to fail miserably in attempting a smooth opening of a major hotel.

  The training of new staff, a new building environment, new procedures, new operating manuals, protocol to learn, and pitfalls that arise in terms of security and opportunity for theft can all add up to a tsunami of initial losses and negative public reactions that adversely affect operations. That’s why our VP of human resources and I spent so much time looking for the right person for this mammoth undertaking. Fortunately, we found him in Bangkok managing a jewel of an international property that was very successful, but he had also opened it successfully.

  “Welcome, sir, to South Korea, the land of the morning calm,” he said as he shook my hand.

  “Hi, Helmut, good to see you. I could use a little morning calm.”

  “The hotel is almost completely furnished, and we have a lovely suite ready for you.”

  “Great, looking forward to it. Between the airline seat and the Tokyo hotel room dimensions, that’s nice to hear.”

  On the ride to the hotel, Helmut filled me in on all sorts of activities that were happening at the property, and while our driver did not speak English, he was careful not to mention the reason for my trip, just in case. On arrival, I had my one flight bag in the trunk and was about to pick up my own carry-on when he said, “If you don’t
mind, you want to enter without carrying anything.”

  “Okay, it’s your show,” I replied, not dreaming of what was about to happen.

  As I walked into the gleaming lobby, with the sparkling chandeliers glowing in midday, I was greeted by a double line of seventy or more hotel employees all dressed in their bright, colorful new uniforms. There were doormen, bellmen, tuxedoed front desk personnel, waiters, waitresses, maids, and housemen, many with hats, some without, and music coming from a uniformed band. It was as if it were the arrival of the president of the United States or a victorious general arriving home from battle. It was incredible.

  And as I walked through the aisle with Helmut at my side, I smiled and bowed left and right and shook hands to ensure that I did not offend in any manner, until Helmut stepped to the side and steered me forward. I looked up to see a phalanx of white uniformed kitchen personnel. They held huge wooden mixing spoons and spatulas used for the giant steam pots and jackets, appliances that were part of a large banquet kitchen. They were presenting those utensils overhead similar to crossed swords, under which I walked, and at the end of which was an officious looking gentlemen holding a red silk pillow bearing a large brass key. He promptly remarked in English and Korean that the presentation represented the key to the hotel with the best wishes of management and employees.

  Thank God, I wasn’t required to speak, except to accept the key and say thank you in both Korean, phonetically hamsa kamida, and English several times, until Helmut rescued me and the crowd clapped and dispersed.

  I subsequently told Helmut that it was a blessing that I was not asked to speak, because the ceremony left me completely speechless. He said that it was as good for employee morale as it was for me. I thanked him, but made him promise that on subsequent trips it would not be repeated.