The Exchange: After The Firm

Any worries about being ambushed in the desert by warlords or bandits were allayed when Mitch and Giovanna met their Turkish security detail. There were four of them — Aziz, Abdo, Gau, and one whose name sounded like “Haskel.” Their first names were such a challenge they did not offer their last ones. All Turks, they were large young men with thick arms and chests, and their bulky clothing was layered in such a way that it was evident they were concealing all manner of weaponry. Haskel, the unquestioned leader, did most of the talking in passable English. Samir was quick to point out a few things in Turkish, just to impress Mitch and Giovanna with his language skills.

They met in a small room in a warehouse half an hour from the hotel. Haskel pointed here and there on a large, colorful map that covered an entire wall. He’d been in Libya for four years, had been to the bridge and back dozens of times without incident, and was confident they were in for an uneventful day. They would leave the hotel at five the following morning in one vehicle, a customized delivery truck with plenty of axles and fuel and other “protections.” During lunch, Samir had let it slip that the Lannak executives often zipped off to the bridge project in a helicopter. Mitch thought of asking why one was not available for their legal team, but then thought better of it.

The truck driver would be Youssef, a trusted Lannak employee and a bona fide Libyan. There would be checkpoints and perhaps some minor harassment by local soldiers, but nothing Youssef couldn’t handle. They would carry plenty of food and water as it was best not to stop, unless of course nature called. The trip had been approved by the government and so, supposedly, their movements would not be monitored. Samir would tag along just in case, though he was obviously not looking forward to another trip to the bridge.

He left Mitch and Giovanna at the hotel after dark and went home. After greeting his wife and nosing around the kitchen, he went to his small office, locked the door, and called his handler with the Libyan military police. The debriefing lasted half an hour and covered everything from what Giovanna was wearing to the make of her cell phone, hotel room number, purchases at the market, and her dinner plans. She and Mitch had agreed to dine in the hotel at 8 P.M. and invited Samir to join them. He’d begged off.

In his opinion, the visit to the bridge was a waste of time, but typical of Western lawyers. Lannak was paying them by the hour, so why not do some traveling, have some fun, get out of the office, and see the eighth wonder of the world — a billion-dollar bridge over a dried-up river in the middle of the desert?

With so many Westerners in the hotel, Giovanna decided to ditch the local look and get dressed up. Her tight dress fell to her knees and did justice to her splendid figure. She wore a pair of dangling gold earrings, a necklace, and some bracelets. She was Italian, after all, and knew how to dress. She was meeting a handsome American partner in her law firm, and there could be some tension in the air. They were a long way from home.

Mitch wore a dark suit with no tie. He was pleasantly surprised by her makeover and told her she looked lovely. They met in the bar and ordered martinis. Alcohol was strictly forbidden on Muslim soil, but the rulers knew how important it was to Westerners. Long ago, the hotels had convinced Gaddafi that to stay in business and show profits they needed to offer full bars and wine lists.

They carried their drinks to a table by a large window and took in the view of the harbor. Since he was curious about her background and deemed her far more interesting than himself, Mitch gently kept the conversation on her side of the table. She had lived half of her thirty-two years in Italy, the other half abroad. She was feeling the urge to go home. Her father’s illness was a factor, and his death, heaven forbid, would leave a huge vacancy in Scully’s Rome office. Luca, of course, wanted her by his side these days, and she was serious about making the move. She loved London but was tired of the dreary weather.

When the martinis were gone, Mitch waved to the waiter. With such an early departure the following morning, they could not indulge in a three-hour dinner, nor did they want heavy dishes of meats and sauces. They agreed on a light seafood stew and Giovanna picked a bottle of pinot grigio.

“How old were you when you left Rome?” Mitch asked.

“Fifteen. I was in the American school there and had traveled a lot, for a kid. My parents were splitting up and things were unpleasant at home. I was sent to a boarding school in Switzerland, an obscenely expensive getaway for rich kids whose parents were too busy to raise them. Kids from all over the world, a lot of Arabs, Asians, South Americans. It was a great environment and I had far too much fun, though I worried constantly about my parents.”

“How often did you return to Rome?”