The Exchange: After The Firm

He said, “Something told me not to let her go, Mitch. I didn’t like the idea but she insisted. Giovanna’s tired of London and I’m afraid she might be growing tired of the law. She wanted an adventure. She was home last Christmas and I talked too much, talked about the bridge Gaddafi built in the desert, and my client Lannak, a great company from Turkey. It was all cocktail talk, the way lawyers do, nothing confidential. I had no idea she would want to go there. And she couldn’t, as long as I had the case. Then I got sick, called you, and here we are, Mitch. Here we are.”

Mitch sipped his espresso and decided to just listen. He had nothing to add.

“How are you, Mitch?”

He shrugged and waved him off. With the body count now at nine — five burned bodies and four decapitations — it seemed almost silly to dwell on a bad case of food poisoning.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Physically.”

Luca had two phones on the table and one began vibrating. He picked it up, looked at it, said, “It’s from the Libyan embassy in Milan. I need to take it.”

“Of course.”

Mitch walked inside and saw Roberto crouched over a laptop on a table in the kitchen. He waved Mitch over and said quietly, “There’s a video that’s going viral. Someone filmed the four dead Turks. The news stations are not showing it but it’s everywhere else right now. You want to see it?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s graphic. Is your system still a bit fragile?”

“Let’s see it.”

Roberto slid the laptop around and hit a key. The video was shot with a cell phone and whoever took it was very close to the bodies. So close that he was told to stand back because of the blood that had pooled beneath each victim. It ran for thirty seconds and was abruptly stopped when someone began yelling in Arabic.

Mitch stood erect, felt another knot in his stomach, and said, “I wouldn’t tell Luca.”

“I’m not, but he’ll probably see it anyway.”

New York was six hours behind Rome. Mitch called Abby, who had been monitoring the news reports. So far there was nothing from Libya. Bad news from North Africa didn’t sell well in the United States. However, the British and Europeans were far more interested. When the London tabloids got the story of a young British lawyer kidnapped in Libya by a ruthless gang that, at the same time, decapitated her bodyguards, the online reports ran wild. At the Scully & Pershing office in Canary Wharf, security was quickly beefed up, not out of fear of more terrorist attacks, but to protect the staff from an assault by the British press.

Mitch and Roberto had lunch with Luca on the veranda, though he ate almost nothing. Mitch, now ravenous, devoured everything in sight. It was clear that he was feeling much better and Luca said, “Mitch, I want you to go home. I’ll call when I need you. There’s nothing for you to do now.”

“I’m sorry this happened, Luca. I should have been there.”

“Be thankful you were not, my friend.” He nodded at Roberto, who said, “We’ve gone back thirty years and reviewed every case involving Westerners taken hostage in Muslim countries. We’re still digging. Almost all of the women survived and very few were mistreated. Their captivities ranged from two weeks to six years, but virtually every one got out, either by ransom, rescue, or escape. The men are a different story. Almost all were physically abused and about half did not survive. Forty that we know of are still captive. So, yes, Mitch, be thankful you had a good round of food poisoning.”

“Is there a chance of a diplomatic resolution?” Mitch asked.

Luca shook his head. “Doubtful. We don’t know the enemy as of now, but it’s probably safe to say they don’t care much for diplomacy.”

“So it’s rescue or ransom?”

“Yes, and we shouldn’t dwell on rescue. That’s always incredibly dangerous. The Brits will kick into high gear and want an elaborate military-style operation. The Italians will want to pay the money. Anyway, it’s premature. Right now all we can do is sit and wait for the phone call.”

“I’m sorry, Luca,” Mitch said again. “We thought we were safe.”

“So did I. As you know, I’ve traveled there many times. I love Libya, in spite of its instability.”

“Samir felt sure we were safe.”

“You can’t trust Samir, Mitch. He’s a Libyan agent and he reports to the military police.”

Mitch swallowed hard and tried to keep a poker face. “I thought he worked for us.”

“He works for anyone who’ll pay him. Samir has no loyalty whatsoever.”

Roberto added, “He was supposed to be with Giovanna, Mitch, but he found an excuse to stay at the hospital with you.”

Mitch said, “Now I’m really confused.”

Luca managed a smile and said, “Mitch, in Libya, you trust no one.”

Chapter 14