The Exchange: After The Firm

Barry swept the whole group into the house through the front door and into the main foyer where they met Tanner, the butler-porter-driver-handyman and boat captain. He was also a part-time lobsterman who would always seem ill at ease in his navy jacket and white shirt. Thankfully, Mr. Ruch allowed him to wear khaki britches.

Tanner handled the luggage and room assignments while Barry showed the McDeeres to the den where a fire was roaring. He laughed about the last snowfall just two nights ago and promised there would be no more of the white stuff until October. Maybe November.

As the men talked about the weather and how Jack was doing as he neared retirement, Carter and Clark admired the massive stuffed moose head looking down upon them from the stone fireplace.

Barry noticed this and said, “I didn’t kill him, boys, wasn’t me. He came with the house. Tanner thinks he’s been here for about thirty years. Probably from the mainland.”

“Are there moose on the island?” Carter asked.

“Well, I’ve never seen one, but we’ll go looking for them if you want. Tanner says the wind is dying down and a warm front is moving in. Let’s wait a couple of hours, hop in the boat, and go for a ride.”

The boys couldn’t wait.

Chapter 25

Mitch’s shot-in-the-dark prediction, allegedly based on his fancy education, was remarkably close. Noura did not wait forty-eight hours. She waited about forty-seven, and called Abby on the Jakl phone at 7:31 Saturday morning.

Abby was on her yoga mat in the den, stretching half-heartedly and trying to remember the last weekend when she had the apartment all to herself. She missed her guys and under different circumstances would not have been worried about them. She talked to Mitch twice Friday night, on the green phone, and was fully debriefed. The boys were having a grand time in Mr. Barry’s mansion, while Mitch and the owner were smoking Cuban cigars and drinking single malts.

They felt perfectly safe. No one could possibly find them.

Selecting the proper phone from her collection assembled on the coffee table, always close at hand, Abby lifted the Jakl and said, “Hello.”

“Abby McDeere, this is Noura.”

What’s the proper greeting to a terrorist on a rainy Saturday morning in Manhattan? Though in an odd way she was relieved to get the call, she refused to show any interest. Calmly she said, “Yes, this is Abby.”

Evidently, terrorists didn’t use greetings because Noura skipped them altogether. “We should meet tomorrow morning before noon. Are you available?”

Do I have a choice? “Yes.”

“Walk to the ice rink in Central Park. At ten-fifteen, approach the main entrance. There’s an ice-cream vendor to the left, on the east side. Stand there and wait. Your husband is a Mets fan, right?”

A kick in the gut could not have jolted her more. How much did these people know about them? “Yes,” she managed to say.

“Wear a Mets cap.”

Mitch had at least five of them hung on a rack in his closet. “Sure.”

“If you bring anyone with you, we will know immediately.”

“Okay.”

“That would be a terrible mistake, Mrs. McDeere. Understood?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You must come alone.”

“I’ll be there.”

There was a long pause as Abby waited. She repeated, “I’ll be there.”

More silence. Noura was gone.

Carefully, Abby put down the Jakl, picked up the green phone, walked to her bedroom, closed the door, and called Mitch.

Though obviously built to entertain adults, Wicklow showed signs of children passing through. At least one of the bedrooms had two sets of bunk beds, rainbows painted on the walls, outdated video games, and a wide-screen television. Tanner showed the boys around and they quickly gave the house thumbs-up. By dinner Friday, Tanner was their new best friend.

They slept until almost eight Saturday morning and followed the smells downstairs to the breakfast room where they found their father drinking coffee and talking to Mr. Cory. Miss Emma appeared from the kitchen and asked what they would like for breakfast. After much indecision, they settled on waffles and bacon.

Cory finished his omelette and excused himself. Mitch asked the boys how the night went and everything was awesome. They said they wanted bunk beds at home. “You can discuss it with your mother. She’s in charge of furniture and decorating.”

“Where’s Mr. Barry?” Clark asked.

“I think he went to his office.”

“Where’s his office?”

“That way,” Mitch replied, waving over his shoulder as if the office was far away but still under the same roof. “I don’t want you guys roaming around the house, okay? We are guests and this is not a hotel. Do not go in a room unless you’re invited.”

They listened intently and began nodding. Carter asked, “Dad, why are the rooms so big here?”

“Well, it might be because Mr. Barry has a lot of money and can afford big houses with big rooms. Also, he invites guests to stay here for weeks at a time and I suppose they need plenty of space. Another reason might be that you guys live in a city where almost everybody lives in apartments. They tend to be smaller.”