The Exchange: After The Firm

Mitch led his in-laws into the library, closed the door, and explained to them why they were there. He gave only the barest of details, but it was enough to frighten them. The fact that terrorists were following their daughter and grandsons around Manhattan, and taking photos, was shocking.

They would hide in Maine with the boys for a month if necessary.

Chapter 26

The runway at Islesboro’s small airport was only 2,500 feet long, too short for a jet. Early Sunday morning, Mitch and Cory took off in a King Air 200, a turboprop with small field capacity.

They left Alvin and one other guard behind at Wicklow. Mitch was convinced the boys were safely tucked away where no one could find them and he told himself to stop worrying. The day would be complicated enough without thinking of them. But there was no way not to.

An hour later they landed at Westchester, drove into the city, and by 10 A.M. were in a large suite on the fifteenth floor of the Everett Hotel, with a view of the Wollman ice rink in Central Park. Darian was there from Crueggal, along with Jack. Over coffee, Mitch gave Jack a full report on his brother and all the gossip around Wicklow, which wasn’t much. Jack planned to retire July 31 and spend the month of August at Islesboro fishing with his brother.

The weather was cool and clear and Central Park was crowded. In the distance, they could see skaters circling the rink, but they were too far away to distinguish anyone. At 10:20, Mitch was certain he saw his wife walking down Fifth Avenue, on the park side. She was wearing jeans, hiking boots, and a brown barn coat she’d had for years. And a faded blue Mets cap.

“There she is,” he said with a knot in his stomach. She disappeared into the park and they lost sight of her. Cory and Darian had argued over placing someone near the entrance of the rink to watch Abby, but decided not to. Cory thought there was nothing to gain by doing so.

At 10:30 she walked to the counter of an ice-cream vendor near the rink’s main entrance. From behind large, dark sunglasses, she watched everyone while trying to appear nonchalant. It wasn’t working; she was a wreck. The Jakl vibrated in her pocket and she pulled it out. “This is Abby.”

“This is Noura. Leave the ice rink and walk to the Mall. Go past the statue of Shakespeare and to your left you’ll see the one of Robert Burns, then a long row of benches. Stay to the left, walk about a hundred feet, and find a spot on a bench.”

Minutes later, she passed the statue of Shakespeare and turned right onto the Mall, a long promenade lined with stately elms. She had made the walk countless times, and flashed back to their first winter in the city when she and Mitch had shuffled along, arm in arm, in a foot of snow with more falling. They had spent many long Sunday afternoons, in all seasons, sitting in the shade of the elms and watching the endless parade of New Yorkers outside for the day. When the twins arrived, they put them in a tandem stroller and pushed them up and down the Mall and all over Central Park.

Today, though, there was no time for nostalgia.

Hundreds of people were strolling along the Mall. Vendors sold hot and cold drinks. Loud carousel music echoed from speakers in the distance. As Abby walked she counted thirty steps, found an empty bench, and sat down as nonchalantly as possible.

Five minutes, ten. She clutched the Jakl in her pocket and tried not to look at everyone who passed. She was looking for a Muslim woman in full robes and a hijab, but saw no one of that description. A woman in a navy jogging suit pushing a baby stroller eased beside her. “Abby,” she said, barely loud enough to be heard.

Both were wearing large sunglasses, but somehow they made eye contact. Abby nodded. She assumed it was Noura, though she could not identify her. Same height and build but that was all. The bill of an oversized cap sat low and covered her forehead.

“Over here,” she said, nodding to her right.

Abby stood and said, “Noura?”

“Yes.”

They walked together. If there was a baby in the stroller it wasn’t visible. Noura turned right onto a sidewalk and they left the Mall. When they were away from everyone, she stopped and said, “Stare at the buildings. Don’t look at me.”

Abby gazed at the skyline of Central Park West.

Noura took her time and said, “The safe return of Giovanna will cost one hundred million dollars. The price is not negotiable. And it must be paid ten days from today. May twenty-fifth at five P.M. Eastern is the deadline. Yes?”

Abby nodded and said, “I understand.”

“If you go to the police, or the FBI, or involve your government in any way, there will be no safe return. She will be executed. Yes?”

“Understood.”