The Exchange: After The Firm

Two years earlier, Abby had tried to buy a cookbook by a Moroccan chef from Casablanca. He had a small restaurant on the Lower East Side and she and Mitch ate there twice. It was loud and rowdy, always full of Moroccans who loved to sit together at long tables and welcome strangers. They loved their country, culture, and food, and talked of being homesick. She and Mitch had discussed a vacation there. They read enough to know that Marrakech was filled with history and culture and attracted many tourists, primarily from Europe.

Abby said, “I’m sure this phone will work over there.”

“Yes, of course. Keep it with you at all times.”

“And I have to leave now?”

“Yes. The deadline is Wednesday.”

“So I’ve heard. Do I need a visa?”

“No. There is a room reserved for you at the hotel. Do not tell anyone but your husband. Understood?”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

“It is imperative that you travel alone. We will be watching.”

“Got it.”

“You must understand that this is an extremely dangerous situation. Not for you but for the hostage. If something goes wrong, or if a rescue is attempted, she will be shot immediately. Understood?”

“Of course.”

“We are watching everything. One bad move and it will be disastrous for the hostage.”

“Got it.”

Abby closed her eyes, tried to steady her shaking hands and take deep breaths. A jumble of thoughts rattled around. Her boys: they would be just as safe with her out of the country as in New York. Mitch: she wasn’t worried about his safety but what if he said no to her trip? A no wouldn’t bother her. Her job: tomorrow was Monday and she had the typical busy schedule for the week. The exchange: What might happen if the money did not materialize? She was already lying about having the ransom, but she had no choice.

And Giovanna. Nothing really mattered but “the hostage.”

She called Mitch on the green phone but couldn’t get through.

She opened her laptop and booked the flight; one-way because she had no idea when she might return.

Against his doctors’ wishes, Luca left Gemelli Hospital and rode in the front seat as Bella weaved through traffic. Once home, he asked for a caprese salad on the veranda, and he and Bella dined under the shade of an umbrella. He asked her to phone Roberto and invite him over, along with Mitch and Jack Ruch.

After another nap, Luca returned to the veranda and greeted his colleagues from New York. He wanted details of everything — every meeting, phone call, partners’ conference. He was angry at the Italians for dragging their feet. He had never really trusted the British. He still thought Lannak would come through.

When the time was right, and when it was obvious that Jack was not going to deliver the bad news, Mitch told Luca that his law firm had declined to borrow money to pay the ransom.

“I’m ashamed to say, Luca, that the partners ran for cover and said no.”

Luca closed his eyes and for a long time everything was quiet. Then he took a sip of water and said, in a soft scratchy voice, “I hope I live long enough to see my daughter. And I hope I live long enough to face my esteemed colleagues and call them a bunch of cowards.”

Chapter 38

Day 40. Or was it 41? She wasn’t sure anymore because there was no sunlight, only darkness. Nothing to measure time. Even when they moved her she was shrouded and blindfolded and saw nothing but darkness. And they moved her constantly, from a lean-to that smelled of farm animals, to a cavern with sand for a floor, to a darkened room in a house with city noises not far away, to a dank underground cellar where rusty water dripped on her cot and made sleep difficult. She never stayed more than three nights in one place, but then she wasn’t sure what was day or night. She ate when they brought her fruit and bread and warm water, but it was never enough. They gave her toilet paper and sanitary napkins but she had not bathed once. Her long thick hair was now matted and stringy from grease and dirt. After she ate, when she knew she would not be bothered for hours, she stripped and tried to clean her undergarments with a few ounces of water. She slept for long periods of time, the dripping water notwithstanding.

Her minder was a young girl, probably no more than a teenager, who never spoke or smiled and tried to avoid any eye contact. She was veiled and always wore the same faded black dress that hung like a bedsheet and dragged the ground. For humor, Giovanna nicknamed her “Gypsy Rose” after the famous stripper. She doubted the girl had ever taken her clothes off in the presence of a man. Wherever Giovanna went, Gypsy Rose went too. She had tried to engage her with simple words, but the girl had obviously been instructed not to talk to the captive. When it was time to move, Gypsy Rose would appear with a pair of oversized handcuffs, a blindfold, and a heavy black shroud. Not since the first days had Giovanna seen the face of a man. Occasionally she heard low voices outside her doors, but they disappeared.