The Exchange: After The Firm

He smiled as if this was supposed to be humorous. “I’m in London a lot and I always enjoy British Air. And Lufthansa, two of the best.” Perfect English with a slight accent that could be from anywhere a thousand miles south of Rome. She would bet serious cash his name was not Hassan Mansour and she didn’t care. He was nothing but a facilitator, a connector between the money and the hostage. If she ever saw him again, maybe he would be wearing handcuffs.

“May I ask where you live? I’m sure you know a lot about me. Apartment, office, kids’ school, important stuff like that.”

He kept smiling and said, “We could spend hours batting questions back and forth, Mrs. McDeere, but I’m afraid there would not be many answers, not from me anyway.”

“Who is Noura?”

“I’ve never met her.”

“That’s not what I asked. Who is she?”

“Let’s say she is a soldier in the revolution.”

“Certainly doesn’t dress like a soldier.”

A waiter appeared and asked if they wanted drinks. Abby glanced at a short wine list and said, “Chablis.” Hassan ordered herbal tea. When the waiter was gone, he leaned forward a few inches and said, “I don’t know as much as you might think, Mrs. McDeere. I’m not a member of the organization. I am not a soldier in the revolution. I am being paid a fee to broker a deal.”

“You’ve seen the latest video, I’m sure. Released this morning.”

He kept smiling. “Yes, of course.”

“Giovanna with a rope around her neck. Three men in the process of being murdered. Chain saw noise in the background. Its timing was perfect and it was obviously intended to put even more pressure on Giovanna’s friends.”

“Mrs. McDeere, I had absolutely nothing to do with the events recorded in that video. Is your husband responsible for the actions of his clients?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then I rest my case.”

“Spoken like a real lawyer.”

He smiled and nodded as if to concede that he was indeed a member of the profession. “We can discuss many things, Mrs. McDeere, but we’re not here for social reasons.”

“Right. Is it fair to assume that our deadline is still five P.M. Wednesday, May twenty-fifth?”

“That’s correct.”

She took a deep breath and said, “We need more time.”

“Why?”

“Rounding up another ninety million dollars is not something we have much experience with. It’s proving to be rather complicated.”

“How much time?”

“Forty-eight hours.”

“The answer is no.”

“Twenty-four hours. Five P.M. Thursday.”

“The answer is no. I have my orders.”

She shrugged as if to say, Well, I tried.

“Do you have the money?”

“Yes,” she said, with a confidence built on plenty of practice. The only answer was “Yes.” Anything else could set in motion events that would become unpredictable. Just as quickly she added, “We have commitments. It may take a day or two to gather the money. I don’t see how an extra twenty-four hours will harm your position.”

“The answer is no. Are you having problems?” The smile was gone.

“No, not problems, just a few challenges. It’s not a simple matter of getting the law firm to write a check. There are many moving parts that involve various entities.”

He shrugged as if he understood.

The drinks arrived and Abby took her glass as quickly as possible without appearing desperate for the wine. Hassan toyed with his teabag as if time meant nothing. She had checked with the front desk and knew that room service was available. After five minutes with Hassan, the last thing she wanted was a long painful dinner with the man as they bobbed and weaved around topics they could not discuss. She had even lost her appetite.

As if reading her mind, he asked, “Would you like to discuss dinner?”

“No, thank you. I’m jet-lagged and need rest. I’ll order room service.” She took another shot of Chablis. He had yet to lift his teacup.

The smile was back as if everything was okay. “As you wish. I have some instructions.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

Finally, he raised his dainty little cup to his lips and wet them. “As soon as possible, your husband travels to the island of Grand Cayman, in the Caribbean. I believe he knows the place. When he arrives tomorrow afternoon, he presents himself to the Trinidad Trust in Georgetown and asks for a banker named Solomon Frick. He will be expected. Mr. Frick represents my client, and your husband will do exactly as he says. He will know immediately if anyone attempts to track the wires. Any hint that someone is watching, that someone being the FBI, Scotland Yard, Interpol, Europol, or any of the other boys who carry guns and badges, and bad things will happen to your friend. We’ve come this far without the interference of the police or military, and it would be a shame to do something stupid at this late stage of the game. If you have the money, Mrs. McDeere, Giovanna is practically free.”

“We’d like to confirm she’s still alive.”