Cory nodded sadly and said, “I guess they were wrong.”
Mitch closed his eyes and tried not to think about Aziz, Haskel, Gau, and Abdo. He tried not to think about the image of them hanging by their feet. His stomach flipped again as his pulse went haywire. He mumbled, “Sorry I asked.”
“I’ve seen a lot, but this is something else.”
“Got it. Any word out of Washington?”
“Our people there have talked to contacts at State, the CIA, NSA. Everybody’s scrambling and nobody’s hearing anything. For a lot of reasons we don’t have a lot of good sources in Libya. Gaddafi has never been too friendly. The Brits have stronger contacts, as do the Italians, and, of course, she belongs to them. The Turks are raising hell. The situation is extremely volatile and unpredictable and no one is in charge. We can’t just go barging in, as we so often do.”
“How valuable is she?”
“Depends on who has her, I guess. If it’s really some splinter group of terrorists or a renegade militia with big plans, then it’ll be a demand for ransom. A few million bucks might be sufficient. But if it’s Gaddafi, then who knows? He might use her as a bargaining chip to settle the lawsuit.”
Mitch said, “Sure, she could save him some real cash.”
“That’s your department, Mitch.”
“If it’s Gaddafi, it’s a pretty stupid move because Lannak will not settle. The company has been furious for two years because of non-payment. Now, with four of its security guards murdered, they’ll want even more money. And the court will give it to them, in my opinion. Giovanna, of course, gets caught in the crossfire.”
“Well, the early speculation out of Washington is that it’s not Gaddafi. He may be crazy but he’s not stupid. Anyway, we have a briefing at seven in the morning with our guys in Washington, a teleconference. Jack Ruch’s office.”
“I’m not going to be there at seven in the morning, Cory. Rearrange the schedule.”
“Mr. Ruch said seven.”
“I’m taking my sons to school in the morning and I’ll be in the office around eight-thirty, my usual time. Sure, this is an important matter, but holding an urgent meeting at seven tomorrow morning, here in New York, will not do a damned thing to help Giovanna.”
“Yes, sir. I’m sure Mr. Ruch will call you.”
“Oh, he calls all the time and I usually do what he says.”
Carter and Clark were in their pajamas and enjoying an extra hour of television as they waited for their father. Mitch walked through the door shortly before nine and they raced to greet him. He picked them up, tossed them on a sofa, and went for their ribs. When both were laughing and yelling, Abby finally intervened with her usual concerns about the neighbors. When things were quieter, Carter seized the moment and asked, “Hey, Dad, can we stay up until ten?”
“No sir,” Abby said.
“Of course you can,” Mitch said. “And let’s make some popcorn.” Both boys raced toward the kitchen as Mitch attempted to kiss his wife.
“Popcorn for dinner?” she asked.
“It beats airplane food.”
“Welcome home. There’s leftover manicotti in the fridge.”
“Rosario Brothers?”
“Yes, they were here last night. It may be the best manicotti I’ve ever tasted.”
“We’ll save it. I’m not that hungry and my system is, shall we say, unstable again.”
“We have a lot to discuss.”
“Indeed we do.”
When the boys were wrapped in quilts and stuffing popcorn in their mouths, Mitch and Abby eased away and went to the kitchen. She poured two glasses of wine and gave her husband a proper kiss. “Any word?” she asked softly.
“Nothing on Giovanna.”
“I assume you’ve heard about the video.”
Mitch closed his eyes and grimaced. “Which one?”
“You know Gina Nelligan? Teaches art at the upper school.”
Mitch was shaking his head. No.
“Her son is a junior at Purdue. He called home an hour or so ago, told her about the video on the deep web.”
“The beheadings?”
“Yes. Have you watched it?”
“No. Don’t plan to. Our security guy described it for me. That’s enough.”
“Did you know those men, the guards?”
“Yes, I met them the day before they were murdered. They were going with us to the bridge, along with two Libyan drivers and Giovanna. All of us in one secured vehicle.”
“I can’t believe it, Mitch. And that poor girl. They have no idea where she is?”
“Nothing, not a clue, but we expect that will change. She’s worth a lot of money and her kidnappers will make contact at some point.”
“You hope.”
“Yes, no one is certain of anything right now.”
“Well, I’m certain that you’re not going back to Libya. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“Let’s go sit with the boys.”
By nine-thirty the boys were yawning and Abby hustled them to bed. Mitch helped tuck them in and said good night. He turned off the television as she topped off their wineglasses. They sat together on the sofa and enjoyed the quiet.
She said, “As you might know, there’s a lot of press, especially in the U.K. I’ve been online for hours trying to find whatever I can. Plenty of stories here and in Rome. Scully and Pershing is mentioned over and over, but so far I have not seen your name.”
“Nor have I. My secretary and two paralegals are also searching.”
“So you’re worried?”
“I’m worried about Giovanna, of course. I take some of the blame for what’s happened, Abby. It was my trip, my little fact-finding mission, one I asked for and was in charge of.”
“I thought Luca told you to go.”
“He suggested that I go but the decision was mine. He wanted his daughter to associate on the case because she was bored in London and looking for something more exciting. Looking back, the whole idea made little sense.”
“Got it, but I was thinking more about us. Are you worried about the law firm?”
“Our safety?”
“Well, yes, I guess.”
“No, not at all. More than likely the kidnappers are members of a tribal militia that roams the Sahara looking for trouble. They are far away and not that sophisticated.”
“You hope.”
Mitch took a sip of wine and rubbed her leg. “Sure, Abby, we’re very much in the dark here. We should learn more tomorrow, and the next day. When it’s time to worry, I’ll let you know. Now, it’s too early.”
“I think I’ve heard that before.”
Chapter 15
Whatever they were — criminals or terrorists — they had a flair for the dramatic. Four days after ransacking the checkpoint and murdering five army guards, and three days after taking a chain saw to the necks of the Turkish security team, and two days after releasing their video into the vastness of the deep web, they hung Youssef’s body on a telephone pole next to a busy highway in Benghazi. He was found, head attached but with a gaping hole in it, bloody and stripped of all clothing, bound at the wrists and ankles, turning slowly at the end of a thick wire as the sun came up. A note was attached to his right ankle with a piece of string. It read: Youssef Ashour, Traitor.
The military police swarmed the area, blocked all roads and highways, and let him hang for hours as they waited for orders. Perhaps there would be another video of the murder that might yield some clues.
Samir went to the scene, confirmed that it was indeed Youssef, a man he’d known for years, and called Lannak, then Luca.
Only Walid and Giovanna were left, as far as anyone knew.
Cory Gallant took the call at four in the morning, and after only three hours of light sleep had no trouble rolling out of bed and going to the office. He was waiting outside Mitch’s office at eight-thirty when he arrived.