Chapter 18
In Giovanna’s absence, Mitch needed an ambitious associate to step in and do the grunt work. There was no shortage of them at Scully; indeed, the firm hired three hundred of the brightest law grads each spring and marched them through the meat grinder of 100-hour workweeks and relentless deadlines. After a year, the blue-chippers began to emerge from the pack. After two years, those falling behind were jumping ship, but by then the veterans could spot the lifers, the future partners.
Stephen Stodghill was a fifth-year senior associate from a small town in Kansas who had excelled at the University of Chicago Law School. Mitch had a secret bias in favor of the small-town kids who were succeeding nicely in the big leagues. He asked Stephen to join the team and was not surprised when he jumped at the chance. There were no snide jokes about what happened to the last associate Mitch had picked. They were still trying to find her.
Giovanna’s plight was on the minds of every Scully lawyer, all two thousand of them in thirty-one offices around the world. There was much concern and quiet talk as they went about their work, waiting. Always waiting for news of the next development. In the Atlanta and Houston offices, small groups of lawyers and employees met for coffee and prayer early each morning. A female partner in Orlando was married to an Episcopal priest who was thoughtful enough to stop by the office for a moment of prayer.
Mitch worked late on Thursday afternoon and met for an hour with Stephen to begin the arduous process of covering all aspects of Lannak Construction versus The Republic of Libya. The file was four thousand pages thick and counting. Scully had retained eight experts who were preparing to testify on such topics as bridge design, architecture, construction methods, materials, pricing, delays, and so on. The idea of an exotic case in a foreign country excited Stephen at first, but the fun wore off quickly as they plowed through the material.
Mitch left at seven and had a quiet evening with Abby and the boys. He returned at eight the next morning and found Stephen exactly where he had left him — at the small worktable in one corner of his office. When Mitch realized what had happened, he dropped his head as he shook it.
“Let me guess. An all-nighter?”
“Yes, I really had nothing else to do and I got into it. Fascinating.”
Mitch had worked his share of brutal hours, but he had never felt compelled to pull an all-nighter. Such feats were common in Big Law, and were supposed to be admired and hopefully add to the legend of some gunner aiming for an early partnership. Mitch had no patience with it.
But Stephen was single and his girlfriend was an associate at another large law firm and suffering the same abuse. He wanted to propose but couldn’t find the time. She wanted to get married but worried they’d never see each other. When they managed to meet for a late dinner they often nodded off after the first cocktail.
Mitch smiled and said, “Okay, a new rule. If you want to remain on this case you cannot work more than sixteen hours a day on it. Understood?”
“I guess.”
“Then guess again. Listen to me, Stephen. I am now the attorney of record, and that means I’m your boss. Do not work more than sixteen hours a day on this case. Am I clear?”
“Got it, boss.”
“That’s more like it. Now get out of my office.”
Stephen jumped to his feet and grabbed a pile of papers. On his way out he said, “Say, boss, I was fooling around last night on the internet and found the video, the one with the chain saw. Have you seen it?”
“No. Not going to.”
“Smart. I wish I’d never seen it because I’ll never forget it. That’s one reason I stayed up all night. Couldn’t sleep. Probably won’t sleep tonight either.”
“You should’ve known better.”
“Yes, I should have. The screaming—”
“That’s enough, Stephen. Go find something else to do.”
Another day passed with no word from the kidnappers or those trying to find them. Then another. Mitch began each morning with a security briefing with Cory in Jack Ruch’s office. By closed-circuit, they listened with increasing frustration to Darian’s updates from North Africa. He did a credible job of filling twenty minutes with what-might-happen-next, but the truth was he was guessing.
Finally, there was high drama. On the night of Sunday, April 24, nine days after the abduction, a Libyan counter-terrorism unit attacked a camp near the border of Chad. The area was a no-man’s-land with few inhabitants, and those who did live there did so because they carried weapons and were either expecting trouble or planning more of it. The sprawling, hidden camp was rumored to be the headquarters of Adheem Barakat and his small army of revolutionaries. Given the vastness of the Sahara, surprise attacks were almost impossible to pull off and the Libyans did a lousy job of it. Barakat may have been warned by tribesmen on his payroll, or his sentries and their drones may have been on high alert. Regardless, the attack was met head-on and a fierce battle raged for three hours. Hundreds of Libyan commandos arrived in troop carriers while others were air-dropped from Mi-26 Russian-made helicopters. Two were shot down by shoulder-mounted Strela missiles, also made by the Russians. The Libyans were shocked at such firepower. Casualties on both sides were horrendous, and when it became apparent that the fight might go on until everyone was dead, the Libyan commander called for a retreat.
Tripoli immediately released a statement describing the mission as a precision strike by government forces against a terrorist group. It was a resounding success. The enemy had been routed.
At the same time, the government leaked a story that the real reason behind the raid was to rescue Giovanna Sandroni. It was intended as clear proof that Gaddafi was not involved in her abduction. He was trying to save her.
Mercifully, she’d been four hundred miles away.
Mitch and Jack Ruch left LaGuardia on the 8:15 A.M. shuttle to Reagan National in Washington. They were met at the curb by Benson Wall, Scully’s managing partner in D.C. A driver whisked them away in a black company sedan and just minutes after landing they were sitting in traffic above the Potomac. Their meeting with Senator Lake was at 10:30, so they had plenty of time. Lake was famously late for every other meeting, but for the ones in his office he expected punctuality.
Elias Lake was in his third term but still the junior senator from New York. The senior senator was elected in 1988 and was showing no signs of fatigue or vulnerability. Not surprisingly, Scully & Pershing had deep ties to both men, warm relationships built on the firm’s ability to raise large sums of money and the senators’ willingness to listen. With little effort, Jack could get either one on the phone at almost any reasonable hour, but the urgency of the Sandroni matter necessitated a face-to-face meeting. Senator Lake was a sub-committee chairman on Foreign Affairs, and in that position had become close to the current secretary of state. Also, Benson Wall had hired Lake’s nephew three years earlier as an associate out of Georgetown. Jack and Benson agreed that their time would be better spent with Lake than with the senior senator from New York.
Four years earlier, Mitch had visited Capitol Hill for the first time. He had tagged along with another partner and a client, a defense contractor who had hired Scully to extract it from some unfair contracts. A certain senator from Idaho needed to be stroked. Mitch disliked Capitol Hill and saw it as a frantic place where little was accomplished. He had vowed to never go back.
Unless. Unless there was something as urgent as a kidnapped Scully associate and the firm was desperate for help.
He, Jack, and Benson arrived at 10:15 at the Dirksen Senate Office Building and went to the second floor where they were greeted by more security guards at the door of Lake’s suite. They were shown to a small conference room where they waited a few minutes until an assistant chief of staff greeted them and said “The Senator” was running behind and tied up with other important matters.