(2). Involve Mitch and his law firm, a firm with plenty of contacts and money. You, Mitch, and his firm can succeed and bring about a good outcome. Involve no one else.
(3). You know me as Noura. I am the key to Giovanna. Follow my instructions and she will be delivered. She is not being mistreated. The others deserved to die.
(4). The enclosed phone is crucial. Keep it close at all times, even when you sleep. I will call at odd hours. Do not miss a call. Use the same charger as your cell. The code is 871. The Menu has Photos, which you will find interesting.
Abby put down the sheet of paper and picked up the phone. Unmarked and about the same size as other cell phones, there was nothing distinctive or suspicious about it. She tapped 871 and a menu appeared. She tapped PHOTOS, and was instantly nauseous. The photo was of her, Clark, and Carter, less than an hour earlier, as they said goodbye on the sidewalk outside of River Latin School, four blocks from their apartment. She took another deep breath and reached for a bottle of water, not the coffee. She unscrewed the top, took a sip, and spilled water on her blouse. She closed her eyes for a moment, then slowly scrolled left. The next photo was an exterior shot of the brownstone in which she was now sitting. The next photo was an exterior shot of their apartment building, taken from Sixty-Ninth and Columbus Avenue. The next photo was a long-distance one of 110 Broad, where Scully & Pershing was headquartered. The last photo was of Giovanna, sitting in a dark room, wearing a black veil, holding a spoon, and looking into a bowl of what appeared to be soup.
Time passed but Abby was not aware of it. Her brain was a jumbled mess of rapid thoughts. Her heart pounded like a jackhammer. She closed her eyes again and rubbed her temples and became aware that someone was gently knocking on her door.
“In a minute,” she said and the knocking stopped.
She called Mitch.
They were frozen, too stiff to move as they looked at the wide screen and waited for Abby’s video to appear. And there it was: a close-up of the typed note to Abby from Noura. They read it quickly, then slower a second time. The camera moved to the mysterious phone on Abby’s desk, next to the envelope it came in. After twenty-two seconds the video was over.
Mitch finally breathed and exhaled and walked to the window of Jack’s office. Jack stared at his small conference table, too stunned to say anything. Cory, who had been operating under extreme duress since the bombing in Athens, stared at the blank screen and tried to think clearly. Without looking at Mitch he asked, “And there were five photographs on the phone?”
“That’s right,” Mitch answered without turning around.
“Tell her not to send the photos, okay?”
“Okay. What do I tell her?”
“Not sure yet. Let’s assume they are monitoring everything the phone does. Let’s assume the phone can be used to track Abby wherever she goes, whether or not it’s turned on. Let’s assume the phone hears and records everything said around it, whether it’s on or off.”
As if he heard nothing, Mitch said, “They took a photo of my kids going to school this morning.”
Cory shot a glance at Jack, who shook his head. The shock had not begun to wear off; indeed, they were still in the middle of the shock and everything was a blur.
Still speaking to the window, Mitch said, “My instinct is to walk out of this building right now, get a cab, go to the school, get my kids, take them somewhere safe and lock the doors.”
“Totally understand, Mitch,” Cory said. “Go if you must. We’re not stopping you. First, though, we need to see the phone. Is your cell phone secure?”
“I don’t know. You installed all that anti-viral stuff.”
“And Abby’s too?”
“Yes. We should be hack-proof, if anything is hack-proof these days.”
Jack said, “I have an idea. The Carlyle Hotel is on Seventy-Sixth, near Park, close to Abby’s office. Call Abby and tell her to meet you for lunch at the Carlyle. Bring the new phone. We’ll get a conference room and look it over while you have lunch.”
Cory said, “Great idea.”
Mitch turned around and said, “So it’s a go?”
“Yes.”
Mitch pulled out his phone, called Abby, talked as though others might be listening, and said he would be in the neighborhood for lunch. Meet him at the Carlyle at noon. They would discuss whether or not to do something at the school. When he finished he asked Cory, “Could they possibly hack our phones and email? Are they listening to us?”
“Highly unlikely, Mitch. Everything is possible these days but I doubt it.”
Jack asked, “And why would they? They don’t care what you’re doing for lunch or dinner. This is now all about money. If they were going to kill Giovanna it would’ve already happened, right Cory?”
“Probably, but who knows?”
“Look guys, the game has now changed. We’ve finally heard from the enemy and they want to talk. Talk means negotiation and that means money. What else can Giovanna do for them? Assassinate Gaddifi? Broker a Middle East peace deal? Find more oil in the desert? No. She has a price on her head and the question is how much?”
“It’s not quite that simple, Jack,” Mitch said. “There is also the question of how much damage we’re willing to absorb before we knuckle under. Setting aside for a moment the killings so far, and there are eleven dead bodies by my count, we also have an office bombed in Athens and now they’re right here in the city.”
Cory said, “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We’re not in charge. They are, and until Noura reappears we can’t do much.”
“Oh really? Well, I plan to protect my family.”
“Got it, Mitch. I don’t blame you. Any ideas?”
“You’re the security guy, right? What would you do?”
“I’m still thinking.”
“Please hurry.”
Jack said, “We should discuss Crueggal. Do they get involved?”
Mitch shrugged as if the question was not aimed at him. He returned to the window and looked at the streets below. Dozens of yellow cabs inched along in heavy traffic. In a few short minutes he planned to be in the backseat of one of them, barking instructions at the driver.
Jack asked, “Have you spoken to Darian lately?”
Cory replied, “Not since nine A.M. I begin every day with a fifteen-minute update from Darian in which he reveals nothing new. They’re digging, waiting, and digging. We have to tell him, and soon. The enemy has made contact, Jack, which is what we’ve all been waiting for. Crueggal knows far more about this game than we do.”
“And you trust them? I mean, their roster is loaded with ex-spies and CIA types. They pride themselves on having contacts in every cave around the world. What if someone has loose lips?”
“Not gonna happen. Darian’s in the city. I’ll call him and he’ll meet us at the Carlyle.”
“Mitch?”
“Until I know my kids are safe I won’t be worth much, okay? Abby’s a wreck.”
Jack said, “Understood. Go meet her for lunch. We’ll be there and make a plan.”
Chapter 22
Mitch was waiting in the lobby of the Carlyle when Abby rushed in at ten minutes before noon. He waved her over and, without a word, they disappeared into Bemelmans Bar, one of the most famous in the city. At that hour, though, it was nearly empty. They sat on stools at the bar, face-to-face, and ordered diet sodas. Her eyes were moist and worried. Mitch tried his best to remain calm. By nature they were not excitable, but then they had never had their children threatened.
He motioned and she put her shoulder bag on the floor under her stool. Softly, he said, “There’s a chance your new phone will track you wherever you go. Also a good chance it hears and records everything, whether off or on.”