“I’d like to get rid of it. Have you called the school?”
“No, not yet.” He nodded, stood, and motioned for her to follow him. They walked a few feet away and kept their eyes on her bag. Almost whispering, Mitch said, “We’ll meet with the security folks upstairs in a few minutes. Maybe we’ll figure out what to do.”
Her jaws clenched and she tapped her teeth together. “I say we get the boys and get the hell out of the city, go hide somewhere for a few days.”
“I like that. The problem is you can’t leave. The phone might track you and you have to keep it in your pocket at all times. You’re the link, Abby. They chose you.”
“I’m honored.” Her eyes suddenly watered. “Can you believe this, Mitch? They followed us to school this morning. They know where we live and work. How did we get here?”
“We’re here and we’ll get out, I promise.”
“No promises, Mitch. You don’t know any more than I do. I want to help Giovanna, okay, but right now my only concern is my two little boys. Let’s go snatch ’em and run.”
“Maybe later, but right now let’s go upstairs and meet with the team.”
The two conference rooms in the business center were taken, so Cory booked a suite on the third floor. He was waiting with Jack and Darian. Quick introductions were made. Abby knew Jack from the annual partners’ Christmas dinner, a fussy black-tie party that almost everyone loathed. She had met Cory years earlier during one of the firm’s security audits.
For obvious reasons, Abby was feeling vulnerable at the moment. In addition, she was suddenly in a meeting with a complete stranger and expected to discuss private matters. Always eager to take charge, Darian bulled right ahead and said, “It is important to walk through your confrontation with Noura.”
Abby shot him a look and said, “I’m not sure I like your tone.”
For a second all the air left the room. Mitch felt compelled to soothe tensions and said, “Look Darian, it’s been a rough morning and we’re a bit on edge. What, exactly, do you want to know?”
“Who said it was a confrontation?” Abby demanded.
Darian offered a quick phony smile and said, “You’re right, Ms. McDeere. Bad choice of words.”
“Okay.”
“Mind if we see the phone?” he asked pleasantly.
“No problem.” It was buried in the bottom of her large bag and it took a moment to fish it out. She placed it in the center of a small round table. Darian pressed his index finger to his lips to ask for quiet. He held it, examined its casing, and with a small screwdriver took the back off. With his phone he took photos and sent them to someone who worked for Crueggal. He opened his laptop, pecked away like a manic hacker, and stopped to admire whatever he had found. He half turned the screen around for the others to see. The trade name was “Jakl” and it was made in Vietnam for a company in Hungary. The list of specifications was in small print and ran on for pages. The message was clear: it was a specialized, complicated phone not intended for the average consumer. Darian returned to his rapid key-tapping and kept searching. His cell phone rang and he spoke in some coded dialect, then smiled and ended the call.
“It’s not listening to us,” he said with relief. “However, it does emit a tracking signal regardless of the ON/OFF switch.”
Mitch asked, “So right now they know the phone is in the Carlyle Hotel?”
“They know the phone is within fifty yards of where it really is. They probably don’t know it’s up here and not in the restaurant.”
Abby half snorted in disgust and shook her head.
Darian gave the phone to Cory, who held it so he and Mitch could see the screen. He touched the Photos key, and there were the boys with their mother bounding off to another day of school. Mitch shook his head in disbelief at all five photos. When he’d seen enough, he said, “Okay, Abby, why don’t you walk us through what happened with Noura?”
She looked at Darian and said, “Sorry I snapped. Things are a bit tense.”
“No apology necessary, Abby. We’re here to help.”
Abby recalled every possible detail as Darian recorded her and everyone else took notes. He prodded with questions about Noura’s appearance: Height — about the same as Abby’s, five feet seven. Weight — who could tell with all the layers of robes. Age — young, under thirty, but again impossible to be sure with the heavy veil and all. Accent — perfect English with maybe a slight Middle Eastern accent. Anything memorable about her hands, arms, shoes? Nothing, everything was covered. Did Noura order food or drink? No.
As the interrogation went on, Jack stepped into the other room and began making calls.
When Abby had told them everything, she said, “That’s it. Nothing else. I feel like I’m on the witness stand here. I’d like to spend some time alone with my husband.”
Cory said, “Good idea. You two go downstairs and have lunch while we figure out the next steps.”
Mitch said, “That’s great, Cory, but the next step is our kids. Giovanna is important, but right now nothing matters but the safety of Clark and Carter.”
“We’re with you, Mitch.”
“Right. And nothing is done without my approval, okay?”
“Got it.”
Thoughts of eating were impossible but it seemed imperative to at least order something. They chose salads and tea and could not help but glance around the lovely restaurant, Dowling’s, to see if anyone was staring at them. No one was.
Though the wretched Jakl phone was wedged deep in the bottom of Abby’s sizable shoulder bag, which itself was stuffed under her chair, they still spoke softly. The question was, Where? Not if, or when, or how, but where? They had to find a safe place to run and hide with the boys. Her parents’ home in Kentucky, her childhood home, was a possibility, but would be too obvious. Abby’s boss, the publisher of Epicurean, had a cottage on Martha’s Vineyard. But then, virtually everyone they knew in the city had a getaway either in the Hamptons or upstate or somewhere in New England, and the list of options grew longer as they talked. It was easy to think of possible places; the difficulty would be in the asking.
Mitch doubted she would be able to leave the city. They had no idea when Noura might call again and Abby would be expected to drop everything for a meeting. Mitch was more than ready to flee with the boys and forget the office.
The head of River Latin School was Giles Gatterson, a veteran of the city’s pressurized private school business. Mitch served on the Legal & Policy Committee and knew Giles well. He would call him later in the day and explain that they were in an unusual situation that was not covered by any of the rules. For safety reasons, they were taking the boys away for a few days, perhaps even a week. He would be as vague as possible and would not tell Giles the boys were being watched, followed, or threatened. No need to alarm anyone else at the school. He might be more forthcoming later, but not now.
For the $57,000 a year they paid in tuition per child, the school could damned well bend a little. The boys’ assignments would be monitored in person by their parents and online by their teachers.
It was time to make a move. The only question was — Where?
In the restaurant, lunch was ignored. Up in the suite, it was never considered. Cory, Jack, and Darian sat around a small coffee table and walked through various scenarios. For the sake of argument, Darian broached the subject of notifying the FBI and CIA. Crueggal had close contacts with each and he was certain the information would be protected. He did not advocate any contact, but thought it appropriate to at least air it out. The obvious reason to say no was that Giovanna Sandroni was not an American. Jack believed strongly that neither agency would want to get involved, given the unstable relationship with Libya and the likelihood of a bad outcome. The CIA had blown enough operations in recent history to want to stay in its box. Darian agreed. During his long career in intelligence, he’d seen the CIA mishandle many crises, many of which it had created in the first place. He had no confidence in the agency’s ability to either keep its nose out of it or to protect Giovanna if and when it got involved.