Scully & Pershing was a law firm, not a hedge fund. Sure, its lawyers made plenty of money and the veteran partners were millionaires, at least on paper, but they were far from billionaires. Not even close. They had nice apartments in the city and pleasant weekend cottages in the country, but they didn’t buy yachts and islands. The private airplanes they used were leased not owned, and every trip was billed to a client. The previous year the firm grossed just over $2 billion, and after the bills were paid and the profits were split, there was almost nothing left over. It was not uncommon for the firm to tap into its line of credit for extra cash during the slow months. Virtually every firm in Big Law did so.
Cory finally said, “We’ve asked ourselves if this is a hoax, if Noura is for real. This removes any doubt. She’s part of a pretty slick operation over there with plenty of contacts here.”
“Mitch, you’re sure that’s Giovanna?” Darian asked.
Mitch snorted as if the question was ridiculous. “No doubt.”
Darian appeared ready to take charge, but Mitch would have none of it. It was a Scully matter and its partners would make the hard decisions. He turned from the window and said, “It’s clear that our line of communication is rather limited. It’s Noura and no one else, and I doubt she has the authority to negotiate. So, if we can’t negotiate we’re stuck with a nine-figure ransom that seems impossible. But we do not have the option of giving up. Does anyone doubt that in ten days these thugs will execute Giovanna in some spectacular fashion?” He glared at Jack, Cory, Darian, and he nodded at Abby. Everyone agreed.
“She has dual citizenship, British and Italian. What are the chances of asking those two governments to contribute to a ransom fund?”
Darian was shaking his head. “Slim. They don’t negotiate with terrorists and they don’t pay them ransom. Officially, at least.”
“No one is negotiating, Darian. That’s part of the problem. They’re using Noura to deliver messages to Abby. Let’s make it clear to both governments that in ten days there is a good chance that one of their citizens, one with a high profile, could be murdered, probably in front of a camera.”
Jack asked Darian, “What do you mean ‘officially’?”
He nodded and said, “The Italians made a large payment a few years ago to rescue a tourist in Yemen. They kept it quiet and still deny it.”
“And you were involved?” Mitch asked.
He nodded but said nothing.
“So there is wiggle room with the governments,” Mitch said and waited for a response. Darian shrugged but said nothing. He looked at Jack and asked, “When does the management committee meet?”
“Early in the morning. Emergency session.”
“Great. I’m off to Rome. I have to tell Luca that they’ve made contact and are demanding ransom. I’ll show him the video and try to allay his fears. Knowing Luca, he’ll have ideas about where to find some cash.”
To emphasize the urgency of the matter, and to prod the world’s largest law firm into action, the terrorists firebombed another Scully office. The timing was perfect: exactly 11 A.M. Eastern Standard Time, half an hour after Noura met Abby.
It was another basic package bomb: reinforced cardboard holding tubes of highly combustible fluids, probably ammonium nitrate and fuel oil, though the authorities would never be certain because of the extensive damage. It was similar to the one used in Athens and was not designed to knock down walls, blow out windows, or kill people. Its purpose was to set off a roaring fire on a Sunday when no one would be in the shipping room of the Barcelona office. It was on the fifth floor of a new building with plenty of sprinklers. They kicked in immediately and minimized the blaze until the fire crews showed up. The Scully & Pershing suites were either fire-gutted or soaked with water, but there was little damage in the rest of the building.
Mitch was in a cab headed to JFK for the flight to Rome when Cory called with the latest. “Crazy bastards,” he mumbled in disbelief.
Cory said, “No doubt, and we’re easy targets, Mitch. Just look at our beautiful website. Offices in every major city and some minor ones as well. World’s biggest firm, blah, blah, blah. It practically invites trouble.”
“And now we’ll spend a fortune on security.”
“We’re already spending a fortune on security. How am I supposed to protect two thousand lawyers in thirty-one offices?”
“Make that twenty-nine.”
“Ha, ha, very funny.”
Chapter 27
The firm’s management committee consisted of nine senior partners, ranging in age from fifty-two to almost seventy, Jack Ruch being the oldest at sixty-nine. There was no additional compensation for serving on the MC and most partners tried to avoid it. However, someone had to take the ultimate responsibility for running the place and making the most difficult decisions. But, obviously, never in the firm’s illustrious history had any partner been faced with such a momentous predicament.
Jack rousted them out of bed for a seven o’clock emergency meeting Monday morning. He immediately called for an executive session, meaning the two secretaries and Cory had to leave the boardroom. He asked a partner named Bart Ambrose to take minutes, and, though it was completely unnecessary and borderline irksome, he reminded them of the need for confidentiality. He began with a quick slide show of the photographs Noura had sent to Abby’s new phone the previous Thursday morning: Abby and the boys, their apartment building, her office. He saved the best for last and revealed the long-distance photo of 110 Broad, the handsome tower in which they were now sitting.
“We’re being watched,” he said dramatically. “Watched, followed, photographed, and threatened. And now they’re firebombing our offices on the other side of the world.”
All breathing had ceased as they gawked at the images.
The photos were from Thursday. The McDeeres went into hiding on Friday. Noura, the messenger, made contact on Saturday, met with Abby McDeere on Sunday, and passed along the demand for a hundred million.
Gloom was added to fear as the other eight members of the committee realized just how much money was at stake and that the firm might be on the hook for some of it.
The room was still silent as Jack played the video of Giovanna on a wide screen. Only a few had actually met her, but all of them knew her father. The visual impact of a Scully associate held hostage was breathtaking. They had been apprised of the situation over the past month, but nothing had prepared them for the shock of seeing her gaunt face and hearing her strained voice.
Jack stopped the video but left an indelible image of Giovanna on the screen for them to contemplate. He told them that Mitch had landed in Rome about an hour ago and was on his way to see Luca.
When the questions began, they came in a flood and from every side. Why not involve the FBI and CIA? The firm had strong contacts at the State Department. What were the Brits doing, and the Italians? Was there a plan to try to negotiate? The firm had insurance that paid for highly qualified hostage negotiators, why not use them? How much did they know about the terrorist group? Had they even identified it? Had the bankers been called?
Jack was not expecting the committee to agree on a plan, or on anything else for that matter, so he proposed nothing. He answered the questions he could, deflected those he couldn’t, argued when necessary, and in general let everyone blow off steam and try to impress the others. After a raucous first hour, the committee was split into three or four factions, with loyalties swinging back and forth. The loudest group wanted to go straight to the FBI and CIA, but Jack held firm. A couple didn’t like the idea of Mitch operating like a lone wolf out there, without real supervision.