She was drifting away too.
They were running on fumes, but the fatigue could not overtake the stress. They took turns catnapping until, typically, the boys were hungry again. Mitch wandered into the kitchen in search of popcorn.
Chapter 36
When Tanner opened the house at daybreak on Saturday, he found Mitch at the breakfast table, pecking away on his laptop. Notepads and memos were scattered about. Mitch said, “I wasn’t sure how to make the coffee and didn’t want to screw up the machine.”
“I’ll take care of it. Anything else?”
“No. I’ll be leaving in a couple hours. Abby will leave tomorrow. We’re hoping to retrieve the boys by the end of next week, if that’s okay. We feel like we’re imposing here.”
“No, sir, not at all. This house was built for guests and Mr. Ruch enjoys your company. You have a very nice family, Mr. McDeere. Please don’t feel rushed or anything like that. I promised the boys we’d go fishing this afternoon, if the weather holds.”
“Thank you, Tanner. They’re city boys and they’re having a blast, an unexpected vacation. You’re very patient with them.”
“Good kids, Mr. McDeere. We’re having fun. Emma will be along shortly for breakfast, but can I offer you anything?”
“No, thanks. Just coffee.”
Tanner disappeared into the kitchen and began making noise. Mitch took a break and walked outside to enjoy the brisk morning. Then the calls began. The first was to Stephen Stodghill, who was already at the office. Mitch wanted two paralegals on standby. Jack Ruch was en route. Cory was in the city and still asleep, or he was until Mitch called. It was early afternoon in Rome, and Roberto had just left the hospital where Luca had been through another bad night.
Abby wandered in at seven in search of coffee. Miss Emma fixed them cheese omelets and they ate alone in the dining room. With each day being entirely unpredictable it was difficult to plan, but plans had to be made. Mitch would leave for New York in half an hour, then on to Rome. Abby would leave Sunday morning for the city and be in their apartment staring at that damned Jakl at precisely noon. They expected a call from Noura, and the great question would be: “Do you have the money?”
The answer would be: “Yes. What’s next?”
Mitch showered and changed and peeked in on the boys. He wanted so badly to wake them and squeeze them, then go outside and play baseball. But the games would have to wait, hopefully for only a few more days.
A King Air was waiting at Islesboro Airport.
Lannak’s claim against the Republic of Libya was for unpaid bills in the amount of $410 million, plus interest on the balance of $52 million. After the murders and abduction, Mitch had tacked on another $50 million for additional damages. It was a sum he chose arbitrarily and represented the “soft” part of the claim. The interest was also a moving target since it was accumulating daily. Of the original claim, the $410 million, about half included sums due that, at least in his opinion, were not disputable. These included “hard” charges for labor, supplies, cement, steel, equipment, transportation, professional fees, and so on. These were costs that were built into the project from day one and incurred regardless of how much Lannak and the Libyans bickered over change orders and design flaws.
During their many hours on airplanes, Mitch and Stephen had reviewed every invoice and labor timesheet. They had put together a four-page summary of expenses paid by Lannak that were indisputable. For fun, they labeled it: Dossier GGBN84. Great Gaddafi Bridge to Nowhere. Clark’s baseball jersey was number 8. Carter was number 4.
In Jack’s conference room, Stephen passed around current drafts of the dossier as Mitch stood by the window. Jack, Cory, and Darian looked at the drafts. Two paralegals sat in the hallway, outside the closed door, waiting for instructions. It was 11:45 on a gorgeous Saturday morning in late May.
Mitch was saying, “We’ve gone through all the numbers so you don’t have to. The bottom line on page four sums it all up. We can argue that there are at least a hundred and seventy million dollars in unpaid bills that are beyond dispute. Needless to say, we think Lannak is due half a billion and I’m confident I can prove it in Geneva, but that’s for another day.”
Jack said, “So a partial settlement?”
“Exactly. We present this to the Libyans now, today even, and demand payment. And we make it clear that an expedited settlement could quite possibly facilitate the release of Giovanna Sandroni.”
No one in the small audience seemed moved.
Jack laid down his copy and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t get it. You’re asking the Libyans to pay one-seventy to Lannak so we can pay the ransom.”
“No. We’re asking the Libyans to pay this amount because they owe this amount.”
“Got that. But what about Lannak? They’re going to chip in a pile of money because they’re good guys?”
“No. Frankly, I don’t know what they’ll do, but they’ll contribute something to the fund.”
Darian said, “May I ask who else is contributing to the fund at this time? Anyone? We’re ten million down with ninety to go, right?”
“Right,” Mitch said. He glanced at Jack, who looked away. Neither Darian nor Cory knew that mighty Scully & Pershing had declined further participation in the ransom plot.
Mitch continued, “There are many moving parts, Darian. We continue to push hard in diplomatic circles, in Rome and London.”
“The goal being?”
“The goal being to squeeze money from both governments to prevent the murder of a high-profile hostage. We’ve just learned that last year the Brits paid something like ten million pounds to get a nurse out of Afghanistan. It’s technically against their law but sometimes laws get in the way of saving lives. We’ve asked the Brits and the Italians for twenty-five million each, and we know that both requests are being considered by the prime ministers.”
“What about your insurance policy? Another twenty-five, right?”
“Wrong,” said Jack. “The insurance company has denied coverage. We intend to sue but that’ll take a few years. We have four days.”
Cory gave Mitch a puzzled look and asked, “How did you learn of the nurse in Afghanistan?”
“Sources. It came out of Washington.”
“Can we discuss it later?”
“Maybe. If there’s time. It’s not a priority at the moment.”
Cory withdrew, chastened. The nurse was secret intel he was supposed to know about, not the lawyers at Scully.
Mitch said, “Anything else? The plan is to zip this to Roberto in Rome and Riley in London and crank up the pressure on the Libyan embassies there.”
Jack shook his head and said, “It’s a long shot, Mitch.”
“Of course it’s a long shot, highly unlikely and all that. I get it! Does anyone have a better idea?” Mitch immediately regretted his sharp tone. He was, after all, still addressing the managing partner. For the moment, anyway.
“I’m sorry,” Jack said like a true friend. “I’m on board.”
The meeting moved from the conference room at Scully & Pershing to the cabin of a Gulfstream G450 parked at Teterboro Airport in New Jersey. When they were belted in — the same team minus the paralegals — the flight attendant took their drink orders and informed them they would land in Rome in seven hours. Lunch would be served when they reached altitude. Phones and Wi-Fi were all working. There were two sofas in the rear cabin for napping.
Shortly after 7 P.M. in Rome, Roberto Maggi entered the Caffè dei Fiori in the Aventine neighborhood of southwestern Rome. Diego Antonelli lived around the corner and agreed to a quick glass of wine. He and his wife had plans for dinner later in the evening and he did little to hide his annoyance at being bothered on a Saturday. But bothered as he might be, he also appreciated the gravity of the moment. The government he served was being whipsawed by events beyond its control. It was compelled to protect an Italian citizen being held hostage, yet it was not allowed to know the details of the captivity and possible release. It could not negotiate. It could not consider a rescue. Only the Americans were in contact with the kidnappers, and that had become a source of great irritation.