Jack thanked the senator profusely and promised to call later.
Forty-five million was half of ninety, their goal. Add Luca’s ten, and they were still far short.
An exasperated Darian said, “In the dirty world of American slush money, fifteen million is peanuts. The DEA pays that much to drug informants on a monthly basis.”
Jack said, “She’s not an American citizen.”
“Right, and neither are the snitches down in Colombia.”
For many hours over many days, they had debated whether the terrorists might bend. How much would they settle for if the entire $100 million could not be raised? It was difficult to imagine them walking away from a large pile of money. They had $10 million in hand. Another $55 mil was within their grasp.
Darian thought the current record was the $38 million paid by the French to a Somalian gang for a journalist, but since there was no centralized clearinghouse for international hostage taking, no one really knew. Sixty-five million was certainly an impressive sum.
The alternative, though, was too gruesome to think about.
Mitch stepped into another room and called Istanbul.
The Bombardier Challenger lifted off from Rome’s Leonardo da Vinci international airport at 6 A.M. Tuesday, May 24. Both Jack and Mitch needed sleep, and the flight attendant prepared two beds in separate quarters in the rear of the cabin. First, though, Mitch had something to say. “Let’s have a Bloody Mary, only one, and a chat. There’s something you need to know.”
All Jack wanted was a few hours’ sleep, but he knew this was serious. They asked the flight attendant for drinks, and once they were served she disappeared.
Mitch rattled his cubes, took a couple of sips, and began, “Years ago, when Abby and I left Memphis in the middle of the night, literally running for our lives, we barely got out of town. My employer, the Bendini firm, was owned by the Mob, out of Chicago, and once I realized that I had to get out. The FBI was moving in and the sky was falling. The firm suspected I was whispering to the FBI and there were plans to eliminate me. By then I knew that the firm had a history of keeping its lawyers quiet. Once you joined the firm, you never left. At least five lawyers had tried in the decade before I got there. All were dead. I knew I was next. As I was planning my escape, I saw the opportunity to re-route some money. Some offshore funds that were hidden in a bank, on Grand Cayman, oddly enough, and I knew how to wire it to other places. It was dirty money, firm money, Mob money. I was frightened and angry and facing a very uncertain future. My promising career was in the sewer, thanks to Bendini, and if I survived I was looking at a life on the run. So, as compensation, I took the dirty money. Ten million dollars of it. Whisked away by the magic of wire transfer. I sent some to care for my mother, some to Abby’s parents, the rest I kept hidden offshore. Later, I told the FBI about it and offered to give most of it back. They didn’t care. They were too busy prosecuting thugs. What would they do with the money? With time I guess they forgot about it.”
Jack sipped his drink, thoroughly amused.
“After I went to work for Scully, in London, I contacted the FBI one last time. They had lost all interest. I pushed them and finally got a letter, a waiver, from the IRS. No taxes owed. Case closed.”
“It’s still sitting out there, offshore,” Jack said.
“Still there, in the Royal Bank of Quebec, which happens to be just down the street from the Trinidad Trust.”
“On Grand Cayman.”
“On Grand Cayman. Those guys keep secrets, believe me.”
“And by now it’s a lot more than ten million.”
“Correct. It’s been earning interest for fifteen years, all tax-free. I’ve talked to Abby, and we think this is the perfect time to unload most of this money. For some reason, we’ve always felt like it’s not really ours, you know?”
“Ransom?”
“Yes, we’re kicking in another ten million. So, with another ten million from Luca, we’re up to sixty-five, in addition to the first ten. Not a bad payday for a bunch of desert thugs.”
“That’s very generous, Mitch.”
“I know. Do you think they’ll take sixty-five?”
“I have no idea. They seem to love blood as much as money.”
They were quiet for a long time as they enjoyed their drinks. Finally, Mitch said, “And there’s something else.”
“Can’t wait.”
“I called Omar Celik a few hours ago and I asked him for ten million. He adores Luca and Giovanna but I’m not sure his fondness translates into that much cash. So, I did a foolish thing. I guaranteed him we would recover the money in the lawsuit.”
“That’s pretty foolish.”
“As I said.”
“But I don’t blame you. Desperate times call for desperate measures. What did he say?”
“Said he’d sleep on it. So, I doubled down and went even crazier. I threatened him, told him that if he didn’t pitch in I’d withdraw as counsel and he’d be forced to hire a new firm.”
“You don’t threaten Turks.”
“I know. But he kept his cool. I’ll bet he comes through.”
“That would be seventy-five million.”
“The math is pretty simple, if nothing else is. Will they walk away from seventy-five million?”
“Would you?”
“No. Plus, they get rid of the hostage. She can’t be an easy prisoner.”
The booze blended nicely with the fatigue and jet lag, and an hour after takeoff, Mitch and Jack were in deep sleep 40,000 feet over the Atlantic.
Chapter 42
For morning coffee, Abby wore her white dress and no makeup. Hassan wore another fine linen suit of a soft olive color. Brilliant white shirt, no tie. They met at the same table, one she was already tired of. They ordered coffee and tea and told the waiter they would think about breakfast later.
Hassan, ever the charming pro, kept smiling until she said, “We need more time, an additional twenty-four hours.”
A sudden frown and a shake of the head. “I’m sorry. That’s not possible.”
“Then we can’t arrange the entire sum of ninety million.”
A deeper frown. “Then things get complicated.”
“Things are beyond complicated. We are collecting money from at least seven different sources and in multiple languages.”
“I see. A question. If you have twenty-four additional hours, how much more money can you scrape together?”
“I’m not sure.”
His small black eyes zeroed in like lasers. “Then, that says it all, Mrs. McDeere. If you can’t promise more money, then I can’t promise more time. How much do you have?”
“Seventy-five. Plus, of course, the deposit of ten.”
“Of course. And it is in hand and your husband will be prepared to wire it tomorrow?”
The waiter was back and he slowly set the tea and coffee in front of them. He inquired again about breakfast, but Hassan rudely waved him off.
He glanced around, saw no one, and said, “Very well. I shall speak to my client. This is not good news.”
“It’s the only news I have. I want to see Giovanna.”
“I doubt that’s possible.”
“Then there’s no deal. No seventy-five million. No wire transfer tomorrow. I want to see her today and I’m not leaving this hotel.”
“You’re asking too much, Mrs. McDeere. We’re not walking into a trap.”
“A trap? Do I look like a person who could set a trap? I’m a cookbook editor from New York.”
He was smiling again as he shook his head in amusement. “It’s not possible.”
“Figure it out.”
She abruptly stood, picked up her cup of coffee, and left the restaurant with it. Hassan waited a moment until she was out of sight and pulled out his phone.