The Exchange: After The Firm

Chapter 11

The cab of the truck was like a cockpit with two captain’s chairs for the drivers. A narrow passageway ran to the back so that the drivers could talk to the passengers if necessary. Unmarked crates of supplies were stacked near the rear door, with more loaded onto a deck above the roof. When Youssef was satisfied that everything was strapped down and secure, he took the wheel and shifted gears.

Giovanna and her bodyguards were in heavily padded chairs that could recline a few inches and were quite comfortable, at least on the paved city streets. Haskel, the leader, explained to Giovanna that the roads were not quite as smooth out in the country. According to him, the truck had been modified to haul Lannak engineers and executives from the city to the bridge and back, and had been used practically every day for years now. Youssef could make the drive in his sleep, which he often did.

Aziz offered her thick Turkish coffee, which smelled delicious as he poured it into a metal cup. Haskel handed her a twisted pastry of some sort, flaky around the edges with a distinct sesame aroma. He explained, “It’s called a kaak. Very tasty.”

Over his shoulder, Youssef said, “My wife makes them all the time for these trips.”

“Thanks.” She took a bite and smiled her approval.

The city’s streets were still dark and empty and it was too early for even a hint of sunlight. Two narrow windows on each side of the cargo hold gave them glimpses of the city. Within minutes, Gau and Abdo were slumped in their seats, eyes firmly closed. After two sips of the coffee, Giovanna knew sleep would not be possible. She nibbled on the Libyan version of a biscuit and tried to absorb her surroundings. Two days earlier she had been at her desk in London, same as always, dressed to kill and not looking forward to another round of dull meetings. Now she was in Tripoli, in the rear of a converted truck, sitting with four heavily armed Turks, and venturing into the desert where she would inspect a billion-dollar bridge to nowhere. She was wearing loose jeans, hiking boots, no makeup whatsoever. She pulled out her cell phone. Haskel noticed this and said, “Service is okay for about an hour, then nothing.”

“How do you speak with your construction people at the bridge?”

“A satellite system for phones and internet. You can use it when we get there.”

She was worried about Mitch and sent him a text. She did not expect a response. She sent one to Samir, who quickly replied with the news that Mitch was feeling better. He, Samir, planned to spend the day at the hospital. She thought about Luca and decided to wait. Hopefully he was still asleep.

Aziz nodded off, leaving only Haskel to stand guard, though no security was needed at the moment. Boredom hit hard, and Giovanna opened an exciting office memo that purported to summarize the sorry state of modern Libya, or at least since 1969, when Gaddafi pulled off his coup and installed himself as dictator, ruler, and king for life. At the edge of the city, as the highway narrowed, she began to yawn and realized that she had slept less than three hours. Mitch had called near death at 2 A.M. and she had been wired ever since.

She checked her phone. No service. Only four hours to go.

The security guards at the checkpoint were regular Libyan Army. There were five of them, and they had been dead for an hour by the time Youssef made the long turn and the concrete barriers came into view. Their bodies were in the rear of a stolen truck that would soon be burned. Their uniforms were now being worn by their killers.

Youssef saw the guards and said, “Checkpoint. We may have to get out.”

Haskel looked at Giovanna and said, “This is the main checkpoint and we usually get out so the guards can have a look inside. It’s kind of nice to stretch our legs. There’s a restroom of sorts, if needed. Don’t worry.”

She nodded and said, “I’m okay. Thanks.”

The truck stopped. Two guards pointed with their rifles. Youssef and Walid got out and said hello. It was all routine. Another guard opened the rear door and motioned for the four Turks and Giovanna to get out.

“No guns!” the guard shouted in Arabic.

As usual, the Turks left their weapons on their seats and stepped into the sunlight. It was almost 9 A.M. and the desert was already hot. Two men in uniform climbed into the truck and looked around. Minutes dragged on and Youssef began glancing around. He did not recognize the guards, but then they rotated so often. Two of them stood close by with Kalashnikovs, their fingers close to the triggers.

The leader stepped out of the truck holding Haskel’s automatic pistol. He waved it at them and yelled, in Arabic, “Hands up, high!”

The four Turks, two Libyans, and Giovanna slowly raised their hands.

“On your knees!” he shouted.

Instead of dropping to his knees, Youssef took a step in the wrong direction and said, “What is this? We have permission!”

The leader aimed the pistol at his face, and from three feet away, pulled the trigger.

Haskel had called his boss at the Lannak construction camp as they were leaving the city and said they were on schedule to arrive at 10 A.M. This had been standard operating procedure for the entire time the bridge had been under construction. Always plan the trip, nothing spur of the moment, always call ahead, and always call to announce the departure and arrival. Someone with authority was watching and waiting. Most of the highways were safe, but it was Libya, after all, a land of warring tribes that had thrived on conflict for centuries.

At 10:30, the camp called the radio in Youssef’s truck, but there was no answer. Same at 10:45 and 11:00. If there had been a breakdown, which were not uncommon, the driver would have called the camp immediately. At 11:05, the camp received a call from the Libyan Army. The message was disturbing: Another truck had stopped at the checkpoint, only to find it deserted. The five army guards were missing, along with their two trucks and two jeeps. There was no sign of another vehicle. The army was sending helicopters and troops to the area.

The search revealed nothing, though it wasn’t difficult to hide in the vastness of the Sahara. At 3 P.M., the Lannak executive in charge called Samir, who was at his office. He returned to the hospital to find Mitch napping again, and decided to wait an hour or so before delivering the troubling news.

By 5 P.M., Mitch had forgotten about his food poisoning and was on the phone with Jack Ruch in New York, who in turn had patched in Riley Casey, his counterpart in the London office. With so many details yet to be confirmed, it still seemed inconceivable that an associate of Scully & Pershing could be missing in Libya. But there had been no sign of Giovanna or any of the men with her for twelve hours. And no contact. The nightmare was evolving, and with each passing hour it became grimmer.

The most pressing issue was how to tell her father. Mitch knew he had no choice but to do so himself, and soon, before Luca heard the news from some other source.

At 6:30 P.M., Mitch called Luca in Rome and told him his daughter was missing.