The Exchange: After The Firm

Chapter 18

In Giovanna’s absence, Mitch needed an ambitious associate to step in and do the grunt work. There was no shortage of them at Scully; indeed, the firm hired three hundred of the brightest law grads each spring and marched them through the meat grinder of 100-hour workweeks and relentless deadlines. After a year, the blue-chippers began to emerge from the pack. After two years, those falling behind were jumping ship, but by then the veterans could spot the lifers, the future partners.

Stephen Stodghill was a fifth-year senior associate from a small town in Kansas who had excelled at the University of Chicago Law School. Mitch had a secret bias in favor of the small-town kids who were succeeding nicely in the big leagues. He asked Stephen to join the team and was not surprised when he jumped at the chance. There were no snide jokes about what happened to the last associate Mitch had picked. They were still trying to find her.

Giovanna’s plight was on the minds of every Scully lawyer, all two thousand of them in thirty-one offices around the world. There was much concern and quiet talk as they went about their work, waiting. Always waiting for news of the next development. In the Atlanta and Houston offices, small groups of lawyers and employees met for coffee and prayer early each morning. A female partner in Orlando was married to an Episcopal priest who was thoughtful enough to stop by the office for a moment of prayer.

Mitch worked late on Thursday afternoon and met for an hour with Stephen to begin the arduous process of covering all aspects of Lannak Construction versus The Republic of Libya. The file was four thousand pages thick and counting. Scully had retained eight experts who were preparing to testify on such topics as bridge design, architecture, construction methods, materials, pricing, delays, and so on. The idea of an exotic case in a foreign country excited Stephen at first, but the fun wore off quickly as they plowed through the material.

Mitch left at seven and had a quiet evening with Abby and the boys. He returned at eight the next morning and found Stephen exactly where he had left him — at the small worktable in one corner of his office. When Mitch realized what had happened, he dropped his head as he shook it.

“Let me guess. An all-nighter?”

“Yes, I really had nothing else to do and I got into it. Fascinating.”

Mitch had worked his share of brutal hours, but he had never felt compelled to pull an all-nighter. Such feats were common in Big Law, and were supposed to be admired and hopefully add to the legend of some gunner aiming for an early partnership. Mitch had no patience with it.

But Stephen was single and his girlfriend was an associate at another large law firm and suffering the same abuse. He wanted to propose but couldn’t find the time. She wanted to get married but worried they’d never see each other. When they managed to meet for a late dinner they often nodded off after the first cocktail.

Mitch smiled and said, “Okay, a new rule. If you want to remain on this case you cannot work more than sixteen hours a day on it. Understood?”

“I guess.”

“Then guess again. Listen to me, Stephen. I am now the attorney of record, and that means I’m your boss. Do not work more than sixteen hours a day on this case. Am I clear?”

“Got it, boss.”

“That’s more like it. Now get out of my office.”

Stephen jumped to his feet and grabbed a pile of papers. On his way out he said, “Say, boss, I was fooling around last night on the internet and found the video, the one with the chain saw. Have you seen it?”

“No. Not going to.”

“Smart. I wish I’d never seen it because I’ll never forget it. That’s one reason I stayed up all night. Couldn’t sleep. Probably won’t sleep tonight either.”

“You should’ve known better.”

“Yes, I should have. The screaming—”

“That’s enough, Stephen. Go find something else to do.”

Another day passed with no word from the kidnappers or those trying to find them. Then another. Mitch began each morning with a security briefing with Cory in Jack Ruch’s office. By closed-circuit, they listened with increasing frustration to Darian’s updates from North Africa. He did a credible job of filling twenty minutes with what-might-happen-next, but the truth was he was guessing.

Finally, there was high drama. On the night of Sunday, April 24, nine days after the abduction, a Libyan counter-terrorism unit attacked a camp near the border of Chad. The area was a no-man’s-land with few inhabitants, and those who did live there did so because they carried weapons and were either expecting trouble or planning more of it. The sprawling, hidden camp was rumored to be the headquarters of Adheem Barakat and his small army of revolutionaries. Given the vastness of the Sahara, surprise attacks were almost impossible to pull off and the Libyans did a lousy job of it. Barakat may have been warned by tribesmen on his payroll, or his sentries and their drones may have been on high alert. Regardless, the attack was met head-on and a fierce battle raged for three hours. Hundreds of Libyan commandos arrived in troop carriers while others were air-dropped from Mi-26 Russian-made helicopters. Two were shot down by shoulder-mounted Strela missiles, also made by the Russians. The Libyans were shocked at such firepower. Casualties on both sides were horrendous, and when it became apparent that the fight might go on until everyone was dead, the Libyan commander called for a retreat.

Tripoli immediately released a statement describing the mission as a precision strike by government forces against a terrorist group. It was a resounding success. The enemy had been routed.

At the same time, the government leaked a story that the real reason behind the raid was to rescue Giovanna Sandroni. It was intended as clear proof that Gaddafi was not involved in her abduction. He was trying to save her.

Mercifully, she’d been four hundred miles away.

Mitch and Jack Ruch left LaGuardia on the 8:15 A.M. shuttle to Reagan National in Washington. They were met at the curb by Benson Wall, Scully’s managing partner in D.C. A driver whisked them away in a black company sedan and just minutes after landing they were sitting in traffic above the Potomac. Their meeting with Senator Lake was at 10:30, so they had plenty of time. Lake was famously late for every other meeting, but for the ones in his office he expected punctuality.

Elias Lake was in his third term but still the junior senator from New York. The senior senator was elected in 1988 and was showing no signs of fatigue or vulnerability. Not surprisingly, Scully & Pershing had deep ties to both men, warm relationships built on the firm’s ability to raise large sums of money and the senators’ willingness to listen. With little effort, Jack could get either one on the phone at almost any reasonable hour, but the urgency of the Sandroni matter necessitated a face-to-face meeting. Senator Lake was a sub-committee chairman on Foreign Affairs, and in that position had become close to the current secretary of state. Also, Benson Wall had hired Lake’s nephew three years earlier as an associate out of Georgetown. Jack and Benson agreed that their time would be better spent with Lake than with the senior senator from New York.

Four years earlier, Mitch had visited Capitol Hill for the first time. He had tagged along with another partner and a client, a defense contractor who had hired Scully to extract it from some unfair contracts. A certain senator from Idaho needed to be stroked. Mitch disliked Capitol Hill and saw it as a frantic place where little was accomplished. He had vowed to never go back.

Unless. Unless there was something as urgent as a kidnapped Scully associate and the firm was desperate for help.

He, Jack, and Benson arrived at 10:15 at the Dirksen Senate Office Building and went to the second floor where they were greeted by more security guards at the door of Lake’s suite. They were shown to a small conference room where they waited a few minutes until an assistant chief of staff greeted them and said “The Senator” was running behind and tied up with other important matters.

At 10:40 they were led into his grand office where he greeted them warmly and showed them seats around the table. He was a pure New Yorker, from Brooklyn, and loved everything about his city. His walls were adorned with banners and pennants for all sports teams. No decent politician could play favorites and expect to be re-elected in New York. Lake was about sixty, fit, hyper, energetic, and always ready for a good scrap.

It was his office, his turf, so he would direct the conversation. “I appreciate your coming, fellas, but we could’ve done this by phone. I understand what’s at stake.”

Jack said, “I know. She’s Italian and British, Senator, so she’s not technically one of us. But she is. She’s a part of Scully, and though we have offices around the world, Scully is and always has been an American firm. A New York firm. She spent one summer as an intern at Skadden, in the city. She has a law degree from Virginia. Her English is better than mine. We’d like for you, and the State Department, to consider Giovanna as one of us, practically an American.”

“Got it, got it, got it. I spoke to Madam Secretary again yesterday. Believe me, Jack, they are taking this very seriously. Daily briefings here and over there. Contacts galore. Nobody is asleep here, Jack. But the problem is that nobody knows anything. Some nasty boys have their hands on her, but so far they’re not talking. Am I right?”

Jack nodded and looked grimly at Benson.

The senator glanced at some notes and continued, “According to our people, and mind you our people are not exactly welcome in Libya so we have to rely on the Brits, Italians, and Israelis for intel, but what we’re hearing is that some insurgent militia of desert rats run by a thug named Barakat is, more than likely, calling the shots. They have Ms. Sandroni but haven’t made contact yet. As you know, there was some initial speculation that Gaddafi might be behind the abduction, but our people don’t believe it.”

Mitch felt as though he was sitting through another briefing by Darian Kasuch. Could he please hear something new?

Jack had cautioned him that the meeting would seem to be a waste of time, but Senator Lake could be crucial later on.

To impress them, the senator retrieved a classified memo from his desk. It was top secret, of course, so confidentiality all around. The raid two nights earlier, the one the Libyans were crowing about, was a total disaster for them. According to the CIA, which trusted the senator with all manner of sensitive material, the Libyan Army lost far more men than the enemy and had to pull back after a brutal counterattack.

More than likely, this had nothing to do with Giovanna, but since the senator had the information he felt compelled to share it. Confidentially, of course.

There were clocks on three of the walls, just so his visitors would know that his time was crucial, his days planned to perfection, and at exactly 11:00 a secretary knocked on the door. Lake pretended to ignore her and kept talking. She knocked again, opened it slightly, and said, “Sir, your meeting is in five minutes.”

He nodded without interrupting his line of chatter and she withdrew. He talked on as if his visitors were far more important than the crucial meetings that followed. The first interruption was for show and designed to make the visitors feel uncomfortable and want to leave. The second interruption was just as scripted and occurred five minutes later when the chief of staff knocked as he entered. He held paperwork that could prove, if ever examined, that things needed to run on schedule and the senator was already late. The chief of staff smiled at Jack, Mitch, and Benson, and said, “Thank you, gentlemen. The senator has a meeting with the vice president.”

Which vice president, Mitch wondered? VP of the Rotary Club? The nearest branch bank?

The senator kept talking as his visitors rose and headed for the door. He promised to stay on top of the situation and contact Jack if there were any developments. Blah, blah, blah. Mitch couldn’t wait to leave.

Lunch was a sandwich in a cafeteria somewhere under the Capitol.

At 1 P.M. they met with a lawyer from the Office of the Legal Adviser to the secretary of state. He was a former Scully associate in the Washington office who had burned out and left private practice. Benson had hired him out of law school and they had maintained a friendship. He claimed to have strong contacts with the deputy secretary of state and was monitoring the hallway gossip. He found it hard to believe that a Scully associate could be abducted.

Crossing the Potomac on the way back to the airport, Mitch was a team player and agreed that the day went well. To himself, he vowed once again to avoid Capitol Hill if at all possible.