The Panic Zone Part 23

Estralla nodded, glanced around to collect a thought, scratched his chin then reached into his pocket and produced Gannon's pa.s.sport, turning it over in his hands.

"You should leave Brazil now, while you can fly home upright." Estralla placed Gannon's pa.s.sport in his hands. "That is a little friendly advice, from one Buffalo Bills fan to another."

Estralla's phone rang. Before taking his call, he shook Gannon's hand then left. Gannon sat alone for several minutes, pondering his pa.s.sport when he heard his name being cursed.

"G.o.ddammit, Gannon, what the h.e.l.l is wrong with you? You don't answer your phone?" Frank Archer had entered the hospital with an older man in a light suit, a man Gannon didn't recognize. "Police told us at the scene that you had come here."

"h.e.l.lo, Frank."

"Lawrence Chapin," the older man introduced himself. "With the U.S. consulate. State Department. You got some nasty bruises there. Are you all right, son?"

"I'm fine."

"Physically, maybe." Archer snorted. "I get back from Gabriela's funeral in Miami and New York's screaming that Gannon's been taken hostage by drug dealers in a favela! There's been a shoot-out! People are dead! I've been unable to reach you. Jesus, Gannon!"

"I said in my note to New York that I was fine, Frank."

"Well George doesn't think so." Archer pulled out an envelope and gave it to Gannon. "You're done here. This is your ticket."

"What do you mean? I'm still on the story."

"Not anymore. You've been a disaster. You're being called back to New York. A flight to JFK leaves in five hours. So check out of your hotel and bon voyage, pal."

"What does Melody say?"

"Doesn't matter--Beland backs George. You're done in Brazil."

"Excuse me," Chapin said, "I need a moment with you, Jack. You see whenever a U.S. citizen is a victim of crime--"

"You know, Jack--" Archer shook his head "--we're going through a tough time down here. It's not easy burying friends. Everyone's emotionally pushed to the breaking point. And while her intentions were good, I think Melody Lyon made a huge mistake sending us someone like you, a person who clearly is not ready to handle a major story of any kind."

Gannon looked long and hard at Archer, standing there, oozing Ivy League arrogance through his designer polo s.h.i.+rt.

"You know, Frank, I think you're right."

"Of course, I'm right. And another thing, you might want to consider going back to Buffalo. Do they still have a newspaper there?"

"That's a thought. And I was going to give you a point to consider but I'm sure you'll figure it out." Gannon turned to Chapin. "We can talk in the taxi to my hotel."

Along the drive, Gannon summarized his ordeal for Chapin, a seasoned diplomat, who'd been involved in many tight situations around the world.

As the car approached the hotel, Chapin offered Gannon his a.s.sistance.

"Can I ask you a confidential question?" Gannon said.

"Certainly."

"Do you know of a Drake Stinson, an American with Worldwide Rio Advogados? He used to work in Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C."

"Yes. I've got friends in the Justice Department and I asked them about Stinson when he arrived in Rio de Janeiro. Seems he used to be a lawyer for the CIA."

"The CIA?"

"You could look him up in old obscure legal bulletins and newsletters. But you won't find much. Stinson handled legal work on critical cases that were usually cla.s.sified, secret proceedings due to national security."

"Really?"

Gannon turned to the window letting the revelation sink in all the way to the Nine Palms Hotel.

30.

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.

At Rio's Galeao International Airport Gannon sat in preboarding, turned on his laptop and began drafting a news story.

He had less than forty-five minutes before his flight departed for JFK.

He tried again to reach Melody Lyon.

No luck.

As time ticked by, he worked on his story that would say that mystery continued to shroud the ident.i.ty of those behind the attack that had killed ten people at the Cafe Amaldo. He quoted Dragon's denial of gang involvement and his accusation that police had fostered rumors of a blood vendetta to trigger a war among competing drug networks.

As Gannon wrote the final paragraphs, the first preboarding advisory for his flight was announced over the PA system. After a quick rereading, he filed his raw copy to the WPA in New York. Once they'd edited his story, it would be translated and offered to WPA's international subscribers, which included virtually every news organization in Brazil. His story would be posted to online sites and would run in print editions the next day. Gannon was hopeful his article would satisfy the Blue Brigade and they would remove their threat to WPA staff.

This should save Frank Archer's arrogant a.s.s.

Gannon waited until New York confirmed receipt of his file in an e-mail.

Got it. Thanks, Jack.

In his article Gannon had made no mention of Maria Santo's meeting with Gabriela or the bigger story because he was still a long way from nailing it.

This is what he knew: Maria Santo was about to give the WPA secret doc.u.ments alleging that the law firm where she worked was involved in the illegal adoption and trafficking of stolen children. The doc.u.ments were marked for destruction. The firm's staff included a former CIA lawyer experienced in highly cla.s.sified cases. Santo was killed at the cafe when she'd met Gabriela.

Another preboarding call piped through the air.

Gannon had a story here. Every instinct told him he was on the right track. He had to keep digging but he needed help. He searched his e-mails for anything from Sarah Kirby's organization. He needed to see the complete set of doc.u.ments Maria Santo had obtained. He needed them now because he would have no Internet access on his nine-hour flight.

But nothing had arrived.

He checked his spam.

Nothing.

He checked his cell phone for any messages.

Nothing.

Again he called Melody Lyon's cell phone. He didn't want to leave a message. It was crucial that he talk to her confidentially about where they go next on this story.

As it rang, people lined up and started boarding.

One woman did a double take at Gannon's bruised face, staring like he was familiar. Her attention bordered on rude and he turned away keeping his phone pressed to his ear.

Gannon did not notice that, in the preboarding line, a man reading a newspaper had also been watching him. Gannon didn't know that the stranger had followed him into the airport, watched him check in, then bought a ticket for the same flight.

Gannon cursed under his breath.

He'd failed to reach Lyon and hung up.

The line of pa.s.sengers boarding was shrinking and just as he was about to take his place, he checked his e-mail a final time.

He froze.

A new one had arrived.

He didn't know the sender. The attachment was labeled One of Ten. Gannon sat down, opened it and recognized the scanned page bearing the letterhead of Worldwide Rio Advogados. The attachment included a second page of text. It had been translated into English for him.

Must've been why they'd taken so long.

Checking his e-mail, Gannon saw that attachments two and three had arrived. This was going to take time. He neared the end of the line and checked his laptop's battery, it was at half-strength.

The line was getting shorter.

The attendants collecting boarding pa.s.ses shot glances at him, cradling his laptop. By now, as attachments six and seven arrived, Gannon fumbled in his pocket to get his pa.s.sport and boarding pa.s.s ready.

He was near the desk when eight and nine arrived.

The problem came with attachment ten.

It had downloaded to 50 percent then stopped.

Gannon cursed to himself and didn't move another step.

"Right this way, sir," the attendant said, repeating it in Portuguese.

"Yes, sorry, one moment."

The tenth attachment completed downloading. Now that he had them all, he moved quickly to a seat near the desk.

"Sir, you must board."

"Please, bear with me."

The attendant at the desk was glaring at him. No one else was waiting at preboarding.

"Sir, you cannot delay this flight."

He moved the doc.u.ments quickly en ma.s.se onto his hard drive, put them into one folder and e-mailed that folder to Melody Lyon's home e-mail, labeling the doc.u.ment Confidential from JG in Rio.

"Sir, we have to leave now!"

Once his e-mail was sent, Gannon shut his laptop and boarded.

The flight taxied into position but its departure was delayed for an excruciating hour. Some thirty minutes after the jetliner finally roared from Rio de Janeiro, it leveled off.

The elderly lady in the window seat beside Gannon had fallen asleep.

He turned on his laptop and resumed his work.

He scrutinized every attachment two or three times trying to determine what he had. He saw the unsigned note demanding that files, hardcopy and electronic, be destroyed, and that "no record exists in the firm that makes mention of their existence, including this one which should be destroyed after these instructions are carried out."

From that point, most of the ten pages seemed to be a catalogue of files, and cross-referenced file numbers. All the pages looked similar. Again, he studied the entries on the first few, trying to make sense of them.

LA #212005 to New York67 LA #907864 to Texas908 LA #376274 to Minnesota9087 LA #181975 to Wyoming847 LN #77-487 to Bristol26 LN #F8-787 to Manchester98 LN #FF-879 to Dublin948 LN #00-977 to GlasgowS93...

And so on, and so on. While he could not decipher them, Gannon was convinced they were significant because a handwritten notation on the last page said "Security breach, have alerted E.D., action required."

Who was E.D., he wondered, and what type of action was required?

Below the note he saw the separate message posted to the doc.u.ment that was addressed specifically to him from Sarah Kirby's group.

"To Jack, on behalf of Sarah: We have contacted our friends in London, who have more information and have agreed to help you based upon Sarah's a.s.surance that you can be trusted. See the contact e-mail below. Your contact's name is Oliver. Good luck."

Gannon contemplated the airphone installed in the backrest of the seat before him. He thought most airlines had taken the phones out because pa.s.sengers complained.

He needed to reach Melody Lyon.

"Excuse me," he asked the attendant who was making her way by, pus.h.i.+ng a beverage cart. "Are these working? Can I make a call?"

"Yes." She glanced around. "We're about two-thirds full. If you use one in the empty back rows you'll have more privacy."

"Can I just move my stuff to a seat back there?"

"Sure."

After Gannon settled in at the back, he inserted the WPA credit card into the mechanism, then called Lyon's cell phone, estimating that it had been over two hours since his last attempt.

It was answered on the third ring.

"Melody, it's Gannon."