The Panic Zone

29

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

Sarah Kirby moaned coming out of sedation.

“You’re lucky,” the doctor said.

Death had missed her by a sixteenth of an inch.

The doctor flipped through her chart, telling her that the bullet had grazed her neck, and other than the loss of blood and a scar, she would be fine. He poured water in her cup and waited for her grogginess to pass. Then he asked if she was ready for a visitor and turned slightly to the door.

Gannon was waiting in the hall.

“Jack.” Her voice was weak.

The doctor left them alone.

Gannon sat beside her. His face was bruised.

“Thank you for saving my life, Sarah.”

She smiled at him.

“You have to get the story, Jack. Expose the truth. For Maria, your friends, Gabriela, Marcelo-and to keep your word to the Blue Brigade.”

“Three of their gang members were killed. The youngest was thirteen. Dragon escaped.”

“He’ll be incensed.” She coughed. “He’ll suspect that you brought police to his favela. Take his threat seriously. You must uncover the truth behind the bombing.”

“I need more information.”

Sarah drank some water then said, “We’ll get Maria’s documents to you quickly and our contacts around the world will have more on this.”

A nurse came in to tend to Sarah.

Gannon put his card in Sarah’s hand.

“I have to go,” he said. “I’ll never forget what you did.”

She reached up, cupped her hand to his face.

“We’re counting on you, Jack.”

Their eyes met and the strength he saw in hers filled him with resolve.

He bent down, kissed her cheek and left.

On his way out of the hospital, Gannon switched on his cell phone.

He now had messages from Globo TV, O Dia, Jornal do Brasil, AP, Reuters, Estralla, the WPA desk in New York, Luiz, Frank Archer, George Wilson and Melody Lyon.

He hadn’t had time to return any calls to elaborate on what had transpired. Within minutes of the shootout in the favela, he’d used his phone’s camera to take several exclusive pictures of the carnage and police bending over bodies in the street. He sent them to WPA headquarters in New York for the global wire. Then he called, dictated a quick bare-bones story about his hostage-taking and the gun battle. He was advised to call back with updates, just as police had taken him into custody.

After paramedics treated him at the scene, detectives questioned him. He was careful not to reveal too much. While describing his ordeal, Gannon thought it strange that he never saw Roberto Estralla among the cops questioning him. When he was released, Gannon had hurried to the hospital to check on Sarah.

Now, as he reached the hospital’s main doors, he stopped to sit down and absorb what he’d just been through.

A gun to his head. A shoot-out.

Think of Maria, Gabriela, Marcelo. Suck it up, Gannon. Get back to work.

He called Melody Lyon’s cell-phone number, to alert her to his new lead: the cafe bombing could be linked to a bigger story.

“Gannon!”

Roberto Estralla caught up to him from behind. Gannon abandoned his call to Lyon.

“I’ve been looking for you.” Estralla pointed to an empty section of the reception area where they found chairs and privacy. “My colleagues shared your statement with me. I have a few questions.”

“First, how did you and your SWAT team know I was there?”

“Luiz at your bureau was concerned when he could not reach you. He called, telling us of your interest in going to Ceu sobre Rio. Then our sources in the favela confirmed an American might have been taken by the Blue Brigade. So we moved fast, for your safety.”

Gannon took his time assessing Estralla’s account.

“Jack, what you did was very foolish. You’re lucky you are not in a body bag at this moment.”

“The Blue Brigade insists they are not behind the cafe bombing, that they did not kill the Colombian’s daughter.”

“The narco vendetta was always speculation by the press.”

“The Brigade insists Rio police planted the story to trigger a gang war.”

“We’ve always stated that we’re investigating all aspects.”

“The WPA will move a story with the Blue Brigade’s denial of involvement in the bombing of the cafe.”

“A denial made with a gun to your head?”

“You carry guns, too.”

“But we’re sworn to uphold the law, not deal in death. Jack, it wouldn’t be wise for you to be seen siding with murdering narco dealers.”

“It wouldn’t be wise for me to be seen siding with police, either. I am only interested in the truth.”

“Then we’re on the same side.”

“Tell me then, what more do you have on the bombing? Did you find anything in those documents you took from me?”

“We’re still investigating. However, I am curious to know what you found when you went to Maria Santo’s home in the favela?”

“I found myself with a gun to my head.”

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

“You should leave Brazil now, while you can fly home upright.” Estralla placed Gannon’s passport 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 passport when he heard his name being cursed.

“Goddammit, Gannon, what the hell 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.”

“Hello, 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 shirt.

“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 assistance.

“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 Washington, 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 classified, 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.