The Panic Zone

35

Benghazi, Libya

Adam Corley knew he was being followed.

Voices echoed behind him as he headed down an empty hall and into an elevator, relieved he was alone.

Six floors to the lobby and the exit-he had to work fast.

He turned on his camera to check the images he’d captured of Drake Stinson, ex-CIA, and Dr. Auden, the scientist, along with other players.

Jesus, it was true. This was huge.

The information Corley’s group had received from their friends in Rio de Janeiro and the Bahamas was dead on. It was another critical piece that brought them closer to putting this file together.

He had to alert headquarters.

He stopped the elevator on the third floor, stepped into an empty classroom and pressed his director’s cell phone number, praying that the call would work. After several moments of static, the line crackled and his call was answered in London.

“Pritchett.”

“Oliver, it’s Corley in Benghazi.”

“How did it go?”

“Fantastic.” Corley heard the distant slam of doors, voices. “I don’t have much time. I’ll back things up the usual way.”

“Can you give me a quick summary?”

“Our Brazilian links are definitely tied to other tentacles of the trafficking ring. Our university source here passed me tons of new data out of Tanzania, the U.S., everywhere. It’s incredible. I’ve got too much to send you now. I’ll go through it and send you my report when I get to Rabat.”

Corley heard voices getting nearer and hurried his call.

“Oliver, children are being stolen around the world, but there’s a rumor that it’s all linked to-”

Corley stopped.

“I have to go. I’ll start writing my report on the plane. I’ll probably need a new cell phone and camera after this.”

“Good work, Adam, be careful.”

Corley dropped the phone, ground it to pieces, scooped them up and returned to the hall and elevator.

Voices called to him but he got back on the elevator, quickly dropping the fragments of his cell phone down the shaft through the small gap in the floor. As the car descended to the main lobby he double-checked his digital camera then adjusted his tie.

The doors opened to several grim-faced men in suits. One of the men had a small scar on his cheek and confronted Corley in Arabic.

“Excuse me, sir, did you just come from upstairs?”

“Yes,” Corley said.

“Your identification, please?”

Corley handed him his cards and passport.

The men passed them to each other. Some of them took notes, while others spoke quietly into cell phones and radios.

“You were born in Dublin, Ireland, and reside in Morocco. What is your business there and here in Benghazi, sir?”

“I’m an international student at Mohammed V University in Rabat. I’m a doctoral candidate, completing my PhD. I was invited by professors here at the university to attend the Clean Water Symposium.”

Corley tapped a folded letter of invitation tucked in his passport. The other men who were still scrutinizing his identification and talking into their cell phones eyed Corley coldly.

“We have reports that a man matching your description took unauthorized photographs,” said the man with the scarred cheek.

“Yes. It was me. I was unaware of any restrictions.”

“It is a serious matter.”

“Look, what I did is harmless. I have a small internal newsletter for international students studying global warming. I was taking photos for it.”

“Whose photo?”

“I saw an entourage and thought that it was the colonel.”

“May we see your camera?”

Corley passed it to the man, who asked him to display the pictures. Corley clicked through them.

“We’ll have to confiscate your camera.”

“Confiscate it? Are you joking? That camera was a gift.”

“We are keeping it, sir. Do you have a cell or mobile phone?”

“No.”

“Then you don’t mind if we search you?”

“Search me?” Corley hoped he conveyed the right amount of indignation. “This is outrageous.”

“Sir, may we have your jacket?”

Corley scowled and slid it off.

He watched them place his personal items on a desk-keys, hotel key card, cash, air ticket back to Morocco. They looked through his wallet at everything, checking and double-checking, as others patted him down.

“This is insulting. I’m going to write to the secretary, the ministry of education and call my embassy.”

When the security men were satisfied, they allowed Corley to collect his items and leave, but without his camera. He inhaled deeply as he stepped into the clear evening air, catching breezes rolling in from the Mediterranean Sea.

He hailed a taxi, trying to focus on getting the hell out of Libya and getting all of his new information to London. He needed to check out of his hotel and get to the airport. He had a long flight across the top of Africa. He’d start writing his full report on the plane.

Christ, it was true. This was huge.

Children were being stolen around the world by a global trafficking ring and he had more information and now pictures of the key players. Corley inspected the back of his tie, checking the tiny memory card, the backup he’d affixed to his tie clip.

It was all there.

He was free and clear, he thought, as the lights of Benghazi flowed by.