The Panic Zone

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

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 identity 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 ass.

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 documents alleging that the law firm where she worked was involved in the illegal adoption and trafficking of stolen children. The documents were marked for destruction. The firm’s staff included a former CIA lawyer experienced in highly classified 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 documents 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 passengers 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 passes shot glances at him, cradling his laptop. By now, as attachments six and seven arrived, Gannon fumbled in his pocket to get his passport and boarding pass 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 documents quickly en masse onto his hard drive, put them into one folder and e-mailed that folder to Melody Lyon’s home e-mail, labeling the document 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 document 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 assurance 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 passengers complained.

He needed to reach Melody Lyon.

“Excuse me,” he asked the attendant who was making her way by, pushing 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.”

“Jack, I’ve been trying to call you. I just got back from Miami. George told me what happened, are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Just a little bruised.”

“Where are you?”

“On the plane back to New York, we just left Rio.”

“How the hell did you get taken hostage by a drug gang?”

“It was a misunderstanding. I’m fine as long as we run the story I just filed. It’s critical that the desk doesn’t cut the Blue Brigade stuff.”

“I’ll tell them.”

“Turns out the hostage thing was the price I paid for a strong lead into the bombing. Did you read the material I sent you, the ten attachments of the secret files?”

“I did.”

“This is shaping up to be a major story.”

“Bring me up to speed.”

Gannon related everything he’d learned on Maria Santo, the law firm, Sarah Kirby and the human rights network, and how Marcelo’s incredible photos of Maria and the bombing helped advance the story.

Lyon listened, asked an occasional question, then concluded the call.

“Jack, the first thing you’re going to do when you get to New York is your laundry. Then pack again. I’ll authorize and clear the way. I want you to follow this story to London and wherever else it leads us.”