The Panic Zone

58

Rapid keyboard tapping underscored the intensity with which Sandra Deller attacked the data yielded by the new warrants.

Deller, the chief analyst at the Anti-Threat Center’s Information Command Unit, had made Robert Lancer’s case her priority. Pages of call logs going back several months for Polly Larenski’s landline number appeared on Deller’s monitor.

“According to my source-” Lancer came and stood next to her “-Larenski is believed to have received and made calls concerning our subject from her home phone and the pay phone near her home on Civic.”

Deller clicked and a second set of call logs appeared.

“This one?” she said.

“Correct.”

“We’re looking for a number or numbers that will appear in both logs.” Deller issued a few commands for a merge. “Voila.” She highlighted the number that appeared: 242-555-1212.

“Where is that?”

Deller entered the number in another database.

“Bahamas. Nassau. Actually, it’s Paradise Island. That’s a resort area. Hang on.” Deller continued her swift searches. “Look, it’s for the Grand Blue Tortoise Resort.” Deller went to a Web site for the resort and clicked through pages. “Nice. Let’s see if we can be more specific with the number.” She continued searching and said, “The number is for the Blue Tortoise Kids’ Hideaway. Let’s check it out.” She went to the Hideaway’s Web page. “It’s a child-care center, Bob.”

Lancer raised his eyebrows as his instincts hammered at him.

“I think we have something. Thank you, Sandy. Let me know if you find anything more.”

At his desk, Lancer searched for the FBI’s legal attache at the U.S. Embassy in Nassau. The whole time he questioned whether they should put the child-care center under surveillance or hit it with the Bahamian police?

There were risks to both, he thought, as he dialed a number. If you took your time and watched your subject, you built a stronger case for prosecution. But if an attack happened during that time, if something got by you, you’d be accused of not taking action.

So many signs pointed to an imminent attack.

He couldn’t take anything for granted.

The call connected to Nassau.

“Paul Worden, FBI.”

“Bob Lancer, FBI at the Anti-Threat Center. Paul, you’re our Legat in Nassau, right?”

“That’s what they tell me.”

“Going to need your help. It’s urgent.”

For the next twenty minutes as they reviewed the file over the phone, Lancer brought Worden up to speed.

“I’ll get in touch with our senior people at the embassy,” Worden said, “then with my sources at the Bahamian Attorney General and the Royal Bahamas Police Force. I’ll use the wording from your warrant to get the wheels turning here. We’ll run every record we can on the Kids’ Hideaway. We’ll request surveillance or get warrants to swoop down on the place, whatever you want. We’ll keep each other posted.”

Lancer hung up and his line rang. It was Sandra Deller.

“There’s a second number,” she said. “It has an 841 area code.”

“What’s that one?”

“It’s an area code for a satellite phone with world service.”

“Anything on an owner?”

“A numbered company with a post office box on Cable Beach, Nassau.”

Lancer called Worden back with the new information, then exhaled and dragged both hands over his face.

Now what?

He glanced at his small desk calendar and the red Xs marking the Human World Conference in New York.

Was it the target? Was the president attending? There were too many unknowns.

Then there was Jack Gannon, who had Adam Corley’s files.

Were there answers on Corley’s memory card?

Lancer had to move on this.

His digital clock rolled into a new hour.