The Panic Zone (7 page)

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

F
rank Archer was pacing with his cell phone against his ear when the Rio police returned Gannon to the bureau.

“He just walked in. We'll set it up in two minutes.” Archer turned to Luiz. “Go ahead, set up the call.”

Archer tossed his cell phone on his desk and put his hands on his hips.

“Dammit, Gannon. What the hell's going on?”

“It was a misunderstanding with police.”

“They arrested you.”

“They wanted to talk to me—it's been cleared up.”

“Good. Do you have your passport? Luiz is booking you a flight back to New York. George agrees, having you down here is a liability.”

“Wait, Frank—I think I've got some leads.”

“What leads?”

“It might not be a narco hit. There's a disgruntled employee who made threats, and there's also a chance the bombing is linked to financial troubles the café was having. And there's the mystery woman Gabriela was supposed to meet.”

“We've been through those theories. Our contacts say this was an act of narco terrorism.”

“Have you confirmed Gabriela's source?”

“Gabriela's anonymous source never showed. According
to what Porter and Sally got from their police contacts, Gabriela was alone at her table.”

“The sense I get is that the lead investigators have not exactly confirmed that Gabriela was alone. They've got conflicting reports that a woman may have been with her.”

“Are you kidding me, Jack? Collectively, Hugh, Sally and I have worked in South America covering coups, earthquakes, drug wars, for nearly twenty years. You've been here about twenty minutes and you're going to tell me you have better inside police information?”

“Call's ready,” Luiz said from the meeting table nearby where he'd entered the required codes on the telephone console for an urgent WPA teleconference call. The phone's speaker hissed with static.

George Wilson was on his cell phone at São Paulo's airport about to make his connection for Marcelo's service. Melody Lyon was in Miami for Gabriela's funeral and was calling from her hotel room.

“It's Luiz in Rio. Everybody's ready?”

“Is Gannon there with you, Frank?” Wilson asked.

“I'm here,” Gannon said.

“Not for long,” Wilson shot back. “Frank, give Melody an update.”

“We no longer need Jack's help. Sally, Hugh, the stringers and I have got this covered. We appreciate that Jack rushed down here, but we're good.”

“Don't sugarcoat this, Frank,” Wilson said. “Mel, I don't want to say I told you so, but Gannon's screwed up royally.”

“Jack,” Lyon said, “I heard you got into trouble. What happened?”

“There was a misunderstanding with police and it's been cleared. Now, I have a few leads on tracking down who might be behind this.”

“Oh, for Christ's sake,” Wilson said. “Gannon, admit you messed up. You get yourself on Brazilian TV, get your
picture in the papers, then you get arrested for tampering with evidence at the crime scene.”

“I did not tamper with evidence. I was outside the scene. I just got back after talking to one of the detectives on the case. He's fine, he let me go.”

“You're embarrassing the WPA at a difficult time,” Wilson said. “Mel, I want him out of there.”

“Wait, George,” Lyon said. “Jack, how solid are your leads?”

Gannon thought of the document in his back pocket, the diagram of where the café victims were seated at the time of the blast. Estralla agreed to share it with him in confidence.

“They're good leads.”

“Mel, send him back to New York. He needs more experience on the national desk,” Wilson said. “This was a narco hit and our people were caught in the crossfire.”

“Give me a few more days,” Gannon said.

“Frank—” Melody came on the line “—are you, Sally and Porter attending any of the services? We hear the Rio Press Club has arranged something there?”

“Yes, we're going to a memorial today. Then I'm flying to Miami tonight. John asked me to go with him. Sally and Porter are going to meet George for Marcelo's service. The stringers are standing by and will file any breaking news to New York.”

“Okay,” Lyon said. “Jack you're staying in Brazil.”

“Thank you,” Gannon said.

“For now,”
Lyon stressed. “You and Luiz will mind the bureau while we're down for the next few days. And you will stay out of trouble and keep me up to speed, is that clear?”

“Yes.”

“After that, we'll see where the story is and decide your assignment,” Lyon said. “Are you good with that, George?”

“It's your call, Mel. I have to go.”

“Thank you, everyone,” Lyon said.

As he tightened his tie and slid on his jacket, Archer stared at Gannon.

“I have to meet Sally and Hugh at the church in Copacabana for the memorial service. Luiz will give you the spare keys. Lock up if you go out.”

“Thanks.”

Archer shook his head.

“You're a piece of work, Gannon.”

* * *

Archer left, the tension in the office eased and Luiz went out for pastries, leaving Gannon alone. He exhaled slowly as he studied the seating diagram Estralla had given him.

There had to be something more to this.

Who was Gabriela's source? According to Estralla, a woman appeared to have met Gabriela at the café but then disappeared. Maybe she went to the restroom?

He grabbed the
Jornal do Brasil
and reviewed the faces and bios of the victims. The diagram allowed him to consider who they were and where they were situated at the time of the blast. He pondered it and the pictures until Luiz returned.

Gannon had given little thought to the fact he was sitting at Marcelo's desk until he absentmindedly gazed at all of the notes framing his computer's monitor, then at some of the photo equipment.

That was when it hit him.

“Luiz, help me out here. Marcelo accompanied Gabriela to the café to meet the source, we know that much.”

“Of course.”

“But as I understand it, he went for more than a matter of bureau practice and safety. He probably wanted to take a few photos of the source without her knowing. I mean, we did the same thing in Buffalo, in case a source was going to feed you a bad story. If they burned you, you had their picture.”

“I understand, yes.”

“What if Marcelo managed to take a few pictures before the café exploded?”

“But Marcelo's camera was destroyed.”

“I know.”

But in his years of working with the news photographers, Gannon had learned a bit of the technical side of things and an idea was taking shape.

One that could pay off.

“I have a hunch about something, Luiz, and I'm going to need your help.”

G
annon swayed in the chair of his murdered colleague, nurturing his new hunch.

Taking stock of Marcelo's desk, Gannon considered an empty package for an Eye-Fi card, thinking about what the photographer could have done at the café.

“Marcelo was obviously familiar with wireless transmission of photos.”

“Most photographers are,” Luiz said.

“And the Café Amaldo had Wi-Fi wireless access.”

“Yes, the journalists went to the Amaldo often with their laptops.”

“With this—” Gannon held up the Eye-Fi package “—Marcelo had the ability to ensure that any picture he took at the café was immediately transmitted and stored securely online.”

Gannon studied Marcelo's keyboard as if it held the answer.

“We've got to get into his computer.” Gannon switched it on.

After several moments of whirring and beeping, the system came to life and the password window popped up, stopping him cold.

“Do you have Marcelo's password?”

“No, each member of the bureau has a secret password.”

Gannon tapped a finger next to the keyboard and searched the notes affixed to the edges of the computer monitor.

“You said he was forgetful?”

“It is why he attached all those notes to his screen.”

“Let's go through them. Maybe he posted his password here?”

Luiz and Gannon scrutinized the notes one by one with Luiz reciting names, dates, numbers, addresses and phone numbers as possible passwords. Gannon submitted candidates, and each time they were denied access. He knew it was likely futile, given the upper- and lower-case combinations. But they tried for nearly an hour, including restarting the computer when they exceeded the number of failed attempts to log in.

No luck.

“I could call technical support,” Luiz suggested.

“No. I want to keep this between us for now,” Gannon said. “Think, Luiz. Did you ever see him submit his code or get a glimpse of any of the key strokes?”

“No, but I heard it all the time. It went like this—” Luiz tapped four quick strokes on the desk, paused then tapped a fifth. “One, two, three, four. Always like that.”

“So it's a four-character code, because the fifth would be the enter key. Four characters. That's pretty short for a password. Okay, let's check the notes for a four-character word, or name.”

They had studied them for fifteen minutes when Luiz froze.

“I think I know Marcelo's password. His girlfriend's name is Anna, spelled A-N-N-A, that's four characters.”

Gannon entered the name with the first letter in upper case.

It failed.

“Try with no capital letters,” Luiz said.

Gannon typed
anna
and pressed Enter.

The screen flashed to Marcelo's desktop and screen saver of Rio de Janeiro's skyline at night, a shot he'd taken himself.

“That's it!” Luiz said.

“We're in! It would be an Internet link. Go to his favorites.” Gannon got out of the chair. “Luiz, you do it. You'll recognize names faster.”

Luiz translated after he'd pulled down a list of links for sports teams, a bank, camera stores, weather, magazines, an auto shop and restaurants.

“This could be it,” Luiz translated, “Onlinephotocapture.”

“Hit it.”

An array of news and feature photos came up. Luiz translated the text.

“Onlinephotocapture…welcome to Onlinephotocapture…the secure members-only Web site for storing visual data….”

“This might be it,” Gannon said.

It was secure with a member's log-in tab, requiring a user ID and another password. Gannon cursed under his breath.

“It's no problem,” Luiz said. “This one has a password recall feature. Marcelo's locked in his password, see?”

A couple of clicks and they had entered Marcelo's page. Luiz translated: “Marcelo V. Storage Inventory.” Gannon felt a chill rush up his spine. Topping the item list: Café Amaldo and the date of the explosion.

“Open it.”

Half a dozen thumbnail photos appeared on the screen.

“Open the first one,” Gannon said.

It presented a well-framed photo of a beautiful woman alone at a table of the busy café. A long silence passed as Luiz and Gannon realized the significance of the image.

“That's Gabriela.” Luiz swallowed. “Before her death.”

“Jesus,” Gannon whispered.

Luiz clicked to the next picture.

A woman in her late twenties, dressed in a blazer and skirt, was gripping the strap of a shoulder bag and standing before Gabriela's table.

Luiz clicked.

Next, a close-up of the woman, worry creasing her face and making her appear older than her wardrobe and posture suggested.

Next, the woman sitting at Gabriela's table, removing a legal-sized envelope from her bag. Next, Gabriela reading documents from the woman's envelope, which was open on the table before them.

When the last picture came up, Luiz gasped.

Tentacles of smoke spattered with debris shot out in all directions radiating from a red-yellow fireball. Marcelo had photographed the instant of the explosion within the millionths of a second he and the others were killed by it.

And like the others, this image was transmitted immediately to his page at Onlinephotocapture.

“My god!” Luiz said.

“Unbelievable,” Gannon agreed. “Marcelo photographed the moment of his death.” He shook his head. “No one has seen these pictures, right, Luiz?”

“No, no one knows they exist. None of the others here have thought to look for them as you did, Mr. Gannon.”

“Don't tell anyone. I need time to follow this up my way.”

“But they're so amazing. WPA's news subscribers around the world would want these pictures.”

“I know.”

“And what about the police? Isn't this evidence we should give to them?”

“We'll sort that out later. I need time to chase this lead. Swear to me you won't tell anyone just yet, okay?”

Luiz nodded.

“Pass me that copy of the
Jornal do Brasil,
please.”

Gannon spread the newspaper over the desk's clutter so he and Luiz could study the ten victims of the bombing.

“This one—” Luiz pressed his finger on one of the pictures “—her name is Maria Santo. She is the woman in Marcelo's pictures, Gabriella's source.”

Gannon unfolded the floor plan Estralla had given him.
It put Maria Santo at the table of architects and secretaries next to Gabriela, but her chair was flagged with a question mark, meaning the investigators were uncertain as to where exactly Santo was positioned.

Marcelo's photographs confirmed where she was seated.

Luiz translated the newspaper's small biography for her, telling him quickly that she was twenty-nine and had grown up in one of Rio's harshest favelas. Her mother worked as a domestic for the wealthy, her father in a sheet-metal factory. Maria Santo had worked in shopping malls as she struggled to pursue her education, before finding work at various office jobs downtown.

On the day she died Maria Santo was working as an office assistant at the international law firm, Worldwide Rio Advogados.

“‘We're saddened by this tragedy,' said a spokesman for the firm, who would not elaborate or disclose his name,” Luiz finished reading.

Worldwide Rio Advogados? It was familiar to Gannon from the papers he'd collected near the scene of the bombing.

“Where are the copies of the documents I asked you to store?”

Luiz got them from the supply room. Paging through the papers, Gannon found a few records on the letterhead of Worldwide Rio Advogados.

These were the bloodied pages.

Looking them over again it appeared that they held little information.

A list of a dozen or so file numbers and a short note in Portuguese. As Luiz translated, the significance of the information dawned on Gannon.

“Please ensure all versions of these noted files, hardcopy and electronic, are 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.”

Luiz looked at Gannon.

“This woman was on to something,” Gannon said.

Maria Santo's eyes met Gannon's from the front page of the
Jornal do Brasil.
As he stared into them, he wondered why she had needed to meet with a reporter from a global news agency.

Why did the firm where she worked need their files to disappear?

Were these the secrets Maria was planning to reveal in the moments before her death?

“Luiz, I'm going to the law firm to see what I can find out.”