The Panic Zone Part 17

He turned to her, a woman in her early thirties with brown hair and dark eyes filled with worry.

"My name is Sarah Kirby. I'm Maria's friend from the Human Rights Center, at the bottom of the favela."

"Help me get out of here."

"I'm trying. You must listen. You were taken by the Blue Brigade, the drug gang that controls the Ceu sobre Rio. They have places to hide people here, but everyone knows them. Bruna came for me."

"Did they hurt her? Did they hurt Pedro or Fatima?"

"No, the narcos protect the people of the favela."

"But how did you get in? We have to leave! Untie my hands!"

Someone outside shouted to Sarah in Portuguese and she responded, then turned back to Gannon.

"No, we have no time, listen--"

"No! They're going to kill me! They think I'm a police informant!"

"I know. It's Dragon, the leader of the Blues, he's psychotic. He fears the Colombians are coming for him because of Cafe Amaldo. Dragon fears police are trying to fuel a drug gang war so that the narcos exterminate each other. He swears the Blue Brigade had no role in the bombing."

"Great, let's get out of here!"

"Jack, we can't leave, you must listen, they trust me, they trusted Maria because of the work we do in the favela."

"Well, it was Maria who came to the WPA with doc.u.ments from her firm for a story."

"I know."

"Then for G.o.d's sake, untie me and let's get out of here!"

"No, listen! They're waiting outside this door. I have negotiated for you, now listen, please!"

Gannon listened.

"Maria discovered evidence that the law firm was linked to criminal activity," Sarah said.

"I found a few of her pages at the bomb scene. Is it about drugs?"

"We think it's about human trafficking or the illegal adoptions of children, stolen children."

"What?"

"Maria was working with our human-rights networks. We kept it secret. Only a few knew--we had to get the story out. Maria agreed to contact the WPA. She was so afraid and so brave."

Someone thudded on the door, Sarah hurried.

"After the explosion those of us at the center were terrified. We didn't know what to think. Was it a gang hit, or was Maria the target? Were corrupt police involved? How big was this illegal operation?"

"Jesus," Gannon said. "Estralla, the cop, has my doc.u.ments!"

"Listen, I have told Dragon a little about Maria's work, her connection to WPA, the cafe. I told him that killing you was stupid. He must keep you alive so you can get the truth out through your worldwide news agency."

"Did he buy it?"

"He's allowed me a few minutes to get your vow that you will write the truth about the bombing, if he lets you live."

"Dammit, that's why I'm here. Tell him yes."

The door strained with banging.

"Time is up," Sarah said. "If we get out together I'll give you copies of all of Maria's doc.u.ments and our contacts in Europe. We think this is bigger than you could imagine."

Sarah rapped on the door, it opened and Sarah left.

Gannon was alone, unsure how much time had pa.s.sed before the door opened again and several armed men entered. Blue bandannas covered their faces as they leveled their pistols and M-16s at him.

A sc.r.a.ppy man in his mid-twenties followed them into the room, the grip of a chrome pistol sticking out of his waistband. His eyes were sharp and icy as he inventoried Gannon.

"The woman a.s.sures me you are not with police, that you will write the truth about the cafe bombing, which is that the Blue Brigade did not do it."

"I give my word."

"If you fail, we will not harm you."

Gannon was relieved but confused as Dragon nodded to a gang member who again displayed a digital recorder. The images jerked but showed Luiz walking the streets of Centro, then cut to Sally Turner, Hugh Porter and Frank Archer getting out of taxis at the bureau.

"We will kill your friends. You have two days."

"I need more time."

"Two days."

Dragon nodded and a gang member pulled out a knife and sliced away Gannon's bindings. The others surrounded him and escorted him through the house. Sarah Kirby was waiting in the living room where Gannon's wallet and cell phone were handed back to him before the group left the building. As Gannon and Sarah began walking down the street amid Dragon's armed posse, Gannon noticed something odd.

Life was absent from this area.

Silent and still. Too still. As if the neighborhood was holding its breath.

Not even birdsong, the echo of children playing or a dog barking. It was the kind of deathly silence Gannon knew. It was familiar to him. Realization landed on him, he felt an arm lock around his chest and a gang member had suddenly made Gannon his shield.

Gannon saw Sarah pulled close to another gang member, then he glimpsed a police sniper behind a stone wall, eye clenched behind a scope, fire flaring from his rifle muzzle.

A bullet tore through the cheek of the gangster holding Gannon as the street exploded in gunfire. Bullets whizzed in the air and ricocheted off of the stone walls, the street, sparks, dust, blood and debris flying.

Gannon turned but failed to find Sarah in the chaos. Bullets ripped through the air near his head, and he dove to the ground.

Men shouted. Police vehicles, their radios squawking, appeared from nowhere and the sky thundered with a helicopter. Gannon crawled to the shelter of a doorway, pressing his body to a low wall.

He kept his head down until the gun battle subsided.

In the dust-filled air of the aftermath Gannon saw several police officers toeing the bodies of dead gang members in the street. As radios crackled, Gannon was certain he recognized Roberto Estralla in the distance, wearing dark gla.s.ses, watching from the open door of an unmarked car.

Then Gannon heard sirens and his attention went back to the dead and wounded on the b.l.o.o.d.y street.

That's when he found Sarah Kirby, in a puddle of blood.

23.

Big Cloud, Wyoming.

Several days after her breakdown at the county sheriff's office, Emma sat in Wally Bishop's office at Silver Range Insurance downtown.

"Thanks to your uncle's help, we've expedited the claims. Never saw anything move so fast." Bishop made little Xs on the doc.u.ments he'd slid toward Emma, then pa.s.sed her a monogrammed fountain pen. "I need you to sign here and here."

But Emma was looking at the great gray owl mounted on Bishop's wall and thinking back to last year when she sat here with Joe, updating their policies. All the way home, he'd gone on about how much he liked that owl because neither one of them wanted to hear another word about death benefits.

We've got a lot of living ahead of us, Em. But if I go first you can stuff me like that owl.

"Emma?"

Uncle Ned pulled her attention back to the business before her: paperwork for a check for $225,000 for Joe's life insurance, and one for $25,000 for Tyler.

Emma gripped the pen, took a deep breath, held it and signed for the larger check. When she poised it over the signature line for Tyler's, she froze.

"Is there a problem?" Bishop asked.

"I can't sign for Tyler."

Because I don't believe he's dead.

Bishop's focus shifted to her aunt and uncle, then back to Emma.

"Emma," Aunt Marsha said. "We know it's hard but you have to sign."

"The second one can wait," Uncle Ned said. "We'll deposit the bigger check today and deal with the second claim later, okay, Wally?"

"Of course, I understand," Bishop nodded. "This is never easy."

On the drive to the bank, Emma said nothing.

She had spent the past few days battling the grief, fear and rage that swirled around her. She was nearing an abyss, slipping closer toward its yawning black jaws.

Was she losing her mind?

"Emma? Are you expecting a delivery?"

Delivery?

Aunt Marsha's question had startled her.

They had left the bank but every aspect of their time there--sitting in the manager's office, accepting condolences, dealing with the large check--had not registered with Emma. She had been submerged in her thoughts of Tyler. Now, she recognized that they had returned to her house, and her aunt and uncle were curious about a van that had arrived at the same time.

"Looks like a courier," Uncle Ned said.

After parking, he went to the driver's door and signed for receipt of an envelope then pa.s.sed it to Emma. She opened it to find a large, plain, sealed brown envelope marked "Confidential to Emma Lane."

She opened it and withdrew a white business letter and immediately recognized the sender's letterhead.

"What is it, Emma?" Aunt Marsha asked.

"It's from my doctor."

"The one who treated you at the hospital?"

"No, I'll open it inside."

The letter was from Dr. Glen Durbin, her obstetrician and gynecologist.

Sitting on her living room sofa, she read, Dear Emma: Please accept my sincere condolences for the tragic deaths of your husband, Joe, and son, Tyler.

I can only imagine the shock and the unbearable pain and void caused by this unthinkable loss.

As you know, Joe was loved and respected in Big Cloud. He probably helped build half the new houses in this town. He was a skilled craftsman and a good man. Joe was also a supportive husband and loving father, something he proved every minute of every day during the difficult time you faced together, bringing Tyler into this world.

I deeply regret that this tragedy brings me to my required contractual obligation.

As you may recall, I am legally bound to advise you that I have formally alerted Golden Dawn Fertility Corp., of Los Angeles, CA, of the terrible circ.u.mstances concerning Tyler's death so that the company may update its files concerning Donor #181975. (Copy attached).

Emma, please accept my deepest sympathies and know that I also mourn Joe and Tyler's loss.

You are in my thoughts, Glen Durbin, M.D.

Emma's hand flew to her mouth and her body sagged.

"What is it, dear?"

Aunt Marsha put her arm around Emma who pa.s.sed the letter to her. After reading it, Marsha pa.s.sed it to Ned, who looked up from the page.

"Tyler's not your biological child?" he asked.

Several moments pa.s.sed before Emma could answer.