The Panic Zone Part 22

Roger was going to accept Rosita's offer but on his way to meet her at a motel, he turned around. He knew it was wrong. He was happily married.

He never told Cathy about it.

Seven months later, she found a malignant lump.

But she beat it and in the process became his hero as her strength made him realize that she was too good for him. So it was while they were in the grip of an unrelenting winter that he surprised her with this tropical cruise for an anniversary present.

She cried.

It was something she had always dreamed of doing.

Now, as he sipped a Dutch beer alone at the bar, he reflected on all the places they'd seen--St. Thomas, St. Maarten, Na.s.sau--and how much Cathy had loved every minute of the cruise so far.

This had been one of the best times of their lives.

"So we meet again, Tippert."

A rugged-faced man in his mid-sixties took the stool next to him.

"Hey there, captain."

Jimmy Stokes, a retired car dealer from Fort Worth, Texas, had been joining him at the bar around the same time every day. Roger liked their conversations on sports, politics, history and life in general. Jimmy was vacationing alone. His wife had died of a stroke five years back. They never had any children and Jimmy was genuinely happy for Roger's situation.

"Sounds like you got things set just right on the home front, son."

Stokes was also a Vietnam vet, who did two tours over forty years ago. After he started into a beer, he opened up to Roger about his time there. "Funny," Stokes said. "For years I couldn't tell anybody about the G.o.d-awful things I'd seen when I was in the s.h.i.t."

Stokes would gaze out at the sea as if something evil waited at the far side of the ocean. Today, Jimmy wanted to talk about 1968. Roger hadn't even been born then.

"Do you know about the battle of Khe Sanh, son?"

Tippert only knew what he'd seen on the History Channel.

"Well I was there." Stokes pulled on his beer then started his story. "We was in Quang Tri Province..."

Roger spasmed.

He dropped his beer and the gla.s.s shattered on the floor.

His fingertips tingled. Gooseflesh rose on his skin.

"What's the matter, son?"

It felt like a switch had been thrown, his brain pulsated and his tongue started to swell. It wouldn't stop swelling.

Oh, G.o.d--can't breathe!

"Is everything all right?" a bartender asked.

"Call the ship's doctor!" Stokes said. "My friend's going into some kind of shock or seizure!"

Clawing at his throat, Roger fell to the floor.

"Son, take it easy!"

Roger didn't notice the alarmed people who'd gathered around him. His insides were on fire. He was burning up. His breathing was tortured. His vision blurred. His hearing felt like he was underwater. His panicked heartbeat was deafening.

Oh, Christ! Somebody help me!

The pressure was increasing as if something was trying to explode from him.

He convulsed.

Something hot oozed from his mouth, his nose, his ears.

He touched it.

Blood.

Jesus!

The pressure. No, please--stop the pressure! His brain was expanding. His head was swelling.

"Dammit! Is anybody here a doctor?" Stokes shouted.

Stokes was holding Roger just as he'd held his Marine friends in the mud at Khe Sanh, and he watched in disbelief as Roger Tippert's blood-laced face contorted.

"What the good G.o.dd.a.m.n?"

In all his time in Vietnam, Stokes had never witnessed anything like this. Tippert screamed as his eyes melted into b.l.o.o.d.y pools that overflowed down the sides of his face. His abdomen gurgled as if his organs were boiling in his stomach.

Then his heart stopped.

Two decks below the spot where he died, Roger Tippert's wife, Cathy, was exchanging e-mail addresses with a friendly woman she'd met from Indianapolis, whose husband worked for the Colts' administration.

"I can get you a deal on tickets for your husband," the woman said.

"His birthday's coming up," Cathy said. "Roger's going to love this."

29.

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.

Sarah Kirby moaned coming out of sedation.

"You're lucky," the doctor said.

Death had missed her by a sixteenth of an inch.

The doctor flipped through her chart, telling her that the bullet had grazed her neck, and other than the loss of blood and a scar, she would be fine. He poured water in her cup and waited for her grogginess to pa.s.s. Then he asked if she was ready for a visitor and turned slightly to the door.

Gannon was waiting in the hall.

"Jack." Her voice was weak.

The doctor left them alone.

Gannon sat beside her. His face was bruised.

"Thank you for saving my life, Sarah."

She smiled at him.

"You have to get the story, Jack. Expose the truth. For Maria, your friends, Gabriela, Marcelo--and to keep your word to the Blue Brigade."

"Three of their gang members were killed. The youngest was thirteen. Dragon escaped."

"He'll be incensed." She coughed. "He'll suspect that you brought police to his favela. Take his threat seriously. You must uncover the truth behind the bombing."

"I need more information."

Sarah drank some water then said, "We'll get Maria's doc.u.ments to you quickly and our contacts around the world will have more on this."

A nurse came in to tend to Sarah.

Gannon put his card in Sarah's hand.

"I have to go," he said. "I'll never forget what you did."

She reached up, cupped her hand to his face.

"We're counting on you, Jack."

Their eyes met and the strength he saw in hers filled him with resolve.

He bent down, kissed her cheek and left.

On his way out of the hospital, Gannon switched on his cell phone.

He now had messages from Globo TV, O Dia, Jornal do Brasil, AP, Reuters, Estralla, the WPA desk in New York, Luiz, Frank Archer, George Wilson and Melody Lyon.

He hadn't had time to return any calls to elaborate on what had transpired. Within minutes of the shootout in the favela, he'd used his phone's camera to take several exclusive pictures of the carnage and police bending over bodies in the street. He sent them to WPA headquarters in New York for the global wire. Then he called, dictated a quick bare-bones story about his hostage-taking and the gun battle. He was advised to call back with updates, just as police had taken him into custody.

After paramedics treated him at the scene, detectives questioned him. He was careful not to reveal too much. While describing his ordeal, Gannon thought it strange that he never saw Roberto Estralla among the cops questioning him. When he was released, Gannon had hurried to the hospital to check on Sarah.

Now, as he reached the hospital's main doors, he stopped to sit down and absorb what he'd just been through.

A gun to his head. A shoot-out.

Think of Maria, Gabriela, Marcelo. Suck it up, Gannon. Get back to work.

He called Melody Lyon's cell-phone number, to alert her to his new lead: the cafe bombing could be linked to a bigger story.

"Gannon!"

Roberto Estralla caught up to him from behind. Gannon abandoned his call to Lyon.

"I've been looking for you." Estralla pointed to an empty section of the reception area where they found chairs and privacy. "My colleagues shared your statement with me. I have a few questions."

"First, how did you and your SWAT team know I was there?"

"Luiz at your bureau was concerned when he could not reach you. He called, telling us of your interest in going to Ceu sobre Rio. Then our sources in the favela confirmed an American might have been taken by the Blue Brigade. So we moved fast, for your safety."

Gannon took his time a.s.sessing Estralla's account.

"Jack, what you did was very foolish. You're lucky you are not in a body bag at this moment."

"The Blue Brigade insists they are not behind the cafe bombing, that they did not kill the Colombian's daughter."

"The narco vendetta was always speculation by the press."

"The Brigade insists Rio police planted the story to trigger a gang war."

"We've always stated that we're investigating all aspects."

"The WPA will move a story with the Blue Brigade's denial of involvement in the bombing of the cafe."

"A denial made with a gun to your head?"

"You carry guns, too."

"But we're sworn to uphold the law, not deal in death. Jack, it wouldn't be wise for you to be seen siding with murdering narco dealers."

"It wouldn't be wise for me to be seen siding with police, either. I am only interested in the truth."

"Then we're on the same side."

"Tell me then, what more do you have on the bombing? Did you find anything in those doc.u.ments you took from me?"

"We're still investigating. However, I am curious to know what you found when you went to Maria Santo's home in the favela?"

"I found myself with a gun to my head."