Part 46 (1/2)
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. Emba.s.sy in Na.s.sau. 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 Na.s.sau.
”Paul Worden, FBI.”
”Bob Lancer, FBI at the Anti-Threat Center. Paul, you're our Legat in Na.s.sau, 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 emba.s.sy,” 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, Na.s.sau.”
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.
59.
New York City.
The World Press Alliance had a contract with a hotel near the Empire State Building to put up out-of-town editors and reporters.
The WPA had arranged for Emma Lane to stay in a twentieth-floor room. Gannon and Emma's flight had arrived late at LaGuardia. He got her checked in to the hotel and met her there the next morning.
Sirens and traffic noises filled the sunny morning air.
As they walked to WPA headquarters, Emma took in the buildings and searched the stream of faces, wondering if she would ever see Tyler again, hoping Jack Gannon and his global news service were the answer to her prayers.
It did not take long to travel the few blocks beyond Madison Square Garden and Penn Station. Melody Lyon met them in her office.
”Thank you for coming, Emma.” Lyon shook her hand. ”On behalf of the WPA, please accept our belated condolences for your loss.”
Once Emma was seated, Lyon got down to business.
”You're obviously contending with more than anyone should have to bear,” she said. ”Jack told us of the extraordinary steps you've already taken. Are you certain you're up to this?”
”I'm certain because I need to find my son.”
”As you know, we've lost two of our people recently and we think their deaths are linked to your case. In our pursuit of the truth we'll be sharing confidential information with you. Emma, as cra.s.s as it sounds, we need to know that your cooperation remains exclusive to the WPA.”
”Yes,” Emma said. ”No one else believed me or would help me. Before we left, my aunt and uncle promised not to speak to any other reporters.”
”I'll update you,” Lyon said. ”Jack, we've just learned that the New York Times is going to report that the CIA wants to question former scientists about a canceled top-secret program that may be at play somewhere in all of this. This could be related to our story. A number of news organizations are chasing pieces of it, but we've got most of them. Jack, is there anything new on your other angles?”
”I'm still waiting to hear back from Lancer on Polly Larenski's phone numbers. I have files to review and sources to check.”
”Good, we've put more WPA people on this story, quietly digging. I did some checking with my sources in Was.h.i.+ngton. I've just sent you some new data we've put together. I want you both to review it. Jack, you will remain our lead reporter on this file. Start a running draft of all we know as soon as possible.”
The first thing Gannon and Emma did was go to the WPA cafeteria for two strong coffees. Alone in the elevator, Emma turned to Gannon.
”Will I find my son?”
”I don't know. But a lot of people are pus.h.i.+ng hard to get to the truth behind what happened to you, Adam Corley and the people murdered in Rio de Janeiro,” he said. ”We've both come a long way and neither one of us is giving up.”
At his desk in the newsroom, Gannon got a second chair for Emma, then set up his laptop for her to read over files. While he worked on his PC, Emma paged through older files and notes from his sources. Her concerns grew as she realized the magnitude of what could be looming.
She looked at Gannon's monitor and her breathing quickened as she read what was on it: the detailed note from Melody Lyon.