“Tell Salelee to tell them now, for the safety of his family.”
The Tanzanian cop repeated the words.
“He says, ‘First, let me talk to my wife on the telephone.’”
The Tanzanian cops, on the earlier advice of the Americans, had already placed Salelee’s wife in custody in another office within the building where she sat now with two police officers. The cops with Salelee telephoned her, allowing Salelee to hear her plea for him to cooperate for the sake of their children.
Salelee was prepared to cooperate.
“What was he really doing at the embassy?” Lancer wanted to know. The Tanzanian police asked him.
“The Lions wanted information to target it for a bombing operation on the Independence Day as declared by the Lions.”
“That is not the full plan, what is the operation?”
“It is a separate operation.”
“What is it?” Lancer asked Craig, who conveyed the question.
“An attack,” Salelee said.
“How do the Lions know of this attack?”
“We have a small role.”
“What is that role?”
“We passed coded e-mails, spam, lottery announcements and appeals for large cash transfers. Information relating to the operation is hidden in a few of the millions of spam we send out around the world.”
“What is the nature of the operation?”
“An attack.”
“An attack against the United States?”
“Yes.”
“Any other countries?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Many, most countries.”
“And the weapon is through computers-cyber?”
“No, some of the communication from one group to another is through the spam. We know nothing of the weapon.”
“Who is behind it?”
“We don’t know. We were paid great sums through gobetweens.”
“Who are they?”
“We don’t know.”
“What is the weapon-is it planes?”
“No.”
“Bombs? Suicide bombings?”
“No.”
“Hostage takings?”
“No.”
“Nuclear or chemical, what is the weapon?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who is behind it?”
“I don’t know.”
“When will the attack take place?”
“Soon.”
“When? Days? Weeks? Months?”
“They told us that it is too far along for anyone to stop them.”
9
Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
A phone rang and Jack Gannon awakened in a strange room. He looked at the walls, the sunlight streaming through the shutters.
He lifted the phone.
“Good morning, Mr. Gannon. This is your wake-up call.”
“Thank you.”
Piece by piece, it all came back to him as he rubbed his face. He took two aspirin, shaved, showered, dressed, grabbed some breakfast, got his bag and headed to the bureau. When he arrived, Luiz, the news assistant, was the only person there.
“What’s going on, Luiz? Where is everybody?”
“Much has happened. Mr. Archer is interviewing an official with the Departmento de Policia Federal.”
“They’re like our FBI and Estralla is with the Civil Police?”
“Yes. And Mr. Porter and Ms. Turner are interviewing people about the Colombian narco connection to the bombing.”
“Porter said the victim list might be released today?”
“Yes, but not yet. Not officially. Mr. Archer wants me to help you follow today’s major story. JB has obtained the list.”
“JB-what’s that and what did they get?” Gannon switched on his laptop.
“JB has broken the story identifying all the bombing victims,” Luiz held up a newspaper, Jornal do Brasil, with the main headline: Caras dos Mortos, over a gallery of ten head shots superimposed on a photo of the ruins of the Cafe Amaldo.
Gannon did not have to understand Portuguese to see that the newspaper had beaten its competition by obtaining the victim list in advance.
Gabriela Rosa and Marcelo Verde were on the newspaper’s front page, staring back from WPA file photos.
Luiz blinked back tears, staring at the newspaper.
“Seeing it now in the paper like this is hard,” Luiz said. “Gabriela was kind to me, she helped me write travel features for WPA. She took me out for lunch on my birthday.”
Luiz gazed at Gabriela’s empty desk, orderly and uncluttered compared with Marcelo’s desk. His was heaped with magazines, manuals and empty food wrappers. Marcelo’s monitor was feathered with two dozen small yellow notes.
“Marcelo was a consummate photographer, an artist who loved his work. He was fun, always joking but so forgetful with many things. He needed all these notes.”
Gannon studied the Jornal do Brasil and the faces of the ten victims, five men and five women. There were small bios about each of them. It was good work. He tapped the picture of Angella Roho-Ruiz, a beautiful woman in her twenties, smiling under the headline: Era uma Execucao do Narco?
Luiz nodded.
“That is Paulo’s daughter on a shopping vacation in Bogota, Colombia. The headline Era uma Execucao do Narco? is asking, Was this a narco execution?”
Gannon took a moment to process the growing speculation that the bombing was the result of a drug war.
Was everyone else right about who was behind it?
Was he an idiot to question reporters who worked, lived and breathed in Brazil everyday? Was he out of his league?
Gannon looked at the other victims. Was Gabriela’s source among them? Maybe they’d met and the source left? Or maybe the source never showed up at all?
