debate on what to do.
Gannon then compounded matters when he revealed his developing exclusive with Lisa, the eyewitness.
“Here’s what I think,” he said. “We have a chance to put this all together,” Gannon said. “Given the nature of Shaw’s situation, my gut tells me that we’re the only ones who have his video. I feel the same about the witness. I don’t think anyone can catch us now.”
“After what just happened with AP in San Francisco,” Wilson said, “I wouldn’t be so cocky, Gannon.”
“Normally I would agree,” Gannon said, “but I think we may be holding the biggest pieces of this story in our hands right now.”
“What’re you getting at?” Lisker said.
“In his video, Shaw says six guys survived. Shaw’s dead, four have been stopped. That means there could still be one more at large that no one, except maybe the FBI, is aware of. Or—” Gannon held up a finger “—or maybe they picked up associates of the group, which makes all of our speculation meaningless. Bottom line, this might not be quite over yet.”
“What do you propose we do?” O’Neill asked.
“We pull out all the stops to learn more about the San Francisco arrests,” Gannon said. “We get our Washington bureau to pump national security sources on the video and the ‘illegal mission’ in Afghanistan.”
“Then what?” Ford asked.
“You give me twenty-four hours to go upstate and get the witness exclusive. We write what we know, then tell the FBI that we’re going with the story, tell them what it is, ask for comment and then we let it go as our exclusive?”
Gannon glanced at all the editors as they considered his proposal, then he looked at the wall with the time zone clocks.
“I like that approach,” Cooke said.
“By seeking comment we’re alerting the FBI to what we have, I think that’s fair,” O’Neill said.
Lisker grabbed his BlackBerry and started a message.
“I’m alerting Beland. Gannon, you’ve got twenty-four hours to pull this all together.”
After talking with Jack Gannon, Lisa echoed the same hope she’d had the last time she’d driven on this highway, when she’d signed the papers to sell the cabin.
It was over a week ago, but it felt like a thousand lifetimes as memories pulled her back…
Bobby.
She missed him, ached for him as she glanced in her rearview mirror at Ethan and Taylor, sleeping.
Lisa blinked back her tears as she drove.
She was seething at the killers.
What gave them the right to destroy lives? Who were these animals? She hated them, thanked God they were caught. Three arrested in San Francisco and one dead in Nebraska; the tally was now four, the radio news report said.
Four. It was done.
Lisa had found a degree of comfort in the outcome. And if the FBI got them because of her help, she was glad. But she prayed she would never have to face those murdering bastards again.
Not in court, not anywhere.
Not ever.
She questioned whether she should’ve called Chan or Morrow to let them know that she was going out of town. “Keep us informed of your whereabouts in case we need to contact you,” they’d told her at the outset. But they seemed to have forgotten about her, or were slow to confirm with a phone call what she’d already learned on the case from the press. She dismissed the thought of calling the FBI.
It was over.
She needed to look after her kids, move on with their lives.
As Lisa drove she embraced the beauty of this secluded section of the state. The magnificent Adirondacks rose in the west. Vermont, with its rolling Green Mountains, was a few miles east. She felt safe here, sheltered and ready to do all the things she needed to do. She looked forward to seeing Jack Gannon again, to telling him her story. She liked him.
He was a good guy.
Talking to him, letting the world know exactly what happened would be therapeutic for her, it would help her heal. She could close a chapter of her life and start living the next one by focusing on everything that matters.
She glanced in her rearview mirror again.
Ethan and Taylor had awakened and were peacefully watching the scenery roll by.
Her angels.
On the seat between them was the handmade wooden box holding the marble cremation urn containing Bobby’s ashes. Ethan and Taylor each rested a hand protectively on it in a scene that warmed Lisa’s heart.
Following several hundred yards back of Lisa’s car, in a rented SUV, Ivan Felk adjusted the tuning dial on the dash-mounted radio.
“Did you hear that?”
“Just the tail end before it cut out,” Unger said from behind the wheel.
It was a few seconds after the hour and one static-filled station’s newscast had led with something about “the armored car heist in Ramapo.”
Felk found a clearer station in time to hear a fuller news report, which summarized the Associated Press story.
