area. Larenski, 37, was living alone and had recently worked as a lab manager at the Golden Dawn Fertility Corporation in Los Angeles. Cause of the fire, which resulted in $500,000 damage, remains under investigation by the Arson Unit.
Gannon highlighted the phrase “Golden Dawn Fertility Corporation in Los Angeles.”
It called to mind something he’d seen in Maria Santo and Sarah Kirby’s files-a reference to LA #181975 to Wyoming847.
Right.
Wyoming again. Adam Corley had something on Wyoming, as well.
He searched Corley’s files until he found it again: a document among dozens of others. There was the file again: Big Cloud, Wyoming-Golden Dawn Fertility Corp. He opened it.
There was a list of names and nothing else.
Joseph Lane, Emma Lane and Tyler Lane.
What was this about?
“Jack?” Rachel, the news assistant, stood before him. “Melody’s back-she’s meeting with George and Al in the conference room now.”
“Thanks.”
“Because it’s late, they’ve ordered in some Chinese.”
Gannon smelled the stir-fried food before he entered.
Melody Lyon and her two senior editors, George Wilson and Al Delaney, were loading their paper plates and opening soda cans.
“Nothing Jack tells us is to leave this room until we clear it. George, get the door, please?” Lyon said. Then she turned to Gannon: “Help yourself to some food. You look tired. How bad was it in Morocco?”
Gannon recounted the history of his research but withheld details about his torture.
“After I found Adam Corley’s body, they took me in for questioning.”
“Who took you in?” Lyon asked.
“Moroccan police, security types.”
“And what have you got now?”
“I have a lead from Brazil that the cafe bombing may be linked to a larger group, possibly a conspiracy involving human trafficking, illegal adoptions and maybe even a feared attack against the U.S.”
“That’s quite a tale, Jack,” George Wilson said, “and held together with maybes and a lot of possible links. Is any of it verifiable?”
Gannon knew Wilson disliked him for what happened in Rio de Janeiro. He also knew the point of these meetings was for the editors to challenge Gannon’s findings, to ensure that every iota of research was solid, backed up with sources or documents; that it had no holes. Because ultimately the news organization, editors and reporters were like mountain climbers roped together on a story.
A weak link anywhere could bring them all down.
“I’ve got some files and documents I’m going over,” Gannon said.
“What are the sources of the documents?” Wilson asked.
“International aid and human-rights groups-mainly Corley’s group, Equal Globe International.”
“Groups with political agendas,” Wilson said.
“Groups that the United Nations relies on for frontline information.”
“Right. Don’t get me started on the UN,” Wilson said. “I’m a little skeptical about fears of an attack. How many times have we heard this kind of talk before and nothing comes of it? You have anything else?”
“I met a U.S. intelligence agent in Morocco. He was present at my questioning.”
“That so? And how did you verify that he, or she, was an intelligence agent?” Wilson asked.
He saved my fucking life, Wilson, was what Gannon wanted to say. Instead, he said, “It was clear by his actions. He intervened. Later he told me that Corley may have had information related to a planned attack against the U.S.”
“This is what he wanted you to believe?” Wilson asked.
“You’re twisting things,” Gannon said.
The editors exchanged glances.
“What’s the agent’s name?” Lyon asked.
“All he gave me was contact information.”
“Of course,” Wilson said.
“In any event,” Lyon said, “Jack’s on to something substantial here.”
“I’m not convinced.” Wilson was reading from his BlackBerry. “See, when we learned Jack was going to Morocco, I had Taz, our bureau chief in Rabat, do some checking. His Moroccan police sources told him that Adam Corley, the Irish ex-cop who also volunteered with Equal Globe International, was tied up with drug dealers who likely murdered him.”
“That’s bullshit,” Gannon said.
“Jack, Taz has lived in Morocco for twelve years. You were there for what, three days?”
“So? He didn’t see what I saw. He doesn’t know what I know.”
“Take it easy, Jack,” Lyon said.
“That drug crap is just a cover story for whoever really killed Corley,” Gannon said.
“Jack-” Lyon searched his face “-have you told us everything that happened to you in Morocco?”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “The cafe bombing is linked to Corley’s murder in Rabat and human traffickers and this ex-CIA guy, Drake Stinson, and some shadowy group or think tank called Extremus Deus, a scientist, and all of it is tied to some plot against the U.S.”
While Lyon made a few notes, Delaney said, “Jack, you seem to have a lot going on there. Mel, maybe we should put more people on this story.”
“Why waste our resources?” Wilson said. “All I see is a lot of disparate pieces to a conspiracy theory.”
Lyon swiveled her chair to the window and the view of Madison Square Garden. The banner announcing the upcoming Human World Conference was illuminated.
“Tell me something, George. What have Frank Archer and our people in Rio learned about the cafe bombing?”
“That it’s still under investigation.”
“Then Jack’s got the only substantial follow-up story on it, directly from the narco dealers. And that kind of confirmation goes a long way in my book. He’s got us leads on something significant. During my recent business flights, I’ve read through most of the files Jack’s sent me. Granted they do seem disparate, as you say, but my gut tells me he’s got something. And for what it’s worth, this morning I learned on the grapevine that the Washington Post has caught wind of a story about national security concerns over long-buried, secret U.S. military experiments falling into criminal hands. Maybe it’s related to this, maybe it’s not. In any event, we’re not going to get beat on what happened in Brazil. The bottom line is two of our people were among those murdered in Rio de Janeiro. I assigned Jack to find out who is responsible, to pursue the truth no matter where it leads. That’s what he’s been doing. We are not going to let someone else write the ending for us. Not after what we lost. This is our goddamn story. So, I’m going to demand all of our bureaus keep digging for anything related to the bombing. George and Al, I’m counting on you to watch your story lists and alert me personally to anything remotely connected to what Jack has discovered. It that clear? I’m going to leave Jack on this story to keep doing what he’s been doing. And we’re putting the full support of this news agency behind him. Do you have any questions?”
No one spoke.
Wilson picked through the wontons.
“All right,” Lyon said. “We’re done. It’s late, go home.”
“Hold up,” Delaney said, consulting his BlackBerry. “I just got something interesting from Nan in Miami who is checking with Butler in Atlanta. Seems a passenger on a cruise ship became violently ill and died, a forty-one-year- old man from Indianapolis. The medical examiner for Broward County alerted the Centers for Disease Control who, according to our sources, alerted Homeland Security. Seems they don’t know what caused his death, but sources say it was like something from a horror movie.”
“Stay on that, get it all confirmed. Track down the ship’s passenger list, the ship’s medical crew,” Lyon said. “Jack, I want you to go home, rest. Tomorrow we’ll talk about our next steps.”
