The lights from the five or six TV cameras around him were intense. Gannon glimpsed Luiz at the fringe of the pack and caught a hint of Yasmin Carval’s strong perfume as she stepped closer.
“Mr. Gannon, what has been the impact?” Yasmin Carval asked.
“The loss has taken a toll on our entire agency.”
“Do you think Gabriela and Marcelo were targets?”
“Targets?”
“Was Gabriela working on a story about drug gangs?”
“I don’t know.”
“There is speculation that narco gangs are behind the bombing.”
“I don’t know anything. I can’t say more, I have to go.”
Gannon shouldered his way through the pack and when he reached Luiz, they started walking toward the bureau. It was a few blocks away.
“What the hell was that?” Gannon said. “How did they know my name and everything else?”
“When they spotted you inside the line, they thought you were getting preferential treatment and complained to the other officers, who told them you were with WPA.”
“Preferential treatment?” Gannon shook his head, glanced over his shoulder, relieved no one was following them. “I didn’t get any stinking preferential treatment from that detective.”
“Roberto Estralla.”
“That’s right.”
“He’s one of Rio’s most respected investigators but he detests reporters. Those at the barricade were impressed he allowed you to cross the police line and talk to him.”
Different town, different rules, Gannon thought, taking a parting glance back at the scene. There was something there.
Something he was overlooking.
6
When they returned, Gannon saw himself on one the bureau’s TV screens.
The sound was muted.
Frank Archer was in the office with two other people. A man sat at a desk talking softly in Spanish on his cell phone, while Archer worked with a woman typing on a keyboard.
“You’re amazing, Jack,” Archer said. “Within hours of landing, you’ve become the official spokesperson for the World Press Alliance while also helping the Rio press with their stories.”
“Excuse me?”
“Globo and SBT both carried you live from the scene. They’ll run your performance all day. Good job, Gannon.”
“Those networks reach about one hundred million people,” the woman said without looking at Gannon.
“I’m sorry, have we met?” he asked her.
The tanned woman was in her early thirties, wearing a print shirt and white slacks. She had short blond hair and a cool hand when Gannon shook it.
“Sally Turner, Caracas Bureau. The grump on the phone is Hugh Porter from our Buenos Aires Bureau.”
Porter extended his hand while remaining on his call. Gannon shook it then saw the second TV cut back to news.
“Jack,” Archer said, “are you aware of the WPA policy about reporters granting interviews to other reporters?”
Gannon shook his head, keeping his attention on the TV screens.
“We don’t comment on the news,” Archer said.
“Well, now we are the news, Frank. I didn’t say anything wrong. Besides, my instructions from you were to go to the scene and press the lead investigators for information and that’s what I did.”
“What did you get from Estralla?” Porter asked after finishing his call.
“Attitude.”
“Anything to contribute to our story?” Archer asked.
Gannon didn’t answer. He was watching the news reports on the TV screens, footage of him talking with the detectives. Archer turned on the sound and Gannon heard his English dubbed into Portuguese. Then he saw his name in the graphic at the bottom, Journalista de Jack Gannon, Alianca da Imprensa do Mundo.
Gannon scrutinized the TV images. He was missing something.
“Jack,” Archer said, “anything for the story? We have to file to New York.”
“No.”
“I didn’t expect anything.” Archer turned to the others. “Porter?”
“My source in Bogota says one of the victims is Angella Roho-Ruiz, daughter of Paulo Roho-Ruiz, a high- ranking member of a powerful Colombian cartel.”
“That fits with what I’m picking up,” Turner said. “This is a retaliatory hit arising from a debt or vendetta with a gang from one of the favelas.”
“Angella Roho-Ruiz had to be Gabriela’s source,” Porter said.
“You know that for a fact?” Gannon asked.
“Not yet.”
“Do you know for certain that Gabriela even met this Angella?”
“What is this, Gannon?”
“You’ve ruled out other possibilities, like this source Gabriela was supposed to meet, or didn’t meet.”
“What do you know about anything?” Porter said. “You’ve been here all of what, a few hours?”
“Hold off, Hugh.” Archer turned to Gannon. “Jack, we talked about this. Gabriela was not lured to the cafe. She chose it, which is our practice when meeting sources. It’s possible that Angella Roho-Ruiz was followed and targeted at her meeting with Gabriela.”
“You’re making assumptions. You haven’t confirmed if Gabriela met her source or who her source is, or was. You’re assuming that since Angella Roho-Ruiz is among the dead, then she must have been the source and this was a narco hit.”
“Listen, Jack, right now, everything points to narco terrorists,” Archer said. “Angella Roho-Ruiz comes from a mighty cartel. At this level, this kind of bombing is their signature.”
“Is it?” Gannon asked.
“It is,” Porter said. “But you wouldn’t know that, coming from Buffalo.”
“Fuck you.”
“Hey!” Archer said. “Everybody, dial it down. We’re all pissed off and on edge over Gabriela and Marcelo, so let’s just dial it down and work.”
Archer gave Gannon names and phone numbers of employees at businesses near the bombing. Most were still operating. Then Archer and the others went back to concentrate on the story.
With Luiz’s help, Gannon spent the rest of the day mining the list for a break. Other than hearing the explosion and seeing the chaotic response, no one had witnessed anything unusual, leaving Gannon to figure Archer just wanted him out of the way.
After they’d filed, Archer, Porter and Turner left to interview security officials and other sources for new information. They returned at the end of the day and filed another update. Then they invited Gannon to an early dinner in Santa Teresa. The restaurant was in a colonial building on a narrow, curving palm-lined street. They monitored their cell phones and BlackBerries while they ate. After the meal, they all drank, except for Gannon.
He wasn’t a drinker.
“Are you curious,” Porter turned to Gannon after his fourth beer “as to why everyone’s giving you a hard time?”
Gannon shrugged.
“Down here, we bleed for our stories. We’ve all stared down the barrel of a gun. We’ve all faced jail,
