Gannon searched the peaks.
In his loneliest times, when he missed having a family, he thought of finding Cora. He thought of confronting her with all he was carrying: anger for leaving them and hurting everyone. He hated her for what she had done, yet loved her for what she had meant to him.
She was his sister.
As Emma returned to the car, his cell phone vibrated. It was his editor calling from New York. He answered and strolled away.
“Gannon.”
“It’s Melody, how is it going?”
“Major pieces have emerged. Emma Lane believes her son was abducted from a crash that killed her husband. Get this-she says it’s tied to a California fertility clinic she’d used where someone in the lab was selling DNA to some shady corporation. I’ve got some phone numbers we’re trying to trace. I think this could be tied to the cafe bombing, that Rio law firm, illegal adoptions and child trafficking.”
“Is it the clinic Golden Dawn Fertility Corp. in L.A.?”
“Yes, how did you know?”
“The Los Angeles Times just reported that a woman who died in a suspicious fire was a former lab worker suspected of selling the clinic’s files to an unknown research group.”
“Oh, man.”
“People are gaining on us, Jack. We need to hide Emma Lane. We’ve invested too much in this story to get beat now. Ask her if she’ll come to New York today, for further interviews on the story. The World Press Alliance will pay her expenses. Try to get back here as soon as possible.”
After Gannon told Emma what the WPA wanted, she contemplated the request then consulted her aunt and uncle.
A moment later she gave Gannon her answer.
“I’ll do anything if it brings me closer to my son.”
57
Washington, D.C.
Robert Lancer entered his section chief’s office at FBI Headquarters and set a folder before him.
Hal Weldon slid on his bifocals and loosened his tie. As he reviewed the file, Lancer glanced out the window overlooking the National Mall and the White House.
Since Jack Gannon called him yesterday, Lancer had worked on warrants to obtain the phone records of Polly Larenski and the pay phone in Santa Ana, California.
He’d called the FBI’s Los Angeles field office and FBI’s Santa Ana Resident Agency. He prepared a summary of all the facts, including his sworn oath and belief that the information was linked to a suspected imminent attack. The rest had to be processed up the chain for sign-off before it went to a judge.
“Looks good, Bob. I’ll take it from here.” Weldon removed his glasses. “I just got off the phone with Charley. We’re still trying to locate Drake Stinson and Gretchen Sutsoff.”
“Are we going to go public?”
“It’s being considered.”
“And the others?”
“Defense and the CIA have located the other scientists who worked on Crucible, and they’ve volunteered to cooperate. They’ve been taken to military bases to be flown to Detrick, but the CIA will give them a rough reception.”
“Why?”
“They’re suspects, too,” Weldon said.
“What? Foster Winfield’s the one who first alerted them to this. The guy’s got a terminal condition.”
“They’re covering their asses,” Weldon said. “Look, we’ll flag our warrant application as an expedited request. How fast we make it through the lawyers to a judge is anybody’s guess. I’ll keep you posted.”
As he navigated D.C.’s traffic back to the Anti-Threat Center in Virginia, doubt gnawed at Lancer.
In the warrant application, he’d failed to specifically detail that Jack Gannon claimed to possess Adam Corley’s computer files on the case, because he knew Weldon would have demanded he go after Gannon for the files with a warrant, or even an arrest.
Am I a fool to allow Gannon, a reporter, free rein with what could be a significant piece of evidence in a threat to national security?
Lancer was on a tightrope.
He needed time to cultivate Gannon as a source. The guy was good at digging up information. Maybe he could strengthen their uneasy alliance with some quid pro quo? As for the warrant, well, that was a roll of the dice at best. They could take days or hours.
Even then, would it yield anything?
At his office at the center, Lancer scrutinized everything he had that was related to the case. He made calls and followed leads. The sun had set by the time he got a call from Weldon.
“We got our pitch to a judge who granted the warrant. Our people are banging on doors in California. We should have the phone records by morning, Bob. I hope to hell we get some mileage out of this.”
58
Rapid keyboard tapping underscored the intensity with which Sandra Deller attacked the data yielded by the new warrants.
Deller, the chief analyst at the Anti-Threat Center’s Information Command Unit, had made Robert Lancer’s case her priority. Pages of call logs going back several months for Polly Larenski’s landline number appeared on Deller’s monitor.
“According to my source-” Lancer came and stood next to her “-Larenski is believed to have received and made calls concerning our subject from her home phone and the pay phone near her home on Civic.”
Deller clicked and a second set of call logs appeared.
“This one?” she said.
“Correct.”
“We’re looking for a number or numbers that will appear in both logs.” Deller issued a few commands for a merge. “Voila.” She highlighted the number that appeared: 242-555-1212.
“Where is that?”
Deller entered the number in another database.
“Bahamas. Nassau. Actually, it’s Paradise Island. That’s a resort area. Hang on.” Deller continued her swift searches. “Look, it’s for the Grand Blue Tortoise Resort.” Deller went to a Web site for the resort and clicked through pages. “Nice. Let’s see if we can be more specific with the number.” She continued searching and said, “The number is for the Blue Tortoise Kids’ Hideaway. Let’s check it out.” She went to the Hideaway’s Web page. “It’s a child-care center, Bob.”
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. Embassy in Nassau. 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.
