Cora clasped her hands over it to steady her nerves as a thousand disconnected thoughts shot through her mind; her fear for Tilly juxtaposed with the absurdity of deciding how to dress for the press conference.
What do I wear to plead for my daughter’s life?
She’d decided on her charcoal jacket and matching pencil skirt, what she would have worn to work or a funeral. What about makeup? A female FBI agent had offered to help fix her face, but Cora had declined. Somehow it seemed wrong.
My daughter’s life is at stake.
The conference began.
Gannon was standing a few inches to her right and the Special Agent in Charge of the Phoenix FBI was a few inches on her left, gripping the podium. She noticed his wedding band but had forgotten his name. Lewis something. He’d given it to her with a crushing handshake.
As the agent spoke, Cora struggled against a state of unreality. Her child had been abducted by a drug cartel. How could this be happening? She was a single mother, a secretary. She wanted her daughter back. She thought she knew Lyle. Where was he? Was he dead? Five million dollars! What had he done?
What had she done?
The kidnappers’ warning flashed.
“Lyle must return our money or your daughter will die. And if you go to the police, your daughter will die…”
Cora heard her name.
The FBI man finished his opening remarks and had turned to her.
“Now, Tilly’s mother, Cora Martin, will make a brief statement. But please-she will take no questions.”
He gestured and she stepped in front of the cameras. The intense light glared like a judgment. Beside the podium she saw the tripod bearing enlarged photos of Tilly and Lyle. Next to it stood another tripod bearing a sketch of one of the suspects and a picture of Lyle’s pickup truck.
This was real.
Cora’s mouth went dry. She glanced at her brother. He nodded encouragement.
She had to do this for Tilly.
Cora unfolded her paper. The cameras tightened on her, the lines on her face, her bloodshot eyes: the anguished mother. News networks were broadcasting live with Breaking News flags. Some carried a graphic at the bottom of the screen: Drug Gang Kidnaps 11-year-old Girl From Phoenix Home Demand $5 million.
Cora started.
“To the people who have my daughter, Tilly, I beg you, please, do not hurt her and please return her to me.” Cora stopped, then resumed. “Sweetheart, if you can see me or hear my voice, I love you. We’re doing everything to bring you home safely.”
She paused, kept her composure and continued.
“Lyle, if you see this, please help us. Go to the police, wherever you are. Please. We need your help. And I beg anyone who has any information to please contact the police. Thank you.”
As the agent took her shoulder and Gannon helped her retreat from the podium, several reporters fired questions. Above them all, they heard the voice of Carrie Cole, a news celebrity known across America for her nationally televised crime show based in Phoenix.
“Mother to mother, Cora! One question, please!”
Cora stopped, looked at the famous face and lifted hers, inviting the question.
“I know this must be a horrible, gut-wrenching time. No one can know what you’re going through, but please share with us the last words your little girl spoke to you and when?”
Cora glanced at the FBI and her brother. The FBI man nodded.
“It was early this morning, after the kidnappers took Tilly. They called me and put her on the phone.”
“What did she say to you?”
Cora hesitated.
“‘Mommy, please help me!’”
Cora covered her face and turned away sobbing. The reporters shouted more questions, but the agent raised his palms and resumed control.
“To recap and conclude, as you know we’ve just issued a national alert. The FBI is asking for the public’s assistance in locating Tilly Martin and Lyle Galviera. I want to stress that Mr. Galviera is not a suspect but a person of interest. He was last known to have been destined by air travel for California on business. He has not been located. All vehicles registered to him have been located except for his red Ford F-150 pickup truck pictured here. You have details. We are also seeking any information concerning the unknown suspects fitting the artist’s sketch and details. There is still no description of the suspects’ vehicle involved in this case. That is all we can release for now. Anyone with information is strongly urged to call the Phoenix FBI or your local police. We’ll keep you apprised of any developments. Thank you.”
10
New York City, New York
A t that moment, at the World Press Alliance headquarters in midtown Manhattan, several senior editors had extended the late-day story meeting to watch the news conference on the large screen in the main boardroom.
“Am I wrong, or did I just see one of our reporters participating in an FBI press conference, in violation of WPA policy that we don’t align ourselves with police?” said George Wilson, chief of all of the WPA’s foreign bureaus.
No one spoke. A couple of the other editors consulted their cell phones for messages. One made notes on a pad.
“Am I the only one who has a problem with this?”
It was known that Wilson, a pull-no-punches journalist, had a prickly relationship with Gannon. Wilson swiveled his chair, turning to the head of the table, taking his issue to Melody Lyon, the WPA’s deputy executive editor.
“Mel? Are you aware of the perception here?”
Lyon arched an eyebrow. She was a legendary reporter who’d spent decades covering the world’s most turbulent events and was the most powerful person in WPA management after her boss, Beland Stone, the WPA’s executive editor.
“I’m well aware of the perception. As I said in my memo to senior management, Jack advised me of his situation and is keeping me apprised. Henrietta Chong from our Phoenix bureau staffed the conference and will cover the story for us.”
“Gannon’s supposed to be in Mexico on foreign features. We’re led to believe he’s on the brink of delivering an exclusive. Then he abandons the assignment because of this cartel kidnapping of his niece,” Wilson said.
“Yes, I alerted you when he informed me that his situation had changed,” Lyon said.
“I never knew all the details until now. None of us did, Mel.”
“I recognize this puts him in a potential conflict, but that’s not our main concern right now.”
“You seem to be missing the greater point,” Wilson said.
“Which is?” Lyon was twisting a rubber band in her hand.
“Look at the optics. While on assignment covering cartels in Mexico, Jack Gannon suddenly surfaces in Arizona in the eye of the kidnapping story involving cartels, drugs, five million dollars and his family. It implicates him and by extension implicates the WPA and threatens our credibility.” Wilson muttered, “Remember who hired him.”
“What was that?”
Unease rippled around the table.
“It’s no secret that many of us were opposed to Gannon’s hiring,” Wilson said.
Lyon had stood alone with her desire to hire Gannon after he was fired from the Buffalo Sentinel, where he’d become embroiled in a scandal over a source there. Everyone had rejected him but she’d sensed something about him, about his news instincts, his passion, his ability to dig. He was as uncompromising as truth itself.
“I resent what you are implying. No one has been charged in this case.”
“Not yet.”
Lyon slapped her palm on the table.
“Stop this bullshit, George!”
The air tensed as she continued.
“When reporters find themselves in trouble or victims of circumstance, their news organizations stand behind them. Look at the cases of the New York Times, the Wall Street Journal, the BBC. And look at what we just went through in Brazil.” Lyon paused. “Gannon is a WPA employee. His niece has been abducted by a drug cartel. And you’re damned right-by extension that implicates the WPA. But at a time like this the WPA does not consult its policy, George. It looks into its heart and makes the easy, moral choice to do what’s right. Because at a time like this, we’re talking about the life of an eleven-year-old child. Is that clear?”