“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.”
“Sure, I just want to finish up what I was working on.”
Gannon got fresh coffee, returned to his desk and went back to examining the documents concerning Big Cloud, Wyoming, the Golden Dawn Fertility Corporation in Los Angeles and the fire in Santa Ana that killed a former lab manager. There were some names… Yes, here they were-Joseph Lane, Emma Lane and Tyler Lane.
Gannon rubbed his chin, thinking.
Using the paper’s Internet services, he found public telephone listings for nearly 400 Joseph Lanes in the U.S., and nearly 250 Joe Lanes. They were listed by state. He scrolled through them, pleased when he came to a phone listing for Joe and Emma Lane in Big Cloud, Wyoming.
He jotted down the number, starting with the 307 area code, then the rest, thinking he’d made a mistake because the last three numbers, 847 were familiar to him.
Why was he repeating those three numbers? Was it fatigue?
Gannon clicked on Maria Santo and Sarah Kirby’s files. He went to the listing, a reference to LA #181975 to Wyoming847.
There it was. The last three numbers of the file and the Lane’s home phone number matched. All right, he’d check one more thing.
He then went online for the newspaper for Big Cloud.
The Big Cloud Gazette. The WPA subscribed to it electronically. He searched the paper’s archives for anything on Joe, Emma and Tyler Lane and got several hits.
Gannon froze.
The most recent was an obituary.
Then he found a news story about a tragic car accident that killed a Big Cloud father and his infant son-Joe and Tyler Lane.
The sole survivor was Emma Lane, Tyler’s mother and Joe’s widow.
Gannon clicked on to a family picture and was drawn to Emma Lane’s bright smile and beautiful eyes.
Something told him to call.
He didn’t know why but something in his gut was insisting he call the number he had for Joe and Emma Lane.
Call right now!
Gannon double-checked the time difference, then dialed.
51
Big Cloud, Wyoming
Emma tilted the bottle to shake the sleeping pills into her palm when the phone next to her bed rang.
Startled, she didn’t move.
It did not ring a second time because it was answered by the extension in the living room. Through her bedroom door, she heard Uncle Ned’s muffled voice involved in a conversation that included Aunt Marsha. Then someone approached her door and rapped on it softly.
“Emma?” Aunt Marsha said.
Emma poured all of the pills back into the bottle, capped it and put it under her pillow.
The door cracked open.
“Dear, I’m sorry to disturb you but there’s a call for you. It’s a reporter. I told him you were asleep but he insisted I get you.”
“A reporter? Is it that guy from the Gazette?”
“No, it’s a man from New York.”
“New York? Did he say why he was calling?”
“No, only that it was important that he speak to you. Do you want to talk to him? Or we could tell him to call back another time?”
Is this my sign? Emma wondered.
“No, I’ll take it here. Thanks.”
She swept her hair back and picked up the handset.
“Hello?”
“Hi, is this Emma Lane?”
“Yes.”
“Emma, my name is Jack Gannon. I’m a reporter with the World Press Alliance in New York. I’m sorry to impose on you at this time but I need to speak to you briefly. It’s important. Do you have a moment?”
“Yes, what’s this about?”
“Thanks, I’ll get to that, but first I need to confirm that I’ve reached the right person. Again, my apologies, but I have to ask this. Are you the Emma Lane whose husband Joe and son Tyler were in a recent car accident?”
Emma took a breath.
“Yes.”
“And have you had any dealings whatsoever with the Golden Dawn Fertility Corporation in Los Angeles California?”
A shiver rattled up Emma’s spine. She stifled a sob, covering her mouth with her free hand, feeling tears cascading over her fingers.
“We were clients.”
She glanced at Joe and Tyler’s picture on her nightstand.
“Please, tell me what this is about?”
“Your case at the clinic surfaced in a story I’m working on.”
“Our case? How? What kind of story?”
“It’s complex, Emma. I need to talk to you. I think you might be able to help me. Would you talk to me if I came to Wyoming to see you?”
Emma was overwhelmed by what was happening. After all she’d been through, was this call real? Before she answered Gannon, he asked another question.
“Emma, have any other reporters contacted you, anyone from the Washington Post or the L.A. Times?”
Gannon’s sobering tone cut through the haze that had nearly swallowed her. She felt Joe’s shirt, felt Tyler’s stuffed bear, felt a hand pulling her out of the abyss, felt her breathing quicken as she squeezed the handset.
“No. You’re the only one who’s called. I’ll meet with you if you answer my questions,” she said.
“I’ll try.”
“If I help you, will I find out what happened to my son?”
“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“I don’t think he was killed in the crash, I think he was stolen from it. Now, given what you know, is it possible someone took him? Or am I crazy?”
She waited for his answer. Everything depended upon it.
“Given what I know, anything is possible.”
“I have one more question,” she said.
“All right.”
“How fast can you get here?”
52
“Six miles south, you got the ruins of the old wooden fort where the Eighth U.S. Cavalry was posted for a time.” Ned Fuller nodded to the sweep of flat land that reached to the sky and mountains. “Big Cloud’s just up ahead.”