The Panic Zone Read Online Free Page A

Now he’s at the consulate with Gabriela’s father, who flew down from Miami. They’re trying to make arrangements to fly her back to Florida in a few days to bury her there. Marcelo’s family is preparing a funeral for him.”
    â€œI understand.”
    â€œI’ve lost friends in Afghanistan, in Africa, but this one hits home hard.”
    â€œFrank, do the police have any leads on who’s behind the attack?”
    â€œThe strongest theory is that it’s narco terrorism. Globo, the TV network, is reporting that a Colombian drug lord’s daughter is one of the victims. There’s speculation she was the target in a vendetta with a Rio drug network.”
    â€œWhat’s the thinking on Gabriela’s being at the café?”
    â€œThat’s a mystery, for now.”
    â€œI understand she left a message for John that she was meeting a source.”
    â€œShe did.” Archer turned to his phone and pressed numbers. “John gave me his access code. It’s not much, listen. It’s in English.”
    After a few tones, Gabriela Rosa’s last words to her husband played through the speaker, her voice filling the darkened bureau.
    â€œHey, it’s me. Finished that story about pickpockets on the metro, you’ve got it. Meanwhile, I got a call from an anonymous woman who claims to have a big story and documents for us. I set up a meeting at the Café Amaldo for this afternoon, with Marcelo to back me up. Hope São Paulo was fun. Did you say hi to Archer for me? Tell him I found a girl for him. Have a safe flight home, catch you later. I love you.”
    Gannon fished his small digital recorder from his laptop bag and Archer replayed the message so he could record it.
    â€œDo you think Gabriela’s source could have wanted to tip her to the narco attack and something went wrong with the timing?” Gannon asked.
    â€œI don’t know. It seems unlikely since Gabriela picked the location.”
    â€œHas the bureau here written anything recently that threatened any of the criminal networks?”
    â€œNot really—the crime gangs usually target the local press.” Archer glanced at his watch. “You flew overnight, you must want to drop off your bags at your hotel, wash up. Get something to eat, right?”
    â€œI could use a coffee and a hot shower.”
    â€œWe got you a room at the Nine Palms Hotel. It’s a good place and nearby.” Archer handed Gannon a large envelope. “The address is in here. Tell the taxi driver ‘hotel de nove palmas.’ You got some cash? You want Luiz to go with you?”
    â€œI have cash and the company card.” Gannon peered in the envelope. “I should go myself.”
    Archer’s phone rang. He answered, saying something quickly in Portuguese before cupping his hand over the mouthpiece.
    â€œJack, I have to interview a source with Public Safety, then the café owner. Meet me back here in ninety minutes. I’ll have something for you.”
    The Nine Palms was three kilometers away, off a busythoroughfare, hidden atop a narrow cobbled street. The greenery was so lush Gannon almost missed seeing the hotel behind a set of wrought-iron gates.
    It was a modernized massive nineteenth-century colonial mansion with shuttered windows, ceiling fans and dark mahogany floors. In his room, he ordered food then took a hot shower before it came—a plate of fruit, fresh baked bread, juice and coffee.
    It recharged him.
    As he ate, Gannon struggled to comprehend coverage of the Café Amaldo bombing in Rio’s newspapers but didn’t get far before someone knocked on his door. Through the peephole, he saw Luiz Piquet.
    â€œSorry to disturb you, Jack, but Mr. Archer sent me. He’s had to change his plan because he’s going to be tied up on calls while putting the latest story together with the other WPA correspondents. He said to tell you that senior editors