The Panic Zone Read Online Free Page B

Beland Stone and Melody Lyon are flying to Miami to attend Gabriela’s funeral. George Wilson is flying to São Bento do Norte, to assist Marcelo’s family with his service there.”
    â€œSo what does Frank want me to do?”
    â€œHe wants me to take you to the Café Amaldo, now.”
    â€œThe crime scene?”
    â€œYes, his instructions are for me to help you to talk to the lead investigators, to push them for more information. Then go directly to the bureau, to help update the story.”
    â€œLet’s go.”

CHAPTER 5
    A n eerie quiet enveloped the air around the café.
    Rio’s Centro traffic had been diverted around the blast area or, what one newspaper called “A Zona da Matança.”
    â€œIt means the Zone of the Slaughter,” Luiz translated for Gannon as they left their taxi and walked to the inner perimeter.
    Knots of police vehicles, their emergency lights flashing, secured the street. Farther along, where the satellite trucks and news crews had parked, it was cordoned by barricades and tape, and several dozen people were rubbernecking the investigation.
    Beyond the police lines, Gannon saw the office buildings and shops smashed by the blast. The awning of a boutique drooped above its shattered windows. Mangled chairs, tables and debris littered the street. The sign above the café had split, both pieces swaying now in the breeze, signifying the wound in the aftermath of the attack.
    Stick to the basics, keep your notebook out of sight and observe. Gannon knew how to work a scene.
    As they drew near, he indicated to Luiz that they should go to the far end of the barricade away from the other news people.
    From there, they saw the technicians in their white coveralls, yellow shoe covers and latex gloves picking through wreckage on the patio and sidewalk, collecting evidence. Others photographed the devastation, took measurementsand made notes. A police dog, its snout to the ground, sniffed for trace material, while a soft wind carried flakes of ash and papers down the avenue and alleys.
    â€œNão aqui! Você deve mover-se!” An unsmiling uniformed officer appeared before them.
    â€œHe wants us to move, to join the other reporters,” Luiz said.
    â€œTell him I’m a reporter with the World Press Alliance from New York and that two of my colleagues were killed here. Gabriela Rosa and Marcelo Verde. Tell him I need to speak to the lead investigator, possibly, to share information. Stress possibly. ”
    As Luiz translated, Gannon held up his WPA identification. After listening and looking at it, the cop spoke into his radio.
    A moment passed and a response crackled back.
    Gannon saw another uniformed officer amid the scene talk into his radio, then to the two men in polo shirts and jeans beside him. One of them looked from his notebook to Gannon, then waved him through. Gannon had figured the plain-clothed men for detectives. The first one held out his latex-gloved hand before him and spoke in English.
    â€œGive me your passport, please.”
    The man reviewed it and wrote down Gannon’s passport number while his partner took Gannon’s picture with a small camera.
    â€œAm I to understand that you have information on this crime, Mr. Jack Gannon?”
    Gannon glimpsed the cop’s ID on the chain around his neck and the words Polícia and Roberto something Investigador. His face was somber as if the weight of the world were pressing on him. A tiny scar meandered down his left cheek as his hooded brown eyes measured Gannon.
    â€œI would like to discuss things first,” Gannon said.
    â€œNo discussion, if you have information relating to this crime, you must tell me.” The detective angled Gannon’spassport so his heavyset, pock-faced partner could read Gannon’s passport number. Then he spoke in rapid Portuguese and his partner nodded and made a phone call. “If you interfere with our investigation we can