In Desperation (6 page)

Phoenix, Arizona

T
ick. Tick. Tick.

The clock on the wall of the FBI's office was all Cora could hear.

Time counting down on Tilly's life.

Or was that Cora's heart racing under the fierce light of cameras?

Some fifty news people had gathered for the press conference at the FBI's Field Office. They adjusted lenses, tripods, checked BlackBerry phones, made notes and last-minute cell phone calls while Cora and other officials took their places in front of the crowd.

The announcements would start momentarily.

Prior to arriving, Cora had slept for an hour but adrenaline still rushed through her. She'd refused sedatives from the paramedics and had managed to eat saltine crackers to quell her stomach butterflies after she'd agreed to make a live statement to the press.

Hackett and Gannon had convinced her that it was critical to reach out to the kidnappers and that this was the best way to speak directly to them, to Tilly, to Lyle, and to get the whole world looking for them. It could lead to a break in the case. Her plea would be distributed everywhere on the air and online.

Jack had helped her compose a few sentences. They
were printed in large font on the folded sheet of paper she now held in her hand.

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.”

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?”

Lyon let several moments pass.

“We will stand behind our reporter as this tragedy unfolds. Is that understood?”

Murmurs of agreement went around the table then bled into talk of updates and other business before Lyon ended the meeting. She stayed behind, alone in the room, and replayed the Phoenix press conference.

Looking at Cora, at Tilly's picture, Lyon saw the family resemblance with Gannon as she watched.

This is a hell of a way to find your long-lost sister, Jack.

Phoenix, Arizona, Mesa Mirage

C
ora was terrified by what she had done.

Now that she had defied the kidnapper's orders, would they carry out their threat to kill Tilly?

Forgive me, Tilly. I didn't know what else to do.

Cora also feared that her appeal to find Tilly would resurrect her dangerous secret and make things worse.

Returning home after the press conference, she was exhausted, as if a lifetime had passed since Tilly was taken. FBI crime scene experts were still processing parts of her house and agents had set up additional lines to run off Cora's home and cell phones.

Hackett opposed talk of sealing her entire home as a crime scene. He wanted her in the house in case, by some miracle, Tilly got free and called. Or the kidnappers called, or Galviera surfaced. The FBI would be listening and ready to take command of her line, or clear it.

As expected, the press coverage had yielded a steady number of tips to the FBI's hotline. They were screened by analysts at the Phoenix office and assessed by agents for follow-up.

But most leads lacked detail. One caller said:
“I saw that missing kid. She was walking near a Wal-Mart, or Target? Not sure which, but check it out.”
Another said,
“I saw a dude with a scar like the kidnapper's in a bar.”
One email said, This was foretold in the Book of Revelations. And then there was a woman claiming special powers who wanted to
“spiritually channel your visions on the kidnapping.”

Tilly's distraught friends and neighbors called. So did people from her church. All offered Cora kind words and prayers. Other support was more tangible, like the swift help that came from the American Network for Vanished and Stolen Children. The Phoenix chapter worked with police, creating flyers and marshaling volunteer search parties at the Mesa Mirage Shopping Center. News cameras recorded the response to Tilly's kidnapping from her schoolteachers and worried parents. They quoted criminologists, expert on the nature of drug cartels.

The press also kept a vigil at Cora's home.

Satellite trucks and media vehicles lined her street in front of her bungalow. Some two dozen in all, but the number grew along with the requests for interviews. All the networks wanted Cora to appear on breakfast and prime-time news shows. Their enquiries were handled by advisors from the volunteer group, one of them a retired news assignment editor.

“Cora's not making any more statements today, folks,” he said. “The next media briefing might be tomorrow, if the FBI has any updates.”

Though Cora's number was not listed, some news organizations managed to obtain it. Those that tried to call in to Cora were deflected by the FBI, except for one reporter outside, standing among the pack.

She didn't call Cora.

 

Inside the house, Jack Gannon's cell phone rang.

“Gannon.”

“Jack, this is Henrietta Chong with WPA's Phoenix bureau. Melody Lyon in New York gave me your number and told me to call.”

“Did she?”

“I am so sorry about what's happened to your niece. I hope she comes home safe.”

“We all do.”

“I hate doing this, but you're going in the story. AP and Reuters are making reference to you being Cora's brother. We have to do the same.”

“I figured.”

“Jack, New York wants me to interview Cora. Can you help me with that?” Then she clarified, “Melody wants me to talk to her, exclusively.”

After a long pause, Gannon told Henrietta he would have to call her back. Hanging up, he looked across the room at Cora resting on the sofa and approached her with the request. After considering it, she said, “Just two minutes over the phone.”

At that moment Hackett materialized, eyeing Gannon.

“Two minutes with whom and for what?”

“A short interview with the WPA,” Gannon said.

Hackett weighed it. “As long as she only repeats what she said earlier. I'll be right here, listening.”

Gannon called Henrietta Chong on his phone, then passed it to Cora. As he watched and listened, ambiguity gnawed at him. He knew he was exploiting his sister. But he rationalized it. After all this time, she'd called him. Some twenty-two years had passed between them. There was so much he didn't know about her and it had kept him ambivalent toward her, torn over whether he should be consoling her or questioning her account of what was really at work with Tilly's kidnapping.

Why had Cora asked him if she was being punished for past sins? What did she mean?

I knew dealers.

What had happened in her past? Was this somehow linked?

At that moment an agent rose from the worktable where
he had been listening to his cell phone while working on a laptop. His face taut, he tapped Hackett's shoulder.

“We just got something.”