Tyler was screaming somewhere, but Emma couldnt see him.
She saw Joe.
Hed gone halfway through the windshield. Emma crawled to him, reached for him and took his hand.
Stay with me, Joe. Dont leave me.
Emma passed out, came to, then did it again and again.
Time stopped.
She could smell gas, burning rubber. Something was hissing, she heard car doors, people running, someone shouting. Someone was checking the wreckage. Everything was hazy.
Emmas heartbeat thundered in her ears.
Hurry! she screamed.
An engine raced.
Find my baby!
Emma felt Joes pulse stop as people carried her away.
Get my husband out! Find my baby!
The air around them spasmed as if hammered by an invisible fist that delivered the heat flash and fireball as the SUV ignited.
Someone rescued Tyler. Emma saw them carry him to safety.
Or she thought she did.
Where was her baby?
Oh, God! Tyler had to be safe. He had to be, because he wasnt screaming anymore.
Emma was.
2
Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
The next day, Gabriela Rosa, a reporter at the Rio Bureau of the World Press Alliance, reached across her desk to answer her phone.
Alo, Gabriela Rosa, WPA.
Eu tenho que falar a- The female callers voice was overtaken by street noise. She was likely using a pay phone.
Please speak louder.
I have to talk to a reporter with your news agency about a big story.
I am a reporter, Rosa said. Whats the story?
Not over the phone, we have to meet.
Give me your name, please?
I cant.
Perhaps you could come to our office?
No. I want to meet you somewhere public. I have documents. This has to get out as soon as possible.
The womans voice betrayed fear and desperation, as if shed had trouble summoning the courage to make this call, forcing Rosa to make a quick decision. She had nearly finished a feature on crime on the metro. Then shed planned to visit a detective, but she could skip it.
A good reporter never turned a tipster away.
Rosa would meet the caller but she would be careful.
Fine, Rosa said. We are in the Centro on Rua do Riachuelo near O Dias offices. Do you know it?
Yes.
Five blocks west of us on Rua do Riachuelo there is the Cafe Amaldo. Meet me there at 2:00 p.m. sharp. My name is Gabriela Rosa. I have brown hair. Ill be wearing sunglasses, a pink shirt and white slacks. Ill be reading Jornal do Brasil and Ill have my white bag on the table. I will be alone. Are you coming alone?
Yes.
Give me your name.
No name. Ill find you.
Fine, meet me at two sharp. Ill give you my cell-phone number in case you must cancel. Do you want to give me a number?
No. I will be there at two.
Can you give me some sense of what this story is?
I will tell you when we meet.
Afterward, as Rosa finished her feature, she took stock of the empty office. The bureau chief was out of town. The stringer and photographer were on assignments. The news assistant was off. Rosa was alone as she pondered her tip and WPAs rules for staff called out to meet unknown sources: Tell people where you are going, who you are meeting and never go alone.
Rio was one of the worlds most beautiful cities. It was also one of the most violent. Much of its major crime arose from drug dealing and gang wars afflicting the favelas, the crowded shanty towns that blanketed the hillsides overlooking the metropolis.
Rosa, like other news reporters in Rio, was mindful of the risks. Criminals had kidnapped and murdered journalists who threatened to expose their networks. She would not meet her source alone. She called a cell-phone number.
Alo, Verde, a man answered.
Marcelo, its Gabriela. Are you getting back soon? I need you for a job.
Im leaving Santa Teresa now. Got some very nice pictures New York will love. I have to get lunch.
No. Meet me on the street in front of Cafe Amaldo. Ill buy you lunch.
Thats a deal. Whats the job?
Im meeting a source and youre my backup. Be there at one-thirty. Dont be late. Call me if you are delayed.
Later, as Rosa prepared to leave the bureau, she called John Esper, her husband, who was also the bureau chief and who, by her estimation, would now be on a return flight from Sao Paulo, where hed helped cover news of the upcoming visit by the U.S. vice president. Rosa left Esper a voice mail on his cell phone advising him she would be meeting an anonymous source at the Cafe Amaldo but would be with Marcelo.
Rosa walked to her meeting, absorbing the bustle of downtown Rio with its beautiful colonial buildings juxtaposed with highrises, shops and corporate towers. Some days, she could feel the citys excitement mounting in the lead up to the World Cup and the Summer Olympics. But today, as she neared the cafe, she thought only about the call she had received.
Sure, it could be something but these things never amounted to much. Usually, they had more to do with a personal matter of a malcontent who wanted a reporter to publicly embarrass their adversary. If that happened today, it wouldnt be a total waste. She would at least have lunch at Cafe Amaldo and a tale to tell Esper.
Marcelo met her near the restaurant. He was one of Brazils best news photographers, an ex-beach bum from Copacabana who was also a bodybuilder.