She swallowed and nodded.
“All right.”
“Good,” Morrow said. “We can get started right away.”
18
New York City
It was midafternoon when Gannon returned to WPA headquarters from the Mendoza home in Flatbush.
He’d missed lunch and stopped for a sandwich at the deli on the building’s main floor. No egg salad left. Ham-and-cheese would do. He grabbed chips and a ginger ale, then swiped his ID badge through the security turnstile.
As the elevator carried him to the newsroom, his dilemma ate at him.
Juan Mendoza had revealed a major aspect of the case: before the heist, his father, the lead guard, had feared his crew was being secretly targeted for a hit.
The story practically wrote itself.
But if Gannon reported it, even using Juan’s information anonymously, it meant not keeping his word with a grieving source—an ethical and moral violation. If Gannon didn’t report it, he risked getting beat on the story, a costly professional defeat.
There was only one way around it: independent confirmation.
He had to nail this angle from his sources.
And he’d better do it fast, because it was a safe bet that the family had spoken to other news outlets. Who was Juan on the phone with at the house? There was no telling what he may have let slip to other reporters.
The elevator doors opened and Gannon hurried through the newsroom to his desk. Immediately he put in calls to Eugene Bennett at John Jay, his cell and home phones. Next, he tried reaching Adell Clark. Then he left messages for Brad West, with the New York State Police.
Somebody’s got to come through for me.
He opened his notebook, tore into his food and reread his notes. Between bites, he made asterisks alongside key points he would use. After eating, he crumpled the wrappers and paused to scan his desk.
Unease pinged at him.
I’m forgetting something. What the hell is it?
“I didn’t see you come in.” Hal Ford stood before him. “How soon before you file?”
“What do you mean? I just got here. And I already filed from my BlackBerry right after the news conference while Dixon drove us to Brooklyn.”
“We moved that story long ago,” Ford said. “Lisker wants to move a feature on the victims’ families ASAP. Didn’t you get my email?”
“I got the one that said we had the afternoon to write the profiles, because they were going later this evening.”
“I sent you another one.” Ford glanced across the newsroom toward Dolf Lisker’s glass-walled office. Lisker was at his terminal reading his monitor. “He changed his mind,” Ford said. “Everybody’s filed. He wants you to pull it all together ASAP into one large, updated piece that has everything—the profiles of the three guards and the agent and hard news on top.” Ford turned and said over his shoulder. “I’ll send you everyone’s raw copy. Get on it and get it to me, pronto.”
Gannon looked at his screen and shook his head.
He needed to hear from his sources. He made a quick round of calls, to no avail. He sent them emails and tried texting.
Come on. Somebody’s got to be around. Come on.
All of his efforts to reach his sources were futile.
He started working as fast as he could, assembling the large feature, pulling in the profiles and comments from the families and friends of the FBI agent, the guards, inserting paragraphs on the security video images of the suspects, the reward, updating the investigation.
The story wasn’t quite there. He had to break news and the piece he needed was from Juan Mendoza. None of his sources had returned his calls. He was wrestling with whether to use Juan’s information when his line rang.
“You done yet?” Ford asked. “Lisker wants to move the feature.”
“Five more minutes.”
“Hurry up.”
Gannon gave it a moment to consider Juan. He’d probably talked to other reporters. All right. He made a decision.
More like a rationalization. Whatever. Screw it.
He would use Juan’s information.
He started writing a new lead, topping the story with what Juan had told him, but attributing it to “a source.” This would be another solid exclusive for the WPA.
It would also be wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
Deep in his gut Gannon knew it. He’d given his word to Juan. He could not burn a guy on the day he was buying a casket for his murdered father.
“Jack,” Ford called again. “I need that story now!”
“Hang on!”
Gannon lined up his cursor, pressed the delete button and watched the exclusive element of the feature vanish. He gave the story a fast read, correcting typos and garble, then sent it to Ford.
“You’ve got it, Hal.”
Gannon got up, went to the far end of the newsroom, looked out at the Hudson, New Jersey and took stock. He just didn’t burn people. That was not how he maintained his credibility with his sources.
But he had to advance the story. He had to keep the WPA ahead.
What am I missing? Am I forgetting something?
He considered possibilities. He could press Adell Clark and Brad West on any intel on how the investigation was going. He could even try pushing Frank Morrow, the case agent, one more time. Or, he could head back to Ramapo. Work the staff of the service center. But the WPA’s stringer was already doing that.
What about Gene Bennett?
Bennett was his inside source on New York City’s armored-car industry. If it was an inside job, he could go to Gene for help pursuing staff at the armored-car company American Centurion.
Gannon headed back to his desk, stopping off at the kitchen for fresh coffee, remembering what Bennett had told him: there was an eyewitness, a woman who was on the floor beside the agent when he was “executed.”
If I could find her, put readers in her shoes, give them a sense of who she is, what was going on in her life the instant she walked into a tragedy, it would be a hell of a story. It would take readers inside the heist.
As he settled back into his desk, his newsroom phone rang.
“Gannon, WPA.”
“Did you see what the New York Signal just posted?”
Gannon’s attention jerked to Dolf Lisker’s glass-walled office to find him glaring from his desk across the newsroom.
“No, I’ll call it up now.”
“We’ve just lost our lead. What you just filed is substandard. The Signal hammered us. I told you that getting beat is unacceptable. I’ll be sending a memo to all editorial staff. Meantime, get your ass on the street and get us back in front!”
The Signal’s story landed on Gannon’s monitor like a blow to his midsection. Seeing Katrina Kisko’s byline was the uppercut.
Deadly Armored Car Heist an Inside Job:Sources Tell Signalby Katrina KiskoThe New York SignalThe killers behind the commando-style robbery of an armored car that left three guards and an FBI agent dead at an I-87 truck stop likely had inside information. Sources among FBI agents and NYPD detectives investigating the heist say…
Damn it. There it was: the credit to “NYPD detectives” told Gannon that Katrina got her info from that NYPD guy he’d seen her with at City Hall Park after the press conference. It was such an obvious angle, too.
He’d missed it. Katrina didn’t. She’d taken him to school.
Gannon swallowed the humiliation, then shoved files and notes into his bag and left. As the elevator descended, temptation rose. Gannon could annihilate her story by using Juan Mendoza’s explosive revelation.