Читать книгу Exposed - Katherine Garbera - Страница 9

“T ory Patton, please pick up the white courtesy phone. Tory Patton to the white courtesy phone.”

Tory slipped her shoes back on and then gathered her laptop case and large carry-on. Having just passed through airport security, she had about forty minutes to waste before her flight took off. She found the white courtesy phone and gave her name.

“Your mother left a message for you. You can get hepatitis from the water, so watch what you drink. And that tunnel trick is getting old. Be careful.”

“Thanks,” Tory said. “Any other messages?”

“Just that one,” the operator said with a chuckle.

Tory smiled. Her mother had called while Tory was on her way to the airport and had proceeded to give her usual safety lecture. Tory had pretended cell phone interference in the tunnel and had hung up on her. No matter how old she got, Evelyn Patton insisted on seeing Tory as about twelve. She made a mental note to call her mother from Miami. She hung up the courtesy phone, then turned and bumped into a man. He steadied her and leaned close.

“Tory Patton?”

“Who wants to know?” The guy was a little taller than she was in her two-inch heels. He had brown hair and wore a navy-blue trench coat. He subtly scanned the thin airport crowd as he held her arm.

“AA.gov.”

She edged back from the guy, surprised that he’d contacted her out in the open like this. Usually courier drops were arranged via e-mail and done without any direct contact. But she knew there hadn’t been time to set up a drop the usual way, and she assumed that this case was time sensitive.

“Can I see some ID?”

He sighed and pulled his wallet from his pocket showing her the American-eagle insignia that AA.gov used. She had the same leather card with the same insignia on it.

“Can’t be too careful these days,” she said. Rainy had always said not to trust appearances. What am I missing here, Rainy?

Tory found her old friend on her mind all the time lately. She knew it was because she still felt guilty for not being there when Rainy had called. She’d started talking to Rainy in her thoughts, as if her old mentor would somehow hear her and answer.

“There’s an envelope for you inside this newspaper. Shred the instructions before getting on the plane. You’re on a work visa, right?”

She nodded.

“Any problems, you know who to contact.” He handed her the paper and left.

Tory stood there for a minute wondering why she continued to do these jobs. She didn’t need the money the way she had when she’d been in college. But she knew in her heart that she did them because they validated all the hard work she’d done at Athena.

She tucked the paper under her arm and went to the Admiral’s Club. Her frequent-flyer status assured her entrance. She went to the bar and got a gin and tonic before finding a seat in the corner away from the sparse crowd. It was a Wednesday, so there weren’t too many people flying.

She opened the paper and Alexandra Forsythe’s brother, Bennington, smiled up at her with a woman on each arm. Tory knew that Alex was more than a little frustrated that her older brother was so…shallow. A frustration that Tory couldn’t relate to because her own brother, Derrick, was a DEA agent on the fast track to the top.

Alex was driven and didn’t understand how someone who was related by blood didn’t share that same drive. Ben said he’d been born to wealth and intended to take every advantage and opportunity that afforded him, which drove Alex crazy. But despite Ben’s playboy lifestyle, he and Alex were very close.

Was it possible that Bennington was a changeling? Wearing a white dinner jacket and a smile that half the men in Hollywood would kill for, he looked utterly charming. But Tory knew better. She’d met Alex’s brother several times, and the man had been totally annoying. He had been in the military for a short time but had said the tailoring didn’t suit him.

His hair was swept back from his forehead, and he had a look in his blue eyes that promised decadence and pleasure. The caption of the photo said it had been taken in Manhattan at a charity event sponsored by his family’s foundation.

Bennington had charisma, something that Tory had always thought was wasted on him. That kind of power should have gone to a man who would use it for more than his own ends.

She shook her head. Flipping the page, she saw the envelope. Tory glanced around to make sure no one was watching her. The tables nearby were empty. She opened the envelope. It contained a small leather pouch and a note addressed to her. Tomorrow night, Thursday, she was to meet her contact in Cabo de la Vela, a small mountain town on Puerto Isla.

The information included longitude and latitude numbers, as well as instructions for what she was supposed to wear. She was to give the contact the leather pouch and leave. She committed the information to memory.

One of the reasons Tory had come to the attention of the Athena Academy had been her photographic memory. She’d grown up in Placid Springs, Florida, a small ranching community, and the local weekly paper had done a story on Tory when she was ten, talking about how she could memorize anything and repeat it verbatim.

Entertainment had been hard to come by in those days, and Tory had been a main source for the town, which doted on the Pattons’ only daughter. Her classes at Athena had honed her photographic memory and taught her to use it for intelligence gathering. She used it in her job at the network all the time.

She folded the newspaper and slid it and the leather pouch into her large carry-on bag. Then she walked to the office area in the lounge and shredded her directions. She walked out of the lounge without a backward glance, feeling the familiar excitement pumping through her veins.

Tory met up with her cameraman, Jay, in Miami. Their flight had been delayed overnight so it was Thursday morning when they arrived in Puerto Isla’s capital, Paraiso, via an Air Mexico flight. Tory had been surprised at how crowded the flight was. Puerto Isla still had a State Department warning against travel because the new government, though more stable than the last, had yet to prove itself.

The coup four months earlier had brought an end to the reign of Diego Santiago. Alejandro Del Torro had taken power and established an interim military government. Tory had taken the time to do some Internet research on Del Torro last night in her hotel room. She’d also notified AA.gov that she’d be unable to make her courier drop until the following day.

Del Torro’s government was getting different parties in place and would be holding elections within the next six months. The U.S. had sent troops to help restore order, but the majority of them had been pulled out in the past month. Tory knew from a conversation with her brother that the DEA still had agents in Central America and Puerto Isla.

The U.S. Embassy had backed the new leader because he favored the policy of eradicating the coca-leaf plant. Tory had spoken to Juan Perez, Puerto Isla’s minister of foreign affairs, on the phone during her layover in Miami.

Minister Perez had said that many locals weren’t happy with the new government’s policy on the coca plant, though they did like the money that the U.S. was pouring into the economy. He invited her to tour his office while she was on the island. Tory planned to do just that. An interview with Perez would be a nice detail to the feature story on the navy SEAL. He’d agreed to speak to her this afternoon at the presidential palace in Paraiso.

Perez was also her main contact to connect with Thomas King. King had been found only a few days earlier and was in a military hospital in Paraiso, recovering from his harsh captivity. Tory was eager to get to the hospital and see King. Mr. Perez had warned her that King was still in pretty bad shape.

Perez hadn’t answered any of her questions over the phone about how King had been found or why he’d still been imprisoned in the first place. But Tory didn’t plan to let Perez dodge her questions when they met in person.

The hot island air brushed over her skin like a lover’s hands. She shed her jean jacket and smiled at Jay.

“Not bad for November.” The weather was so different from the chill of November in Manhattan. She closed her eyes, inhaling the fragrances of wildflowers and sea breeze. The freshness of the air reminded her of her parents’ ranch and for a minute she felt as if she were back in Placid Springs and life was simpler.

“Not bad at all. I knew there was a reason you were my favorite reporter,” Jay said.

“Because I brought you to a warm place in November?”

He just smiled at her. Jay moved with an easy grace through the airport terminal. He was almost six feet tall and had broad shoulders that tapered to a lean waist. Tory knew him to be a hard worker and a wicked poker player. He’d also spent the first few years of his career working at the Central American desk for the network. He was familiar with the people and the customs of this island nation.

“You say that to everyone.” Tory liked Jay because he was easy to get along with and he was more of a photojournalist than just a cameraman. He’d gotten some film that was pure genius over the years. He was also incorrigible. He’d let Tory know a few times that he’d like to start something with her. But Tory had no interest in ruining a perfect reporter-cameraman relationship.

“Yeah, but with you I mean it.”

“Ha.” She deftly changed the subject. “Our visas should clear us through without too much problem.”

They made their way through the airport. It wasn’t as crowded as LaGuardia had been or even as bad as Miami International, where they’d connected, but there were people here. The line at customs was short, and Tory scanned the people waiting ahead of them. Suddenly she did a double take.

A familiar-looking blonde stood two people ahead of Tory. She had a few designer bags and the same Midwest generic American newscaster’s accent that Tory did. Shannon Conner. How had she gotten there without Tory seeing her? She must have been on their flight.

Tory’s reporter’s mind started sorting through information and trying to find answers. Shannon must have flown first-class and gotten on at the last minute, so Tory and Jay hadn’t spotted her. Was she following Tory in the hopes of getting to a story before her? Or did she know where Tory was going? And if so, where was she getting her information?

Shannon showing up at the same location couldn’t be a coincidence. This was the fourth time in as many weeks.

Tory suspected Shannon was still sore about getting kicked out of Athena. That had been a long time ago, and Tory had tried to put the incident behind her. However, Shannon had never really wanted to bury the ax. Except maybe in Tory’s back.

In college, they’d both interned with the same television station, and it was there that Tory realized that Shannon still had it in for her. Not that Tory really cared. Their business was highly competitive, and having Shannon nipping at her heels or a half pace ahead of her really kept Tory focused on her career. She didn’t plan on letting Shannon win.

“There’s your buddy,” Jay said. It was common knowledge in the industry that she and Shannon didn’t get along.

“Very funny. Save my place?”

“Sure.”

Tory got out of line and walked up to Shannon. Shannon was from Atlanta and always made Tory feel like a country bumpkin by comparison. Tory knew she wasn’t. She carefully picked her clothes out at exclusive New York department stores so that she looked successful. But every time they met, she remembered her jeans and worn cowboy boots and how Shannon had made fun of her.

“Shannon?” Tory called.

Shannon pivoted to face her with a smug grin. She pushed her sunglasses onto her head and looked Tory over from head to toe. Tory felt rumpled and dirty from flying. Shannon looked as if she’d just stepped off a luxury jet.

“Tory, what are you doing here?” she asked.

“Working on a story. Puerto Isla is hot right now with the new regime in place and making new announcements every day.”

“That’s right, it is.”

“Is that what you’re doing here?” Tory asked.

“Of course.”

Tory knew they were both lying and she sensed that Shannon was after the same story she was. If it had been any other reporter, Tory would have been tempted to fish around a little more for some information. But it wasn’t.

“You don’t usually handle world politics,” Tory said at last.

“I’m trying to broaden my scope. My Athena story really made the network take notice of me.”

“I’ll bet. Going to do a story that focuses on the facts instead of sensationalizing them like you did with Athena Academy?”

“You’re just jealous because the story got so much attention.”

“I’m not jealous, Shannon. I’m angry because you showed up at my friend’s funeral and tried to make the school sound like a top-secret breeding ground for freaks.”

“Well, you managed to cover up the truth nicely.”

“I managed to tell the truth. See if you can’t remember what that is. Have you read the Broadcast News Style book lately?”

“I’m not a rookie. I know enough to get the job done.”

“I hope so.”

“You know, Patton, I never really cared for your attitude and I can’t wait to take you down a peg or two.”

“You’re welcome to try.”

“I intend to.”

Jealous cow, Tory thought as she turned away and walked back to Jay. She should have said, “I’m not going to try. I’m going to do it.”

“Happy reunion?”

“Why did I request you again?” she said, but she was smiling.

“You can’t resist a man with a tattoo.” He gestured to the intricate hawk on his arm.

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“Don’t sweat Conner’s appearance here. She’s not half the reporter you are and she knows it.”

“Thanks, Jay.”

Jay moved to the customs agent to the left, and Tory was directed to the right. She handed her passport to the agent, who stamped it and checked her bag and said, “Recepcion, Puerto Isla, Señorita Patton.”

Welcome, she thought. It was funny how countries always said that when you entered them whether they wanted you there or not. “Gracias, señor.”

Jay and Tory rented a Jeep and made their way through the island traffic to the tourist district of Paraiso. The city had the old-world appeal of Cuba before Castro. Tory wished she had her still camera in her hand so she could capture the beauty of the island. But she wasn’t here to photograph; she was here to investigate.

It was just after lunchtime when they arrived at the hotel. The hotel was in the Hilton chain and was in better shape than Tory had expected.

Shannon was at the front desk checking in when Tory and Jay walked through the lobby doors. Tory and Jay waited for her to finish her business and leave the lobby before they checked in. Tory left Jay in the lobby bar, where he said he’d be getting the lay of the land. But she had the feeling he just planned to get laid. He had taken a seat at a table with two beautiful, dark-haired women.

Tory planned to do some work. She didn’t need Jay until tomorrow morning when she went to the hospital for the interview with Thomas King, since Perez had agreed to speak to her only off camera. She checked her watch. She still had three hours until she was supposed to meet with Perez.

Her room was on the second floor. She found it and hung up her clothes, then settled at the small desk with her laptop. According to the desk clerk nothing happened in Puerto Isla until after the siesta time was over at 2:00 p.m. That gave Tory a little more than an hour to do some recon.

Shannon Conner wasn’t getting this story. It went beyond anything resembling competition, straight to the heart of who Tory was. Something strange was going on in her life, and she was tired of Shannon showing up everywhere.

Tory started making notes and composed a list of questions to ask the islanders about the tension in Puerto Isla six months ago when the hostages had been taken and the navy SEALs sent in to rescue them.

What was the emotional climate? How did they feel about having the U.S. send its troops in? Did they back Del Torro’s government? Were the hostages familiar to them?

Already the story was starting to form in her head, and she jotted down a few opening sentences. She could hear her own voice-over, introducing American viewers to the island paradise that had turned into Hell on Earth for Thomas King. She wrote a note to Jay about some cutaway shots she wanted him to get for the feature. She wanted to show the lush tropical forest and long, white sandy beaches they’d passed on their way here.

She worked for thirty minutes, doing some research on the Internet. But since she was here she wanted to get out there with the Puerto Isla people and listen to them talk. To try to understand what had happened when Thomas King and his platoon had come to the island.

She picked up the phone and called Jay’s room. He answered on the second ring.

“Matthews.”

“Hey, no luck with the ladies?”

“I’m saving myself for you.”

She chuckled. “Sure, you are. Listen, I want to go interview some Paraiso citizens to get their views on what’s been going on here.”

“Great. I’ll meet you in the lobby in fifteen minutes. How long are we going to be?”

“I’m not sure. I have a four-o’clock appointment with Perez but he’ll only speak to me off camera.”

“I’ll go with you anyway and do some pick-up shots of the palace and surrounding area.”

“I’ve made a list of shots I want you to get.”

She changed into a pair of black trousers and a short-sleeved black T-shirt. She pulled out a map of Puerto Isla that she’d downloaded from the Internet. They were staying in the former resort town of Paraiso, now the island’s capital. There were main roads from the small airport and the large port into the city. The island’s coast was dotted with smaller towns and farms. The middle of the island seemed uninhabitable.

Tory went out on the balcony. To the west, she could see the high-rise condos that blocked the view of the beach. To the east rose a large mountain. Leaning over the balcony railing, she studied the city as it started to wake up from siesta. People appeared on the sidewalks, and small European cars filled the cobblestoned streets.

She took her notebook and grabbed her jacket. Jay wasn’t in the lobby when she arrived, so Tory approached the front desk, hoping to get some information from the young man about the hostage situation and the recent coup.

The desk clerk looked up in disinterest as she approached. Before she could ask him a question, the elevator doors opened and Shannon walked into the lobby.

She was dressed similarly to Tory but had her arm through a local man’s. She gave Tory a superior look as she walked by. Tory ignored her.

Tory smiled at the desk clerk. He didn’t smile back. She asked for directions to a local tavern and the docks. She hesitated, then asked, “Where is the prison?”

She took the map out of her bag. She knew that Thomas King had been held in one. “Could you mark it on the map for me?”

Finally he looked up at her and she read the fear in his eyes. He pushed the map back toward her. “You don’t want to go there.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“Not a nice place for a gringa.”

“What about a gringo?” Jay asked, walking up beside Tory.

He leaned in, close to Tory. She hesitated for a moment and then shifted away from him. Jay always crowded her.

“Do you know where it is or not?” she asked.

The desk clerk searched her eyes for a minute and she didn’t know what he was hoping to find. Finally he sighed and pulled out a street map of the city. His finger fell on a road near the edge of town that looked as if it ran into the jungle.

“Take Camino al Infierno. It dead ends at the guard shack.”

She translated the road’s name in her head. “Road to Hell.” Well, it took more than a name to scare her.

Tory drove the Jeep through the streets of Paraiso. They stopped at an open-air market, and she surveyed the people who went about their business with little rushing around. The mood was laid-back and the steel-drum band that was set up on the corner playing added to it.

“What’s the plan?”

“Do you have the Steadicam?” she asked. The Steadicam was a camera that didn’t need a tripod but could be balanced and steadied on the cameraman’s shoulder. Jay handled the camera with an ease that belied its heavy weight.

“Of course.”

“You’re fluent in Spanish, right?” Tory asked.

“Yes. I grew up in Little Havana, so I’m more fluent in the Cuban dialect, but I can get by. What do you want me to do?”

“Talk to that steel-drum band and see if they’ll agree to be filmed. I think that will give our viewers a nice sense of the flavor of Paraiso. Oh, and I want to go back and film that slum we passed on the way from the airport, too.”

“Will do. Where should I meet you?”

Tory glanced around the open-air market. It was comprised of rough wooden stalls and thatched roofs. There was a weather fountain that was dry but had a nice flowering stone in the middle of it. “Right there.”

“Fifteen?”

She nodded, and they went their separate ways. Tory walked with the crowds for a minute, letting the language swell around her. Gradually her thought patterns began to change and she became accustomed to Spanish again. She listened to the conversation of two women about her age and realized that overprotective mothers were universal. These women were the equivalent of suburban mothers in America, with similar concerns about issues like schools, health insurance and child care.

Tory joined the conversation and sympathized with the two women. They chatted for a few minutes about families before Tory brought up the coup and the new government. The women were very vocal about their feelings that Del Torro wasn’t any better than the man before him had been.

“Why not?” Tory asked.

“He’s the puppet of the American government. Our people need a leader who can stand by himself.”

Interesting. She knew that Del Torro was well liked by the U.S. because he enforced their policies, which weren’t always popular in Central and South America. “I’m a reporter from UBC and we’re doing a story on Puerto Isla. Would you be willing to let me interview you on camera?”

The women looked at each other and then at her. Abruptly the warm rapport she’d developed with them disappeared. “No.”

“How about off camera?” she asked. But the women only shook their heads and walked away. It was the same with everyone she spoke to. They were living in a military state, and though Del Torro was better than Santiago had been, no one was willing to take a chance of speaking out against him.

When she got back to the fountain, she found Jay lounging in the sun. “No luck?”

“They all had plenty to say, but off camera. Can you just film the market and the people coming and going? I’ll summarize what I learned and do a voice-over.”

Jay nodded and then went to get his shots. Tory thought she saw Shannon in the crowd of shoppers, but when she moved closer to look, she couldn’t find her rival. When Jay returned they headed over to the presidential palace for Tory’s meeting with Perez.

The palace was a large stone structure that overlooked the port. It was a fortress that had been built to withstand attacks from the sea by pirates. There were cannons on the walls, and Tory felt for a minute that she was back at St. Augustine on her fourth-grade Florida-history field trip.

Jay parked the Jeep on the street and got out when she did.

“What are you doing?”

“Coming with you.”

“Stay here.”

He shrugged his shoulders and returned to the Jeep. Perez had been friendly to a certain point, but he’d been very clear that he didn’t want to speak to anyone but Tory. And she needed him. Needed to find out exactly what was going on with King.

“I shouldn’t be long.”

She entered the building and gave her name to the receptionist, who invited her to sit down. Tory took a seat on one of the hardwood chairs and went over her questions for Perez.

The most important one being why had it taken the government so long to locate King? She also wanted Perez to arrange a visit for her and Jay to the prison, and perhaps an interview with the warden.

A door opened down the hall and Tory glanced up. A man was walking toward her. He looked familiar, and she ran through faces in her head, trying to place him. He was tall, probably about six feet and had blond hair with a bit of silver at his temples. He looked like Robert Redford. The distance was too far for her to see his eye color, but he carried himself with confidence and an easy style that spoke of success.

He glanced up at her, smiling at first. Tory smiled back and stood up. He froze when he noticed the notepad in her hands and then turned to the left out of her view.

Tory sat back down, jotted the physical description of the man on her notepad and put a question mark next to his name.

“Who was that?” she asked the receptionist.

Before the woman could answer, Juan Perez arrived. He was a few inches taller than her. He had dark hair and olive-toned skin. He wore battle fatigues and combat boots.

“Señorita Patton?”

“Sí.”

“I’m Juan Perez. Welcome to Paraiso. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”

“No problem.”

“Let’s go into my office where we can talk.”

Tory followed him down the marble hallway into an office that overlooked the ocean. The office was sparsely furnished with a battered-looking desk. Perez gestured to one of the guest chairs. Tory sat down on the edge and had her pen poised ready to start asking questions.

The phone rang before she could.

“Perez,” the minister said into the phone.

He listened for a few minutes, glanced at Tory and then hung up the phone.

“I’m sorry, Miss Patton. But something has come up and I won’t be able to speak to you today.”

“We’ll set up another time, then. Tomorrow?”

“I’m afraid this business will keep me tied up for…some time.”

“Okay. Then tell me where King is being held so that I can set up a time to interview him.”

“I’m sorry, but that will no longer be possible.”

“What are you talking about? You called my network.”

“I’m afraid that was a mistake.”

Perez quickly showed her the door. No matter what questions she asked, he remained stubbornly reticent. A few minutes later she was standing alone under the hot late-afternoon sun of Puerto Isla, wondering what the hell was going on and why the invitation to an exclusive interview had suddenly been revoked.