Free The Panic Zone by Rick Mofina Page B

in! It would be an Internet link. Go to his favorites.” Gannon got out of the chair. “Luiz, you do it. You’ll recognize names faster.”
    Luiz translated after he’d pulled down a list of links for sports teams, a bank, camera stores, weather, magazines, an auto shop and restaurants.
    â€œThis could be it,” Luiz translated, “Onlinephotocapture.”
    â€œHit it.”
    An array of news and feature photos came up. Luiz translated the text.
    â€œOnlinephotocapture…welcome to Onlinephotocapture…the secure members-only Web site for storing visual data….”
    â€œThis might be it,” Gannon said.
    It was secure with a member’s log-in tab, requiring a user ID and another password. Gannon cursed under his breath.
    â€œIt’s no problem,” Luiz said. “This one has a password recall feature. Marcelo’s locked in his password, see?”
    A couple of clicks and they had entered Marcelo’s page. Luiz translated: “Marcelo V. Storage Inventory.” Gannon felt a chill rush up his spine. Topping the item list: Café Amaldo and the date of the explosion.
    â€œOpen it.”
    Half a dozen thumbnail photos appeared on the screen.
    â€œOpen the first one,” Gannon said.
    It presented a well-framed photo of a beautiful woman alone at a table of the busy café. A long silence passed as Luiz and Gannon realized the significance of the image.
    â€œThat’s Gabriela.” Luiz swallowed. “Before her death.”
    â€œJesus,” Gannon whispered.
    Luiz clicked to the next picture.
    A woman in her late twenties, dressed in a blazer and skirt, was gripping the strap of a shoulder bag and standing before Gabriela’s table.
    Luiz clicked.
    Next, a close-up of the woman, worry creasing her face and making her appear older than her wardrobe and posture suggested.
    Next, the woman sitting at Gabriela’s table, removing a legal-sized envelope from her bag. Next, Gabriela reading documents from the woman’s envelope, which was open on the table before them.
    When the last picture came up, Luiz gasped.
    Tentacles of smoke spattered with debris shot out in all directions radiating from a red-yellow fireball. Marcelo had photographed the instant of the explosion within the millionths of a second he and the others were killed by it.
    And like the others, this image was transmitted immediately to his page at Onlinephotocapture.
    â€œMy god!” Luiz said.
    â€œUnbelievable,” Gannon agreed. “Marcelo photographed the moment of his death.” He shook his head. “No one has seen these pictures, right, Luiz?”
    â€œNo, no one knows they exist. None of the others here have thought to look for them as you did, Mr. Gannon.”
    â€œDon’t tell anyone. I need time to follow this up my way.”
    â€œBut they’re so amazing. WPA’s news subscribers around the world would want these pictures.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œAnd what about the police? Isn’t this evidence we should give to them?”
    â€œWe’ll sort that out later. I need time to chase this lead. Swear to me you won’t tell anyone just yet, okay?”
    Luiz nodded.
    â€œPass me that copy of the Jornal do Brasil, please.”
    Gannon spread the newspaper over the desk’s clutter so he and Luiz could study the ten victims of the bombing.
    â€œThis one—” Luiz pressed his finger on one of the pictures “—her name is Maria Santo. She is the woman in Marcelo’s pictures, Gabriella’s source.”
    Gannon unfolded the floor plan Estralla had given him.It put Maria Santo at the table of architects and secretaries next to Gabriela, but her chair was flagged with a question mark, meaning the investigators were uncertain as to where exactly Santo was positioned.
    Marcelo’s photographs confirmed where she was seated.
    Luiz translated the newspaper’s small biography for her,