Big Cloud, Wyoming

Emma Lane whispered a prayer for her baby son, Tyler, cooing
in his car seat behind her.

Her miracle.

Over the past few days, he'd been pale and had run a fever.

"Just a little cold. Give it another twenty-four hours," the
doctor had told Emma, who had succumbed to the anxieties of
being a new mother until Tyler's illness had passed.

Now, with her worries eased, Emma smiled and reached back to
adjust her son's straps as their SUV cut across Wyoming's
rolling plains.

"Everything good?" her husband, Joe, asked as he drove.

"Everything's good." Emma caressed Joe's firm shoulder, then
kissed his cheek.

"What's that for?"

"For putting up with me."

"Do I have a choice?" He chuckled.

They gazed at the Rockies before them, a majestic reminder
that some things stood forever, while others lasted no
longer than a shooting star. And after what they had gone
through to have Tyler, Emma took nothing for granted. Life
did not come with guarantees. It was as indifferent to you
as those mountains out there.

Emma thought it was funny how the things she'd dreamed of
had come to her in ways she never expected. She was thankful
for the blessings she could touch, hold and love forever:
her son and her husband.

Today, they were headed to a pretty spot north of town, for
a picnic beside the Grizzly Tooth River. This would be a
break for Joe, who had been putting in twelve-hour days for
the past three weeks straight, building houses in Big
Cloud's new subdivision.

Lord knows they needed the overtime cash, but fretting over
Joe's long hours and Tyler had kept Emma on edge lately.

On Monday, her two-week break ended and she would return to
Rocky Ridge Elementary School where she taught children in
the first and second grades. They were little sweethearts
and Emma loved teaching, but she hated being apart from Tyler.

Joe guided the SUV along the empty highway, a meandering
back route few people took. With the exception of a couple
of cars that had passed them earlier, the road belonged to
them. It was soothing. As the wheels hummed, Emma thought of
other matters, like the spate of wrong number calls to their
house over the past month. They had come at all hours—in the
afternoon, when Emma was home alone with Tyler, and in the
middle of the night. The callers never said anything. They
were quick hang-ups and the number was always blocked.

Like someone was checking in on them, she thought.

But Joe shrugged it off. "Just people who can't dial," he
assured her.

Eventually, Emma stopped worrying about it, too. Until the
episode with the mystery car.

One day last week, after she had finished shopping downtown
and was leaving her parking spot, she noticed a white sedan
that had arrived at the same time she had.

It was a few cars back and it seemed to be following her.

When she pulled in to the mall, it was still a few spots
behind her. After Emma parked and got Tyler into his
carriage, she saw it again, parked off in a far corner. It
was still there when she returned to her car and left the
mall's parking lot. Emma was not certain if the sedan left
when she did because she had lost sight of it in the
drive-home traffic.

A day later when she took Tyler out for a stroll to the
park, Emma saw the same white sedan at the end of their street.

"Do you think maybe you're being a little paranoid?" Joe had
said when she told him about it later. "It's the mama
grizzly syndrome kicking in."

When she didn't smile at his teasing, he got up from the
kitchen table, left his receipts and job estimates, and put
his arms around her.

"Em," Joe said, "Big Cloud has nine thousand people. We bump
into most of them every other day. You're likely seeing
someone new."

She pressed her cheek to his hard chest and nodded.

"Besides," he added, "you're one of the most fearless people
I know. Woe to anyone or anything that comes between you and
Tyler. If it was a mama griz, I would fear for the bear."

Emma smiled at the memory and turned to her husband. He was
her rock, her protector, her hero because of what he'd gone
through for her.

Tyler did not come to them the usual way.

Joe was a proud man and what he did for her was not easy.
But he had put her happiness before his own and, no matter
what happened, Emma would always love him for that.

Always.

She studied Joe's strong jaw stubbled just the way she
liked. She looked at the tiny lines at the corners of his
eyes that crinkled when he laughed, or searched the horizon
as he did now.

Emma was about to tell him that she loved him but the words
never left her mouth. A sharp blast of their horn jolted
her. Joe's expression switched to one of surprise. An
oncoming car had veered onto their side of the road, leaving
them no escape from a head-on crash.

"Hang on, Em!"

Joe twisted the wheel, swerving to miss the collision.

"Joe!"

The SUV was airborne with the world churning, glass
breaking, metal crunching, sparks flying, as it rolled and
rolled before everything went black.

When Emma came to, she was outside their vehicle, facedown
on the ground. Her vision was blurred. Something was ringing
in her ears. Their horn was blaring.

Tyler was screaming somewhere, but Emma couldn't see him.

She saw Joe.

He'd gone halfway through the windshield. Emma crawled to
him, reached for him and took his hand.

"Stay with me, Joe. Don't 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.

Emma's heartbeat thundered in her ears.

"Hurry!" she screamed.

An engine raced.

"Find my baby!"

Emma felt Joe's 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
wasn't screaming anymore. Emma was.

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 caller's 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. "What's the story?"

"Not over the phone, we have to meet."

"Give me your name, please?"

"I can't."

"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 woman's voice betrayed fear and desperation, as if she'd
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 she'd 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 Dia's offices. Do you know it?"

"Yes."

"Five blocks west of us on Rua do Riachuelo there is the
Café Amaldo. Meet me there at 2:00 p.m. sharp. My name is
Gabriela Rosa. I have brown hair. I'll be wearing
sunglasses, a pink shirt and white slacks. I'll be reading
Jornal do Brasil and I'll have my white bag on the table. I
will be alone. Are you coming alone?"

"Yes."

"Give me your name."

"No name. I'll find you."

"Fine, meet me at two sharp. I'll give you my cellphone
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 WPA's 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 world's 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, it's Gabriela. Are you getting back soon? I need
you for a job."

"I'm 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 Café Amaldo. I'll buy
you lunch."

"That's a deal. What's the job?"

"I'm meeting a source and you're my backup. Be there at
one-thirty. Don't 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 São
Paulo, where he'd 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 Café Amaldo but would be with Marcelo.

Rosa walked to her meeting, absorbing the bustle ...