Rick Mofina - Whirlwind

“That’s correct,” Rivera said, “we’re helping local groups and the Dallas Police Department and Sheriffs for surrounding counties. We’re coordinating their ‘missing persons’ work and their database. We’re an experienced national nonprofit agency, with expertise in this area of crisis response. We’ve got retired cops, federal agents and investigators. The federal Justice Department and FEMA arranged for us to come. Once they got the airports running, most of our teams flew in overnight from all over the country. We’re set up at emergency shelters at all the hardest-hit communities.”

Rivera sipped from a large cup of coffee and said his group dealt with all types of situations where people are disoriented, lost or still trapped. Families get separated or a member may have been helped by strangers and taken to a facility without their family knowing.

“We list every detail on anyone reported missing, photographs, names, descriptions, clothes and their situation when the storm hit-were they at work, school, church, shopping, visiting from another city, state, that kind of thing. It all goes into the database. Then it’s cross-referenced at hospitals and shelters with descriptions of deceased who are being processed by teams from the various Medical Examiners’ offices.”

Rivera said the database was growing and being constantly updated online. There was also a toll-free twenty-four-hour help number. In cases requiring identification of the deceased, nothing was posted and family members were notified for next steps.

“Our analysts are also hitting the ground, going into hospitals and shelters to collect information on people, children who’ve been displaced, separated, rescued and transferred to a different location. All people reported to the system are considered missing until law enforcement, fire, paramedics and the M.E. confirm them as recovered, reunited, or deceased. And the clock is ticking on those still trapped in the rubble.”

“Can you give me the status of a case I’m reporting on?” Kate asked.

“Certainly, if it helps to clear it. Our goal is to reunite families and we need the press to help us.” Rivera went to a laptop. “What’s the name?”

“Cooper, Caleb Cooper, C-A-L-E-B. Cooper is common spelling.”

“Sounds familiar,” Rivera said.

After entering the name in the database, he took a moment to read the file. Then he summarized for Kate that Caleb’s mother, Jenna Cooper, reported her five-month-old son missing from the Saddle Up Center, along with two unidentified adults.

“It’s still open,” Rivera said. “Nothing has surfaced on this one.”

“What about the adults, anything at all on them?”

“Nothing. We’ve got very few details on them but we’ve been cross-checking the information we have.”

“What about the M.E., anything from the temporary morgues?”

“Nothing.” Rivera shook his head, rubbed his chin then he saw a note in the case file that he’d missed.

“Hang on a sec,” he said, turning to an analyst working near him. “Ellen, take a look at this case. You had this one open not long ago.”

The woman whose ID badge said Ellen White stood and read the screen over Rivera’s shoulder.

“Yes,” Ellen said, “for a reporter with Newslead. That’s the news service which reported this case, right?”

“That’s right. Why, what’s going on?” Kate asked.

“You tell us,” Rivera said. “You’re the second Newslead reporter to ask us about it this morning.”

“The second?”

“That woman was here earlier.” Ellen White indicated a woman walking along the rows of cots, glancing at her cell phone screen and those in the community hall, as if she were looking for someone.

Kate froze when she recognized the woman. Mandy Lee.

Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex, Texas

Kate was at a loss.

Standing in the Rivergreen Community Hall, questions whirled in her head.

Why was Mandy, her competition, looking for Jenna Cooper?

Why was she following Kate’s story after Dorothea rejected the idea?

Kate thanked Rivera and White then made a beeline to Mandy.

“Excuse me,” Kate said. “Hi, I thought you were going to Irving today. What’s up?”

“Oh my Lord, Kate, why are you here? You’re supposed to be on the night shift.”

“Did Dorothea ask you to follow my story on Jenna Cooper?”

“Your story?” Mandy’s high-boned cheeks turned red. “Sweetie, it’s not your story. It’s Newslead’s story. And since we put it out there, it’s really anybody’s story now, isn’t it? All I did was enquire as to whether or not they found the child. By the way, why are you here? Does Dorothea know?” Mandy raised her cell phone. “Would you like me to call her and check for you?”

“I don’t believe this.” Kate rolled her eyes. “I’m here on my own time.”

Mandy tapped a glossed nail on Kate’s laminated ID tag.

“If that’s the case, it would appear you’re using Newslead to advance your own interests, whatever they may be.”

“What? This is bullsh-” Kate pulled back on her rising anger.

As she turned from Mandy she met the eyes of an elderly man and woman, their faces bearing the cuts and scrapes of survivors, looking up from cots near them. They’d witnessed the exchange.

Suddenly Kate was jabbed by a pang of shame for letting newsroom politics play out here, of all places. It was unforgivable, unprofessional. Immediately Kate apologized to the couple, dismissed Mandy with a wave of her hand and walked away.

Seething as she moved through the hall, she tried in vain to comprehend why Dorothea would not only push her off her story, but then steal it from her and give it to Mandy.

Why would I want to work with people who do this?

Because she needed the job, that’s why.

She needed the high pay and benefits. She needed the security for Grace and for herself. Bills were piling up at home. Newslead was a big organization with bureaus everywhere. If she could get through this and land a job, she might have a shot at a better bureau elsewhere.

I can’t give up .

Kate left Mandy and the issue behind her.

Tapping her notebook on her thigh she continued moving through the hall for the next ten minutes until she stopped. Two rows of cots over from where she stood, Jenna Cooper was sitting with Cassie and talking with two other women. Clothes, towels and toiletries were stacked next to them on the pallet.

Reporters?

Kate didn’t think so. One woman had a clipboard and an official-looking ID hanging from her neck. Kate wasn’t sure about the other woman. She had her hand on Jenna’s shoulder. Jenna was dabbing a tissue to her eyes, Cassie was holding a stuffed teddy bear.

A crisis worker and a friend of Jenna’s, maybe?

Kate slowly moved toward them, keeping a respectful distance but close enough to hear parts of their conversation.

“No, you can’t give up hope, but you also have to focus on who needs you now, on the things you can and should do now,” the woman said.

“I’m trying to reach my husband,” Jenna said. “The people here gave me this cell phone. Since last night, I’ve been texting, leaving him messages to call. I got through to his dispatcher who said Blake’s on the return leg of a trip to Alaska. He’s in Washington State, in the mountains, in an area with weak service.”

Jenna looked up, saw Kate and invited her to join them.

“This is the reporter I talked to.” Jenna nodded to the women.

Kate introduced herself, apologizing for interrupting.

“Hello, Kate, I’m Wendy DeBello. I’m with trauma counseling services.” The woman had a folded edition of USA TODAY under her clipboard, which had picked up Newslead’s stories and pictures.