by John Moore
“I want your contact with the Department of Health to retrieve my computer and my gun,” I said. “Those are the only two weapons I have to protect myself. I’m going after these devils, and I intend to finish them.”
Sophia let me steam for a few minutes without saying a word. Then she put her hand on my forearm and said, “You can’t go after them with your gun, Alexandra. That would be meeting them on their terms. Let us handle the gunplay if it comes to that. You have to beat them with what you are really great at. Fight them with your journalistic skills. Spread the word about what they are doing.”
“How, Sophia?” I asked. “They’ve cut me out of the newspaper and gotten me kicked out of my home. The only thing I have left is my website.”
Detective Baker pecked away at his keyboard with his two index fingers. A perplexed expression came over his face and he paused. He resumed pecking and then looked at me as if confused. He recited my web address as he pecked one more time, then asked me to come around to his side of the desk. His screen said, “Website not available.” He moved aside, and I tried to bring the site up. I got the same result, and I knew what the problem was. Victor’s hacking farm had disabled my site, and Piper wasn’t able to battle them.
“They took Piper out of the equation so they could shut me down at the newspaper and silence my website,” I said. “Sophia, you’re working with the NSA. Can’t they bring my site back up?”
“No, Alexandra. I’m sorry. They are restricted from doing anything like that. I can try to see if the CIA will intervene, but it may take a while. The inter-agency communication isn’t the best these days.”
“I’m at their mercy,” I said. “I need my gun.”
Baker said, “I’ll get it for youfor self-protection, but the gun isn’t your answer. You can’t shoot all of these guys. You’ve got to get your website back up. Is there anyone who can help you?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ll try to find Piper’s friend who helped me in California, but it’s a long shot. I can’t even remember his name. I can’t get into the condo to see if she wrote it down. Maybe it’s on my computer. She used it to communicate with him, I think.”
Detective Baker called his contact at the Department of Health while Sophia sat in his office. His face contorted as he listened to the speaker on the other end of the phone. He muttered “uh huh” and “I see,” more than a million times. I knew he couldn’t be hearing good news. He hung the phone up, breathed deeply, and exhaled with a whistling sound.
“The good news is I’ll have your computer in a short while,” he said. “Also, they’ve taken the kitten to a veterinarian to be tested. So far there were no fleas on the kitten that they could find. The bad news is that your condo has been sealed along with several adjoining properties. That part of Bourbon Street is blocked off to tourists. The team will take their time in examining your condo for further contamination. They are afraid that the fleas found rats to hitch a ride on and spread to other parts of the Quarter.”
“Holy shit, what did they find?” I asked.
“They found no evidence of rat droppings but want to examine every inch of your condo and the adjoining ones to make certain there is no danger. The CDC will be there shortly and so will the FBI. They will want to talk to you as soon as they get an investigation opened.”
I turned to Sophia. She said, “I’ll deal with the FBI for you, Alexandra. They don’t know about our investigation into Victor. We need to find out where those fleas came from, and we need to find Arkady Burak.”
Detective Baker told me I could probably stop by the precinct tomorrow and pick up my computer but to make sure I called first. Sophia and I left him on a mission to find Burak. If we could get him to flip on Victor and Rogan, we’d have them right where we needed them. Sophia dropped me off at the hospital to pick up my car, and I tried to see Piper again but was turned back by the nurses. I walked out of the ICU and passed a small chapel on the first floor. A force drew me in. I sat on a bench for a minute, then got on my knees. I closed my eyes and begged for Piper to be OK. I heard a voice from deep inside tell me that I was Alexandra Lee and God had given me the talent and strength to deal with anything that was thrown at me. The voice reminded me that I had to fight the evil that confronted me with every fiber of my being. There was no time to feel sorry for myself or to be weak. I realized in that moment that my mother and Sarah had joined together to muster the strength inside me to beat the devil’s spawn and send them to hell where they belonged. When I left the chapel, I headed to Mandy Morris’s voodoo club.
I marched into the voodoo shop like a marine taking the beach at Iwo Jima. “Is Mandy Morris or any of her group here?” I asked.
The man behind the counter shook his head, indicating he hadn’t seen her. I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and spotted Amanda slinking away, avoiding eye contact. I bolted toward her, and she stopped and turned toward me.
“Oh, hi, Alexandra,” she said. “I didn’t know that was you. How have you been?”
“I’ve been fine,” I said. “Where is Mandy Morris?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I haven’t seen her today. Her Uncle Garrett is meeting me here in a few minutes if you’d like to ask him. He’s taking me to dinner.”
I could tell by the way she raised her voice a pitch as she told me Garrett was taking her to dinner that she had it bad for him. She had to be seeing him because there would be no other reason for him to meet her here to take her to dinner. I wanted to wait for that pervert. He and Bart Rogan had purchased the Times together, and I wanted to ask him why I was barred from writing for them. I also wanted to know what his niece knew about Bob Broussard’s whereabouts. I couldn’t ask Garrett because Bob hated him. I needed to corner Mandy.
I didn’t have to wait long because Garrett Morris walked in the door flanked by Mandy. “Hi, Alexandra,” Mandy said. “Are you coming to dinner with us?”
A stunned look occupied Garrett’s face as our eyes met. He hadn’t expected to see me, and now his niece was offering me a backhanded dinner invitation. I wouldn’t be caught dead at dinner with him, I thought. He was a disgusting low life and part of Rogan’s plot to discredit me.
“No, Mandy, I’m not going to dinner with you,” I said. “Garrett, why was I stopped from entering the Timestoday? I’ve been going in and out of the paper for some time. I am writing a series of articles for the paper. What’s going on?”
I caught him totally off guard. He stammered for a few seconds before he finally answered. “I’m just an investor. The controlling partner has hired new management to run the paper. I guess they are making the changes that need to be made to turn the paper around. I’m sure turning you away was a mistake or just temporary.”
“I see,” I said as I turned away from him, grabbed Mandy by the arm, and walked her outside. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on with Uncle Weirdo in there, but I need you to put me in touch with Bob Broussard. He said some things to me the other night that led me to believe he knows what Bart Rogan and Victor Ivanovich are doing. I want to know what he knows about Arkady Burak. I need to find Burak now because he’s hurt Piper. Have Bob call me or get in touch with me. I’m staying with Charlotte, but I’ll meet Bob anywhere.
“They hurt little Dhampir?” she said. “If they did, I’ll kill them. She’s special and has strong magic in her. She needs to be protected because she’s one of the chosen.”
Mandy took her phone from her black purse and placed a call. She handed me the phone, and Bob Broussard was on the other end. We agreed to meet at midnight in the cemetery by Marie Laveau’s grave. He said he’d have some answers for me.
Chapter Twenty-Seven:
Storm Brewing
I stood next to Marie Laveau’s grave looking at the moon hiding behind the thin layer of clouds in the New Orleans sky. The air was warm and thick, perfect for the swarm of mosquitoes bu
zzing around me. I was waiting for the Quarter Killer to appear and help me find someone more evil than him. What was I thinking coming to a meeting like this without my .38? Though I felt naked and vulnerable, I took comfort from knowing Mandy’s group of misfits were close by on their cemetery tour. Alexandra, you are kidding yourself, I thought. They wouldn’t help you. They’d be more likely to join in a slashing ritual. I didn’t care what I had to face because I was determined to find Burak. I knew he’d infected Piper, and the doctors needed to know the exact strain of plague he’d used. I’d walk through hell to get my hands on him.
“Alexandra, I’m behind you,” Bob Broussard’s voice whispered from the dark side of a nearby grave. “Step over here. We’ve got to make this quick.”
I turned to see Bob’s partially concealed face peering at me from behind a tomb. I inched my way toward him in the dull light of the sky, the moon’s silvery light piercing the darkness enough to allow me to take a few guarded steps at a time. My mind spun, conjuring old slasher movie scenes as I came face-to-face with the Quarter Killer.
Bob’s eyes darted from side to side, frantically searching for what wasn’t there. “What do you want?” he asked. “I’ve got my own unfinished business to tend to. I can’t risk getting caught when I’m this close.”
“Piper’s been infected with the plague,” I said. “A Russian named ArkadyB urak, hiding behind the name Michael Keeson, did it. You already know that Garrett Morris and Bart Rogan are working together, and there is a third even more dangerous devil working with them, Victor Ivanovich. Burak is one of Victor’s men. I have to find him.”
“Garrett, Bart, and Victor are the devil’s spawn. Some say I am too,” he said. “I’ve been following them since I came back to New Orleans. I know what they are planning now. I know who Burak is and where to find him. He hasn’t left town, and I’ll bring him to you soon. When I call you, don’t ask questions, just come quickly when and where I say.”
“Tell me where he is,” I said. “I need him now. He has to tell the doctors what he knows about the plague he’s spreading. They can find out in time, but time is what Piper doesn’t have.”
“Time is my problem too. The time has to be right for me to finish my business, so you’ll have to wait,” he said. “Garrett and Bart have something more planned for you. You’ll see tomorrow.”
Bob slinked away through the dark cemetery. I still had questions I needed answers to, but he only spoke in riddles. What did he know about their plans for me tomorrow? Hadn’t they done enough to me? What else could they do? Were they going to hurt Tom? A million thoughts battered my brain. I ran to my car and drove to Charlotte’s. I was relieved to see Tom was safe. He and Charlotte gasped a collective “thank goodness” when I walked in.
“God, I’m happy to see you,” Charlotte said. “I was worried they’d get you. Did Bob give you any answers?”
“Not really, only more warnings about more attacks. If you two don’t mind, I want to go to sleep. I am too tired to talk now. I want to be fresh tomorrow to deal with whatever they are throwing at me.”
Tom stood and walked with me as Charlotte turned on the television then said, “The hurricane has entered the Gulf and is gaining strength. I want to see where it’s heading. I’ll see you two in the morning.”
When I awakened the following morning, Tom was not in bed. No wonder, because it was eight o’clock. The television was on and the news broadcast was all about Hurricane Miguela. “The winds reach out from the center of the storm more than 150 miles, making Miguela the largest hurricane in history. Sustained winds are 175 miles per hour, but the real danger in this storm is the flooding caused by rain and storm surge. Residents of the Gulf Coast from Gulfport, Mississippi, to Galveston, Texas, are urged to make preparations to evacuate if necessary.”
Tom and Charlotte were glued to the TV when I walked into the living room. Charlotte grabbed me a cup of coffee, and I sat next to Tom. I was stunned by the size of Hurricane Miguela. The National Weather Center had models projecting the path as anywhere along the Gulf Coast. There were interviews with jittery residents from Mississippi, Louisiana, and Texas. The New Orleaneans interviewed were making evacuation plans. They’d lived through Katrina and didn’t want to take the chance of getting trapped in the city. Katrina’s death and destruction tore a wide path through New Orleans and southern Mississippi. Homes, streets, and highways flooded, stranding residents who had nowhere to go, no money or relatives in other places. They had no choice but to stay. Old and young were marooned on roof islands as screaming water torrents tore through buildings and homes. Cars, buses, and boats crashed through homes, blasting down walls and killing helpless people. Many around the world witnessed the storm’s aftermath, but these people lived it and would never forget what it was like. They emerged from the parts of their houses that withstood the wind and water to see their neighborhoods destroyed, covered in a brown-gray film as if a thousand crop dusters had spray painted block after block of New Orleans.
My thoughts weren’t on the storm. I could only think of Piper. “Tom, I’m going to the hospital. I will call you with an update on Piper’s condition. You should call your parents and tell them to book a room in Baton Rouge quickly before the hotels fill with people fleeing the hurricane. Traffic is going to get bad because the threat of the storm hitting New Orleans will send most Katrina veterans into panic mode, triggering a mass evacuation.”
Tom had not experienced a hurricane in his time in New Orleans. I was in Baton Rouge when Gustav hit. Ninety-seven percent of the power was out to homes and businesses. Not many people died, but trees were leveled all over the city, traffic signals weren’t functioning, and gas pumps didn’t work. Lines of people looking for food extended outside the doors of all open grocery stores.
“I’ll get them on the road right away,” Tom said. I haven’t told them we canceled the wedding. I don’t think I’m going to tell them about Piper’s condition because they’ll want to see her. They need to get away from New Orleans till the hurricane chooses its path and it’s safe to stay in the city.”
I walked into Tulane Medical Center not knowing what to expect. My stomach churned as I approached the desk. I’d faced bad news before but never like this. Piper had burrowed her way into my heart, and I couldn’t stand the thought of life without her. I had to screw my courage down tightly to make myself ask the nurse if I could see her. If they told me any bad news, I felt like I’d fall to the floor and shatter into millions of tiny pieces.
“I’m Alexandra Lee. May I go back to intensive care to see Constance Sanders?” As the nurse searched her computer, time seemed to slow to a crawl and each second seemed to last an hour.
“Ah, there it is,” the nurse said. “She’s still in the ICU. I’ll ring the nurses’ station to see if her doctor will allow you to see her.”
What a relief. She’d made it through the night. Even though I hoped they would have notified me if she’d taken a turn for the worse, I couldn’t be sure. The nurse gave me the OK to head to the ICU. My feet grew wings as I navigated the corridors bringing me closer to her. Finally, I saw her doctor waiting outside the ICU to talk to me.
“Ms. Lee,” he said, “Constance remained stable through the night. Her fever hasn’t broken, but it also hasn’t climbed. The lab hasn’t been able to isolate the exact strain of plague that has infected her. The Center for Disease Control in Atlanta has samples of her blood and have their best people working on it. We are hopeful that with their resources we’ll isolate it and determine the most effective antibiotic to treat her with.”
Once again, my tears began to flow. “May I see her, Doctor?”
“Sure, follow me.”
I followed the doctor along the same path that I’d taken yesterday. I looked through the glass of her isolation room and saw her lying there, sedated and asleep. I couldn’t go into the room to touch her nor could I say comforting words
that she might hear in her subconscious mind. All I could do was stand there, helplessly looking at her. The pain was worse than the night I saw my father lying at death’s door. I had to find the man who did this and get him to tell the doctors what they needed to know.
I tore my eyes away from that tiny form and went to see the only person who might be able to help me find Burak: Jess Johnson. She was sitting up in her bed eating breakfast when I entered her room. She looked stronger and more vibrant than the last time I’d seen her. She’d washed and fixed her hair and had on a little makeup.
“Come in and talk to me, girl,” she said when she saw me at the door. “What have you gotten yourself into this time?”
I stutter-stepped for a moment, trying to figure out what she meant, before I said, “You know me, Jess. Trouble seems to find me. What are you referring to this time?”
“You haven’t seen today’s paper, have you?” she asked. “There’s a front-page article about your contaminated stevia company and your quarantined French Quarter condo.”
“Holy shit, you’ve got to be kidding,” I said. “So that’s what Bob Broussard was warning me about.”
“Bob Broussard?” Jess said. “You talked to Bob Broussard? How did you find him? Is he the one killing the people in the French Quarter?”
“It’s a long story, Jess. He told me Garrett Morris and Bart Rogan were planning to do something to me. I guess I know what it is now. This will ruin my stevia company,” I said as I read the Times article. “They make it look like everything I touch is contaminated. I can’t fight back because my website is down.”
“How is Piper?” Jess asked. “Is she getting any better? The nurses told me all about her condition, and they are all praying for her.”
“I spoke to her doctor a few minutes ago. She made it through the night but hasn’t gotten any better or worse. He told me he needs to isolate the specific strain of bubonic plague to fashion the proper treatment. I’ve got to find Arkady Burak before she gets worse.”