Crescent City Chronicles (Books 1-3)

by Judith Lucci

  Alex gasped as Jack approached the bomber, his gun drawn. She noticed that Ted had circled behind the man. She screamed desperately to Jack, "Come back, come back! Run! Run! He's going to blow us up!” Alex knew her screams were fruitless and she fixed her eyes on the bomber. So this is the last day of my life, she thought sadly, as she stood mesmerized and waited for the inevitable. Jack continued to fight his way through the panicked crowd in an attempt to neutralize the situation. John had taken aim at the man's back but hadn't shot him. Why haven't the snipers killed him? Why hasn't someone taken a shot? Is it because that would set off the bomb?

  In an instant, the man blew up before her eyes but Alex never saw his finger touch the trigger. She saw red as she hit the concrete of Jackson Square, deafened and stunned by the noise and hysteria of the crowd. Was it fear or was it the blood? I don't know. As she lay on the concrete, Alex was confused and bewildered. Directly in front of her she saw a blonde woman crying, attempting to crawl to her baby who was in a mangled stroller 30 feet away. Alex turned her head away from the sight of the toddler. The baby had to be dead. Blood streamed from the woman's head, and Alex was paralyzed in place, unable to speak or stand.

  All around her were mangled bodies and a cacophony of noise, tears, and moans. As she looked to her left, Alex cringed as she saw a young man she recognized. He was one of the pen and graphite artists, a regular artist on the Square. She'd purchased several of his originals. She thought his name was Phillip. He was unconscious, but Alex could see that he'd lost his right leg, and she quickly spotted the missing limb in the bushes to the right of the benches behind the trashcans. The leg was bent grotesquely with the ankle and foot wrapped around the bottom of the trash container. Alex checked the tennis shoe on the limb wrapped around the trash can, and it matched the one on Phillip’s still attached left leg. The shoes matched. She felt sick. She was so terrified; she knew she could pass out. She wanted to. As she processed the information, she looked down and saw she had both her legs and arms. She fought for control and began to get up to help others but there was another deafening sound as one of the snipers fired from a rooftop near Jax's Brewery. She briefly saw a man with an automatic weapon fall to the ground, blood spurting from his chest. Suddenly, she was terrified. She couldn’t find Jack or Ted. She looked around frantically for them.

  "Jack, Jack," she cried. "Are we in Hell?" Jack didn't respond and Alex's eyes searched frantically but she couldn't find him anywhere in the crowd. She felt her cell phone vibrate in the pocket of her jeans jacket. It was Robert.

  She answered slowly and said, "Hello," in a garbled voice but she couldn't hear anything on the other end. The noise of the crowd was deafening. Blood, debris, and body parts surrounded her. The stampeding, terrified masses almost trampled her.

  Am I in Hell? Am I in Hell? Is this really happening? This must be Hell. Maybe I’m dead and none of this is happening. As Alex struggled to stand only to stagger and fall, she felt strong arms pick her up and support her. She opened her eyes and peered into the anguished face of Jack Françoise. Oh my God, this man has saved my life again! What can I ever do to pay him back? Of course, that would only be a worry if I live through today, she chuckled.

  Jack was tense. "Gotta get you outta here, Alex! All Hell's breaking loose. These fuckers are killing us!" Jack's face was white with fury, his anger blatant and obvious.

  Alex was confused and unable to speak. She looked at Jack and spotted Ted behind him.

  Ted shook his head and said, “He's right. These bastards are kicking our asses from all sides. When I started down here, people were passing out and getting sick in the Café Du Monde. Looks like they're being poisoned."

  Jack's face went red. He was enraged and beside himself in anger. "We're gonna kill the bastards. Let's get out of here, get her safe, and get a gas mask."

  Alex protested and said, "No, Jack. I want to stay and help. These people are dying all around us. I know I can help some of them. I'm a nurse, and a pretty good one at that."

  "Get a grip, Alex. You can't even walk. Gotta get you to safety. These people are sick and dying and Adam Lee will beat my ass if something happens to you. Now, let's go!" Jack was emphatic and Alex succumbed.

  "Okay. But I'm working over by the French Market."

  "Bullshit," Jack grumbled as he helped her out of Jackson Square. "People are dropping like flies over there. You're not going any damn place but outa here until I check it out."

  Alex glared at him. She hated it when he tried to boss her around. I hate it when any man tries to boss me around. She'd go over and work with the rescue squads once she got a gas mask. Jack was right. She could see the ambulances through the trees and the French Market, damaged in the explosion, but still standing where the far end had quickly become a make shift MASH unit. Rescue workers had thrown paintings and trinkets on the ground, and treated the injured on tables where French Market vendors used to sell art, bric-a-brac, and souvenirs. Thank God, I'm a nurse and can help. There's no way I'm leaving the French Quarter until every injured person is out of here. I can start IVs, treat wounds, and do everything I've been educated to do over the years.

  Ted stopped a moment as SAC Jeff Bodine’s voice came on radio.

  She gave Jack a placating look and murmured, "Sure, Jack. I'm coming. Just get me over to the Market." There ain't no way I'm leaving, but he doesn't need to know that now.

  Bodine's voice, strident with dread, blasted on the Bluetooth. "Got another bomber! Outside of Harrah's Hotel, right below us. Crowd's enormous, running down from your location. Bomber dropped off by a blue van. Got the plates. Got bodies dropping in Harrah's Casino, particularly in the smoking section. They’re dying and/or having seizures. Sending in bomb people and CDC. POTUS delivered safe to Convention Center but problems there too. Secret Service is moving him again."

  Bodine's voice was lost as the second bomb detonated.

  "Shit, shit, shit. Those mother fucking bastards. Ted, we've got to get over there," Jack hollered as he stared wild-eyed at Ted. “By the way, where the hell is John? Where's John Houser? I haven't seen him since the first bomb." Jack looked frantically for his friend, but didn't see him anywhere.

  Alex scanned the area but there was no sign Major Houser. "I'm sure he's okay. He’s probably with Stoner and Bodine."

  "Bullshit, Alex. He was on the other side of the square from us. He was closer to the fuckin' bomber." The tortured look in Jack's eyes constricted Alex's chest.

  She said gently, "We'll find him, but for now, let's get out of here. You and Ted have to get down to Harrah's and I want to get over to the market. I'll look for John on the way. I see some State Police up there. I'll see if he's with them. If not, I'll send them out to look for him." For a brief moment, Alex closed her eyes in dread of the sight, as she imagined hundreds of people lying in the streets between Harrah's Hotel and Harrah's Casino missing arms, legs, and other body parts. She shuddered. She couldn't get the sight of the mangled baby carriage out of her mind. She knew the blood and gore was horrific. Just like it was here. The anguished cries and moans from the injured and dying had not subsided. She didn't want to imagine it, but the scenes kept running through her brain and she couldn't force them out. Screams and wails were all around. Suddenly, another explosion rocked them and Jack hustled them out of the Jackson Square to a location in the old Pontalba Apartments.

  "Jack, Jack, where are the other explosions coming from? Are there other bombs?"

  "Don't know, Alex. Just stay here until we hear from Bodine or Stoner." Alex nodded but her heart was hammered in her chest. She looked around. The Pontalba Apartments were now a yuppie French Quarter shopping center. She saw the blown-out front windows of Aunt Sally's Praline store and remembered better days. She sniffed the air for the sweet, sugary smell of maple syrup, sugar, and walnuts but all she could smell was burning flesh and smoke. Nausea overcame her as she spied another body part, this time an arm with brightly painted pink nails with air brushed flamingos
. She looked around frantically, expecting to find the owner, but saw no one with pink nails. Oh my God, I don't know if I can survive this! I must be in hell or I must be dreaming! Certainly, this isn't really happening to me.

  "Can we go, Jack? I want to go help in the rescue," Alex persisted.

  "No! We need to hear what is going on in places out of our visual scope."

  "But ..." Alex began.

  Ted took her hand. "He's right. It's not safe to leave yet. I'm trying to get Stoner or Bodine, but I am sure Stoner is trying to get POTUS moved and Bodine is lost in the second explosion. Stay patient, Alex. We'll go soon."

  "But, we have to find John ..." she began but Jack barked at her.

  "That's enough, Alex. Stand down."

  Alex knew she'd lost and as her eyes searched the Square for John Houser, she saw a young man bravely attempting to wheel his elderly mother, confined to a wheelchair, to safety. As Alex looked closer, she noticed the man was bleeding profusely from his chest area, mostly likely from shrapnel injuries. Her eyes were drawn to his mother's beautiful white hair, matted, and covered in blood.

  Alex was finally jolted into action. She immediately ran across the Square to help. The young man gave her a grateful smile as she quickly pushed his mother, pushing the wheelchair around bodies and debris until they reached relative safety under the roof of the Pontalba apartments.

  Jack glared at her but was amazed at her rescue, signaling a NOPD officer to load the young man and his mother into an ambulance.

  Alex again looked around for someone she could help and noticed the NOPD was powerless at crowd control although barricades were up. She watched Jack directing his men to assist in rescue efforts and most NOPD were assisting the National Guard in removing bodies from Jackson Square. Oh my God, the local emergency rooms must be going crazy. I hope they have enough help.

  Once again, Bodine's voice pierced the static on the radio. His voice was calm but strained. "Jack, can you get down here? We've got bodies piling up at the Convention Center, the hotel, and Harrah's Casino. Can you spare some men? Be sure you bring gas masks."

  "On my way," the Commander barked now back in the race. “Have you seen John Houser?"

  "Negative." Bodine said as he continued, "Several meeting rooms are filled with the same kind of poison nerve gas, we think. We've got POTUS out and as many politicians as we can, but some are already down. Don't know where the gas is coming from. The HVAC systems are clean. No infiltration. Agents are looking everywhere. The water systems are okay and I don't think the suicide bombers released the gas because it wouldn't have diffused this quickly and in such a wide area.”

  Bodine paused for a minute and continued, "Stoner's back, POTUS is okay."

  Suddenly, the clarity of what was happening smacked Alex in the face. She almost passed out as realization set in. Oh, my God. Oh my God. It's the canisters. It's the canisters. As the certainty of the situation sank into Alex's befuddled brain, she grabbed the radio from Jack and hollered into the speaker.

  "Jeff, Jeff, Travis, it's the canisters. They're stainless steel. They're about two feet tall. Look in each room for them. They have to be in the casino as well. I saw a young man delivering them today."

  There was silence on the other end of the phone.

  Finally Stoner spoke, his voice slow and steady. "Canisters? Alex, what do you mean, canisters?"

  Another epiphany slapped Alex in the face. Her gut doubled in pain and fear. She must make herself understood. She spoke slowly and distinctly, "Jeff, oh my God, please check the Hotel Burgundy. He delivered five of them there today. Stoner and I were talking at the elevator as he brought them in. They're stainless steel canisters with a knob valve on the end. Canisters like you would see Coke or Pepsi in."

  Bodine snapped his fingers and ten officers left the command center with gas masks.

  Travis Stoner continued to question Alex carefully, "Who is he?”

  "He's a tall, bearded guy with dark hair, who drove a dusty blue unmarked van. Please check Hotel Burgundy and CCMC. He was there too." Alex’s voice was frantic as she continued to remember.

  Stoner was silent as he continued to listen.

  Her voice was breathless as she continued. "He's the same guy who dropped off the suicide bombers. He's one of the terrorists. He's tall, medium build, dark hair, long beard, and looks very American. He'll be hard to find. Has on western clothes." Suddenly another realization set in. "Oh no, Travis, please send people to CCMC. I saw him there this morning as well. He was delivering to the cantina and the Cajun Café."

  "Done. What else?" Stoner's voice was crisp. "What else do you know?"

  Alex blurted out as it suddenly hit her, "They're soft drink canisters. That's what they are. Those stainless steel canisters are what they use for soft drinks. Those bastards have filled soft drink CO2 containers with poison gas and are somehow remotely releasing the valve and killing people."

  Alex stopped for a moment as her phone vibrated again signaling a text. She read the digital display:

  “The nerve gas is Novichok and the virus is in the containers. There is an antidote that should stop the virus but it has not been tested. I am so sorry my countrymen have done this. We are not all bad.”

  Alex held her phone up to Jack and said, "Oh my God, Stoner. I just got a message from a terrorist on my cell phone. Jack, would you read it to him?" Alex asked as she offered up her phone.

  Jack read the text outload to the Secret Service; Stoner's voice was clipped as he responded. "Believe you've got it, Alex. You’re right. The message is correct. We know about the Novichok. Actually, it couldn't be much worse."

  "Oh no. What could be worse?" Alex's stomach sank. They were in Hell. There was no question about it.

  "This is worse. We got the same tip on our hot line as well. It reports the tanks contain a combination of the weaponized aerosol virus and Novichok."

  "I don't know what Novichok is."

  Jack was livid with anger. His face bright red and splotchy as he spoke. "Those fucking bastards. Novichok is a nerve agent developed by the Russians that is thought to be at least 10 times more lethal than VX. VX is just a more potent version of Sarin. In other words, Novichok is the most deadly nerve chemical on the planet."

  Terror encapsulated Alex's face. She could hardly breathe. She looked beseechingly to Jack and asked Stoner and Bodine, "What can we do?"

  Stoner's voice was terse and Alex thought she detected fear in it. "We find the canisters, neutralize them, get POTUS and the politicians out of New Orleans, and hope for the best."

  Jack grunted in anger, cursing savagely under his breath. "Yeah, and I'll help you after I kill the sons of bitches who have tried to destroy my city and kill my friends. Fuck them. They're dead." Jack threw his radio to the ground, grabbed Alex's arm, and quickly moved out of the Quarter but not until Alex retrieved the radio.

  "Stoner, Bodine," she asked in a small voice. "How many will die?"

  Bodine replied honestly, "I've have no idea. Maybe thousands, maybe only several hundred. It depends on the penetration of the gas. Stay with us Jack, don't start a one-man vigilante committee."

  Thousands could die. This probably was the last day for many of them. Alex, Jack, and Ted left the Quarter, as they tried to block out the woeful, depressing, anguished, and heartbreaking sounds of the wounded and dying. The sights and sounds of the injured etched themselves in Alex's brain. She knew she would never be the same again. She was irretrievably damaged and sobbed hopelessly as she watched the National Guard unload pallets of body bags. I've got to find John Houser. That's what I'm doing next.

  Chapter 50

  Mohammed Abdu, Omar Hassan, and Syed sat on the second floor of the Riverwalk, passing a hookah pipe and watching the gory scene below. They delighted in every minute of it. Every scream, every cry of pain and agony, and every sound of torture or distress heightened their joy and ecstasy.

  "Death to the infidels," Mohammed declared, as his thick fingers gr
asped the pipe as he watched Syed remotely activate the valves of the final CO2 canisters located at CCMC and the Hotel Burgundy. As Syed pushed the numbers on his cell phone, Mohammed clapped him on the back, American style, and said, "Brother, you are a genius. Your electronic skills are invaluable to us. I thank Allah for you. I am sure we will enjoy many other celebrations together."

  Syed's face was suffused with delight. His happiness spread in a smile from ear to ear. He was so happy he thought his chest would pop. He tried to appear humble but his eyes betrayed his humility – they were victorious! He said, "All my life I have wanted to work for Allah and destroy the infidels. Allah has blessed me with these skills."

  Mohammed nodded in satisfaction, but Syed was watching Omar out of the side of his eye.

  Omar was not as ebullient as Mohammed was and said little as the men continued to pass the hookah. As the city began to recover, the screams became less noticeable and the ambulances moved out. Omar turned to Syed and asked, "Brother, why did you not allow Nazir and Habib to choose their martyrdom? You killed them."

  Syed inhaled his tobacco, and was silent, a tight feeling permeating his belly. Finally, his eyes flashing with fear and indignation replied. "Because they were not dedicated. They were not Holy Jihadists. They would have double-crossed us. If not today, then another day."

  The silence was deafening. Mohammed raised his eyebrow at Omar and said nothing. The three men continued to smoke and stare at the Mississippi River and the scene below.

  Somehow, the feelings of a great victory had dissipated and Syed was feeling stressed. He pushed away a twinge of fear in his chest. He knew Omar, even though he had said nothing, was displeased with him for killing his brothers. He guessed he would be upbraided for not following orders. He hoped that would be the extent of it.

  Finally, Omar spoke and said quietly but with conviction, "It troubles me greatly that you disobeyed Mohammed's order and killed Habib and Nazir. It makes me believe that you will not be obedient."