by Jon Coon
“You think about that. The answer may not be as hard to find as you think. Just ask yourself who has given them the most reason to be pissed.”
“Gee, thanks. I feel much better now.”
Gabe arrived at the New Orleans airport just after dawn, rented a car, and drove to Tulane Medical Center. The city held many memories for him; some good ones, but also the worst ones of his life. He tried to block the memories of his mother being beaten to death by his father, and his body recovery work following Katrina. The flooded school bus with dead kids yelling at him, grabbing for him, was one of the worst memories, and to force it out of his mind, he focused on Alethea sitting beside his New Orleans hospital bed praying for him and singing softly the Cajun songs his mother had sung in his early childhood.
It was Alethea’s gentle spirit and reassurance that had pulled him back from the edge. It was her hot-blooded daughter Cas’s love that had taken him to heights of passion he had never imagined possible.
He believed it was Alethea’s compassion, her willingness to sacrifice herself to save Carol’s eleven-year-old daughter, Emily, that had put Alethea at death’s door. Although Alethea denied it, Gabe believed she had in fact made a deal with Baron Samedi, the loa of the dead, when Emily lay dying. He guessed the Baron had come to collect.
The Garden District looked much the same, with stately antebellum mansions and manicured lawns, as he drove down St. Charles Avenue to Tulane Avenue and turned into the parking lot. He was too early for visiting hours, but Cas was waiting in the cafeteria. She got up from the table and held him in a long embrace. Not at all reminiscent of their last meeting in Florida, when she’d told him about her abortion and threatened both him and Carol.
“Thank you for coming,” she said, talking into his chest.
“Of course. I’d have come sooner, but you told me to wait.”
“Mom wasn’t ready. She didn’t want you to see her in the hospital.”
“So, what is it? What’s going on?”
“Sit and let’s get some coffee. Do you need to eat?”
“Coffee, yes; food later. Tell me what is it?”
A server came with two steaming cups. Gabe sat across from her and waited.
“It’s her heart. They say she’s too weak for surgery. She’d never make it. So there’s nothing more they can do.”
“When can we see her?” Gabe raised his cup and blew into it to cool it.
“In a little. I tried to call you, but it kept going to voicemail. Where were you?”
“In Mexico with Carol’s dad. He’s a captain in the Texas Rangers. Carol’s son and three other girls were kidnapped. We went to get them back.”
“And?”
“We got lucky. We got them out alive.”
“And Carol, how is she?”
“Cas, I really don’t feel comfortable talking about Carol and her family with you. Can we just focus on your mom, please?”
“Sure. Sorry. It’s just been a long time, and I’ve missed you.”
“I don’t mean to be short with you. It was a long night, and I’m worried about your mom. You’ve said it often enough, we’re family. In fact, you’re the only family I’ve got left, and if she dies … well, it’s going to be hard.”
“Yeah, for me too.”
“Has she ever talked about what happened at the hospital in Florida, when Emily nearly died?”
“No, not at all.”
“When I brought Emily out of that decompression chamber on the river bottom, her heart had stopped and she wasn’t breathing. They got her heart started with an AED and put her on a ventilator. She was critical in ICU, and it was bad. On my way to her room I saw your mom praying in the little hospital chapel. On the way back to my room, she was passed out on the chapel floor. She said she’d been praying for Emily and fainted.”
“Oh, she fainted? She’s never done that.”
“That’s what she said, but I was afraid it might have been something else.”
“I know the story about great-grandmother Marie making a deal with the Baron to save a little girl. Is that what you thought?”
“Yes, exactly. And your mom said Marie died a year to the day after the girl was miraculously healed. Tomorrow will be a year for Emily. Can that be a coincidence?”
“Come on,” Cas said jumping up from the table. “We need to see Mom right now!”
Up to the fourth floor and down the hall to 414, Cas burst into her mother’s room and marched to her bed. Alethea was frail. She didn’t just look frail, the multiple monitors she was connected to confirmed her frailty. She smiled at Gabe and reached up for him. He bent over the bed and kissed her cheek gently. “Hi, pal. How are you?”
“Mon trésor. Thank you for coming.” She held him and gazed deeply into his eyes. Gabe waited until she released him and sat on the bed beside her, holding her hand. She looked at him sadly and said only, “I’m tired.”
Cas went to the other side of the bed, reached through the rail, and took her mother’s other hand. “Mémère, did you make a contract with the Baron to save that little girl in Florida? Tell me the truth.”
“Someone has been telling stories,” Alethea answered and scowled at Gabe.
“Alethea, please, tell us.”
“I did tell you. No, I did not make a deal with the Baron. I just prayed for that child’s life. I prayed hard. Is she all right?”
“Yes, she’s wonderful, and she sends you her love.”
“Good. Mon fils, I’ve been so worried about you. I knew you were in great danger and there was nothing I could do. But I prayed for you too. I prayed God would keep you safe.”
“Thank you. He did. He kept us all. And yes, I was in danger, and it may not be over, so I can’t afford to lose my best prayer warrior.”
She smiled and squeezed his hand. “Always,” she said. “No matter which side I’m on. Always.”
A nurse entered the room and shooed them off the bed. She checked Alethea’s vital signs and then said, “She needs to rest. You can come back this afternoon. But for now, it’s best you leave.”
Gabe bent over and kissed Alethea’s cheek again and Cas did the same. They eased out of the room, and Alethea thanked the nurse and gently closed her eyes.
“We need to go back to the house, and I need to make some calls,” Cas said. “I have an idea, and I’m going to need your help.”
“Okay, what is it?”
“You need to sleep for a couple hours, and when you wake, I’ll tell you. If this works, it could save her.”
“Cas, what are you—”
“Is there anything you wouldn’t do to help my mother, after all she’s done for you?”
Gabe hesitated. “Anything” coming from Cas’s lips was a powerful word.
“Well?”
“No, anything. Just ask.”
“Okay. I’ll take you home and fix you some herbal tea, and you rest. I’ll be back shortly.”
They left Gabe’s rental car at the hospital, and he rode with Cas the eight blocks to Alethea’s garden home. He followed her to the door. She unlocked it and said, “There’s food in the fridge. Go stash your stuff in your bedroom, and I’ll fix our tea. I’ll wake you when I get back.”
He entered the foyer and was met by the portrait of Alethea’s great-great-grandmother, Marie Laveau. Marie had a warm and welcoming smile. Gabe stopped to admire the painting and found himself talking to Marie. “They say you were a great healer. If your spirit is really still with us, she could really use your help.”
He waited in front of the portrait as if expecting an answer. Getting none, he went into the kitchen and made a sandwich. When the tea was ready, he and Cas sat at the kitchen table briefly, and then she left. He stayed, recalling his many therapeutic conversations with Alethea, and tried not to think about what life would be like without her. He went upstairs to the bed that had been his for the three months he’d lived there. Kicked off his boots and sank into the luxury of a real goose-down mattress.
He was asleep in seconds.
He had no idea how long he’d been asleep when Cas woke him. She was sitting on the edge of his bed, talking softly and rubbing her hand gently across his chest.
“We need to go back to the hospital. Mom isn’t doing well.”
“Okay, give me a minute.” He got up and staggered to the bathroom, still half asleep.
When they were in the car, Cas opened up about her plan. “If Mom made a deal with the Baron, that deal can’t be broken. But if she didn’t, we may be able to use the Baron to save her.”
“Do you mean by someone else taking her place?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t have to be one of us. I’ve made some arrangements. Some friends are coming over tonight, and we’re going to summon him. I need you to help. I know you don’t believe it, but I think you’re the most powerful of any of us. Tonight we’ll know.”
“Cas, I’m not sure—”
“This is her only chance, Gabe. And it’s on you. So make up your mind. Are you in or out?”
Chapter 28
ALETHEA WAS ASLEEP WITH AN oxygen mask covering her face and a nurse in the chair beside her. Her breathing had a distinct rattle, and her pulse and blood pressure were dangerously low.
“See if you can get the nurse out of here for about two minutes,” Cas whispered to Gabe as they went into the room.
Gabe approached the bed and then motioned to the nurse to come with him to the door.
“I’ve heard that rattle before. She’s near the end, isn’t she?”
“I’m afraid so. All we can do for her now is keep her comfortable. I doubt if she will make it through the next few hours.”
“Isn’t there anything you can do?”
“I’m so sorry, but it’s her time. There’s nothing more.”
“I can’t just sit here and watch,” Cas said. “I’m going home. If she’s in God’s hands, it’s time to give him a nudge. Are you coming?” she asked Gabe.
Somewhat surprised at her abruptness, he agreed, and they started back down the hall.
“What was that about?”
“You’ll see. Just hang in there with me.”
There were other cars in the drive and parked on the street. Lights were on in the house, and as they entered the foyer, the scent of candles and incense filled the air. A line of red and white candles flickered beneath Marie’s portrait, and in the living room, the furniture had been cleared away, and a large circle of candles and flowers replaced the carpet. There were a dozen men and women wearing robes. No one spoke, but it was obvious they were acquainted and that what was about to happen wasn’t a first rodeo for any of them.
“It’s a protection circle,” Cas whispered to Gabe. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
An older dark-skinned woman took Gabe by the hand and led him into the circle. Her face was lined with creases that time had taken years to perfect, and her thin, white hair was pulled back in a bun. “Please kneel and be as comfortable as you can. We’re going to be here a while.”
She then went to a corner and knelt with a large book. She began a chant in Latin. Gabe recognized some of the words from his years in Catholic school but couldn’t clear his head enough to put meaning with her words.
Cas came back dressed in a flowing white robe, barefooted, with her long black hair hanging free around her shoulders. She nodded to the woman leading the chant, and the rhythm changed abruptly. Cas went to a large wicker basket beneath the side bar beneath Marie’s portrait and lifted Souricière, the seven-foot white python that was her mother’s familiar, and wrapped the big snake over her shoulder and around her waist. Then she began to dance. The music of the chant and the fragrance of the candles and incense were hypnotic. Gabe was stunned by her beauty and the grace with which she moved around him as she followed the rim of the circle.
The house lights were off, and the only light came from the flickering candles. She danced, and again the chant and tempo changed, this time to a prayerful quiet. The woman who had led Gabe into the circle approached him with a goblet. She motioned for him to drink. He did, and she returned with an ancient, leather-bound book. She placed it in his hand and pointed to the top of a parchment page. “Please start here,” she said and returned to her seat. At first the words were alien. But as he read they became more comfortable. He guessed he was reading a prayer, but he had no idea to whom or what for. But somehow it felt right.
He turned the page and, to his surprise, there were words he recognized from his days in the Catholic orphanage. “Pater Noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificatur nomen tuum … Our Father, who art in heaven . . .” He remembered Alethea telling him that Marie’s voodoo was strongly based in Catholicism and that she had even been permitted to have a shrine in St. Louis Cathedral in Jackson Square.
He continued reading, and two men in hooded robes entered the room. One carried a silver platter, and on it was a beating heart. Gabe couldn’t tell if it was human, but it certainly was the right size. How did it just sit there beating on its own? The men placed the tray at Gabe’s feet and backed out of the room.
On the tray was a vial of blood, and Gabe suddenly realized the purpose of their trip back to the hospital and why Cas had needed the nurse out of the room. Cas knelt beside him with Souricière still wrapped around her.
“Pour the blood onto the heart, and while you do, repeat this prayer after me.”
She began the prayer and the chanters repeated her words. Gabe opened the vial and poured Alethea’s blood onto the still-beating heart.
“Now we’re going to offer it as a sacrifice.”
The dark-hooded men returned with a small hibachi and placed it in front of Gabe.
“Our god is a god of sacrifice,” Cas chanted, and the room picked up the chant and repeated it.
Gabe lit the grill and placed the heart on the grate.
“Our god is a god of mercy,” she said, and the room repeated it.
“We pray for the life of our Mother Alethea and offer this sacrifice in her place. Please be merciful, oh god, and accept our sacrifice.”
What happened next left Gabe breathless. The fire on the grill flamed bright, and in an instant, the heart and all trace of it were gone. Souricière raised her head and her black eyes turned flame red. She grew to several times her normal size, coiled, and rose high, looking directly down at Gabe.
Gabe held his ground, more from shock than courage, and watched as the reptilian head was transformed and became Alethea’s. Her face looked like white marble, her hair was wild and her eyes glowing. She looked down at Gabe and said, “Now you will believe.”
Gabe staggered to his feet and stumbled backward. He hit the floor hard and passed out.
When he woke he was back in the feather bed, and Cas was sitting beside him, stroking his chest and humming a tune he thought he recognized but couldn’t place. Sunlight filled the room, and Cas was at ease.
“Your mom?” he asked and rubbed his eyes.
“She’s doing better. She’s much stronger this morning, and the staff are amazed.”
“Have I been asleep the whole time? What happened last night? I had these really strange dreams. The house was full of people, and there was a ceremony, and—”
“Sure you were dreaming? I know you were really tired, but it felt pretty real to me.” She smiled and kissed him. “Coffee’s on, and then we can go see Mom.”
In a well-constructed bunker covered by jungle foliage, two sleek, fiberglass submarines, thirty meters long, sat in cradles on rails that ran three hundred meters into a deep lagoon. The subs were made in Colombia at a cost of two million dollars each, had diesel engines, and could run submerged at more than twelve knots. Several men sweated in the afternoon heat loading one of the subs with fifty-pound boxes of Semtex 10, a powerful plastic explosive that, like C-4, was made from a combination of RDX and PETN. Sandbags were loaded in the other to give stability and ballast. When two hundred forty cases of Semtex, equaling six tons, were loaded and secure
d, boxes of food and crates of bottled water filled the remaining cargo space.
Each sub would have a four-man crew. There were two bunks, a propane stove, and a bucket for a toilet. Fortunately it had a lid. The helm was a simple joystick, and instruments were limited to depth, surface radar, and a primitive sonar. Control for the water ballast system was by PVC plumbing and cabin pressure maintained with compressed air from a row of standard scuba tanks.
Bags of Baralyme for a single scrubber would keep the air breathable, and a single fan would provide the only cooling. Like many narco-subs of this size, each capable of carrying five to six tons of cocaine worth possibly 200 million dollars, these subs had been built for this mission and this mission only. One had a unique addition to the normal design: Four tires on retractable, battery-powered motors would enable it to crawl across the bottom—silent and nearly impossible to detect. It was an idea borrowed from the Navy’s NR-1, a 150-foot nuclear research vessel built in 1969 and used on covert ops for thirty years.
The crews were young, half not yet twenty, and the captains weren’t much older. Sebastian, captain of the explosives carrier, was twenty-two with thirteen prior missions, and Chris, short for Cristóbal, who would pilot the escape vehicle, was twenty with only two prior cruises. All were volunteers, and El Patrón had promised three times normal pay for successful completion. It was a generous offer and a grand opportunity for men used to making only $3,000 for a three-day run, delivering cargos worth hundreds of millions of dollars.
The two Zapa army trucks pulled away, their deadly cargo delivered. The subs were double-checked and the engines given last-minute care. The crews wished each other well and boarded. The hatches, that only closed from the inside, were secured. The cradles released and set down the rails until both boats were submerged with only the conning towers, barely large enough for one man, still dry.
Now the engines were started, exhausts checked for circulation, transmissions engaged and checked. A claxon sounded from each boat, and the cradles ran to the end of tracks, releasing them into the deep, clear water of the cove. They ran submerged at fifteen meters out into open water and the protection of their mother ship: a rusting container ship with Panamanian registry named Anna Christine.