“I understand, Master. Whatever must be done will be done,” replied the Burnt Man. “Where am I going this time?”
“New Orleans.”
CHAPTER
59
“I must go to New Orleans,” said Cloe.
“But why?” asked the monsignor. “The monks have just sent us some templates of ancient cuneiform that might serve as our Rosetta Stone in the further translation of the journal. They’re saying the words seven and seal, translated by the German scientist at Uruk, are keys that have been very helpful.”
“I know, Albert,” replied Cloe. “You and the curator will have to work on this, but J.E. and I must go to New Orleans to meet with this group.”
“Cloe, that group in New Orleans may be nothing,” he said. “We have real leads here.”
“I feel it is something,” she said. “I can’t say exactly why, but I have to go. It’s the right thing for me to do. I have told you what my assistant told me. This might be the answer.”
“Very well then. The papal jet will be ready for you tomorrow,” said the monsignor reluctantly. “We’ll do our best. At least take Captain Jacob with you. You don’t know what you’ll find in New Orleans.”
***
The sleek Vatican jet headed east at maximum speed and ceiling. Cloe stared out at the ethereal clouds below and the streaming sunshine above. So beautiful. How could anything be amiss in a world so utterly wondrous? It was an illusion. Beauty masked evil in many cases.
“Did this Zack indicate how to contact him?” asked J.E., breaking into her thoughts.
“No. In fact, he said he would get back in touch with my staff in New Orleans. He said that people were after them and had tried to harm them before. He could not take a risk by disclosing their location,” said Cloe.
“How will we find them then?” Captain Jacob asked. “Is New Orleans not a big city?”
Cloe smiled and said, “Yes and no. We’ll find them because they want us to find them. New Orleans is a big city from a population standpoint, but the area where we are going is compact and tightly knit. We’ll find them.”
“Yes, that’s what worries me,” said J.E. “If we can find them, I would think the people who want to hurt them can do likewise.”
“Right you are, J.E.,” replied Cloe. “We must hurry.”
***
The plane dropped like a stone through the midlevel cloud cover and formed up for landing parallel to the causeway spanning the great inland lake just north of New Orleans. They landed at Louis Armstrong International Airport and cleared customs without incident. Serving as appointed emissaries from the Vatican certainly helped. Cloe had to smile as she thought of Captain Jacob, a Jew, presenting his credentials as a Vatican representative. The customs agent was clearly confused, but the paperwork was all in order. They headed for the downstairs departure area to hail a cab.
As they waited for the taxi to arrive, Cloe thought of Uncle Sonny, her father’s big brother. Thib and Uncle Sonny had been so different in so many ways but so alike. Now both were gone—Uncle Sonny only a year. At least J.E. and Cloe had been able to spend a few years with Uncle Sonny.
They had decided to stay at the Hotel Provincial, deep in the Quarter not far off Esplanade. The hotel was one of the many small gems in the French Quarter. It also happened to be a couple of blocks away from the Ursuline Convent where her team was working on the jars.
Cloe sat with J.E. and Captain Jacob in the tiny bar of Hotel Provincial, now deserted, tucked away opposite the registration area overlooking the street. They had considered sitting in the small courtyard but had opted for the bar. A trip to New Orleans just to tour the interior block courtyards was well worth the effort, she thought. Most of the public were unaware these urban oases existed, but many were amazing and unique. Ancient brick work, iron tables and chairs surrounded by tropical plants and gnarled live oaks was a common theme, but each was different, with its own history.
“I called ahead and made arrangements for my assistant on the journal project, Dr. Jeanne Richard, to meet us here to get updated,” said Cloe.
At that moment, a young woman entered the bar area and headed toward them. She was a petite brunette with brown eyes.
“Hi, Dr. Cloe,” she said, sitting in the open chair.
“Hey, Jeanne,” said Cloe, making the introductions. “I appreciate you coming on short notice.”
“Sure, Cloe. I’ve been anxious to talk to you anyway,” replied the assistant. “We have been working on cataloging all the jars, and a couple of us have also been working on the translation. Everything is going well but for the area with the strange code. We’ve just never seen anything like it.”
Cloe was shocked to hear her assistant was working on the journal. She was the only one who was supposed to be doing that. She wondered if her young assistant had set out to eclipse her work, a theme all too common in academia. Now she was angry with herself at having left this woman in charge without her closer supervision. As she cooled off somewhat, she was disappointed in herself for such thoughts.
“It’s ancient cuneiform,” said Cloe, eyeing Dr. Richard. “The Vatican curator recognized it, and we eventually traced it to the Old Testament city of Uruk.”
Cloe filled her assistant in on the trip to Uruk and the German scientist’s quick assessment that in the cuneiform were two recognizable words, “seven” and “seal.” There was a lot omitted from this short version of the papal mission, but time was of the essence, and now she wasn’t sure she could trust her assistant with the full story.
“Okay, you know a lot more than we do about the translation,” Jeanne replied.
Cloe did not think there was much conviction in her words. Could she be hiding something?
“Tell me about our visitors,” said Cloe.
“Well, there’s not much more to tell other than what I said on the phone,” responded the woman. “It was a strange group, and the leader was insistent you would want to talk to him.”
“He was right,” said J.E. “There must be something else. Did they say or do anything that might lead us to where they are?”
“No, nothing,” she replied. “Wait a minute. I almost forgot. A while after they left, I sent our runner up to the Port of Call restaurant to get some takeout.”
“Yes?” Cloe wondered where this was headed.
“He thinks he saw the dog,” said the assistant.
“Dog?” Captain Jacob broke in. “What dog?”
“The big bull dog, the one the little boy called Bully,” explained Dr. Richard.
“He said he had never seen a bulldog that big around here, and there couldn’t have been two of them. The dog was lounging in the small front yard of a house not far from the restaurant,” she continued. “Funny thing was he said he felt like the dog was watching him, even from a block away. He said it was like the dog wanted him to take notice.”
“Whoa!” said Captain Jacob. “The dog wanted to be seen?”
“It does sound strange, I grant you, but that’s what he said,” she replied. “The dog wanted him to know he was there. Our runner told me exactly where the house is located.”
“Okay, I can understand ancient cuneiform, five-thousand-year-old cities, and conversations between Jesus and an apostle on the end of times, but now a dog acting human? I feel like I’ve fallen through the keyhole. What could possibly be next?” said J.E.
“J.E., you’re right; we have seen some strange things,” said Cloe.
“Well, this is right up there with the strangest of them,” he replied.
Cloe looked around the table at her companions. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go find Bully.”
CHAPTER
60
They headed north on Chartres Street as the evening’s gloom began to gather. The dark crept like tendrils down the streets running from east to
west of the French Quarter. At Esplanade, they walked to the west for a bit, onward just past the Port of Call, which was already beginning to rock with after-work and neighborhood patrons.
“Let’s see,” said Dr. Richard, pausing to get her bearings. “Yes, it must be just up the block a ways.”
They crossed another north-south street and walked under dense live oaks that filtered what little remaining light there was to the point where the grays shaded toward dark. The first wisps of a nighttime fog emerged.
As their eyes adjusted, Dr. Richard said, “There it is, a half block up.”
Cloe gazed up the tree-lined boulevard at the front of a large wooden home with a deep front porch. The house was dark. Moreover, there was visible damage to the front area of the house. It appeared vandalized and burned. Military police tape lined the property.
“Oh my God!” said Cloe. “The military police have been here. Something terrible must have happened.”
“Shhh! Mom, there’s someone sitting on the front porch,” said J.E. quietly. “He’s in the shadows, smoking a cigarette—he’s all in leather, like some Goth.”
“I see him,” Cloe replied softly. “He’s waiting for someone.”
“He may be waiting for us,” urged Captain Jacob. “I suggest we continue our stroll.”
“I agree,” said J.E., now taking Dr. Richard’s arm as if they were boyfriend and girlfriend, walking the Quarter.
They continued at a leisurely pace, not looking back at the dark figure crouching on the porch. Soon, they came to the next corner and turned south back into the Quarter.
***
Returning to the hotel bar, Cloe, J.E., Dr. Richard, and Captain Jacob regrouped. The atmosphere was somber. Now fully dark outside, the bartender was lighting candles on the tables and at the bar. The room was nearly deserted, and they had their pick of the tables, settling in at one in a corner and ordering a round of drinks. Something had happened at the home on Esplanade. They still had no idea as to the whereabouts of Zack and his mysterious crew.
“Zack told us at the convent that he and his group were being pursued by some people,” said the assistant. “He called them the leather boys and said they had tried to hurt them at City Park. They had been in hiding ever since.”
“According to the news, there are lots of those types around since the troubles began,” said J.E. “They band together and terrorize whatever area they are in. They prey on the weak.”
“I’d have to say, based on what I’m hearing, there was just such an individual on the porch of the house,” said Captain Jacob. “I think he was waiting for us.”
“How could he be waiting for us?” asked Cloe. “No one knows we are here, and no one knows we have any connection with Zack and his group.”
“I hope that’s true. But I’m not saying he was waiting specifically for us, but for someone like us who came looking for the people who were in that house,” said the captain. “He was a sentry posted at the scene of the crime to see who came after.”
“Why would anyone do that?” asked Dr. Richard. “I mean, if they got to Zack and his friends, it’s all over. That house was virtually destroyed. Zack said they would kill them all.”
“You’re right. Why would they post a sentry if they had achieved their goals?” questioned J.E.
“The answer is simple,” said Cloe. “They didn’t. They might have destroyed the house, but they didn’t get Zack and his friends. Somehow they got away.”
“That’s got to be right,” agreed J.E. “The leather boys didn’t get what they came for and don’t know where Zack has gone.”
“All right. Tomorrow, we start again looking for Zack,” said Cloe.
As the group was getting up, the desk clerk rounded the corner as if on a mission.
“Dr. Lejeune!” he called out.
Cloe said nothing as he approached and stopped in front of her.
“Ma’am, we have a hand delivery for you,” the clerk said, beaming.
Cloe accepted the envelope, tipped the clerk and plopped back down in her chair. The envelope contained a single sheet of paper with a very brief message.
“It says, ‘Be at the dock by the Coast Guard station, West End, at 11 p.m. tonight’,” she read.
“What can that mean?” asked Captain Jacob. “Do you know this place?”
“Sure, it’s out on Lake Pontchartrain near the causeway,” said Cloe, musing. “The original Coast Guard station itself was destroyed in a recent hurricane, but it’s been rebuilt. There is a channel and dock that run right next to it. There’s also a big, popular restaurant next door.”
“Who would leave such a message? As you said, no one knows we’re here,” said Jacob. “If the leather boy at the house on Esplanade somehow identified us, this could be a trap.”
“It’s signed Leneau,” said Cloe.
“That sounds familiar. He may be one of the members of Zack’s group,” said Cloe’s assistant.
“It might be a trap.”
“Mom, I think this is a real lead, the only one we have,” said J.E. “If this were a trap, I don’t see why it would be set right next to an active Coast Guard station and a busy restaurant. That makes no sense.”
“I think you’re right, J.E.,” responded Cloe after some thought. “There’re places within a few blocks of here that are way more dangerous.” Cloe looked at her mates. They were all on board.
“Here’s what we do,” she began. “Jeanne, you go home. This may be dangerous, and you didn’t sign up for it. You continue the work.”
“Cloe,” said the assistant. “I’m not sure why or how, but I’m part of this now. If it’s all the same to you, I’m in.”
“But, Jeanne,” said Cloe. “You could be hurt or worse.”
The two soldiers carefully studied the assistant, trying to determine what she could possibly bring to the table and how big a liability she would be.
“You know, that’s the same thing they told me when I wanted to join the marines after 9/11,” said Jeanne.
“Well, it’s a good thing they convinced you not to do such a crazy thing,” said J.E. “Marines are half-navy, half-army, and all trouble. They get the worst and most difficult gigs of any conventional force.”
Jeanne Richard turned directly to J.E. and said, “Who said they convinced me?”
CHAPTER
61
The young thug and his cohorts stood before the Burnt Man, whose scowl was more an attitude than a fact, as his facial muscles were destroyed. The leather boys had a rat’s nest of a residence in an old and partially falling down wood-frame house in the residential area north of the Quarter. There was no electricity. A couple of stolen hurricane lamps gave what light there was.
“You say nobody came to the house?” asked the Burnt Man.
“Yeah, that’s it, man. Ain’t nobody come to the house during my shift,” squirmed the punk.
“Nobody?” repeated the Burnt Man.
“Nobody come to the house; only some walked by it,” he replied.
“Describe them.”
“All ’em?” asked the hood. “There was maybe ten to twelve.”
“Did anybody stand out?”
“Well, there was the guy walking his dog; I remember ’cause the bitch crapped in the front yard.”
“Anyone else?” He was beginning to lose patience.
“Well, near dark, there was a group that came by, and I thought they was a coming in, but they strooled on by,” replied the leather kid.
“Strooled?”
“Yeah, dude, you know, hold’n hands and what.”
“Describe them.”
After the Burnt Man had exhausted the limited memory of the youth, he was convinced that two of the group were the lady doctor and her son. He had no idea who the others were. How had Icar known they would be here?
He turned to the assembly of young toughs and said, “You find out where they are staying and let me know if they are there or not. If they’re not there, you find out where they have gone. I don’t care if you have to burn down every building north of Canal to do it!”
As the soldiers in his dark army joyfully piled out of the old house on their mission, the Burnt Man smiled, thinking about his next meeting with Cloe Lejeune.
CHAPTER
62
Semper Fi. When Jeanne Richard rolled up the sleeve of her drab sweatshirt, the tattoo on her bicep said it all. They had changed into more appropriate garb, some of which they purchased from one of the secondhand stores nearby. The three soldiers discussed their military experiences on the cab ride to West End. J.E. and Jacob were impressed. The cab let them out in the parking lot of the seafood house next door to the dock.
Fifteen minutes before the appointed time, they approached the dock next to the Coast Guard station and in the light from the parking lot saw a midsized cabin cruiser cleated down tightly to the dock. While the station house had been rebuilt, they had to step over or around traces of storm debris even after so many years. Cloe could hear the deep-throated engines idling. The salt air off the lake was beginning to cool, and she was glad they had bought sweatshirts. A wisp of gray fog floated by.
“Ahoy!” came a deep voice from the wheelhouse of the cruiser.
The dock was in shadows and the cruiser unlit, so Cloe could only see the vague outline of a man against the dark recess of the boat. She detected an orange glow and smelled pipe smoke.
They stopped at the dock to assess the situation. J.E. stepped forward. “Mr. Leneau?”
“Right you are,” said the man. “Come aboard quickly. We need to move.”
“Whoa!” said J.E. “We’re not going anywhere until we know who you are and what this is about.”
“Son, you do what you want, but in the last twenty-four hours, people have tried to kill me and my family and have destroyed my house. I will take you to Zack. In fifteen seconds, this boat is leaving. Make up your minds.”
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