The lieutenant governor wasn’t here for show. While the governor’s office might not fully understand the goals of Forrest’s benefactors—or agree with their tactics—the politicians in Baton Rouge had to concede that New Orleans was taking a terrible public relations beating, thanks to the media-created impression of a city that might not deserve billions of taxpayer dollars for rebuilding. New Orleans’s notorious history of crime and corruption weighed heavily on its national reputation, and something had to be done to address that problem going forward. Since Colonel Mackiever had argued against state police intervention in his official report, Forrest had been asked here today to give his “informal” opinion on the matter.
A black waiter in a white coat set a bowl of garlic cheese grits before him. Forrest’s mouth watered at the sight of the pale orange mixture. He was about to tuck into it when his secure cell vibrated again. Down the table, Brody Royal gave him a subtle glare. Forrest reached into his back pocket, took out the phone, and checked its LCD below the level of the table.
PAN-PAN, it read.
He jammed the phone back in his pocket. “Pan-Pan” was a radio code signifying a state of urgency one level below “Mayday,” which signaled imminent danger to life or a vessel, requiring all potential rescuers within hearing to cease all activities and begin a rescue attempt. In Forrest’s secret world, the “Pan-Pan” code signified a breach of security that could reach all the way up the chain of command.
He glanced to his left, at the main door of the dining room. Alphonse Ozan stood there in uniform, his face tight with concern. A slight inclination of the head told Forrest he needed to leave the dining room immediately.
“Is everything all right, Colonel Knox?” asked the lieutenant governor.
Forrest smiled at the politician, then gave him the old standby cover. “I’m afraid not, sir. We’ve got a serious situation with the High Density Narcotics Trafficking Unit. I’m afraid I’m going to have to excuse myself early.”
One of Forrest’s patrons kicked him under the table, but he ignored the blow. Brody tried to catch his eye as he rose, but Forrest pointedly ignored him. No one in his organization had ever transmitted the “Pan-Pan” code, and he wasn’t about to waste time finding out what the problem was.
Forrest gave the lieutenant governor a deferential nod, then quickly made his way to the exit. The other diners gawked at his uniform as he passed. It wasn’t just the uniform, he knew. The scarred nub of his ear always drew stares in places like this, where he couldn’t wear his hat. Those who knew it was a battle wound considered it a badge of honor, but the average asshole usually gave him the freak treatment. He felt a wild compulsion to draw his gun and blast a few of the crystal champagne flutes off the tables.
Ozan didn’t begin talking until they’d reached the boardwalk outside, where the fetid smell of Lake Pontchartrain’s shore permeated the air.
“We got a major problem, boss. A while ago, Deke Dunn’s wife called in to say he hadn’t come in from his night shift. I wouldn’t have thought much of it, but then I remembered you’d sent him out to tell Snake and Sonny to head for Toledo Bend this morning.”
“Go on.”
“Deke stopped by Snake’s place, then headed toward Sonny’s fishing camp on Old River. Nobody heard anything from him after that. But because of your order, nobody worried about it.”
“Where is he, Alphonse?”
The Redbone shrugged his big shoulders. “I’m not sure yet. A few minutes ago, Sonny came stumbling up to Snake’s house looking like death warmed over. Last night, Dr. Cage and some crazy old Texas Ranger snatched him from his camp at gunpoint.”
“What?”
“They took him down by the borrow pits, held a gun to his head, and rolled his fingerprints onto some vials and a syringe. Trying to frame him for that old nigger woman’s murder!”
Forrest’s pulse began to race. “And?”
“Sonny had a goddamn heart attack, right there. He hardly knew a thing after that, but he’s pretty sure he heard gunshots. The next thing he remembers is waking up on the concrete outside the Mercy Hospital ER, nurses lifting him onto a gurney. He walked out this morning without the doctor releasing him.”
“And Deke?”
Ozan waited for a man in a blue blazer with brass anchor buttons to walk past. “On a hunch, I called Technical Services, and sure enough, somebody using our ‘Harlan Black’ alias requested a location on Sonny Thornfield’s cell number about the time Sonny says all this happened. That had to be Deke. When he saw Sonny was gone from his camp but his truck still there, Deke got his cell phone triangulated and went after him. He must have walked up on Dr. Cage and that Ranger questioning Sonny and shot it out with ’em. The problem is, Deke’s phone is dead now. And nobody’s seen him, Dr. Cage, or the Ranger since.”
“You have the trace coordinates on Deke’s phone?”
“Damn straight. I already called Air Support and requested a chopper in your name. It’s picking us up at Lakefront Airport in fifteen minutes.”
Lakefront Airport was only five miles away. “Let’s move.”
Forrest’s secure phone buzzed again. He looked down at the LCD and cursed. “It’s Brody.”
Ozan shook his head. “Should we tell the old man what’s going on?”
Forrest stuck up his middle finger. “Screw him. From now on, he gets the mushroom treatment. Get the car, Alphonse. I got a bad feeling.”
CHAPTER 62