The senior officials’ expressions made it plain they didn’t buy a word of it.
Verdon took time to study Johnson and Salazar. “We did manage to locate the Emerit family. Our agents interviewed Jacob Emerit’s grandparents at length. The woman insisted that Baron Samedi carried off her granddaughters, her husband shot a zombie, the intruders hurt the old man while trying to rip his heart out of his chest, and one of the agents who came to rescue them collapsed with a heart attack.”
Johnson didn’t budge. Amaia merely lifted an eyebrow.
“And, of course you’ve never heard of a criminal gang called Samedi,” Director Wilson added.
Amaia angrily shook her head.
Verdon opened the manila folder that lay on the desk and handed Amaia and Johnson copies of a report. “This is from the sheriff in Baton Rouge.”
Amaia and Johnson scanned the document as Verdon summarized it. “Yesterday before dawn, Detective Jason Bull from the New Orleans Police Department called for backup at a shooting incident outside the city. The detective later stated he’d gotten there by following the trail of a man suspected as an accessory in the abduction of Bella and Diana Emerit. He’d gotten into difficulties, couldn’t locate the man, and then—as if by the grace of God—he happened to witness the delivery of the minors to an armed group that opened fire as soon as he identified himself. He believes he wounded at least one of them. The suspect, Dominic Darrel, and his associates fled. The girls are safe. They’re being held for observation at a hospital until their parents can get there.”
“Was Agent Dupree with Detective Bull?” Johnson asked.
Verdon gazed steadily at Johnson, his head tilted skeptically to one side. He exhaled fully before replying. “No. The detective said he’d left Dupree in the care of a Cajun medicine man out in the swamp, because Dupree was too weak to travel. The Terrebonne sheriff just reported that the houseboat where this ‘traiteur’ was staying apparently sank. The sheriff says it probably went down during Katrina, but it’s hard to tell. They didn’t find any bodies inside, but the hurricane tide pushed tons of water and muck through there on its way back to the Gulf.”
Amaia sighed. “I don’t know what to say. I hope Agent Dupree got to safety and you can locate him soon.”
“Obviously,” Wilson replied.
She dropped the subject. “Are we finished here?”
They gave up, rose, and exchanged handshakes in farewell. Before she could exit the office after Johnson, Verdon stepped forward and blocked her way. “Brilliance or insolence?”
She gave him an angelic smile. “A hunch, that’s all.”
The two senior officials stood in silence after the door closed. The woman’s electric presence hovered in the air.
Wilson was the first to speak. “Maybe it’s just as well she’s leaving. She’d have kept causing problems.”
Verdon gave him an incredulous look. “Are you kidding? Eighteen years, Wilson,” he declared, rubbing his colleague’s face in the FBI’s failure to locate Lenx. “Eighteen!”
Wilson’s lips tightened, a sign he regretted his comment. “No, you’re right. It would have been better to have her on the team. She’s insolent and brilliant, but given enough time, we could’ve put her in her place.”
“Uh-huh. The way we did with Dupree, right?”
EPILOGUE
Pamplona
November 2005
Amaia’s mobile phone lit up with an unknown number. She answered it anyway.
Dupree’s voice came to her from all the way across the ocean. “Is it already night in Baztán, Salazar?”
Amaia smiled. Then she told him.
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
I began writing this novel on April 16, 2017, in room 105 of the Dauphine Orleans Hotel in New Orleans, where I was staying, and I finished it on July 16, 2019, in the same place.
The headlines appearing in the novel were based on the article “Remembering Hurricane Betsy, a New Orleans Nightmare,” written by journalist Mike Scott, in the Times-Picayune, May 31, 2017.
The emergency calls cited in the novel are taken from actual calls made to the 911 emergency center when Hurricane Katrina passed through Louisiana.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To the city and good people of New Orleans, to those on the official lists of victims of Hurricane Katrina, and to those who disappeared, for their courage and immense love for NOLA. For standing up to hardship and returning. I’ve traveled the whole world over, but my home is still in New Orleans.
To Elizondo and the Baztán Valley, the places I return to in my dreams, for inspiring me.
To Manuel Anguita Sánchez, president of the Spanish Society of Cardiology, for our fascinating conversation about broken hearts and creativity.
To Oriol Carús, my guide to New Orleans, for his invaluable assistance.
To the United States Coast Guard, the true heroes of this story.
To the firefighters, the New Orleans police, the Louisiana State Police, and the emergency services, for never giving up.
To the Presbytère museum, near the Cabildo in New Orleans, and its permanent exhibit about Hurricane Katrina.
To the New Orleans daily newspaper the Times-Picayune, which was a great resource for writing this novel.
To the Judicial Police of Navarra for their courteous attention and unfailing help.
To the FBI regional office in New Orleans, destroyed by Hurricane Katrina and its aftermath.
To the Dauphine Orleans Hotel and its phantom fiancée.
To Charity Hospital—its eerie, abandoned, but still-standing structure continues to remind us that misery, struggle, and triumph must never be forgotten.
To Moe, the New Orleans taxi driver who lost both his taxi and his house in the Ninth Ward during Hurricane Katrina and asked me to put them in the novel.
To the New Orleans Saints and the Superdome. “I’m no angel—I’m a saint!”
To the musicians and the ghosts who never left New Orleans.
To the whole team at Destino; I’m going back to Gryffindor.
To the goddess Mari, as is only fitting, for all tempests belong to her.
GLOSSARY
agur. A traditional and often honorific salutation that can mean “hello” or “goodbye.”
aita. Father.
aitatxo. Daddy.
ama. Mother.
Awright! “All right!” Said in response to a greeting in New Orleans.
basajaun. In the Euskara language, “the lord of the forest.” An anthropomorphic creature of Basque and Navarra mythology, generally benevolent, who maintains the balance between humans and nature. The name given to the killer in The Invisible Guardian, book one of the Baztán Trilogy.
bayou. From the Choctaw expression bayuk, meaning “creek” or “stream.” A Louisiana term for an expanse of flowing water in a swamp region.
Bazagrá or Bazagreá. Name of a voodoo demon, derived from Baal and Beelzebub. It appears in ancient Sumerian. The Old Testament renders it as Baal. An incantation used to invoke a curse.
bihotz. “Heart” in Euskara.
bitxito. “Little insect”; used to refer to naughty children.
bokor. A male sorcerer in voodoo. A voodoo sorcerer “marked” with bokor is one who practices lukumi (the snake) evil magic and conga (the rainbow), which involves mostly protective or healing spells. A sorcerer initiated in both types of magic is said to “serve with both hands.”