The North Face of the Heart - Dolores Redondo Page 0,100

not having a good day, but don’t you dare think we are. Those are not my gunshots; unless we can prevent them, they’ll come from the execution of a family guilty of nothing but surviving this disaster.”

Antée’s expression changed. He looked up at Johnson, nodded, and said nothing more.

35

BEAUTY

New Orleans, Louisiana

Martin chose this hotel because the bathrooms had no windows. They’d been designed as separate little rooms off the hallway between the bedroom and the door to the hotel corridor, and their only connection to the exterior was a grated air shaft. He’d blocked it with towels so he wouldn’t have to listen to the threatening low moan as the wind made the metal vibrate. In the late morning, he finally decided to step out of his refuge. The windows to the balcony had disappeared, as had every bit of furniture, even the bed. The headboard, bolted to the wall, was still in place. Ceiling panels had been ravaged, and the yellow electrical conduits for overhead lights dangled like wild vines. The worst of the hurricane was past, even though the wind was still blowing hard. Stepping over the debris, he approached the gaping opening where the window had been. The balcony railing was still in place, though it was battered and badly bent. Martin decided not to risk stepping outside. He leaned out to survey the scene. The sky in the east, still dark, was beginning to clear; the rain had let up, and the flood was starting to subside.

He’d been listening to the radio chatter as the Coast Guard’s Sikorsky helicopter pilots prepared to sortie. He had to hurry. He went back to the bathroom, clicked on his flashlight, and checked his appearance in the mirror. He peeled off his cotton shirt. He turned the handle of the faucet but got nothing but a gurgle and empty hissing sounds. Early that morning, the taps had disgorged a brownish, muddy trickle, but even that minimal flow had ceased. He used bottled water from his briefcase to brush his teeth, wash his face, and slick down his military-style crew cut. He put on a clean shirt, carefully starched and ironed, tucked it in, and buckled his belt. He checked himself in the mirror again and pinned his badge onto his breast pocket so the logo was clearly visible. He picked up his briefcase.

He grinned as he traversed what had been the reception area. The water was up to his knees. The downstairs was empty, as if a gigantic vacuum cleaner had sucked everything up.

No doors, no windows, no revolving door, no lights. All the ceiling panels were gone, and silvery sheets of insulation hung down like Christmas tinsel.

He left the hotel and made his way across the submerged sidewalk to the middle of the deserted street, carefully avoiding the splintered remains of advertising signs that hung perilously from building fronts. The rain had all but stopped. He waded down the flooded street. Several of the big trees nearby hadn’t survived the storm, including the immense live oak that had sheltered the local café. Swarms of mosquitoes hovered just inches above the surface of the water. Martin knew that when the sun came out, the marshy stink would be asphyxiating. He looked at his city map. He’d marked his route the night before.

In the distance, people were poking their heads out of windows and emerging into the flooded street. Their movements were sluggish and inhibited. It was like waking to a shared hangover; bewildered, they shrugged, exchanging those dismayed expressions Martin knew so well. He ignored calls for help from some of the people who were beginning to get over the initial shock.

“Hey, buddy! Give us a hand over here?”

He strode purposefully and pretended he hadn’t heard.

He kept wading through the streets, avoiding debris, mattresses, collapsed walls, and fallen trees. A couple of times he was forced to deviate from his planned route to get around fallen power lines. Reports on the radio had said the power was out in most of the city, but some fallen cables were buzzing ominously and generating showers of sparks when they brushed against walls.

It took him more than an hour to get to his destination. The edifice stood on a solid cement foundation, and perhaps that was why its inhabitants had decided to wait out the hurricane there. Access to the apartments was via a side staircase to a balcony passage that ran along the front of the second floor. He climbed eight steps,