The North Face of the Heart - Dolores Redondo Page 0,31

floor, exhausted by the hours of waiting. Many were asleep.

“The sun isn’t up yet, and look at this crowd,” one of the New Orleans FBI agents commented. “They’re expecting thousands more from the city over the course of the day. This is the first time in the history of New Orleans that they’ve ordered a total evacuation.”

The sun had broken the horizon while they were in the terminal. It was shining flat and harsh across the black official vehicles. Dupree stopped at the driver’s side of the first one. “You men go back to headquarters and make sure they’re processing the data as fast as they can. Pay attention to the age profiles we gave you. Send me the results as soon as you can. Agent Johnson and Assistant Inspector Salazar are coming with me.”

The more senior New Orleans agent started to protest. “Sir? Our instructions were to get you to the regional office. Director Peterson’s waiting for you.”

“Tell Peterson I’ll catch up with him later.” He glanced at his watch. “Right now, I have an appointment with Captain Forneret, commander in District 8. I suspect he won’t be too happy to see me in this fucked-up mess, so I don’t want to keep him waiting.” He held out his hand. The agent reluctantly turned over the keys.

Amaia was amazed to find that Interstate 10 heading toward the city center was deserted. In contrast, the outbound lanes were a virtual parking lot. Close-packed vehicles moved at a snail’s pace.

Nevertheless, as they got closer to downtown, the sense of normal city life gradually established itself, and things were unexpectedly orderly when they arrived in the French Quarter. The calm of the neighborhood contrasted vividly with the frenetic activity inside the police station, where it looked like all the city’s police officers had been called in.

Team members were relieved to find that despite the bustle, Dupree’s prediction about the police commander’s mood had been mistaken. Captain Forneret was on the phone but hung up when he saw them. He came around his desk and embraced Dupree like an old friend.

The two broke from their hug, and the commander stood there studying his former companion. “I didn’t think I’d see you back here again. To tell the truth, I didn’t think they’d let you come back.”

“This is not a pleasure trip.”

“And it better not be, not with a hurricane bearing down . . .”

“Our man isn’t put off by natural disasters.”

“And it’s nothing to do with Samedi?” The commander watched him closely.

Dupree’s expression hardened.

Forneret tried to match his stare but gave up after a couple of seconds. “Don’t get offended. I had to ask.”

Amaia turned to Johnson but found him looking down at the floor, carefully disengaged. Perhaps he knew what they were talking about.

Dupree felt Amaia’s eyes on them, and it appeared to annoy him. “I’ll be happy to continue that discussion later on, but right now we have to get to work. And I’m sure you’ve got plenty on your plate. Do you have what I asked for?”

“I do. I hear y’all are looking for a really bad one. I want you to know it’s a real sacrifice to release a man like Jason Bull right now.” He lifted a warning finger. “Dupree, I’d have helped you out, even without a call from the big boss, but since you went over my head, I hope you’ll mention this station’s enthusiastic support and cooperation when you turn in your report afterward.”

“You can count on it.”

The commander settled in behind his desk, picked up the phone, punched a button. Two men appeared in the doorway to the office. Neither looked older than thirty. One was white, the other African American. Trim and muscular, they wore tight jeans, black T-shirts, and sneakers. Each had a pistol holstered on his belt. If it hadn’t been for the bulletproof vests and the New Orleans police badges, Amaia might have taken them for actors.

“Come in, boys,” Captain Forneret said. “Let me introduce y’all to FBI special agent Dupree and his team. You’ll be working with them for the next few days. Agent Dupree, let me introduce you to the two best assault cops in New Orleans, Detectives Bill Charbou and Jason Bull. Bill and Bull. They’re with the Violent Crimes Unit. These fellas have arrested more criminals than all the rest of my officers combined. They know these streets better than anyone.” He grinned. “If I had a son, I’d trust them with his life; if I