Chương 39

Erin came to the table after coordinating the revised schedule with Venessa and the mayor's office. She carried a tablet in one hand and a paper folder in the other.

"Good morning, Miss Bourbon, Mr. Collins," Erin began.

"As you may already be aware, there has been a revision to this morning's youth program. The French Quarter cultural festival has been withdrawn. We'll be consolidating the morning into an indoor historical briefing and a reduced cultural exchange at the Jazz Museum. Movement will be streamlined accordingly." Louis nodded and said nothing.

"The luncheon has also been shifted to the administrative wing at the museum rather than the courtyard at Pat O'Brien's. The riverfront stop will remain under review and will be confirmed only after the second security assessment." She glanced toward Constantine, then back at the tablet.

"The senior delegation will proceed separately on the original 11: 00 a. m. schedule for Camp Lakefront and the Collective Naval Warfare Center. Mr. Collins, Miss Bourbon, and Miss Simington will depart for the museum in thirty-five minutes." Angelique stared at her coffee cup. Gladice looked up from spreading marmalade on her toast.

"So that's that," she said.

"We've removed the only part of the day that might have looked alive." Jessamine glanced at her. Erin did not evade the remark.

"We're making the best use of the morning that remains," she said.

"How efficient," Gladice replied. Louis looked down at his cup. Gladice was right, and he did not have the energy to resent it. The French Quarter event had been meant to show New Orleans as a city rather than a fortified post on the Dixie border: balconies, old courtyards, and guests received in the open. With it gone, the morning had been reduced to briefings, sealed rooms, and adjusted routes. Across from him, Angelique took a sip of her coffee.

"Very well." She set down her cup.

"How do we move?" Erin straightened her glasses.

"Transport has been arranged. We'll leave together by the south exit to avoid the west-facing lobby cameras. There will be a press wall, but it will be managed. When you arrive at the museum, you will be greeted by the director. The presentation will be in the main hall. You and Mr. Collins will be seated in the front row with Miss Simington." Gladice gave a short laugh.

"So I'm being assigned to hold the line with Louis and Angelique?" Erin replied, "Your presence would be helpful, Miss Simington. It signals continuity with local leadership."

"Of course it does," Gladice said. Erin closed the folder.

"Security will move the youth delegation first," she said.

"Please be ready in the corridor in eight minutes." Gladice rose without hurry, folded her napkin, and set it beside her untouched toast.

"Well," she said, smoothing her skirt, "if we are to be paraded as proof of civic continuity, I should probably look the part."

"No one is parading anyone," David said. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Gladice looked at him.

"Of course not." Louis stood when Angelique did. Two members of Constantine's detail joined them as they stepped into the corridor. A third took position farther ahead, and Gladice fell in on Angelique's other side. They did not take the main elevators. Instead, the guards led them through a narrower service corridor with the same expensive paneling as the public hallways. At the end of the corridor, a woman from hotel management held open a separate elevator. No one spoke on the way down.

Louis caught Gladice's eye in the mirror. She gave him a brief smile, then looked at his injured hand. The doors opened onto a low-ceilinged private reception corridor on the south side of the hotel. Glass doors at the end of the passage looked out onto the south exit. Reporters stood behind waist-high barriers, separated from the exit by two lines of security officers. A local aide stepped forward as soon as they appeared.

"We'll move on my count," he said to the security detail. Then he addressed Louis and Angelique.

"Straight to the vehicles, please. No stops." Gladice glanced through the glass at the cameras.

"How intimate." The outer doors opened. Warm, humid air reached them at once. Then the shouting hit them. The chants came in a steady rhythm.

"JUSTICE FOR VAUTRIN!"

"COLLINS, APOLOGIZE!"

"NEW ORLEANS IS NOT FOR SALE!" The signs varied just as much. Some were professionally printed. Others had been painted overnight on cheap board. One showed a blurred event photograph of Julian laughing, with one of his front teeth painted black. Louis glanced at it and bit his lower lip to keep from laughing. He caught Gladice's eye. She stuck out her tongue, then pulled it back before any of the cameras could catch it.

Near the back, someone had written HE TOUCHED THE WRONG WOMAN in broad black marker across what looked like an old bedsheet. The sign might have seemed absurd if the people upstairs had not spent the morning turning the same idea into official language. The security officers held their line. Cameras turned toward them. They walked. Angelique looked straight ahead. Gladice put on her sunglasses. Louis fixed his gaze ahead and tried not to think about how many clips would be cut from this ten-second crossing.

The vehicles stood at the curb with their engines running. Louis and Angelique were directed into the rear compartment of the middle vehicle. Gladice got into the lead car. Two New Orleans Defense officers took the jump seats. The doors closed one after another. Air conditioning and reinforced glass cut off the heat and most of the shouting. The convoy began to move. Louis saw the riverfront in brief gaps between buildings and security vehicles.

At the next corner, three men stood just beyond the official barricade with hand-lettered signs. However carefully the route had been planned, someone had found a place close enough to be seen. Louis kept looking until the car accelerated and the signs disappeared behind them.

"They're not even shouting about the same thing," Angelique said at last. He glanced at her. She was watching the street through the window.

"It doesn't matter," he said.

"No," she agreed.

"Not anymore." Louis looked outside again. Between checkpoints and police vehicles, he still caught glimpses of balconies, painted walls, and trees wet from the morning humidity. None of it was part of their visit anymore. They moved through the city behind reinforced glass, along streets cleared and narrowed for the convoy by people who would never appear in the photographs.

He remembered how the Quarter event had been described days earlier: walking through the streets, brief introductions, an old courtyard, and local history presented where it had happened. What remained now was transit. Angelique looked out at the same street.

"I guess you're thinking about the part that was canceled."

"Yes."

"So am I." She shifted in her seat.

"We were supposed to have spent an hour pretending to be normal tourists. Instead we will sit and listen to a lecture and smile at people who are already pretending the only thing that matters is that we are sitting in the right order."

"There's nothing we can do about it now." Louis looked down at his legs.

"I'll take the blame."

"Let's just get it over with." Angelique sighed. The car slowed at an intersection cleared for the convoy by police motorcycles and municipal vehicles. Beyond them, a small group of people stood behind tape and barriers. Some lifted phones. Others only watched. A woman in a Saints jersey gave the convoy her middle finger. The convoy turned inland, leaving the open riverfront behind for streets lined with lower buildings.

A local security officer in the front seat spoke quietly into his cuff, listened, then said, "Museum approach is clear." The Jazz Museum appeared ahead beyond two squad cars and a line of waist-high barriers. From a distance, it still looked like a cultural institution rather than a secured venue. But police cars, barriers, and security checks had turned its entrance into another controlled access point. The convoy rolled forward under escort and stopped.

Outside, museum staff and local officials were already lined up to receive them.