Forrest looked back at those years as literally the antediluvian period of the city. A new future was coming, one very different from that envisioned by the black and mixed-race “leaders” who’d controlled the city’s political machine Before the Deluge. He would put none of this in his report, of course. He would cite studies by conservative think tanks and bleeding-heart liberal groups alike, all of whom agreed that the city was in danger of dying. The stinger would come in the tail of his assessment, where he would quote U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration officers who’d reported that young black thugs were already returning to their old haunts, trying to stake out new turf before their rivals in the drug trade could get back to the city. You didn’t have to lay it on very thick for that kind of story to scare the living hell out of white corporate types.

Forrest’s secure cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He usually didn’t answer it while at headquarters, but with the problems back in his home parish, he felt he needed to. Sure enough, the code name on the LCD screen told him the call was from an informant in the Concordia Parish Sheriff’s Office.

“What you got?” Forrest said by way of an answer.

“Mayor Penn Cage and Henry Sexton came to Walker’s office a little while ago. They had a bone with them. They said it came out of the Jericho Hole.”

Forrest felt a seismic shift, as though the floor had rumbled beneath his feet. “What was the result of their visit?”

“They got their nose bumped. I heard Sheriff Dennis yelling at them from my desk. They looked unhappy when they left, but they were talking about the FBI.”

“I see.” Forrest heard footsteps approaching his door. By the sound of them, he was about to receive a visit from the only man in the building who outranked him. “I’ll have to call you back.”

He clicked END and barely got the phone back in his pocket before Colonel Griffith Mackiever opened the door and took a seat in the chair opposite Forrest’s desk. Five foot ten, with iron-gray hair, Colonel Mackiever had the grip of a lumberjack. A former Texas Ranger, he seemed to believe he knew everything there was to know about law enforcement, and for the time being, Forrest had to act as though he agreed.

“How you coming on that report?” Mackiever asked.

“It’s slow going. But I’m making some headway.”

“I’d just as soon you slow it down some more.”

“What do you mean?”

Mackiever raised one eyebrow. “We’ve got no business trying to act as a municipal police force within New Orleans. It’s still a mess down there, but we aren’t the answer.”