Drake nodded. “Down to the last bush. We’ve got aerial. We’ve got blueprints. We’ve got the contractor who did the work fifty years ago and his son who added a few new escape routes since then. Talked to the painters, the electricians and even the plumber. All a very long time ago, back when Cordeau was alive and getting a stranglehold on the territory. Elijah’s uncle was very thorough finding out about every boss connected to his business. But more than that, when Gaton moved his ass to Rafe Cordeau’s mansion, he made the mistake of his life. We’ve got Catarina Perez, and she was raised there. She knows every inch of that property and she drew it all out for us.”

18

RAFE Cordeau had bought one of the oldest plantations existing near New Orleans. The huge rambling house with its elegant white pillars and large wraparound verandah spoke of decadence and affluence. It hid the secrets of those who had lived before, although Elijah thought Cordeau’s ownership was fitting.

The property was large. Great cypress trees with barreled trunks lined the water lapping at the lawn on two sides of the house. Great shawls of Spanish moss dripped down toward the water, swaying in the slight wind. The swamp crept up toward the house on the other two sides, threatening to take back the property at any moment.

The air smelled musty. Old. The farther Drake and Joshua moved through the swamp, the more often they came across the old slave cabins Cordeau had renovated for his men to use for various activities. It was where Cordeau’s lieutenants took their women so screams couldn’t be heard. It was where they took enemies and tortured or beat them into submission or to death.

As they got closer to the main house, they ran into razor wire strung through the trees and brush. The motion detectors in the trees were much more frequent here, and the guards were used to animals setting them off. Drake and Joshua didn’t. They moved with ease through the dense vegetation, not making a sound, closing in on the plantation, the sniper rifles flat against their backs, avoiding every single motion detector and camera along the way.

The road leading to the plantation had never been paved and Cordeau had kept it that way. He liked looking at the tracks and recognizing who drove what vehicle. Once he’d learned to identify tire tracks of each, he always knew who had come close to his property.