Two of a Kind? by Greg Cox & J. J. Abrams

Author:Greg Cox & J. J. Abrams
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon Spotlight Entertainment
Published: 2005-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

Saint Louis Cemetery No. 4

New Orleans

By day the antique cemetery was only slightly less creepy than it had been the night before. The crumbling vaults continued to hold their air of mystery and the macabre, despite the glaring sunlight. Depending on their age and state of repair, the tombs ranged in color from sooty gray to pristine white. In places, red brick showed through crumbling whitewashed plaster. Weeds sprouted from the gabled roof of a neglected stone mausoleum. Rubble littered the crisscrossing walkways between the tombs. Palm trees swayed along the iron fence enclosing the cemetery.

Candles, flowers, playing cards, and other offerings rested in front of many of the tombs, some of which bore chalk marks in the shape of Xs. The chalked crosses meant that such tombs held the bones of a deceased voodoo leader whom cultists still appealed to for supernatural assistance; each chalked X represented a boon requested by a hopeful supplicant.

I could use a little help locating Kestrel, Sydney thought, adjusting her sunglasses. Too bad I didn’t bring any chalk or sacrificial gifts.

“Nearly eighty percent of New Orleans lies below sea level,” a tour guide explained, “which made underground burials pretty much impossible back in the old days. One heavy rain and, voilà, the coffins came floating up to the surface!”

A small throng of tourists chuckled at the grotesque image. Although the Quarter’s cemeteries were open to the public during the day, it was considered unsafe to wander them alone. Sydney wasn’t particularly worried about getting mugged—she figured she and Maya could take care of themselves—but why attract unwanted attention? It was just easier to tour the cemetery as part of a group.

At least until they found what they were looking for.

In tourist garb, complete with sunglasses, wigs, and cowboy boots, they covered the same ground Sydney had explored the night before. This time Sydney was better equipped, however. Her Beretta rested snugly in her purse, while her green thermal sunglasses allowed her inquisitive gaze to penetrate the brick and stone walls of the tombs.

“Any luck yet?” Maya asked.

To her relief, Sydney had found the other woman waiting for her back at their hotel room when she returned from the cemetery the night before. According to Dixon, who had kept Maya under surveillance all the way back to the hotel, the Indian assassin had done nothing more suspicious than take a streetcar ride after she and Sydney had parted company at La Maison du Vodou, aside from ordering room service at APO’s expense. Marshall, who was carefully monitoring all calls to and from the hotel, had not reported any irregularities either; Maya had not attempted to contact anyone in Sydney’s absence.

“Not yet,” Sydney whispered. “He’s here, though. You can count on it.”

Tuning out the guide’s spiel, she continued to scan the tombs via her X-ray glasses. As expected, most of the vaults contained nothing but decomposing bones, along with the occasional lizard or rat, but Sydney was patient; the tour was just reaching the rear of the cemetery, where she had lost Fujiwara several hours earlier.

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