The Canadian Civil War: Volume 5 - Carbines and Calumets

by William Wresch

  Chapter 4 –

  New Orleans

  I got moving pretty early the next morning, afraid I would be in endless bumper to bumper traffic. But the farther south I went, the less traffic I found. People weren't coming down here, and truck traffic was also lighter. Had it been this light last summer? I just couldn't remember. Was I seeing a change, or the normal state? I'd have to ask Elise; she would know.

  Once I could get my stupid car up to a normal highway speed, I of course noticed the squeal of wind through windows that didn't quite fit, accompanied by a rattle from under the hood that reminded me that I was driving the ultimate in French engineering. But I can't say that I cared. It was such a relief to finally move at a reasonable speed. There was every chance I would arrive in New Orleans yet today.

  And I did. It was a little after seven, but the sun had not set yet, so I could get a good view of the city. I decided to cruise around a bit and see how the city looked. This of course was dumb. Yes, the city was in the midst of major political debates, but what did I expect, barricades in the street? Mobs running from place to place? If there was any sign of the political events to be seen it was, well, in the signs. The Heritage Party had signs in lots of windows - "Freedom from Tyranny - Heritage Party." But they weren't the only party with signs out. "Independence now" was the sign of a party I had not heard of, something called the Provincial Nationalist Party. I thought I counted five other parties with signs, all clamoring for one thing or another. The whole thing seemed odd to me though, since the election had been in April, and the next election would not be for another year and a half. Why were they all in full campaign mode here the first days of September?

  At one point while I cruised and stared, and yes, I was probably a danger to other cars on the street since I was paying almost no attention to the road, I drove past the Granary. This was where David Starr and I had met several times. If his message had been genuine, this is where he would buy me a beer. It was well past seven, the time he had mentioned, but I parked the car and went in.

  He was sitting at a table with three men in their early twenties, all of them with shoulders and biceps that barely fit in their shirts -- consulate guards was my assumption. It was consulate guards who had saved my skin on a couple occasions the year before, and while I did not recognize any of these men, I still felt obliged. As I crossed the room I motioned to the waiter and asked that he bring another round for everyone at the table.

  "Gentlemen," Starr said in English to the men at the table, "Let me introduce Doctor Shawn Murphy, history professor, gadfly, and no stranger to trouble." I shook hands and pulled another chair to the table.

  "Good to meet all of you," I said. "I assume he has told you I needed to be escorted out of town last time I was here."

  "Just one more consular service," he replied. Then, staring directly at me, he asked, "Did you really shoot one of the terrorists in Green Bay?"

  "Wow, David, aren't embassy people supposed to be a little more discreet?"

  "Embassy people are discreet. We are just a consulate. We get to be a little more relaxed. But I suppose you are right. Gentlemen, it might be time for you to drink up and give the two of us a chance to talk. Do you mind?" I doubted they minded. They could sit with us and listen, or they could go off by themselves and enjoy the evening. Their beers disappeared pretty fast, and after a quick -- and firm -- handshake, they were out the door.

  "That was a pretty strange email you sent me." I decided to get the conversation moving.

  "It was pretty annoying for me to go all the way to Green Bay. Why not have you come down here?"

  "And why am I here?"

  "I want to take you fishing."

  "You understand we have fish in Green Bay too."

  "Not like these." He let that drop and then sat waiting for me to say something. I guess I was supposed to inquire more. I decided I would, but not about fish.

  "I'm not going anywhere with you until I know who you really are. Before I came down here, I pulled the business card you gave me last summer. It lists you as commercial attache. Dodson says you just pull drunk Americans out of jail. I have thought from day one you were a spy, but your behavior in Green Bay was so bizarre, you are either the best spy in history, or the worst. So, what are you?"

  "It is a small consulate. All of us wear many hats. But whatever we do, it is in the service of our country."

  "I need to know more than that before I go off with you."

  "No you don't. You will go off with me because you are curious. Professors are the nosiest people on the planet. You drove eight hundred miles just because an email made you wonder. You'll go tomorrow, because you want to see what is special about these fish. By the way, bring your camera. They really are special. I'll call your room tomorrow about nine with the directions to the boat." And with that annoying speech, he was done and gone. And he left me the bill for all the beers they had been drinking.

  What a jerk. The worst part was, he was a clever jerk. Yes, I would go "fishing" because I really was curious. Was I that easy to predict? Of course I was.

  I paid the bill, got in my car, and drove to my hotel. There my mood improved considerably. First, it really is a very nice hotel. It consists of five beautiful old homes that have been linked together internally, but still maintain their former exteriors. History has been preserved, but modern conveniences have been added. An attendant took my car (and complimented me as he took my keys), while another man took my bag. The manager waited just inside the door.

  "Doctor Murphy, we are so pleased to have you back with us. We have assigned you the same suite you had last summer, if that is agreeable to you."

  "Of course it is. I loved that suite, and I love this hotel. Thank you."

  "You should also know," and here he lowered his voice, "some additional security arrangement have been made."

  "Thank you. I hope you did not go to too much trouble."

  "It is the least we could do. And let me add personally, I am grateful for what you did for President Jolliet."

  "Thank you." Not sure what more to say, I just let the conversation end there, and waited until he led me and the attendant up to my rooms. I found a very nice bottle of wine and basket of fruit waiting for me, the bed was already turned down, and the windows were open to let in the evening air. I was impressed, and grateful, and said so. They accepted my thanks and left me.

  I opened my wine, poured a glass, and called Elise. Based on background noises, it appeared she was still at work. I kept the conversation short. I had arrived, I was in the hotel I had used last summer, everyone here was very nice. Tomorrow I would go fishing with David Starr. She didn't have much to report from her end, but she did remind me of Gustav's advice to write a blog. It was important that I be visible. I should do it tonight, even if it was just a few paragraphs. And that was pretty much the extent of our conversation. Add in a couple "I love you's" and that was pretty much it.

  I took my wine out to the wrought iron balcony. The night was hot and humid, but the air moved enough out there to be comfortable. I sipped my wine and watched the street. A few pedestrians, a few cars, nothing very special. I would fire up my computer in a bit and do a blog. What did I have to say? I was here, the streets had lots of political signs, I would go fishing in the morning. Little did I know that final paragraph would nearly get me killed.