Kneeling, Walt found a small hole in one plank that went right through the floor. The hole was smaller than his little finger. He searched the desk again until he found what he hoped for, a metal rod with a hook on one end. Inserting this hook in the hole, he lifted a concealed trapdoor about two by three feet wide. His heart began to pound when he saw what lay beneath: two heavy floor safes with combination locks set in their faces.

He was gauging his chances of breaking into those safes when the rumble of a low-flying airplane sounded over the lodge. After twenty seconds it faded, then returned, though at diminished volume. Walt’s heartbeat had just about returned to normal when he heard the whup-whup-whup of a helicopter approaching. This was a different engine. The rotor-driven craft flew directly over the lodge, then hovered and began to land in the clearing outside. With no time to flee the building, Walt dropped the trapdoor, replaced the hook in the desk, and ran for the staircase in the great room.

THE LAST THING BILLY Knox wanted to do while Concordia Parish was turning into a redneck version of Fallujah was return to Louisiana, especially in the company of his father. But since his cousin had sent the invitation, remaining in Texas wasn’t an option. At Forrest’s command, Snake had flown Billy and Sonny over in the Baron, while three more Double Eagles had set out from Toledo Bend by car and would arrive in five hours or so.

Snake had spent most of the flight offering theories for why his bullet hadn’t killed Henry Sexton at Mercy Hospital, all of which amounted to detailed but pathetic excuses. Only Claude Devereux’s hint that Forrest planned to retaliate for the morning’s drug busts by killing Penn Cage and his girlfriend had brightened Snake’s mood. He was furious that “that newspaper whore” had written a story claiming he’d murdered and mutilated Pooky Wilson in 1964. That Snake was in fact guilty of the crime seemed not to matter to him, but Billy had learned long ago not to demand reason from his father. While Snake went on and on, Billy had simply put on his headphones and listened to Steve Earle for the remainder of the flight.

Forrest’s Redbone enforcer had met them down at the landing strip in an SUV, then ferried them up to the lodge. Now they trooped into the great room like GIs summoned to a pre-mission briefing. Billy had never served in the military, but everybody else had, and there was no mistaking the martial air of this meeting. Snake made quite a thing of laying his rifle case on the coffee table, as though it held some ceremonial weapon about to be consecrated.

Forrest straddled a heavy wooden chair at the center of the room, facing the sofas and club chairs. Ozan played waiter and got everybody their preference in alcohol, but even before it arrived, Snake launched into a monologue on the ways he might remove the human threats to their organization. Forrest let Snake run, but Billy hardly looked at his father. He sensed that Forrest had something very different in mind. Finally, after a couple of shots of bourbon, even Snake began to sense something amiss. When he finally stopped talking, everyone sat in awkward silence, which was unusual at Valhalla, where family members and Double Eagles had always felt completely at home.

Forrest looked at each man in turn: Billy, Sonny, and finally Snake. Then he began to speak, softly but with absolute authority, as if it were understood that no one would interrupt him. This was no mean feat when Snake and Sonny were a generation older than he. Billy could never have pulled this off without his father butting in, but Forrest was different. He always had been.

“We’re under attack from at least four different directions,” he began, “and probably more. The FBI is after us, both for what the Double Eagles did back in the day and for our current operations. The Masters girl is trying to crucify us with her newspaper. Penn Cage wants us because of the threat to his father. And Walker Dennis wants revenge for the cousin he lost a couple of years back. To that you can add a whole department that wants blood because of the deputies that died from the bomb in the warehouse this morning.”

Forrest looked directly at Snake. “While my instinct when attacked is to counterattack, violently, I’ve decided that we’re not going to dump gasoline on this fire. We can’t afford to.”

Billy saw his father gearing up to argue, but Forrest raised his right hand a few inches to forestall him. “Brody apparently lost his mind last night. I should have seen it coming, but I didn’t. He did us the favor of taking Henry Sexton off the board, but we don’t know what information he might have passed to others, or what our current exposure is. We don’t know what Morehouse told Henry before you guys took him out, but we have to assume the worst. We also don’t know what Viola Turner may have told Dr. Cage or Henry Sexton before she died. So . . . we’re pretty much in the dark when it comes to the exact nature of the threat. The body count is already unacceptably high. Even if we suspend operations and nobody else gets killed, it’ll be weeks before the FBI pulls out of the parish. And that is what we are going to do. I’ve already given the orders to my people, and you guys will do the same.”

Snake’s face had gone red, but to Billy’s amazement, he didn’t rush to fill the vacuum of Forrest’s first pause.

“The fact that what’s been in the paper has focused on the 1960s is encouraging,” Forrest went on, “because proving any of those crimes in court would be virtually impossible, especially with all the witnesses dead. One of you guys would have to turn state’s evidence for them to get a conviction, and I assume that will not happen.”

“You’re goddamned right it won’t,” Snake vowed.

Forrest acknowledged his fury with a nod. “But that doesn’t mean we’re in the clear. This morning’s busts will allow Dennis to put a lot of pressure on your mules, cookers, et cetera.” Forrest looked at Billy. “What do you think our exposure is from those people?”

“Zero to minimal,” Billy said. He’d been thinking about this all morning. “Hardly any of them can hurt us, and we’re holding wives or kids of the few who could. They won’t talk.”

“Good. Make sure our men in the CPSO reinforce that. If one man tries to cut a deal, mamas and babies start dying. Just the fact that we have people on the inside will scare the hell out of them.”

For the first time, Snake nodded in satisfaction. Probably at the coldness in Forrest’s voice, Billy thought.

“As for the bigger picture,” Forrest continued, “we’re going to play it very cool. There’ll be a lot of moving parts to my response. First, I’ve called up the Black Team. They’ll start arriving here today. If anybody needs to be threatened or hit in the short term, they’ll handle it. The Bureau has no idea who they are, as opposed to you guys. Second, I need time. First, to get Mackiever out of his job. But there are other reasons, too.” Forrest flexed his fists and looked around the room. “To that end, you guys are going to have to do something you won’t want to do. But we have no choice.”

Snake’s eyes had narrowed in suspicion.

“Sheriff Walker Dennis has asked that you guys and four other Eagles come in to the CPSO tomorrow for voluntary questioning.”

Billy’s stomach flipped over. Snake looked like he was about to bust a gut, but still he waited to hear what was coming. Sonny Thornfield was obviously terrified.

“Why me?” Billy asked hoarsely.

“Not you,” Forrest said. “I misspoke there.”

Billy nearly fell out of his chair with relief.

“At seven tomorrow,” Forrest said, “Snake, Sonny, and the other named Eagles are going to do exactly that. To my knowledge, Dennis has no plans to arrest you. This amounts to harassment, plain and simple. But you’re going to put up with it, because I need the time.”