Rain pummeled the shelter and drove at a diagonal toward the streetcar stop at Poydras and Loyola.

Jamison had just left his quarterly review meeting at the Moynacorp building, which occupied the footprint where the toxic Plaza Tower had once stood. That day, the twenty-third of May, was the first day off he’d had in some time. It was hard being a sergeant.

As usual, he had withheld some details regarding Samuel’s personal life. He only had to tell the agents enough to assure them that Samuel’s past vulnerabilities remained dormant. As long as there was no sign that anyone was attempting to use Samuel to intercept intelligence regarding the United States or France, all would be well.

At the very least, there had been no changes in that regard. Samuel’s life had changed as muc...

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