some of President Featherston's fiery intensity, but he seemed a more likable, more human figure. They both got what they wanted-people did as they told them to-but by different roads. That ain't was a nice touch. Huey Long had a law degree; such language wasn't part of the way he usually talked. But he brought it out naturally, using it to connect with the crowd.

'Come on,' he told Anne. 'Let's get on over to the statehouse and talk.' She nodded. That was what Jake Featherston had sent her to Louisiana to do.

The governor's limousine was a Bentley with a hood as long as a battleship. Featherston would never have set foot in such a flashy motorcar. He had, so to speak, risen from the ranks, and didn't want to lose the common touch. Governor Long, by contrast, reveled in luxury.

Motorcycles ridden by state troopers preceded and followed the limousine. So did police cars with red lights flashing and sirens blaring. Long turned the short trip from the station to the Capitol into a procession. More photographers were waiting for him and Anne as they went up the steps into the impressively domed building.

Hard-faced guards surrounded them going up those steps. More guards waited at the entranceway. Still more patrolled the corridors. However much Huey Long posed as a friend of the people, he didn't trust them very far. A horde of sweepers also patrolled the hallways, and kept them spotlessly clean.

'If I'm rushing you, just sing out,' Long told Anne. 'You want to go to a hotel and freshen up, maybe even take a day to rest, it's all right by me.'

'Thank you, but I'm fine,' she said. 'I'm here now. We may as well talk now, don't you think?'

'However you want it, that's how it'll be,' he said grandly. 'Suppose you go on and tell me why you're here.'

'That's simple, Governor: I'm here to deliver a message for President Featherston,' Anne answered. 'You must understand that, or you wouldn't have given me such a… splendid reception.'

'Well, now, I want you to know it was my pleasure,' Long said, and then, as if relishing the phrase, repeated it: 'My pleasure. I'll be glad to listen to this here message, whatever it is, even though I have trouble seeing what sort of a message the president of the CSA would want to send to me. I'm just minding my business here in Louisiana, and I reckon he ought to do the same outside my state.'

'That's… part of what the message is about,' Anne replied, much more nervous here than she'd ever been while dealing with Action Franзaise. If Governor Long didn't like what she had to say, she might not get home to South Carolina.

He nodded now, though, all graciousness. 'Go on, then,' he told her.

'You understand that this is unofficial,' Anne said. 'If you quote me, the president will either call you a liar or say I wasn't speaking for him.' Long nodded impatiently. He'd trumpet what came next anyhow, and Featherston would disown it. But now the formalities of things unofficial had been observed, so Anne went on, 'You could call this a warning, Governor. If you don't bring Louisiana into line with the rest of the CSA, you'll be sorry.'

Huey Long scowled. 'Bring it into line, you say? What's that supposed to mean? Knuckle under to the Freedom Party? Pardon my French, Miss Colleton, but I'll be damned if I'll do that.'

You'll be damned if you don't, Anne thought. Aloud, she said, 'The president is concerned about the direction you're taking Louisiana in.'

'I'm not doing anything he hasn't done,' Long said.

He was right, of course. But he'd started later, and had only a state to work in. That wasn't enough, not when he was up against the rest of the country. If he didn't see that… If he didn't see that, maybe he was too full of himself to see it. Anne said, 'You'd do better not to get all stiff-necked about this, Governor. The president is very determined.'

'What's he going to do? Invade my state?' Long snorted, ridiculing the mere idea. 'If he does, we'll fight, by God. I'm just as good a Confederate patriot as he is any day of the week.'

Despite his threat, he didn't take the idea seriously. Anne did. One thing she was sure of: Jake Featherston would tolerate no threats to his own authority. She said, 'I don't know what he'll do. Whatever it is, do you really think you could stop it? This is only one state, after all.'

'I'll take my chances,' said the governor of Louisiana. 'We haven't seen much freedom since the Freedom Party took over. But Featherston can't run again in 1939; it's against the Confederate Constitution. I think maybe I can whip anybody else in the Party. Willy Knight?' He gave a contemptuous shrug. 'If he hadn't climbed onto Featherston's coattails, he'd still be a loudmouthed Texas nobody.'

He wasn't wrong about that, either, or about the single six-year term to which the Confederate president was limited. More than once, Anne had wondered what Jake Featherston intended to do about that. What could he do? She didn't know. To Huey Long, she said, 'That's all, then. I've told you what I came here to tell you. I have a reservation at the Excelsior. May I go there?' It wasn't an idle question; Long might want to hold her hostage. 'Just so you know, the president won't pay ransom or anything like that to get me back.'

'Oh, yes. I know. Run along,' Long said. 'You're not a big enough centipede in my shoe to get excited about.'

That stung. Of all the things Anne least wanted to be called, small-time ranked high on the list. Smiling as if he knew as much, Long escorted her to the limousine. The driver put the car into gear without asking where she was going. Five minutes later, he pulled up in front of the Excelsior. 'Here you are, ma'am.'

'Thank you.' She tipped him. A colored bellboy put her suitcases on a cart and wheeled them into the hotel. Anne went to the front desk. After fuming while she waited in line, she gave her name to the clerk.

'Oh, yes, Miss Colleton. Of course. And how are you this lovely afternoon?'

Anne hesitated a split second before answering. She'd expected to hear that precise question, but not so soon. 'Tired,' she told him. If she'd said, Just fine, the world would have been a different place. She didn't know how, not for certain, but one response meant one thing, the other something else.

The clerk's face showed none of that. With a sympathetic smile, he said, 'You take it easy here. We've got fine rooms, and the best restaurant in town, too.'

'All right. I'll try it.' She collected her room key and went upstairs, the bellboy trailing along behind her. She tipped him and the elevator operator, then unpacked and indulged in the luxury of a bath before going down to the best restaurant in town. It lived up to the desk clerk's description. She soon saw why: a lot of the plump, prosperous men who ate there were Louisiana legislators. Talk of power and of business filled the air.

The restaurant gave a view of Roselawn, the street that led north to the Capitol. Anne was about halfway through an excellent plate of lamb chops when chaos suddenly erupted outside. Sirens screaming and red lights blazing, police cars and ambulances raced toward the statehouse.

Several of the important men in the restaurant wondered what was going on, some of them loudly and profanely. A telephone in the corridor that led to the place jangled. A waiter hurried from the corridor to one of the tables full of prominent people. A handsome, gray-haired man went back with him.

A moment later, curses as explosive as any Anne had ever heard filled the air. The gray-haired man rushed back into the room, crying, 'Governor Long's been shot! Shot, I tell you! Nigger janitor was carrying a gun! Goddamn nigger's dead, but Governor Long, he's hurt bad!'

Pandemonium filled the restaurant. Men sprang to their feet shouting frightful oaths. Women screamed. A few men screamed, too. Anne went right on eating her lamb chops. She was supposed to get out of town tomorrow, and hoped the state authorities would let her leave. If they started wondering what connection she had to a desk clerk and a desperate janitor… All she knew about was one code phrase. No. She knew one other thing. When Jake Featherston gave her this assignment, she'd known better than to ask too many questions.

'You can't do this to me,' the silver-haired lawyer insisted. 'It violates every tenet of the Constitution of the Confederate States of America.'

Jefferson Pinkard shrugged broad shoulders. 'If I had the time, I could tell you there's martial law in Louisiana, and so whatever the Constitution's got to say doesn't matter worth a hill of beans. If I had time, I could do that. But I don't have time. And so-' He slapped the lawyer in the face, then backhanded him with a return stroke. Then he punched the silver-haired fellow in the pit of the stomach. The man tried to double up, but the guards who had hold of him wouldn't let him. In friendly tones, Pinkard asked, 'See what I mean?'

He wondered if the lawyer would say something stupid and need another dose. Some of these people did. They'd run things in Louisiana for a long time, and had trouble figuring out they weren't in charge any more. They ran their mouths off, and they paid for it. Oh, yes, they paid plenty.

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