Chapter 14

C HAPTER 14

It was almost midnight by the time Armand stepped onto the veranda of their home in Three Pines.

The fieldstone, clapboard, and brick homes around the village green were in darkness, but visible against the splash of stars in the night sky. The only light in the village came from his home, like a beacon. He stood on the porch and watched the fireflies lighting up here and there. At random. Impossible to predict where the next one might appear.

The bulb on the porch was attracting moths. They flapped around, bumping into it. Repeatedly.

Armand often wondered what they hoped would happen after that first bump. Why keep trying?

Though he understood the compulsion. He sometimes felt like a moth. Butting his head against something that looked promising but was an illusion. Even a delusion.

The door opened before he reached it, and Henri bounded out, curling around Armand's legs. He'd have tripped had he not been prepared for it.

Reine-Marie was just a step behind the shepherd and had Armand in her arms before he'd made it across the threshold. She hugged him tight, and he buried his face in her sweater, smelling the scent of old garden rose.

And she inhaled the scent of sandalwood. Then she held him at arm's length to study his face. "Are you all right?"

"I am. Now."

She smiled and in her best Clouseau said, "You have a ‘bimp,' monsieur ." Bending his head down, she kissed the bruise on his forehead.

He laughed. And just like that, his headache disappeared.

"Better?"

"Always."

They sat on the two-seater porch swing, rocking gently, back and forth, back and forth. Henri, Fred, and little Gracie asleep at their feet.

There had been no question that Armand would tell Reine-Marie everything. And he had, to the accompaniment of the crickets and frogs and the far-off howl of a wolf, down from the mountains to hunt.

The night was cool, verging on cold, but they were warm under the striped Hudson's Bay blanket across their knees. Reine-Marie brewed a pot of tea while Armand got into fresh flannel pajamas. He didn't often wear them in summer, but he felt the need for the comfort they provided. Besides, Reine-Marie was in hers.

It was, as he sat beside her and sipped the tea, possible to forget for a moment, a blessed moment, his suspicions. His fears. The size of the monster he suspected was there.

He felt Reine-Marie's hand in his, her thumb softly, softly caressing the back of his hand, where Charles's whipped cream had been. As though it were still there. Always there.

And then, not looking at her but staring up at the night sky, he'd begun.

When he finished, he looked at her. They had turned the porch light off, and her face was lit softly by the light from their living room. She looked tired. Drained. Older than her fifty-seven years. Older than she'd looked just minutes earlier. Before he told her.

And he suspected he looked ancient.

How different their lives might have been had he become a professor or lawyer. Carpenter or farmer. Had he studied anything else besides the ways and whys people killed each other.

But then they'd never have found this village. These friends. This rambling old home. Their daughter, Annie, would not have met and married Jean-Guy and had Honoré and Idola.

Was it a fair trade? After days like this, on nights like this when his job weighed heavy on them both, Armand was far from sure.

"It might be a toxic spill," she said. "Up north."

"True."

She was quiet for a minute or so. "But you don't think so?"

"A toxic spill is an accident. Whatever is happening has been planned."

"You really think this is an attack on our drinking water."

He nodded. "I'm afraid that's what it is. We're looking into pollution by some mining or paper company, but the scope of this is too big. The planning too complete."

"But that would harm thousands," she said.

He wondered how far he should go, but realized she needed to hear the truth.

"They'd probably use a nerve agent, a neurotoxin. The anti-terrorist task forces have run the scenarios. Tens of thousands dead is on the conservative side."

"Oh, dear God." She clutched his arm. "You have to warn people."

"I can't. Not until I'm sure."

"People have a right to know. You need to give them a chance to get out, to defend themselves. Their children…"

"You're right, but if we do, the terrorists will know we're on to them, and they'll move up the attack."

"Or stop it. Decide not to do it." Her eyes were wide, imploring him to see reason. To see what she saw.

"That would be worse."

"How?"

"This has been years in the planning. Too many people are involved, compromised. Too much money. If I'm right, probably hundreds of millions have gone into it. They won't stop the attack, they'll postpone it. Move it to another time, another place. One we can't predict. Non , we got lucky, and have this warning. It won't happen again. Our only hope is to catch them."

He could see Reine-Marie's mind working fast, twisting, sliding, trying to find an argument that would see him issue a public alert. But finally she closed her eyes.

He waited.

When she opened them again, she nodded.

"We're on well water. I'll call Annie and Daniel first thing in the morning and have them come down with the children."

"But you can't tell them why. This needs to stay between us. And we can't warn anyone else."

"The LaPierres?" He shook his head. "Your agents? Armand, the men and women in your department."

Armand felt sick. All the way down he'd wrestled with this. Like a moth, he kept bumping into the light, knowing all the time that it was hopeless. And worrying it wasn't a light but a flame.

" Non. Just the children." He felt a lump fizz in his throat. He understood the terrible thing he was doing. Saving his own family, and leaving the rest behind.

Reine-Marie was about to argue, but seeing his face, she stopped herself. Together they sat on the porch, the swing now still, and stared at the stars.

"Can you maybe issue an alert to not drink tap water?" she finally said. "Just drink bottled water? Say there's E. coli or something. It happens."

Reine-Marie was traveling down the same route he'd taken, desperately examining all the options. But again, they were illusions, delusions. There were no options.

"That would also alert the terrorists. I'm sorry, but they have to believe that Langlois told me nothing. That at worst we think it's a toxic spill in some northern lake. There is one more thing."

Putting down his mug, Armand turned to her fully. In the demi-light, he saw Reine-Marie's eyes widen, then narrow as she steeled herself.

Armand hated, hated, hated having to do this. And he despised the person who'd made it necessary.

"I think Jeanne Caron might be behind this."

Of all the things Reine-Marie expected to hear, that was not one.

"Caron?" Her voice was high. Not loud, but the voice of someone trying to tamp down panic. Henri raised his head, his gigantic ears swiveling toward her. "What makes you think that?"

Armand told her about the video from The Mission. Jeanne Caron deep in conversation with Charles Langlois.

"What does this mean, Armand?"

He sighed. "I don't know."

"Will you meet her now? Ask her?"

"Not before I have more information. I can't walk in there unprepared."

As he had the last time, the only time, he'd met with Caron. Both he and Reine-Marie knew what had happened then. To Armand, yes, but mostly to Daniel.

Reine-Marie's mind was whirring, racing. "Is she still the Chief of Staff to That Politician?"

Reine-Marie knew his name, would never forget it. But she could not bring herself to say it. He was simply That Politician. The one who'd gone after her husband and teenage son years ago, when Armand had refused to drop vehicular homicide charges against The Daughter.

Of course That Politician had stayed out of it and made Jeanne Caron do the dirty work. Something she was only too happy to do. And did well. But there was no doubt who was directing it. Directing her.

That Politician had been a lowly backbencher at the time, but a clever and ambitious one. Armand had managed to fight off most of the attacks, but not all. Daniel still bore the scars. And still blamed his father.

And rightly so, Armand knew.

Reine-Marie had followed That Politician's career over the years. Always hoping that fate or karma or any higher power floating around would intervene. But it had not. At least not in any way she recognized or approved of.

Instead of losing the next election and sinking back into his cesspool, That Politician had flourished, always being reelected and going from strength to strength within the party. Until he'd landed a federal cabinet post. And even then, his star had continued to rise.

"Jeanne Caron is still his Chief of Staff," said Armand. "And he's the Deputy Prime Minister."

"Dear God." Reine-Marie sighed. "I knew he was the Environment minister, but Deputy Prime Minister? How stupid is the PM to have elevated that vile man?"

Armand had wondered the same thing.

"It gets worse. He's just been handed another portfolio. He's now in charge of the Global Affairs Canada."

"I don't understand how that can be bad."

"GAC is the federal department that looks after foreign affairs and international trade, but it's also in charge of investigating domestic and international terrorism."

Had Reine-Marie been standing, she'd have sat down. As it was, she just stared at her husband.

"The Prime Minister did that? He handed both Environment and Terrorism to that man? Is he crazy? Has he lost his mind?" She continued to stare at her husband, then her mouth dropped open and she whispered, "My God, Armand. You think the PM is involved."

" Non. I don't. But I am worried."

"Why would any politician want to poison tens of thousands of their own citizens?" She shook her head. "I voted for the Prime Minister. Twice."

That was only, Armand knew, because the other candidate was even worse. A far-right lunatic. But now their centrist leader, a man elected on a platform of sober second thought and sanity, looked like the madman.

"If Jeanne Caron was at The Mission talking with Langlois," said Reine-Marie, "that must mean she was sent there by That Politician."

"Probably."

"Do you think he was the boss that Charles mentioned?"

"Could be."

"So whose side was Charles on?"

"That's a good question. I think he was being used, and when he realized what was going on, he started his own investigation."

"Then contacted you. But why break into our home? Why take your jacket?"

"I don't know yet. If only we'd found his laptop and notes."

"You will."

He smiled his thanks for that optimism. It helped, in the dark and cold. When they could hear the far-off howling of a wolf in pursuit.

Armand was woken up from a deep sleep by the sound of his phone ringing.

He struggled to the surface, fighting the sheets to get his hand clear.

" Oui, all?? " he said, groggily, though his mind was quickly engaging.

It was still dark, and he looked at the clock on the bedside table as he shoved himself into a semi-sitting position. It was 3:42.

Reine-Marie turned the lamp on and was staring at him. Her eyes wide.

Had it happened? Were they too late?

"It's Jean-Guy," he whispered. "Everything's all right. But he found something."

Reine-Marie got up and went into the bathroom.

"I'm at The Mission," said Jean-Guy. "I couldn't sleep and wanted to look at the other security tapes."

"What other ones?"

"From the overnights. Took me a while, but I finally found it."

"What?"

"Proof. That same woman came here at least three times. Well past lights-out and after the doors were locked. Langlois let her in. She was dressed down and wore a hoodie, but it's her, I'm sure of it."

Jeanne Caron. Now Armand was fully awake, as though someone had slapped him hard across the face.

"They went down the hall, toward the Exec's office. There's no camera there, so we can't see what they did."

"Well done," said Gamache. "Make a copy of those tapes and send them to me on my private account."

"Copies already made. I've just hit send."

Reine-Marie was in the kitchen making coffee when he came back from walking the confused dogs around the dark village green.

A mist was rising from the Rivière Bella Bella as the cool morning air hit the warmer water.

Armand had woken up stiff, with aches and pains. But after a warm shower and walk around the village green, he'd loosened up.

"Three hours' sleep," she said, carrying their mugs to the far end of the kitchen. "You going into Montréal?"

He was already dressed for work, in a suit and tie.

"In a few hours. I need to go over some things."

They sat with their coffees in the armchairs on either side of the woodstove, and he told her what Jean-Guy had said.

"So Jeanne Caron must be the ‘boss' Charles was talking about." Reine-Marie paused. "But he seemed to think she might be on his side. Is that possible?"

"I suppose it is."

"But you doubt it."

He thought for a moment before answering. "I think the Jeanne Caron we met years ago was a chrysalis. Practicing, training, learning. Just beginning to turn into the person she's become."

"If that was the larva, what is she now?"

"I think we both know the answer to that."

"And Charles Langlois didn't see it?"

"He was beginning to. And she probably realized that. On the tape from The Mission, it looks like Caron and Langlois weren't so much talking as arguing. We can't blame Langlois for being taken in by her. She's a master manipulator. And I'm no better than him. Worse, in fact. Charles told me the S?reté is compromised, and I have no idea who he means, and I work with them every day. Have for years."

That was one of the most terrifying things about what was happening. The fact he could not see the threats that must be so close. Disguised as colleagues, allies, friends. The fact he could no longer trust people he'd trusted for years.

"I'm sorry. I've been so wrapped up in what happened that I haven't asked you about your day."

"Let's see. My Montréal home needed new locks because it was broken into, then my husband was almost killed, and finally I learned about a plot to murder the entire population. As though that wasn't bad enough, Olivier almost poisoned us all."

"Huh? What do you mean?" He sat forward. "Food poisoning? Are you all right?"

Could he really have been so distracted that he hadn't seen that she was ill?

"No. A drink, if you can believe it. Disgusting. Some guest at the B&B gave him the recipe for a cocktail and a bottle of booze to make it with. Ruth pounded back two before she realized how awful they were. It's a miracle she didn't die."

"Well, miracle is one way of looking at it. But you weren't really sick, were you?"

"No, but close. It was vile. Even looked it. Green." She made a face. "The name alone should've warned us."

"Was it called Don't Drink This?"

She laughed. "Or maybe Poison?"

"Did the bottle have a skull and crossbones?"

"Should have. The cocktail was called something like Famous Last Words. What?"