Chapter 42

C HAPTER 42

"Are you accusing me of being part of all this?" Sébastien was staring at Lacoste in amazement. "Whatever ‘this' is."

"I'm saying if these people"—she held up the clippings—"were murdered as a punishment and warning to Brother Robert, because he'd spoken to the Abbot, then only four people could have told the killers about that meeting. The Abbot, Brother Robert himself, Sister Irene, and you."

She held his stare. Not giving ground.

"That's insane."

"And," Lacoste continued as though he hadn't spoken, "only one of you could have thrown Robert from the tower."

Her stare turned into a glare. "I need to know what Robert told you. I need to know who in Washington confessed to him about the attack."

Sébastien's right hand, hidden by the folds of sackcloth, now appeared. In it was a knife he'd picked up off Brother Constantine's table. It was short, but sharp.

8G.

"You're sure about this?"

"Not at all," said Gamache.

Beauvoir made a guttural sound but said nothing, just pressed the buzzer.

Again. And again.

"Who is it?" The voice was young. And both annoyed and worried.

"My name is Armand Gamache. I'm with the S?reté."

"It's"—there was a pause—"past eleven. What do you want? Has something happened?" Now her voice had risen into full-blown fear.

"Not to your family, no. We need your help. Please, let us in."

"Step back where I can see you."

Gamache did, looking up into the camera.

"What do you need? Why're you here?"

Time was ticking. No time now to be vague.

"There's going to be an attack on Montréal's drinking water. We need your help."

"That's ridiculous."

"Would I be here if it was?" Gamache was getting angry. "You recognize me, you know you can trust me."

"Maybe. But that fellow with you looks shifty."

Another growl. Then silence.

"I'll come down."

Manon Lagacé appeared minutes later, impossibly young in jeans and a sweatshirt that said école Polytechnique . There was a tiny white rose pin on it.

"Give me your phone." Gamache held out his hand.

"No. And I'm not getting into a car with you until I see your IDs and you tell me more."

"Oh, for God's sake," snapped Beauvoir. "The attack is going to happen in"—he checked his phone—"thirty-seven minutes."

"Then you'd better hurry."

Both Gamache and Beauvoir did, digging out their IDs. She took them, quickly compared the plastic to the real thing, then handed them back.

"Okay. Tell me."

"Can we at least walk toward the car?" Beauvoir asked.

"No. You're wasting your precious time. Tell me."

"In"—Gamache checked his phone—"thirty-six minutes, Montréal's water will be poisoned, from your treatment plant."

Both officers watched her closely. She seemed completely taken by surprise. "Why do you think that?"

It was a legitimate question, but he didn't have time to give a full answer.

"Charles Langlois told us." It was the shorthand and would have to do.

"The maintenance worker?"

"You knew him?"

"We talked. I'd heard he was killed in a hit-and-run." She studied Gamache. "You were there. It wasn't an accident?"

" Non. The poison is botulinum."

She quickly absorbed this information. "But that would kill…"

"Thousands," said Beauvoir. "Tens of thousands. Patron , we have to go, with or without her."

"He's right. Please, come with us." Gamache stared at her, and when there was no reaction, he turned and walked quickly to the car. When he heard footsteps running to catch up, he almost wept.

While Beauvoir sped through the suburb, Gamache asked, "Can the plant be shut down?"

"Yes, there's an emergency shutoff. It's in the command center on the top floor. This would be sabotage, obviously. A terrorist attack."

"Yes."

She looked around. "Then why aren't there more of you? The RCMP. A SWAT team. We must have an anti-terrorist unit. Why don't you have your S?reté people all over it? Where are they?" Then she sat back, her face going slack. "Oh, shit. This's domestic terrorism. You don't know who to trust, do you?" When Gamache was silent, she said, "We're alone."

"We're enough," said Gamache. "Thanks to you."

"Yeah, well…"

Beauvoir pulled over half a block from the plant.

"If you were going to put poison into the system, how would you do it?" Gamache asked.

"I'd use one of the two main points of entry, on the lowest level and level two. I'd also place someone in the command center, to shut off the treatments and make sure no one sounded an alarm or powered down the plant. Overnight there's a smaller staff. The shift change happens at midnight, then eight a.m., and so on. Christ. That means the senior engineer on duty must be involved. I know him." She stared at Gamache, the full impact hitting home. "I need to reach my family, warn them." She grabbed for her phone, but Gamache leaned over and took it from her.

She went to strike him across the face, but he grabbed her wrist. " Non. " He barked. "The only way to save them now is to stop the attack."

"Shit," she said. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"You with us?" he demanded.

She looked at him with rage. "I'm not on duty today. They won't let me in."

"All you need to do is distract them," said Beauvoir.

It was easier than they dared hope. The head guard knew the junior engineer, and while he was unclear why she was there, he was not alarmed.

He became alarmed when Beauvoir pulled out his gun and forced him and his colleagues into a back room, put them in cuffs, and locked it. But not before disarming them.

Gamache took the guard's handgun and placed it in his belt.

"You didn't tell me you were going to do that," said Manon.

"Some of the guards will be in on it," said Gamache. "Where's the command center? We have to shut the plant down."

"But that won't work. Not right away. It'll take at least ten minutes for the circulation to stop completely. And they'll know it's shutting down. If they put the poison in then, it'll still flow through and out into the city."

Gamache paused for a moment. Thinking.

"Is there a way to close off the pumps themselves?"

"Yes, there's an emergency protocol, but it can only be done in the pump rooms."

"Then that's what we'll do. What's the protocol?"

"A code."

"Give it to me."

He wrote the five numbers and a symbol on his hand. "How will the attackers communicate? Will phones work?"

"No. Too much concrete and metal. There's a landline in every room."

"Just internal, or does it go outside?"

"You can make outside calls."

"Thank God for that," said Gamache as he met Beauvoir's eyes.

"You'll need this to get in." She handed him her ID card. "Place it against the screen on the outside of the door and it should unlock."

"Should?"

"Will."

"Will they know if a pump has been shut down?"

"Everyone in the command center will know. Red lights will start flashing."

"They must be able to restart the pump," said Beauvoir.

"True, but that takes hours."

"Where are these pump rooms exactly?"

Manon walked over to a wall in the security office. "Here's a schematic of the plant. Pump One is here." She pointed to the lowest level. It was in the center of the huge floor. "The other is two flights up, right over the first. The emergency controls to shut them down are on a board beside the turbine. There'll be workers there who'll challenge you."

"There'll be more than workers," said Beauvoir. "And they'll more than challenge. I can take the lowest level."

" Non. You need to go with Madame Lagacé and get control of the command center before those alarms go off."

"Let me go, patron . You get to the control room."

Gamache actually smiled. "And which of us is most likely to be stopped and challenged?"

While far from happy, Beauvoir knew he was right and that this was the only option.

" Bon ," said Gamache. "When you see that Pump One is offline, give me three minutes, then shut down the plant and call Forrest. Get the tactical unit here. Once I shut down the second pump, we need to make sure the attackers don't escape. And we need to take them alive."

Beauvoir nodded. "Right."

Gamache gripped Jean-Guy's forearm. "You have to hold that command center. No matter what. You're the last line. It cannot be crossed." He held Jean-Guy's eyes. "No matter what happens."

Jean-Guy knew what Armand was saying.

Lacoste backed away from Sébastien.

"How in the world could you agree to this? The deaths of thousands, tens of thousands."

"How in the world?" demanded the monk, almost screaming. "How in the world? Have you seen the state of the world? Something had to be done to shake the leaders out of their complacency. Reason wasn't doing it. Facts weren't doing it. If even wildfires weren't doing it, what would?"

"My God, are you trying to tell me you're involved in a plot to poison Montréal's drinking water as a way to save the planet?"

"Yes! Yes. To get people to finally wake up and see the dangers. If it takes an act of ecoterrorism, then so be it."

"You're delusional. It's just plain terrorism."

"I don't care what you call it. My conscience is clear."

"What conscience? You're willing to kill thousands to get the attention of politicians?"

"Politicians? You're kidding, right? They're the ones who've allowed it to get this far. No, we're beyond that. We need one strong leader who can take control. Someone brave enough to do what's necessary."

"You're a fool. You're being used. They've turned your good intentions into something ugly. Can't you see? Murdering thousands isn't the answer."

"Then what is? We've tried everything else." He advanced on her.

That's as far as he got. Brother Constantine swung the heavy book containing the ancient recipe for Chartreuse and hit Sébastien squarely on the side of the head, knocking him senseless. As Chartreuse had done for centuries.