by Louise Penny
“Self-respect.”
Beauvoir pushed himself away from Loiselle, the better to judge the man.
“I don’t want to do this shit anymore,” said Loiselle. “When I left the GIGN, I was burned out. I just didn’t care. I’d hire myself out to whoever would pay. But seeing you at the office the other day, it was like a slap in the face. I woke up.”
“Bullshit.”
“I let you catch me. I could’ve gotten away. Easily. I could’ve killed you. Easily. But I wanted to warn you.”
“About what?”
“They killed that Plessner man and tried to kill Horowitz. It was a shit show. And now they’re scared. They see you as a threat. They told me to scare you off.”
“And if that doesn’t work?”
“They’ll come after you. And maybe even your family. You moved them to the George V. That was unexpected. I think my bosses will take time to consider what that means and what to do next. They’re ruthless, but they’re not stupid. Killing you and your family in the George V would create far more problems than it would solve, but they’ll still do it, if cornered. You’ve bought a little time. But not much.”
“Who are they? Who’s giving the orders?”
“My orders come from the top of SecurForte, but I don’t know who’s giving them to the company.”
“Are the cops involved?”
Loiselle looked at him, shocked. “Everyone’s involved. You really have no idea how powerful SecurForte is, do you? The information it holds over politicians, cops, judges, the media. I could blow up the Tour Eiffel in full view, and if it was on the orders of SecurForte, I’d walk. Man, you better get up to speed fast, before you get run over.”
“How do I know this isn’t part of their plan? How do I know this isn’t a trap?”
“I guess you don’t. But what choice do you have?”
“You must know what this’s about,” insisted Beauvoir.
“All I know is that whatever they were looking for, whatever they killed that old man for, they didn’t find it. And they’re scared shitless that you will. But they have options. Kill you before you can find it, or stand back and let you find it. Then kill you. Either way…”
“Were those your orders? To follow me, try to scare me off, but if that didn’t work, and I found the evidence, you were to kill me and take it?”
Loiselle smiled. “You’re catching on.”
“You’re following me,” said Beauvoir. “Is someone following Gamache?”
“I think so. But I don’t know who, and I don’t know what their orders are.”
“You mean to just follow, or to do harm?”
“Yes.”
“Fuck,” said Beauvoir. He stared at Loiselle. He couldn’t hold the gun on the man and text Gamache at the same time.
Loiselle understood what he was thinking, and said, “I won’t move.”
Getting as far from Loiselle as he could in the tight office, Jean-Guy put the gun down and took out his phone. Keeping his eyes on Loiselle, he sent off the quick text, then picked the gun back up.
“What’s in Luxembourg? What’s so important about that project?”
“I have no idea, but I can try to find out.”
“Is Séverine Arbour involved?”
“Madame Arbour? In your department at GHS? Not that I know.”
“Is Carole Gossette?”
“I think so. I heard them talking about her. But I don’t know for sure.”
Jean-Guy stared at the man across from him. He had a decision to make that would affect the rest of his life, and the lives of those he loved.
Taking a deep breath, he gave the gun back to Loiselle.
CHAPTER 29
Gamache read the text from Jean-Guy. Then, replacing his phone in his pocket, he scanned the road.
Pedestrians walked by, some on their way from a service at the nearby Notre-Dame-des-Blancs-Manteaux. None looked in his direction.
“Monsieur Gamache?”
He turned just as the front gate to the archives building was unlocked. “Madame Lenoir. Merci.”
She shepherded him past security and down what looked like a dark alley, to the less-than-grand entrance to the archives.
The Musée des archives nationales, next door, was spectacular. In an old château, it was approached through a quadrangle of manicured lawn and garden.
But the archives themselves looked like they were housed in a bunker. In Moscow. In the fifties.
Reine-Marie greeted him.
“What is it?” he asked, seeing her face.
“Come with me.”
He followed her to a terminal in the reading room.
This building in the Paris archives held almost one hundred kilometers of documents, dating from 600 A.D. to 1958. But it all came down to one tiny entry.
One name.
Whatever Armand had expected to see, it wasn’t that.
“Oh, Daniel,” he whispered.
* * *
Jean-Guy looked out the window and tried to imagine he was not in a jam-packed elevator. Pushed up against the glass.
He shut his eyes and imagined himself sitting with Annie and Honoré in the bistro in Three Pines. Listening to friends and neighbors talking and laughing. The scent of wood smoke and coffee and sweet pine in the air.
He inhaled. But instead of pine, or coffee, or even the oddly comforting scent of mud, he smelled Sauvage by Dior. And felt elbows digging into him.
There was no escaping the fact he was in a crowded elevator, with Paris at his feet. Literally.
The elevator climbed higher and higher, and the space grew tighter and tighter. The scent grew more and more suffocating.
And then the elevator stopped, and he was expelled onto the very highest platform of the Tour Eiffel.
The wind was bracing. Going to the edge, he breathed in the fresh air.
“Why’re we here?” Séverine Arbour demanded.
Beauvoir was looking around, and then, spotting what he was looking for, he waved the man over.
“Xavier Loiselle, this is Séverine Arbour.”
“We’ve met,” said Loiselle, putting out his large hand.
Madame Arbour stared at it, then at Beauvoir.
“He’s a security guard at GHS. I’ve seen him when I’ve signed in. What’s this about? When you came to my house, you said something about the Luxembourg project. I thought we were going into the office, not coming here.”
She looked around.
Séverine Arbour was not afraid of heights, which was just as well. She was standing as high as a person could get in France without wings.
* * *
Le Comptoir was hopping when Reine-Marie and Armand pushed their way inside.
When they caught the owner’s eye, a spot was made for them at a small table at the back.
Armand and Reine-Marie knew this bistro in the Odéon well. Knew the patron. Knew the patrons. And would spot any strangers trying to overhear their conversation.
After they ordered two salade Niçoise, Armand told her about Jean-Guy’s brief text.
UR followed.
It was not a huge surprise. He’d assumed. What perplexed him was how skilled his shadow was, and how ham-handed Jean-Guy’s had proved.
Even if he couldn’t spot the tail, Gamache knew they were almost certainly being watched and overheard. Listening devices were so sophisticated it was almost impossible to get far enough away to prevent someone from monitoring their conversation. But they could obscure it by being surrounded by other, louder conversations.
Once they reached Le Comptoir and could finally talk, all Reine-Marie needed to say was one word.
“Daniel.”
“They planted his name,” said Armand.
Reine-Marie looked relieved, though Armand knew this was actually reason to be even more worried.
“They wanted us to think he was involved,” she said.
“Non. I think they knew we wouldn’t believe it. But they want us
to see the threat. As a warning.”
Like a head on a stake during the Terror, he thought.
“To show us what they can do, to Daniel, to any of us, if they want,” said Reine-Marie.
“Yes.”
“Armand, that request at the archives was made five weeks ago. They’ve been planning this for that long?”
“At least.”
“They’re ready for us,” she said. “They know exactly what we’ll do.”
“Not completely,” said Armand. “They couldn’t have foreseen that we’d be right there when Stephen was hit. Or for us to be the ones to find Alexander Plessner’s body. This was all supposed to happen when we were at home in Québec. By the time we arrived, Stephen’s death would be ruled a hit-and-run, Plessner’s body would be removed. And whatever they were looking for would be found. We’ve messed up their careful plans. They’re scrambling.”
“But Daniel’s name in the archive requests?”
“They had to put someone’s name,” said Armand. “Whoever found those documents couldn’t use their own.”
“But how did they even know about Daniel?” She looked at him, and blanched. “Because they knew about you. Claude Dussault knows you. Knows Daniel. He did it.”
“I think so.”
“But how did he know we’d go looking?”
“He couldn’t have,” said Armand. “Not then. He was preparing for all the scenarios. What would happen if I came over, if I had my doubts about Stephen’s accident. If I started looking deeper.”
“You’d find Daniel. Oh, God.” But then her face cleared. “Could this be a good thing? If they found the old file and threatened Stephen with it, expecting he’d back down, then they clearly don’t know Stephen. And if they used Daniel’s name to threaten us, they clearly don’t know us. They think they do, but they don’t. They might be powerful, but they’re also arrogant. Surely that’s an advantage.”
Now Armand also smiled. “You’re right. They don’t know us.”
The waiter brought their salads. After she left, Reine-Marie said, “You spoke to Daniel this morning about Monsieur Plessner. How did it go?”
“He admitted he knew Plessner.”
“And?”
“And that’s all. It didn’t go well.” He was quiet for a moment. “But I did find out what’s come between us all these years.”
Reine-Marie put down her fork and listened as he told her.
After he’d finished, she sat back and stared at him. “He heard? That Christmas Eve?”
“But he didn’t understand.”
“He was a child. He thought I was crying because I was upset. Any child would. But they were tears of relief that you didn’t take the job. Once you explained, did he feel better?”
“Non. I don’t think he believed me.”
“He’s invested too much in this,” she said. “If he admits he’s wrong, it means admitting he’s wasted all those years shutting you out. Give him time. At least he’s told you. At least we know.”
“Oui.”
But Armand also knew the trauma of losing parents.
And now he knew that every day, since the age of eight, his own boy had waited for the inevitable knock on the door.
What did that do to a sensitive child? To live with such anticipated grief?
Daniel’s only hope, the only way to survive, was to get it over with. To emotionally “kill” his father and get on with life. Get on with loving those who would not leave him.
It was a brave, a brilliant solution. With one flaw.
Once dead, how could he possibly bring his father back to life?
“I advised Daniel to go to Commander Fontaine and tell her everything he knows about Alexander Plessner. And whatever they were working on.”
“But Fontaine’s involved,” said Reine-Marie. “She must be. She had the archival documents. She must’ve been the one who put Daniel’s name on the search. She might’ve even been the one who killed Monsieur Plessner. You have to stop him. He can’t go to her.”
“I don’t think he will, but I hope he does. It’ll show Fontaine that we don’t suspect her. It’ll stay their hand against Daniel. They’ll know he has no idea what’s really going on. If he did, he wouldn’t confide in her. Still, I think they’d be safer moving to the George V, too.”
“Maybe we should go home, Armand. Back to Three Pines.”
The thought of the little village made her heart ache.
“We can’t,” he said softly. “You know the airline won’t let Annie on the plane. Not days before delivery. Besides, they’d find us wherever we go. No, whatever happens, it happens here.”
Here, here, he thought. Where the devils are.
She nodded and closed her eyes briefly. Taking a last look at the peaceful village before putting it out of her mind.
“Armand,” she said, playing with a piece of baguette. She scrunched the fresh bread in her fist, feeling the shards of crust biting into her palm. “There’s no way Daniel…”
“No. He’s not involved.”
“Bon,” she said. “What do you think they’ll do next?”
Armand had been considering that. What would he do? What would Claude Dussault do?
He thought about Stephen. About the files buried in the archives. He thought about the Lutetia.
“I think they’ll try to place someone close to us. Get someone into our inner circle.”
“But how could they do that?”
* * *
“We’re alone,” said Xavier Loiselle, as he, Jean-Guy Beauvoir, and Séverine Arbour made their way around the circular platform.
“What do you mean, we’re alone?” demanded Arbour, looking at the crowd. Thinner than usual for a Sunday, but then the low cloud and occasional drizzle had turned many off.
“What he means is, no one followed us,” said Beauvoir.
“Why would they? What’s this about?”
“I think you know. And now I want you to tell me.”
She lifted her chin and stared him in the eyes. “Are you threatening me?”
“Not at all. In fact, I’ve decided to trust you. I think you’ve found something out, something about the Luxembourg project, and I want to know what it is.”
“What makes you think something’s going on, never mind that I know anything?”
“Your behavior Friday. You came into my office, uninvited, and started asking questions about the funicular project. Why?”
“Why did you change the subject?”
“Did I?”
“You know you did. From Luxembourg to the Patagonia project,” she said. “What do you know about that?”
“Patagonia?” Was she changing the subject now? “Nothing. It’s a water treatment plant.”
Now she was openly staring at him. “It’s a mine.”
“It was a mine. It was found to be the source of the pollution, so GHS bought it and closed it down. That would solve the contamination problem for the communities downriver.”
“So why’s a plant still necessary?”
“To be safe.”
“Really? How long have you been in private industry? Since when do they do things to be extra safe?”
“What’re you saying, Séverine? You need to be absolutely clear. Tell me.”
“Have you looked at the equipment going to Chile, and what’s being shipped back?”
“No. Why would I? And even if I did, I wouldn’t know what’s needed.”
“Well, I do. There’s mining equipment mixed in with gear for the treatment plant.”
Beauvoir noticed Loiselle turn very slightly toward the elevator. And the stairs.
Had he seen something? Sensed something?
Beauvoir had brought them to the top of the Eiffel Tower so they wouldn’t be overheard. They were now far too high up, and there were far too many people, for anyone to eavesdrop. Even drones would have a hard time getting up this high, certainly without being spotted.
And if anyone was f
ollowing them, they’d be mighty conspicuous on the small platform.
They were safe. Unless, Beauvoir thought as he watched Loiselle, they’d brought the threat with them.
“They reopened the mine five years ago,” said Madame Arbour.
“Why?”
“Have you ever heard of rare earth minerals?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s what they found when they tested to see what pollution they’d have to treat. In the tailings GHS found evidence of a rare earth mineral.”
“And that’s an important find?”
“Well, yes. Why do you think they’re called rare earth minerals? Because they’re rare.” Beauvoir knew that tone. The “numbnuts,” while not said, was implied. “But, more than that, they’re versatile. Different ones are used for different things.”
“Like?”
“Like batteries and cell phones, magnets. Some next-generation telecommunications, I think.”
“What kind did they find in the Patagonia mine?”
“I don’t know. I’ve tried to get the water samples, but I can’t find them.”
“But if there was something that valuable in the mine,” said Beauvoir, “why was it abandoned?”
“The original owners were mining silver. When it tapped out, they walked away, not realizing what else was in there.”
“So then GHS buys the mine to close it, but discovers these rare earth minerals. Why hide it?”
“You really are thick, aren’t you.”
“Just tell me.”
“It’s obviously not that they’ve found a rare earth mineral,” she said. “It’s what they’re doing with it.”
Beauvoir felt himself get very still. Very alert. “What could they be doing with it? Can it be used in weaponry? Munitions?”
“Not that I know of. Unless they’ve come up with a new use, it’s all fairly benign.”
“You mentioned next-generation telecommunications.”
“True, but again, not illegal.”
“But it could be worth billions?” asked Beauvoir.
“If it works, yes, and if that’s the type they found.”
“People have killed for a lot less.”
“Killed?” asked Arbour, and Beauvoir realized she didn’t know the whole story.
