A Great Reckoning (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #12)(6)

“Why are you here, Armand?”

“I’ve retired from the S?reté.”

“Oui, I heard.”

Brébeuf looked at the man who’d been his best friend, his best man, his confidant and colleague and valued subordinate. He’d trusted Armand, and Armand had trusted him.

Michel had been right. Armand had not.

Armand stared out at the massive rock in the distance, its center hollowed out, worn away by eons of the relentless sea, until it was a stone halo. Its heart gone.

Then he turned to Michel Brébeuf. The godfather to his daughter. As he was godfather to Michel’s firstborn.

How often had they sat beside each other, as inspectors, discussing a case? And then across from each other, as Michel’s star had risen and Armand’s had waned? Boss and subordinate at work, but remaining best friends outside.

Until.

“All the way here I was thinking,” said Armand.

“About what happened?”

“No. About the Great Wall of China.”

Michel laughed. It was involuntary and genuine, and for the brief life of that laugh the bad was forgotten.

But then the laugh died away and Michel again wondered if Armand was there to kill him.

“The Great Wall of China? Really?”

Michel tried to sound disinterested, even irritated. More intellectual bullshit on the part of Gamache. But the truth was, as with all apparently irrelevant things Armand said, Brébeuf was curious.

“Hmmmm,” said Armand. The lines around his mouth deepened. Evidence of a very slight smile. “It’s possible I was the only one on the flight thinking about it.”

Brébeuf was damned if he was going to ask why the Great Wall.

“Why?”

“It took centuries to build, you know,” said Armand. “They started it in 200 BC, or thereabouts. It’s an almost unbelievable achievement. Over mountains and across gorges, for thousands of miles. And it’s not just a wall. They didn’t just slap it together. Effort was made to make it both a fortification and a thing of beauty. It kept China safe for centuries. Invaders couldn’t get past it. It’s an absolutely astonishing feat.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“But finally in the sixteenth century, fifteen hundred years after it was started, the Manchus broke through the Great Wall. Do you know how they did it?”

“I’m thinking you’re going to tell me.”

But the veneer of weariness and boredom had worn away, and even Michel could hear the curiosity in his voice. Not simply because he wanted to know about the Great Wall of China, something he had not spent a moment thinking about his entire life. But because he wanted to know why Armand was thinking of it.

“Millions of lives were lost building the wall and defending it. Dynasties went bankrupt paying for it and maintaining it,” said Gamache, looking out to sea and feeling the bracing salt air on his face.

“After more than a thousand years,” he continued, “an enemy finally broke through. Not because of superior firepower. Not because the Manchus were better fighters or strategists. They weren’t. The Manchus breached the Great Wall and took Beijing because someone opened a gate. From the inside. As simple as that. A general, a traitor, let them in and an empire fell.”

All the fresh air in the world surrounded them, but Michel Brébeuf couldn’t breathe. Armand’s words, their meaning, clogged his passages.

Armand sat with apparently infinite patience, waiting. For Michel to either recover or pass out. He would not hurt his former friend, at least not at the moment, but neither would he help him.

After several minutes, Michel found his voice. “A man’s foes shall be they of his own household, eh, Armand?”

“I doubt the Manchus would quote the Bible, but it does seem universal. Betrayal.”

“Have you come all this way to taunt me?”

“Non.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I want you to come work for me.”

The words were so ridiculous Brébeuf couldn’t understand them. He stared at Gamache in undisguised confusion.

“What? Where?” Brébeuf finally asked.

Though the real question, they both knew, was why.

“I’ve just taken over as the commander of the S?reté Academy,” said Armand. “The new term starts right after Christmas. I’d like you to be one of the professors.”

Brébeuf continued to stare at Armand. Trying to grasp what was being said.

This was no simple job offer. Nor, he suspected, was it a peace offering. There’d been too much war, too much damage, for that. Yet.

This was something else.

“Why?”

But Armand didn’t answer. Instead he held Brébeuf’s eyes, until Michel lowered them. Then Gamache shifted his gaze back out to the view. To the vast ocean and the massive rock it had worn down.

“How do you know you can trust me?” asked Michel, to Armand’s profile.

“I don’t,” said Armand.

“You don’t know, or you don’t trust me?”

Armand turned then and gave Michel a look he’d never seen before. There wasn’t loathing there. Not quite. It wasn’t quite contempt. But it was close.

There was certainly knowing. Gamache saw him for what he was.