All the Devils Are Here(102)

He’d leaned so close to the window that his words fogged up the glass. And on it, he drew what looked like a snowflake before returning to his chair. “Let’s continue.”

“They’ll hear everything we say,” said Annie, lowering her voice. “They’ll know what we know. And don’t know.”

“Yes, but—” Jean-Guy began.

At that moment there was a bang and the door to the suite blew open. While the others froze, Armand and Jean-Guy sprang to their feet.

Roslyn and the girls came in. Laughing and talking. Then, seeing their faces, Roslyn stopped.

Armand immediately lowered the knife he’d grabbed from the tray. A spoon clattered out of Jean-Guy’s hand.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing,” said Jean-Guy.

“Nice, Rambo,” said Annie, glancing at the spoon.

“Yeah, well, look what you grabbed, Betty Crocker.”

Annie looked at the scone, now crushed in her hands. And smiled.

“Okay,” said Roslyn, uncertainly. “We’re just getting our coats. Sky’s clearing, so we thought we’d walk over to the Arc de Triomphe.”

Daniel got up, hugged them, and explained that it was probably best if they stayed in the suite. Roslyn was about to protest when she studied his face and nodded.

“Come on, girls. Grab your books. We’ll go upstairs, lie on the bed, and read.”

It took some convincing, and the promise of time on the iPad, but they finally agreed.

Daniel took them up, then returned to the table. “You’d better be right,” he said to his father. “If you’re wrong and anyone gets hurt …”

He couldn’t finish.

“Yes.” Armand turned back to Madame Arbour. “Tell us what you know about GHS.”

She looked frightened and unsure. And she was.

Séverine Arbour was used to flow charts and schematics. To things that made sense. Or, if they didn’t, there was a method, a way to find the flaw and correct it.

Engineers were problem solvers.

But this was a problem she couldn’t seem to solve. Couldn’t even see. Not clearly.

And it was getting muddier by the minute. She could feel the hysteria roiling up inside her.

Composing herself, she took a deep breath and plunged on.

“This all started—”

Gamache’s phone buzzed with an incoming text, and he dropped his eyes for a moment, then held up his hand.

“Désolé. Just a moment.”

He turned his phone around for all to see the message that had just arrived.

Can we meet? Fontaine des Mers, Place de la Concorde. 9 p.m.

It was from Claude Dussault.

He typed, Oui.

“Are you insane?” demanded Daniel.

“Maybe,” said his father, but without a smile.

“He’s listening,” said Annie, looking around, as though the Prefect might appear from behind the sofa. “He knows we’re getting close. That’s why he wants to talk.”

Instead of answering, Armand put a finger to his lips and, getting up, he motioned them to follow.





CHAPTER 33




Armand took Annie and Jean-Guy aside. Lowering his voice, he said to his daughter, “You need to stay here.”

“No.”

“I’m sorry, but Honoré will be awake soon. And there’s—” He pointed to the unborn baby. “Please.”

“Where’re you going?”

“Not far, but I can’t say.”

She stared at her father, as serious as she’d ever seen him.

Armand turned to Jean-Guy. “Would you like to stay with Annie?”

“I …” He wanted to stay. To stand in front of her. And the baby, and Honoré.

But he also wanted to stand beside Armand.

And there were things only he knew. Things he needed to tell them.

“I …”

“You need to go with them, mon beau,” said Annie. “We’ll be safe. We have the cop, and no one’s going to bother us with such a strong, handsome, manly man protecting us. I bet he has a huge gun.”

Jean-Guy narrowed his eyes in mock concern.

“Go,” Annie whispered and gave him a long kiss as her father looked away.

Outside the door, Jean-Guy spoke to the cop, letting him know that if anything happened to Annie and Honoré, to Roslyn and the girls, he would come for him.

“Entendu,” said the flic, and tightened his grip on his automatic rifle. “Je comprends.”

“You’d better understand,” said Jean-Guy as Armand and Reine-Marie, Daniel and Séverine Arbour waited by the elevator. “And you tell no one we’ve left.”

“Oui. I mean, non.”

The ferocity of Jean-Guy’s tone and expression had thrown the cop off a bit.

Once in the elevator, Reine-Marie said quietly to Armand, “You’re not really going to meet him, are you?”

He took her hand and squeezed. “We’ll talk.”

But she had her answer.

Jean-Guy stood in silence, watching the numbers drop. With each floor they passed, there was a chime, meant to be cheerful, but all it did was rattle him further.