All the Devils Are Here(129)

He found her down a side aisle, deep in a cabinet.

“It’s here,” she said, handing a dossier to Gamache.

Putting on his reading glasses, he rapidly went through the pages, once. Then, more slowly, a second time. Finally, he raised his head and caught her anxious eyes.

“Nothing,” he said, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes. “I was hoping this might tell us where in Calais he hid the evidence. That he might’ve even left a note behind.”

He looked at his watch. It was 6:35. Less than an hour. Making up his mind, he closed the folder.

“Can you keep the others here?” He tucked the file under his arm.

“While you?”

“Take this to where they’re holding my son.” Before she could ask, he said, “Time’s run out, and I have to take them something.”

Allida Lenoir stared at him, then glanced at the thick file. “You know, stealing a document, especially one as valuable as the number of nails in Calais in 1523, is a criminal offense.”

“I will await the full force of French law,” he said with a smile. “I locked the door behind us. Is there a back way out?”

“Yes. Not used often. It’s down this way. Apparently this was originally built by the second duke as a way to sneak out to see the stable boys.”

Gamache followed her to what appeared to be a dead end. But on closer examination what looked like paneling was actually a stout door.

“This will let you out onto the second floor of the museum. What was once the duke’s bedroom. When you get down to the main level, head to the right. There’s a corridor that’ll take you to a side door. It’ll be locked, but there’s a panic bar.”

“Merci. Lock this behind me. Whatever happens, don’t let them out.”

“Why not?”

“It’s just safer.”

She looked at him, then nodded. “Do you still want me to keep up the Calais ruse?”

“Ruse?”

She looked at the dossier he clutched. “There must’ve been a helluva need for nails in 1523. That file’s unexpectedly thick.” She paused. “But I am not.”

“Non,” he said with a smile. “You’re not.”

He slipped through the door and turned on the flashlight on his phone.

As he took the stairs two at a time, he heard the key turn in the lock.

There was no going back now.

“Where’s Gamache?” asked Alain Pinot.

“He’s gone.”

“Gone? Where?”

“How?” asked Judith de la Granger.

“There’s a door at the other end. He found it and went through.”

“Then we should leave, too,” said Pinot, getting up.

“We can’t.”

“What do you mean we can’t?”

“He locked us in.”

“Why would he do that?” demanded Judith de la Granger.

“Oh, shit,” said Pinot. “That file he found. It’s got the documents, doesn’t it? He’s going to give it to them.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Madame de la Granger. “He’d never do that.”

“No? Then why’s he free and we’re trapped down here?”

“Not trapped,” said Madame Lenoir. “Safe.”

“Is that what he told you?” said Pinot, staring at the locked door. “Does this feel safe?”

Gamache knew he was nearing the surface because his phone started vibrating.

And it also, he knew, began transmitting his location.

He looked at the battery level. It had been more than a day since he’d charged it, and it was down to four percent.

Putting it on low-battery mode, he took the final twenty steps and, pausing at the top, he shut off the flashlight.

Every moment counted. Every percent of power on his phone counted. But he took the time, and the power, to look at his messages.

Annie was in the last stages of labor. It looked like they’d have to do a caesarean. It was not uncommon in these sorts of births. They didn’t want to put more stress on the baby’s heart.

Armand wrote a quick message to Reine-Marie and Jean-Guy. Sending encouragement to Annie and to let them know he was all right.

Love, he wrote, Dad.

Then, tucking his phone into his pocket, he peered through the crack and listened.

He couldn’t afford to be stopped now. He touched the gun in his pocket.

Nor would he use that on one of the museum guards.

Crouching, he pushed the door open and moved quickly into the bedroom.

He heard a sound and ducked behind the high bedstead.

A guard walked by and paused at the open door. Not a museum guard. This one was in full combat gear and wore the SecurForte insignia.

And carried an automatic rifle.

Gamache backed farther away. And knelt. Placing the dossier on the floor, he opened it and took some photos. Using up precious battery power. Then he sent them to Jean-Guy, Isabelle Lacoste, and himself.

He knew now. Knew what they were hiding. And others needed to know also. In case.

Removing most of the documents, he spread them under the carpet, then checked his phone.

It was now down to three percent power. And the time said five to seven.