All the Devils Are Here(131)

Gamache placed the call, but there was no answer. Reine-Marie was either too busy or wasn’t picking up a call from a number she didn’t recognize.

He tried Jean-Guy. No answer.

Then he tried Reine-Marie again. This time she answered. “Oui?”

“It’s me.”

“Armand, where are you?”

“How’s Annie?”

“She and Jean-Guy are in surgery. They’ve decided on the caesarean.”

“Is she all right?”

“I think so. Yes.”

“The baby?”

“I don’t know.” There was a pause as Reine-Marie fought for control. Then repeated, “Where are you?”

He looked to his right and could see the h?pital H?tel-Dieu. His heart threw itself against his rib cage. Squeezing against it. Pushing toward the hospital. He thought for a moment it might break through.

“I’m in a taxi, on my way to Daniel. We’ll be with you as soon as we can.”

“Are you all right? Is Daniel? Armand, what’s happening? Whose phone are you on?”

“Mine lost power. I’m using the taxi driver’s. I love you. I’ve got to go.”

“I love you,” she said, and then the line went dead in her hand.

Armand gave the phone to the driver, who handed back the money.

“I have a daughter, too.” And turning down an alley, he cut three minutes off the drive.

Armand stared straight ahead, trying to see the way forward and through. The exact sequence of events that had to happen. Had he guessed right?

If not, no amount of planning could possibly work.

They arrived at Stephen’s building with just over a minute to spare.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Gamache got to the door of Stephen’s apartment and pounded on it.

The door was opened by one of the SecurForte guards. Armand looked past him and saw Daniel on his feet in the middle of the living room. Girard was beside him, pressing a gun to Daniel’s temple.

Daniel’s eyes were squeezed shut, and he was trembling.

“No,” shouted Armand.

Daniel opened crazed eyes. “Dad?”

“Seconds,” said Girard, lowering the gun.

“You came back,” said Daniel as his legs buckled.

Armand stepped forward and caught his son, lowering him to the floor so that both were kneeling.

“That was probably a mistake, Armand.”

Claude Dussault’s voice, languid and soft, came across the room. He was sitting on the sofa. Legs crossed. His hand resting on the gun beside him. Perfectly at ease. Apparently not caring if Daniel was executed.

He got up slowly and, walking over to Gamache, picked the file up from where Armand had dropped it. “Let’s see what you’ve found.”

“Are you all right?” Armand asked Daniel.

He didn’t ask if they’d hurt him. Of course they had. Few knew better than Gamache that the worst wounds were not always visible. Or physical.

Daniel’s hands were trembling, and his breathing shallow. His eyes bloodshot and steady, on his father.

“You came back,” he whispered.

Armand gripped Daniel to him. Tight.

And whispered, “Always.”

Then he leaned back and, looking into Daniel’s eyes, he said, “We can do this.”

He could see that Daniel understood what “this” now might mean.

It was the tumble down the ice slide. It was the void beyond the balcony. It was the headlong fall over the edge.

But they wouldn’t have to face it alone. There was some calm, even comfort, in that.

Armand helped Daniel to his feet and shifted his gaze to Claude Dussault. His nerve endings tingling as he watched Dussault return to the sofa and open the file.

Just then Xavier Loiselle appeared at the door. Without hesitating he strode across the room, lifted his rifle, and hit Gamache across the head with the butt end, dropping him to the floor.

“Dad!” shouted Daniel, but Loiselle turned the weapon on him.

“Come on, kid. Do it.” Then he turned back to Gamache. “That’s for making me look like an asshole in front of my team.”

“Okay,” said Girard, reaching out to stop Loiselle from taking it further, while Dussault watched from the sofa, amused. “What happened?”

Loiselle described Gamache’s escape from the archives, and heard the Prefect laugh.

“Admit it, Loiselle, he got the better of you.”

Gamache, on one knee, struggled to his feet, holding the side of his head. His hair matted with blood. “It wasn’t difficult.”

“You fucker.” Loiselle started forward again.

“All right,” said Dussault, like a grandfather calming a child who’d had too many sweets. “More important things now.”

He went back to reading. Armand watched Dussault closely. Putting his hand in his pocket, he felt the gun there.

But it wasn’t time yet. Almost. Almost. But not quite.

Instead, he brought out his handkerchief and pressed it to his head.

“Did you find the Arbour woman?” Girard asked.

“She was hiding in the museum,” reported Loiselle, bringing himself under control. “I took care of her.”

“And the others?”