All the Devils Are Here(138)

Armand had stopped at their apartment for a quick shower, a change of clothing, and two extra-strength aspirin for his splitting headache. In fact, his whole body hurt.

Except his heart.

He’d called Reine-Marie and told her what had happened. She in turn had told Jean-Guy, but Annie had been resting.

“Dad? You’ve seen her?” Annie now asked, her voice thick. “Idola.”

“Idola,” her father whispered. “Perfect. She’s perfect.”

He looked at Jean-Guy. “May I?”

Idola’s father got up and carefully handed his daughter to her grandfather, looking him in the eyes. “We’re safe?”

“Oui.”

Armand cradled her, then reluctantly handed the baby back to her father.

Jean-Guy sat down and, closing his eyes, he rocked his daughter, feeling her heart against his. And her tiny feet resting against the jagged scar across his belly.

Daniel walked around the table to stand behind Alain Pinot. He bent down and whispered, “You’re in my seat.”

“What’s this about?” demanded the CEO.

“He sold his place on the board,” said Daniel.

“That’s not true,” said Pinot. “I have no idea who this man is.”

“Of course you do, sir. You tried to have me killed just a few minutes ago.”

“That’s absurd,” said Pinot, appealing to his fellow board members.

“You conspired to murder the Chief Archivist, the Chief Librarian, and one of GHS’s own engineers, Madame Séverine Arbour,” said Claude Dussault. “And you were party to negligence by GHS Engineering that has led to the deaths of tens of thousands.”

There was an immediate uproar in the room amid calls for the chair to do something.

“Quiet,” Dussault demanded.

He walked them through what had happened.

The derailment of the train in Colombia. The questions asked by the journalist. Her visit to the water treatment plant, and the old mine. Her subsequent murder in Patagonia. The recent attack on the financier Stephen Horowitz. The murder of Alexander Plessner.

“But why?” asked the former President of France.

Claude Dussault concisely, precisely, told them about the mine. The neodymium. The ore secretly shipped back. And used in planes that crashed.

As he listed the tragedies, the Prefect felt his control slipping. His voice rising. Bridges that collapsed. Trains that derailed and elevators that failed.

Until, at the final example, he lost all composure.

“And nuclear power plants.”

Pounding the table with both fists so that the board members startled, he shouted, his voice almost a scream. “For God’s sake,” he pleaded. “What. Were. You. Thinking?”

Tears had sprung to his eyes, and he had to stop himself. Bring himself back under control.

“You knew. Some of you knew.” He looked at Madame Roquebrune, who held his eyes without apology. Then to Alain Pinot. “You piece of shit, you knew. And you’d have let it happen.”

He saw the blood drain from the room. And he wondered how many of them were thinking of those who’d died and might still. Or of themselves.

“Stephen Horowitz came to you with his concerns a few years ago, didn’t he?” Daniel said to the CEO, giving the Prefect a chance to catch his breath. “You promised to look into it, but instead you covered it up. And when he realized that, and collected evidence himself, you began a campaign against him. Ending with an attempt on his life Friday night.”

“That’s a lie,” said Eugénie Roquebrune. “Slander.”

“The truth,” said Claude Dussault. “Monsieur Horowitz sold his entire art collection. Raised hundreds of millions of dollars, and with that money he bought Monsieur Pinot’s seat on this board.”

The CEO was shaking her head and smiling. “You’re misinformed. The places on the board are given freely. They’re not for sale.”

“But the stock options that go with the seat are. They’re not supposed to be, there was an understanding that they’re never sold. Stephen knew he had to approach someone who was especially greedy.”

All eyes turned to Alain Pinot.

He looked at his fellow board members and colored.

“Okay, yes, he approached me. Because we’re old friends. He was like a father, a mentor to me. Most of you know that.”

There were some nods, but most remained stony-faced.

“He wanted on the board, but I refused, of course,” said Pinot. “I’d heard rumors about his Nazi past, and I knew that would tarnish GHS and everyone associated with it.”

The mention of “Nazi” had the desired effect. Daniel and Dussault could feel the tide turn. Could see support for Pinot rising. There were murmurs of agreement.

“Well done.”

“Quite right.”

“Merci.”

“Stephen Horowitz was no Nazi,” snapped Daniel. “Just the opposite. He worked for the Resistance.”

“Right,” said one member. “And so did Pétain.”

The damage had been done. Doubt had entered the room.

“I have proof,” said Pinot, pressing his advantage. “A file on Horowitz you yourself found, Monsieur le Préfet, hidden in the Archives nationales.”