Glass Houses (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #13)(100)

Everyone, except Gamache, looked at the clock on the wall. He was perfectly aware of the time, but also of the folly of being pushed into a near-panicked decision.

“We do not tell the DEA,” he said.

There was a commotion, as everyone spoke at once. Objected at once. He let that die down too. And when there was silence, he spoke.

“If we told them that the heads of two of the largest syndicates in North America will be coming out into the open, that they’ll be meeting tonight, when a drug deal is going through, what do you think they’d do?”

He let them think, but only briefly.

“They’d mobilize,” he answered his own question. “They’d have to. We would too, if told the same thing. Even if they were willing to let us take the lead, there’d be so much activity, the syndicates couldn’t help but notice. No. There’re risks either way, but my decision stands. We do this alone. We stick to the plan that has brought us this far.”

“But what happens if the meeting is on the other side of the border, sir? Where we have no jurisdiction?”

“We might lose them both,” someone else jumped in.

“You let me worry about that,” said Gamache. “Focus on your own jobs tonight, and I’ll focus on mine.”

He’s not going to let that happen, Jean-Guy realized. One way or another, the head of one or both cartels would be brought to justice, if Armand Gamache had to drag them back across the border by the hair.

“Chief Inspector Lacoste is on site?” Gamache asked.

“She’s monitoring the head of the Québec cartel, and will let us know any movement,” said Toussaint.

“Bon. Inspector Beauvoir, you have the tactical plans?”

“I do.” He pointed to the ordnance maps on which he’d laid out where each of them would be positioned and what their objective would be. Plans every person in the room was very familiar with.

Their lives, and those of their comrades, depended on knowing exactly what would be expected of each of them. What each of their targets and objectives would be. Both primary and secondary.

They’d be a small force, so each agent had to be perfectly placed. Every person, every movement, precise.

The tactical team had been alerted, briefed, weeks ago, without being told the objective.

The S?reté had two great advantages. They knew, after months of monitoring, exactly where the drugs would cross the border. And the syndicates had been lulled into believing the S?reté was completely useless.

There was, though, another great advantage, Beauvoir knew. One perhaps less obvious. Motivation. Desperation even. Their backs were to the wall, to the ocean. This had to work.

But now something unexpected, though not unwelcome, had been added.

The head of the East Coast syndicate would also be there, and would no doubt bring his own small army.

A series of unknowns had been thrown into their carefully constructed plan.

The stakes had just gone higher, and the rewards had become almost inconceivable. But so had the dangers.

“They might not be relevant anymore,” Beauvoir warned, gesturing toward the maps.

“The American head might change the drop-off point,” Toussaint said. “There might be another one they prefer.”

Gamache could feel the tension rising. And he could sense the mammoth efforts each agent was making to keep their anxiety under control.

“They might. Or they might not. We can’t know. All we can do is go with what we do know, and be prepared to pivot. D’accord?”

“D’accord, patron,” they said as one.

Gamache thought for a moment, going over the strategy laid out in the plans. Then he turned to Beauvoir. “Do you think there’s a better way to do this?”

Beauvoir had also been quickly reviewing the plans, now indelibly in his head.

“I’ll need to adjust it,” said Beauvoir. “With the head of the syndicate there, there’ll be more security. And they’ll be more alert. But”—he thought about it—“I think the plan is still solid. As long as nothing else changes.”

“Your informant is with them?” Gamache asked, and Toussaint nodded.

“Bon,” said Gamache, getting to his feet. Everyone in the room rose with him. “If we have to makes changes on the fly, well, it won’t be the first time, will it?”

That brought laughter and knowing nods. Though the more veteran members of the team weren’t laughing so much anymore.

“I’ll be in my office if anyone needs me.”

As soon as the Chief Superintendent left, Beauvoir bent over the plans he’d worked on at home, for months, hoping this day would come.

When Honoré awoke in the night, he’d fed and soothed him while Annie slept. Rocking his son gently, and poring over the map, murmuring plans of attack.

How to hunt, arrest, and if necessary kill.

Not exactly Winnie the Pooh. Or Pinocchio. Not the bedtime story he’d hoped for his child. But if they were successful, it did increase Ray-Ray’s chances of growing up healthy and safe. Of never having to find out what happens when the straight road splays.

“All right.” Beauvoir got the attention of the assembled agents. “Let’s go through this.”

He glanced again at the large clock on the far wall.