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Daniel’s only hope, the only way to survive, was to get it over with. To emotionally “kill” his father and get on with life. Get on with loving those who would not leave him.

It was a brave, a brilliant solution. With one flaw.

Once dead, how could he possibly bring his father back to life?

“I advised Daniel to go to Commander Fontaine and tell her everything he knows about Alexander Plessner. And whatever they were working on.”

“But Fontaine’s involved,” said Reine-Marie. “She must be. She had the archival documents. She must’ve been the one who put Daniel’s name on the search. She might’ve even been the one who killed Monsieur Plessner. You have to stop him. He can’t go to her.”

“I don’t think he will, but I hope he does. It’ll show Fontaine that we don’t suspect her. It’ll stay their hand against Daniel. They’ll know he has no idea what’s really going on. If he did, he wouldn’t confide in her. Still, I think they’d be safer moving to the George V, too.”

“Maybe we should go home, Armand. Back to Three Pines.”

The thought of the little village made her heart ache.

“We can’t,” he said softly. “You know the airline won’t let Annie on the plane. Not days before delivery. Besides, they’d find us wherever we go. No, whatever happens, it happens here.”

Here, here, he thought. Where the devils are.

She nodded and closed her eyes briefly. Taking a last look at the peaceful village before putting it out of her mind.

“Armand,” she said, playing with a piece of baguette. She scrunched the fresh bread in her fist, feeling the shards of crust biting into her palm. “There’s no way Daniel …”

“No. He’s not involved.”

“Bon,” she said. “What do you think they’ll do next?”

Armand had been considering that. What would he do? What would Claude Dussault do?

He thought about Stephen. About the files buried in the archives. He thought about the Lutetia.

“I think they’ll try to place someone close to us. Get someone into our inner circle.”

“But how could they do that?”

“We’re alone,” said Xavier Loiselle, as he, Jean-Guy Beauvoir, and Séverine Arbour made their way around the circular platform.

“What do you mean, we’re alone?” demanded Arbour, looking at the crowd. Thinner than usual for a Sunday, but then the low cloud and occasional drizzle had turned many off.

“What he means is, no one followed us,” said Beauvoir.

“Why would they? What’s this about?”

“I think you know. And now I want you to tell me.”

She lifted her chin and stared him in the eyes. “Are you threatening me?”

“Not at all. In fact, I’ve decided to trust you. I think you’ve found something out, something about the Luxembourg project, and I want to know what it is.”

“What makes you think something’s going on, never mind that I know anything?”

“Your behavior Friday. You came into my office, uninvited, and started asking questions about the funicular project. Why?”

“Why did you change the subject?”

“Did I?”

“You know you did. From Luxembourg to the Patagonia project,” she said. “What do you know about that?”