Page 149

All she knew was that Bernard de la Coutu was a curator in the Louvre’s Department of Paintings.

“I’d like you to come with us,” said Armand. “I promise, it won’t take long.”

The curator raised his brows and studied the couple, then nodded. “Absolutely. I’m a huge fan of Clara’s paintings, especially her portraits. She’s become a good friend. I’ll do whatever you need.”

Daniel’s mouth dropped open. He understood why his mother wasn’t worried about them being crammed into the suite. The space, even by Stephen’s standards, was insane.

But even more striking than the suite was the officer at the door. He looked grim and held a machine gun.

He remembered the look on his father’s face, in the garden that morning.

In his outrage, he’d interpreted it as his father being afraid that Daniel knew the truth about his being a member of Task Force Two. And would tell the cops.

Now he understood that his father wasn’t afraid of him. He was afraid for him.

Leaving his family behind to explore the hotel, Daniel got into a taxi.

“Thirty-six, quai des Orfèvres, s’il vous plaît.”

“Are you sure this is smart?” asked Xavier Loiselle.

La Défense loomed up ahead, like its own great kingdom.

“It’s so stupid, it’s probably brilliant,” said Séverine Arbour. “Or it’s so brilliant, it’s stupid.”

“That gets my vote,” said Loiselle.

They’d taken the métro to the familiar stop. Once they exited the station, Loiselle dropped back and pretended to be tailing them.

Beauvoir and Arbour signed in and showed their IDs. There was a tense moment when the guard double-checked.

Had SecurForte twigged to what was really happening? Maybe Loiselle had turned them in after all, or—

Just as Beauvoir’s mind sped through the possibilities, none of them good, they were waved through.

Beauvoir and Arbour got off the elevator at their floor, then took the stairs two flights up to Carole Gossette’s office.

“We probably don’t have much time,” said Beauvoir.

He tried Gossette’s office door, but it was locked. Then he nodded toward the assistant’s desk.

He and Arbour started pulling out drawers. Looking for a document. A file. A note. Anything that might tell them what was in the water sample from the mine.

He sat at her desktop and tried various codes to get in.

“So, here you are.”

Beauvoir looked up. Standing at the door was Xavier Loiselle, and beside him was a man in his mid-forties.

He was fit. His arms hung loosely out from his sides, like an old-time gunslinger. It was the stance of someone prepared, preparing, to act. It wasn’t hard to sense aggression in this man.

Beauvoir recognized him. Even though he’d only seen his profile, and that only briefly. But he’d stared at the image long enough to recognize the third person at the table.

The one sitting with Claude Dussault and the head of GHS, drinking tea from fine bone china in the George V.

Beauvoir could feel Séverine Arbour tense. Could hear her ragged breathing.

“Do I know you?” asked Beauvoir.