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“Bert Whitehead said our wildfires were a deliberate terrorist attack?” Armand was dumbfounded.
“He was quoting what others are saying. I forgot to tell you. Actually, to be honest, patron, it seemed such a ridiculous claim I dismissed it. But…”
They turned back to the screen.
“Send these links to General Whitehead over the secure server.”
While Beauvoir did that, Nichol said, “Why bother. He’s obviously already seen the posts. Those images are beginning to break out onto the regular web. Not just dark sites. Even mainstream media is beginning to pick it up. And they’re warning there’s more coming. The crazier ones are saying the fires were deliberately set.”
“Do they say why?” asked Lacoste.
“No, never. Who cares why?” said Nichol with a snort. “This isn’t about reasons or reason. It’s all emotion.”
Armand opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. There was nothing intelligent to say. Checking his watch, he turned to the door.
“I need to leave.”
“I’ll drive you,” said Jean-Guy, knowing perfectly well where he was going.
“Me too, patron. I can work on this on the drive,” said Lacoste. She lowered her voice. “Please don’t leave me with her.”
She jerked her head to indicate Yvette Nichol, who was shoving popcorn into her mouth, picking at her teeth, and humming three notes over and over as she stared at her screen.
She spat out a shard of popcorn; then, on seeing Beauvoir’s face, she rolled her eyes, heaved a long-suffering sigh, and picked it off the floor.
Gamache went in search of Reine-Marie.
He found her in the kitchen. The dogs, and Gracie, were gobbling their dinner, and she was opening a can of ravioli from Monsieur Béliveau’s General Store.
“Has it come to that?” he asked.
“I made the mistake of asking our guest what she might like for dinner. This was the answer. We haven’t had it since Annie insisted. Remember that?”
For two weeks it was all their eight-year-old daughter would eat, thanks to some ad on television showing a little boy running through a street in Italy.
“Better than when all Daniel would eat was canned spinach, thanks to Popeye,” said Armand. “What are you having?”
“I’m going over to the bistro.”
“Don’t you mean taking refuge there?”
She laughed. “Sauve qui peut.” At the door she said, “Do you remember how Animal House—”
“Farm.”
“—Farm ends?”
He thought a moment, then shook his head.
“The pigs and the humans sit down to dinner together. And it’s impossible to tell them apart.”
What a brilliant, terrifying book, thought Armand as they drove to the meeting.
CHAPTER 21
Armand stopped just inside the door and exhaled a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.
“Bert.”
