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The Black Wolf

Page 107

by Louise Penny

He didn’t have time to listen to her gloat or to argue with her about AQB. If he had to, he’d issue a warrant for her arrest. It wouldn’t stand for long and he’d be sanctioned, of course. But it would get Shona out of Action Québec Bleu.

“Keep your knickers on,” she said, and was surprised by the phrase she hadn’t heard, or used, in years. It was something her grandmother, who was from Jamaica, used to say to her. It was, Shona knew, a term of endearment. “They probably are passwords, but they’re something else too. This Charles was clever. Far more clever than you realized.”

Now Gamache was paying attention.

“I contacted some scientist friends, and they sent me to someone in Environment Canada. The numbers are isobars.”

“Quoi?”

“Isobars, you know? For weather? They measure high and low pressure systems. They predict storms. Allo?”

Gamache had lowered the phone and looked over at General Whitehead.

So when you fight, stay as calm as the ocean,

And watch what goes on behind your shoulder.

Remember war’s not a place for deep emotion,

And maybe you’ll get a little older.

“Leave AQB now,” he said, and didn’t bother waiting for her reply.

Clicking the phone off, he strode back to the group and stared down at Bert Whitehead.

“Why would a dead biologist write isobars on a map?”

Isobars? Beauvoir and Lacoste exchanged a glance. This was news to them.

“Isobars?” said Whitehead. “As in weather? I don’t know.”

“I think you do,” said Gamache, glaring at him. “You came all this way for a reason, Bert. Out with it.”

“I’ve said more than I probably should.”

“All you’ve done is repeat ‘What happens when the water runs out?’ Unless there’s some sort of supernatural interference, that will never happen here.”

“I agree.” The General rose to face Gamache. “That’s the point. Canada won’t.” He was staring at Gamache with such intensity, Armand felt in a few more seconds he might melt. “For God’s sake, Armand, I’m begging you. Don’t make me say it.”

Don’t make me commit treason.

The world stopped turning, gravity lost its grip. Time was suspended. Nothing existed except those two, staring at each other.

Armand opened his mouth. But instead of speaking, it stayed open. And his eyes widened.

In that instant all those pieces they’d collected over days, weeks, months, those shards of evidence and shreds of ideas, of guesses and fears, shifted. Not so much fell into place, but like in a kaleidoscope, the angle changed. And what had been a jumble of disparate, even contradictory, and often ridiculous pieces suddenly made sense. The chaos resolved into a cohesive picture.

“You see,” said the head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. “I can tell by your expression.”

There was, on Armand’s face, a look of utter horror.

“What happens when the water runs out?” General Whitehead continued. “What happens when a nation runs out of the one resource necessary for life?”

“They take it from those who have it,” said Armand, his voice barely audible. Saying what Whitehead could not. “It’s not Canada that’s running out.”

“No.”

“The United States is.”