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“While I trust them, I’m not so sure about their editors and execs.”

“My thoughts exactly,” said Shona. “One of the first things any tyrant does is control the narrative. And that means controlling the media. My guy’s no longer involved.”

Gamache was nodding. “His stories no longer need to be vetted and approved. Who is he? Have I met him?”

“I doubt it. He hasn’t spent much time in Canada.”

“Does he spend time on this planet?” asked Lacoste.

“He swings by occasionally, when the Great Pumpkin allows it.”

“Good grief.” Isabelle was trying not to like this annoying young woman, but she found herself hoping her daughters might grow up to be like Shona one day.

“Not a word to him until I say,” said Gamache.

“Jesus, control issues?”

Isabelle turned to her mentor. “Please tell me we aren’t putting all our eggs in this basket case. Any other ideas?”

“None.”

Shona Dorion got up and packed a bag.

“No, I’m not calling you liars,” Prime Minister James Woodford said a couple of hours later as they stood in his office on Parliament Hill. “Though I’m not sure I believe you. I’m talking about a strategy Hitler had, a theory he described in his book.”

“Mein Kampf,” said Gamache. “A self-aggrandizing polemic written by a man on the threshold of derangement.”

“But a compelling read,” said Woodford, “for a population longing for hope, for leadership, for a way out of their degradation and misery.”

“Unless you happen to have any sort of disability. Or be gay or a Gypsy or Jewish,” said Gamache. “My guardian, my adoptive grandmother, was Jewish. Deported from Paris. My father found her close to death in one of the camps and brought her to Montréal. She raised me after my parents died. Mein Kampf is a manifesto. A hate-filled, hateful blueprint for how to turn a friend into an enemy.”

“The necessary first step in any invasion,” said Woodford. “I’m sorry about your parents, about your grandmother. I didn’t know.”

He wasn’t the only one. Shona was staring at the Chief Inspector, surprised by this series of revelations.

“Unfortunately, Hitler was right about this,” said Gamache. “If you want to start a war, first you create a Big Lie. And, from there, a common enemy.”

Oy Gutt, his grandmother’s expression, came to mind. It was a shame they were themselves tied to the Big Truth. So much harder to believe.

“Sir, we need to take this seriously. I think there’s still time to stop it, but we need to act.”

“And do what? You still have no proof.”

“You need to speak to the American President. She must be aware of the chatter. Get a sense of where she stands.”

“Are you thinking she might be involved?”

“I don’t know. But she needs to know that we are aware that Canada is being re-framed as an enemy of the American people. An enemy with all the resources the US needs, including, especially, water.”

“Will you excuse me, please?” Woodford made for the door. “My Chief of Staff needs to hear this.”

He returned a few minutes later.

“I don’t think you’ve met everyone here. Manon Payette, this is…” The PM introduced them. “Can you repeat what you just told me, Chief Inspector?”

When Gamache finished, Payette looked at him as though the head of homicide for the Sûreté du Québec was wearing a tinfoil hat.

“No offense, but are you nuts? The Americans are going to invade Canada? Are you sure you haven’t stumbled on the plans from the War of 1812, when the Americans last invaded? A war which, by the way, we won.”