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She was immediately surrounded by officers and hurried out of the room. Then he turned his attention to the surviving valet.

“Chief Petty Officer Oscar Flores,” said the valet, his arms raised.

“I know who you are. What I don’t know is why you did this.”

“I didn’t.” Flores’s voice was calm, though his eyes were wide with shock and alarm. “The General…”

Officers were on their knees, ripping General Whitehead’s uniform jacket off to reveal his wounds.

“He’s still alive.”

“These ones are dead,” another reported.

“Get moving,” said the officer and nodded to one of his soldiers, who shoved Flores forward with his rifle.

At that moment the Secret Service arrived in the Oval Office. All this had taken less than a minute. When they tried to take the President away from the Uniformed Division officers, she stopped them. Pale and trembling, President O’Rourke still managed to take command.

“I’m in good hands. Help General Whitehead. Chief Petty Officer Flores comes with me.”

“But Madame Pres—” began the senior officer.

“You heard me. He saved my life. You can question him in my presence.”

In the Prime Minister’s office there was silence, before Woodford turned to the room and said to no one in particular, “What the fuck just happened?”

Was still happening.

Gamache watched, his expression one of shock and grief, as medics worked to save the life of Bert Whitehead.

Shona, who was watching him, whispered, “Can we talk?”

“Not now.”

“Now.”

He looked at her, at the intensity in her stare. And nodded.

“Mr. Prime Minister, do you mind…?”

But the PM was paying no attention to them. Gamache did not have to look at Lacoste, knowing she didn’t have to be told to follow them. In the outer office Gamache turned to Shona.

“What is it?”

“Not here. Outside.”

The corridor was lined with Mounties armed with automatic rifles at every door.

They were watched closely as they made their way to the exit.

“I’m sorry,” said the heavily armed guard at the door. “We’re on lockdown. No one in, no one out.”

“Understood. Merci.”

Sunshine spilled through the windows, so tantalizingly close.

As he stood there, trying to decide where to go, Armand couldn’t get the sight, the thought, of Bert Whitehead out of his head. Could he survive those wounds? Was he still alive…?

War’s a fact of life today, it will not be wished away,