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President O’Rourke got to her feet. “General.”

“Madame President.”

“I ordered you bacon and eggs and coffee, of course.”

“Wonderful. Thank you.”

Armand watched as the President, with her customary and often parodied rapid little steps, led the head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, with his long strides, into a small room off the Oval Office.

“Jesus,” whispered Shona, looking furtively around to see if anyone was paying attention. “It’s the security tape from the White House. The recording from this morning.” She looked at Gamache. “Who are you?”

“Someone with a lot of friends,” muttered Lacoste.

On the tape, two navel valets are placing breakfast on the table, while a third pours coffee, then steps back into the pantry.

“Ah, I see the food has arrived.”

General Whitehead stands by his chair and watches the valet they now recognized as Chief Petty Officer Flores seat the President; then Flores looks around, a bit confused.

Gamache hit pause.

“Why’d you do that?” demanded Shona.

“Why’s Flores hesitating?” asked Lacoste.

Gamache hit play, and saw Flores give a subtle gesture toward his colleague.

“He’s expecting the other valet to seat General Whitehead,” said Gamache. “But he isn’t. The valet is just standing there.”

“Flores is sensing something’s off,” said Lacoste.

As they watched, Flores steps around the table to seat the General himself. His face is set in a neutral expression, though it’s clear he’s irritated but not yet alarmed.

Gamache again hit pause and took a moment to look at Bert Whitehead. Alive. Unharmed. If he could only freeze this image and stop the bad thing from happening …

Instead, he touched play.

Whitehead, smiling at the President, notices her expression, and his own changes. Gamache rewinds a few seconds, freezing it on the President’s face.

“She knows what’s about to happen,” says Shona.

“She believes she’s about to be killed,” said Lacoste. She knew that look. Had had it on her own face. And had almost been right.

“Bert sees it,” said Armand.

Bert. Shona looks at Gamache, realizing for the first time that he knows this man. Well.

Armand rewound again and hit play.

“Arrêtez,” said Lacoste, and he did.

“What?” he asked.

“Do you hear it? Play it again.”

Gamache did, but try as he might, he still couldn’t hear anything strange. The buzzing in his ears, though mild now, was enough to mask any subtle sound. Clearly both Lacoste and Shona heard something, though only Lacoste knew what it was.

“It’s a gun being drawn.”