Page 142

“No, we don’t.”

“Yes. We do. And you know why.”

“I don’t. But”—she hesitated—“I want to hear what you think you know.”

Payette began to move toward a door.

“Non. Not yet. Wait for it…”

“Planned,” the Prime Minister was saying, losing all patience and what little sympathy he might once have had for the Chief Inspector. “Not ‘plan,’ ‘plan-duh.’ Duh.” He leaned right into Gamache’s face. “Duh.”

“Okay,” whispered Lacoste. “Now.”

The intent of Woodford’s words, the last two sounds, were so insulting to the Chief Inspector that even the head of the Parliamentary Protective Service looked over.

Everyone was now riveted on the two men. No one noticed the two women slip into a side office.

CHAPTER 28

Jean-Guy could see the Champlain Bridge into Montréal just up ahead.

Agent Nichol was beside him. Stern, silent, staring out the window. Her small hands in fists. Lauzon was in the back seat. Beauvoir didn’t dare leave him in Three Pines with Reine-Marie, her friends, a collection of knives, and a duck capable of God knew what.

If the mafia knew about Rosa, she’d be a made duck in no time.

He’d alerted the Montréal police, who were already crawling all over mont Royal. But the park, in the middle of the city, was vast, made up of three peaks covering almost seven hundred forested acres. Most of it left to go wild.

It would take days, if ever, to find … well, a body.

“If you knew about War Plan Red,” demanded Shona Dorion, “why didn’t you admit it earlier when we first asked?”

As soon as she spoke, she saw her mistake. Though Gamache’s expression hadn’t changed, she knew she might have just blown everything. She’d deviated from their own plan and pulled the PM’s attention away from Gamache. To her. And, by consequence, to the two missing women.

But Woodford never took his eyes off Gamache, even as he answered her question.

“Because it’s not important. It would just muddy the waters. It’s a bizarre footnote in our shared history with the United States, nothing more. Let it go,” he pleaded with the Chief. “Can’t you see you’re so disoriented you no longer know the difference between past and present?”

“Then why did you let us in?” Gamache pushed. “If this’s such a waste of time, why are you still talking to me? I saw your face. The initials ‘WPR’ scared you.”

“What scared me was having a lunatic at the door. Better to let you in, to help save at least part of your reputation. You were making a fool of yourself. Worse, you’re in danger of doing serious damage to our international relations. I’ve already had a call from the American Ambassador asking, demanding, to meet thanks to the social media shitstorm you and your conspiracies have created.”

The PM had once again worked himself into a rage.

“I’m not asking you, sir, if the Atlantic Strategic War Plan still exists. I’m telling you. And it’s being acted on even now.” His words created a void, a vacuum. The air was sucked out of the opulent room as those around them listened to the thoughtful, measured madman. “War has changed. Assaults come at us from all sorts of fronts, from social media attacks, to cyberattacks, to trade wars. To drones and artillery and age-old full-frontal offensives. But the reasons are as old as the hills.”

“And those are?” asked the Minister of Defense, to the PM’s obvious annoyance.

“The world is changing. Our very climate is changing. Look at the wildfires, the hurricanes, the floods, the melting ice pack, the droughts and famines. The reasons for all that can be debated, I suppose, but the effects are undeniable, as are the consequences.”

“And those are?” asked the Minister of Public Safety.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” snapped the PM. “Don’t encourage the man.”

Gamache never took his eyes off Woodford. “Nations go to war over resources. It might look like something else, but at the root of most conflicts is that one country, one territory, one leader wants what the other has. Wants, or needs. And today the most precious resource, the real currency, the real power, is water.”

There was a noticeable shift in the room. A watershed. The balance had changed toward Gamache. They were listening to him now.

“The loss of fresh, clean, drinkable water is the single greatest threat to survival worldwide. It’s not a one-off crisis, it’s an existential threat. Parts of Canada are vulnerable, as we know, but to the south it’s even worse. The US is losing vast amounts of water every day. Lakes and rivers are drying up. Infrastructure is crumbling, and with it the pipes that carry water. The loss to leakage is huge. Cities are becoming uninhabitable as temperatures rise and water disappears. And when that happens, there will be millions of environmental refugees. And where will they head?”