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Instead, Woodford gestured toward the guards. Hands grabbed and dragged the three of them into an adjoining office. The door slammed shut. They were locked in.

“Isabelle?” Armand stumbled over to her.

“I’m okay.” She touched the side of her head and her hand came away bloody. Blood was streaming down her neck. “Looks worse than it is.”

Gamache turned to Shona, his voice still gravelly. “You okay?”

She nodded, though her eyes were wide.

“Tell me you did it,” said Lacoste.

It took Shona a moment to understand what she was asking.

“I did.”

“Oh, thank God,” said Gamache, and Shona felt a wave of relief, a kind of well-being.

She’d done it.

Gamache had anticipated Woodford’s reaction to War Plan Red, knowing the PM would not want those three words to escape his office. He certainly would not want the rest of the world to hear them. Woodford’s entire plan depended on keeping that plan secret.

Gamache’s plan was to get the word out. The three words out. Into the public. As well as showing people who Woodford really was.

While Shona recorded and streamed what was happening, Gamache would raise his voice and say, clearly, for all to hear, “War Plan Red.”

Its purpose was twofold: to get the word out, but also to provoke an aggressive overreaction on the part of the Prime Minister, all captured on Shona’s phone.

That was their plan, such as it was.

What Gamache had not anticipated was that Woodford would also order his guards to attack a journalist. Take her phone, yes. That he’d seen. But to physically threaten her?

He thought the target would only be him. Seeing that guard lift her rifle at Shona had shocked him, and terrified her.

Lacoste took the hit. And now took the handkerchief he offered. “Well, that was something.”

He was pressing his lips together, thinking. Nodding. He looked at the door. What happened next would decide things for them. How bad would this get?

His attention was drawn to Shona’s rapid breathing. “You need to sit down.”

When she did, with unusual compliance, Isabelle put her hand on her back and gently pressed her forward. “Place your head between your knees. Breathe.”

Shona turned to look up at them. “Isn’t this the crash position?”

Armand gave one grunt of amusement. “We’re going to be fine.”

“Yeah, I have Ruth’s latest collection of poetry. I know what ‘FINE’ stands for.”

Gamache turned back to Isabelle, the handkerchief still pressed to her head.

“Payette?”

“Oui. The Chief of Staff admitted that when the PM left his office to get her, he also made a phone call.”

“To the White House?” asked Shona, her voice muffled by her legs.

“She doesn’t know, but when the shots were fired, she began to put things together. She already had suspicions.”

“How?”