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Beauvoir, who also had a daughter he loved more than life, said, “Of course.”
While Lauzon sent the message, Beauvoir returned to the map and circled a town. He didn’t dare send a text, but if the Chief should make it home, he’d know where they went.
Mirabel.
While Jean-Guy and the others headed out, Isabelle and Shona were also racing north.
CHAPTER 32
“Move your hands off to the side. Don’t say anything, Mr. Prime Minister.”
James Woodford did, then looked at the gun in Gamache’s belt. “Are you going to kill me?”
“No. I’m taking you out of here.”
“You’re kidnapping me?”
“Such a strong word.” Gamache flushed the toilet. “I’m escaping you.”
It was, Armand realized, not the actual use of the word. But that did not seem to matter, the meaning was clear.
Holding Woodford’s arm in a firm grip, he opened the door to the hallway a crack before shutting it again.
He’d already gotten a sense of the rhythm of the patrolling guards. There was a time when both guards had their backs to the hallway. That was how he’d managed to punch the four-digit code in, unlocking the bathroom door.
It would be, should be, easier to head back across since Marie Lauzon was keeping the door to the stairs ajar. As long as the PM didn’t resist or, worse, scream.
“You have nothing to fear from me unless you try to warn the guards. Do you understand?”
Woodford nodded, his eyes wide. “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”
“Mr. Prime Minister?” came a voice from the office. “Everything all right?”
“I’m here to stop the killing, not to do more. And for that I need you alive. Answer her. Just say ‘fine.’”
“Fine.”
Gamache turned on the taps and checked the hall again; he waited a beat, then turned off the taps and shoved the PM out the door. Three strides took them across the hall.
The door was closed. He leaned against the crash bar. It didn’t open. He tried again. It was locked. Marie had locked them out. He looked to his left. The guards were about to reach the end of the long hallway. They’d turn any moment.
His grip on Woodford tightened. He reached for the crash bar one last time. If it didn’t open, he’d have to take off down the corridor, dragging the PM along. They would not get far. With the gun in his belt and the PM in his grip, there’d be no reason the guards wouldn’t assume he meant the Prime Minister harm and act accordingly.
That would be his assumption, if he were them.
All these things flashed through Gamache’s mind as he reached for the door, but this time, without prompting, it opened.
He plunged through, dragging the PM with him. The door clicked shut.
“What the—” he said before Marie Lauzon spoke.
“Sorry, I was testing to see if it could be locked.”
“It can,” snapped Gamache.
“Marie?” said Woodford. “For Chrissake, what’re you doing here? Why’re you doing this?”
“Are you telling me, sir, you really don’t know?”
