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“Come on,” said Gamache. “Explain later. We need to hurry.”

Woodford looked about to refuse.

“Don’t make me carry you, sir,” said Gamache. “I’m not as young as I once was and I might drop you.”

Woodford looked at the steep concrete stairs and allowed himself to be rushed down them. Once at the bottom, Marie took them to the right along what looked like a dead end, but it proved to have a door.

She yanked it open and stooped to grab the dossier they’d left there.

But it was gone.

She turned, panicked now, and saw Gamache staring straight ahead, his body tense, his face set.

“Are you looking for this?” A heavily armed special forces officer held the manila file. “You aren’t the only one who knows their way around these buildings, madame.”

Jean-Guy and Nichol approached the Mirabel airfield. Slowly, slowly. Weapons drawn.

They’d parked a kilometer away and jogged forward, leaving behind Chief Inspector Tardiff, who was still recovering, and Marcus Lauzon. They were to be the last line of defense. Should Jean-Guy and Nichol fail, those two could at least try to get the word out. Before they too were killed.

Beauvoir had asked Reine-Marie’s permission to give Chief Inspector Tardiff Armand’s Sûreté-issue Glock, which was locked securely away. The head of Organized Crime now held it and watched as her colleagues disappeared into the thick forest.

Jean-Guy held up his fist for Nichol to stop. She bumped into him, never clear on signals. He could see trucks. Activity on the airfield. There were planes, but not bombers. Which surprised him.

Had they made a mistake?

But it seemed not. The trucks had Moretti on the side.

“Look,” whispered Nichol.

Don Moretti himself was directing the operation.

Nichol was looking at Inspector Beauvoir. Her eyes were wide. He wondered if she’d ever fired her weapon at another human. Probably not.

That was about to change.

It was ten past four, and Jeanne Caron was turning full circle, staring in some surprise at the Haskell Opera House.

She’d heard of it and knew that Gamache had met General Whitehead here just the evening before, though why he also wanted to meet her there, she couldn’t guess.

I need your help.

That’s what his message said.

Gamache was acting in ways that were unpredictable. And that was always disconcerting. But then maybe their social media campaign against him hadn’t been that far off. Too many blows to the head had unhinged the once formidable senior officer. Though that made him even more dangerous.

Also, he was late. Which didn’t surprise her. She doubted he’d show up at all, given what she’d seen on the video from Parliament.

Moretti’s people were spread throughout the woods, and some were posted inside the building, with orders to let Chief Inspector Gamache pass, should he appear. Moretti himself wasn’t there. He was directing operations at the airport.

Mirabel.

Now there was a coup de grâce. A stroke of genius.

This ends now. As soon as she gave the word, a sniper on the balcony would take out Gamache. Should he show up.

But before that happened, she needed to find out all he knew.

Taking a seat, she looked down at the thick black line at her feet and wondered what it was for. Then her gaze moved around the beautifully maintained old building, a tribute to a very special relationship between two sovereign nations. A relationship that had also, despite the occasional disagreement, been beautifully maintained.