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Without being invited, she stepped forward and looked at the map, then turned to him. “What’s so special about this?”

“It belonged to Charles Langlois.” While his hearing had improved greatly, clearly that plane trip had set it back. “He hid it.”

“Why?”

“We think because of this.” Gamache put his finger on the lake. “It’s the last place he visited before being killed. It’s where we found his laptop.”

Now they stood side by side.

“‘What happens when the water runs out?’” said Nichol. “Isn’t that what your friend in the States said? And you said, ‘Nothing good.’ But it won’t run out. How can it? Look how much we have.”

It’s what Armand had been doing. Staring at the amount of blue in the map. Indicating water. Freshwater lakes, rivers, streams, reservoirs. The area to the north of the St. Lawrence River was almost more water than land.

So what did Bert Whitehead mean? Armand wondered. That was the first question he would ask the head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff when they met that evening.

He’ll show. He must … He must.

The weather wasn’t helping. But Gamache would snowshoe to their rendezvous if he had to. He suspected Bert had the answers they needed. Or at least significant parts.

Nichol was right, of course. Unless there was some sort of cosmic, or seismic, catastrophe heading their way, there was no way Canada would run out of water. There were droughts, especially out West, but there was still far more fresh water than almost any other nation enjoyed.

But if it did run out? What then?

What happened to a country that ran out of the most precious of resources? The only thing vital to life on earth, or anywhere. Wasn’t that what astronomers looked for in surveys of distant planets? Signs of water. Without it, there would be no sign of life.

After a while Yvette Nichol cocked her head to one side and stepped closer to the map.

“What is it?” asked Gamache. But she was silent, staring at the lake he’d indicated.

“I’m just wondering…” She continued to stare, then turned to him so he could understand what she was saying. “Can I take a photo of the lake?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.” He himself had taken a close-up of the numbers and symbols on that last lake and sent it to Shona Dorion, asking if she could figure out what they meant. But there was no way for her to tell where they were from.

“Don’t you see, patron? They’re the right length for a password.”

His eyes opened wide and he whispered, “Well, I’ll be damned.”

CHAPTER 19

“Well, fuck me,” whispered Jean-Guy, staring at the laptop, as Nichol entered the numbers and symbols. “Excuse my English.”

He was already awake when Armand and Nichol arrived home, dripping wet. It was still dark, not yet six in the morning, but he too had seen the light at the church and was preparing to join them when they returned. Fortunately, he’d put on the percolator and lit the woodstove in the kitchen.

Dropping her sodden coat on the wood floor for Armand to pick up, Nichol went straight into the study, sat down, and put in the numbers while the others watched.

Please God, please God, pl—

“Patron!”

She was so focused she didn’t realize he was standing behind her, gripping the back of the chair.

“What is it?” Reine-Marie asked. Awoken by the sounds downstairs, she’d joined them in her housecoat and slippers.

Henri, Fred, and Gracie bounded in behind her, tails wagging. Had the others had tails, they’d have been wagging too.

“You did it,” said Jean-Guy.

“Nichol did it,” said Armand. “We had the code all along. It was one of the string of numbers and symbols Charles had written on the map.”