“By mistake?” They’d installed this system last year. Brought in the finest software designers and Internet architects to create something that couldn’t be breached. And now this agent was saying some idiot might have wandered in by mistake?
“It happens more often than people realize,” said Charpentier unhappily. “I don’t think it’s serious, but we’re treating it as though it is, just in case. And the file they’ve accessed doesn’t appear all that important.”
“Which file?” Francoeur asked.
“Something about the construction schedule for Autoroute 20.”
Francoeur stared at the curtains drawn in front of the bedroom window. There was a slight flutter as the cold air came into his home.
The file seemed so trivial, so far from anything that could threaten their plan, but Francoeur knew that file for what it was. For what it contained. And now someone was sniffing around.
“Check it out,” he said, “and call me back.”
“Yessir.”
“What is it?” asked Madame Francoeur, watching her husband head to the bathroom.
“Nothing, just a little trouble at work. Go back to sleep.”
“Are you getting up?”
“Might as well,” he said. “I’m awake now, and the alarm’ll go off soon anyway.”
But alarms were already going off for Chief Superintendent Francoeur.
*
“They’ve seen us,” said Jér?me. “I tripped the alarm here.”
“Where?” asked Gamache, pulling up a chair.
Jér?me showed him.
“Construction files?” asked Gamache, and turned to Thérèse. “Why would the S?reté have any files on road construction, never mind ones that are secure?”
“No reason. It isn’t our jurisdiction. The roads, yes, but not repairing them. And it certainly wouldn’t be confidential.”
“They must be looking for us,” said Nichol. Her voice was calm. Just reporting facts.
“To be expected,” said Jér?me, his voice also calm.
On his monitor they saw files open and close. Appear and disappear.
“Stop typing,” said Nichol.
Jér?me lifted his hands off the keyboard and they hovered in midair.
Gamache stared at the monitor. He could almost see lines of code appear, grow, then contract.
“Have they found you?” Jér?me asked Nichol.
“No. I’m over in another file. It’s also about construction, but it’s old. Can’t be important.”
“Wait,” said Gamache, dragging his chair over to her monitor. “Show me.”
*
“Sir, it’s Charpentier again.”
“Oui,” said Francoeur. He’d showered and dressed and was about to head in. It was now just after six.
“It was nothing.”
“Are you sure?”
“Certain. I had a good look around. Ran all sorts of scans and couldn’t find any unauthorized access to our network. It happens fairly often, as I said. A ghost in the machine. I’m sorry to disturb you with this.”
“You did the right thing.” While relieved, Francoeur still didn’t relax. “Put more agents on to monitor.”
“Another shift starts at eight—”
“I mean now.” The voice was sharp, and Charpentier responded immediately.
“Yessir.”
Francoeur hung up, then punched in Tessier’s number.
*
“These are shift reports,” said Gamache. “From a company called Aqueduct. They’re thirty years old. Why’re you looking at them?”
“I was following a trail. A name popped up in another file and I followed it here.”
“What name?” Gamache asked.
“Pierre Arnot.”
“Show me.” Gamache leaned in and Nichol scrolled down. Gamache put on his glasses and scanned the pages. There were lots of names. It appeared to be work schedules and soil reports and things called loads. “I don’t see it.”
“Neither did I,” admitted Nichol. “But it’s associated with this file.”
“Maybe it’s another Pierre Arnot,” said Jér?me from his desk. “It’s not an uncommon name.”
Gamache hummed to show he’d heard, but his attention was taken by the file. There was no actual mention of any Arnot.
“How could his name be attached to this file, but not appear in it?” Gamache asked.
“It could be hidden,” said Nichol. “Or an outside reference. Like your name might be attached to a file on balding, or licorice pipes.”
Gamache glanced at Jér?me, who’d given a snort.
Still, he understood. Arnot’s name didn’t need to appear in the file to be somehow associated with it. Somewhere down the line, there was a connection.
“Keep going,” said the Chief, and got up.
*
“Charpentier’s very good at what he does,” Tessier reassured Francoeur over the phone. He too was dressed and ready for work. As he’d put on his socks he’d realized that when he took them off that night, everything would have changed. His world. The world. Certainly Québec. “If he says it’s nothing, then that’s what it was.”
“No.” The Chief Superintendent wanted to be convinced, to be reassured. But he wasn’t. “There’s something wrong. Call Lambert. Get her in.”
“Yessir.” Tessier hung up and dialed Chief Inspector Lambert, the head of Cyber Crimes.
*