“Close the door,” he called. “You’re letting the cold in.”
But the gunman didn’t move. He stood on the threshold, taking in the scene. There was something wrong. They were looking at him strangely, except the hunched old woman, still wearing her tuque. She hadn’t turned around.
He reached for his gun.
“S?reté.”
He heard the word. Heard the metallic click. Felt the muzzle against the base of his skull. He heard the books drop and saw them scattered at his feet.
“Lift your hands where I can see them.”
He did as he was told.
He turned to see the old woman who’d followed him. The books she’d been carrying had been replaced by a service revolver. It was Superintendent Thérèse Brunel.
She was pointing her gun at him, and she meant business.
*
“The bridge is down?” Gamache gaped at Francoeur.
“Right on time,” said the Chief Superintendent.
A voice drifted to them from the village below, singing an old Québécois carol. It sounded like a lament.
“I don’t believe it,” said Gamache. “You’re lying.”
“You want proof?”
“Call Renard. Call the Premier. Confirm it with him,” said Gamache.
“With pleasure. I’m sure he’d like a word with you too.”
Francoeur hit a button on his cell. Gamache could hear the ringing. Ringing.
But no one answered.
“He’s probably busy,” said Gamache.
Francoeur gave him a sharp look and tried another number. Lambert in Cyber Crimes.
Ringing, ringing.
“Nothing?” asked Gamache.
Francoeur lowered the phone. “What’ve you done, Armand?”
“‘Have Lacoste in custody. Family being held,’” Gamache recited. “A couple of minutes later you received another message, “‘Villeneuve offered some resistance, but no longer.’”
Francoeur’s face tightened.
“You didn’t really think I’d let my department be destroyed, did you?” Gamache’s eyes were penetrating, his voice hard, anger flaring. “All those agents who quit. All those agents who requested transfers. All over the S?reté.”
He spoke slowly, so that every word would hit its mark.
“Into the Traffic division. Serious Crimes. Public Safety. Emergency Response. Cyber Crime.”
He paused, making sure Francoeur was with him, before he delivered the coup-de-grace.
“The safety of public officials. The team that guards the Premier. You yourself dismantled my department and spread my agents into every division. My agents, Sylvain. Mine. Never yours. I didn’t fight it because it served my purposes. While your plan progressed, so did mine.”
Francoeur went as white as the snow.
“My people have taken over those departments and arrested any agents loyal to you. The Premier’s in our custody, along with his staff. Had we been on water, this would’ve been called a mutiny.
“The announcement that I’d resigned was the signal for my officers to move in. I had to wait until I knew what you had planned, and had proof. There was no response to your phone calls because there was no one there to answer. And those texts you received? About the bridge? About the people picked up? Inspector Lacoste sent them. The bridge has been secured.”
“Impossible.”
Francoeur looked again at the device, just a quick glance down, but it was enough.
Gamache made his move.
*
Jean-Guy Beauvoir parked behind Gamache’s Volvo. He cracked the window a little, to give Rosa air, then he got out.
He stood on the road, uncertain where to go. He’d thought to head right into Three Pines. He knew now what that equipment was he’d seen in the van. He’d probably known all along. It was explosives. And detonators. And trip wires.
They were attaching the wires to the door of the schoolhouse. When opened, it would detonate.
His plan had been to go into the village, to stop the agents, but the sight of the familiar car left him unsure.
He looked at the ground, at the fresh path into the woods, and he followed it.
*
Gamache plowed into Francoeur, grabbing for the gun, but it flew from Francoeur’s hand and was buried in the snow.
Both men fell hard. Gamache brought his forearm to Francoeur’s throat, leaning against it, trying to pin Francoeur. Francoeur lashed out, bucking and punching. His hand, grasping for the gun, closed around something hard and he swung with all his might, catching Gamache on the side of the head.
The Chief fell sideways, stunned by the rock. Francoeur scrambled to his knees and clawed at his parka, trying to get it open. Trying to get at the Glock on his belt.
*
“Tessier?”
Beauvoir’s voice surprised Martin Tessier as he climbed down the ladder. The satellite dish was on the ground where he’d tossed it from the platform, and Jean-Guy Beauvoir was standing beside it.
“Beauvoir,” said Tessier, recovering himself and stepping off the last rung. His back to Beauvoir, he reached for his gun. “We’ve been looking for you.”
But he got no further. Beauvoir’s gun pressed into his neck.
“Where’s Gamache?” he whispered into Tessier’s ear.