Nichol couldn’t speak, but managed to shake her head.
Gamache unzipped his parka and moved it behind his hip. His shirt was exposed. And so was his gun.
As she watched, he removed his warm gloves and held his right hand loose at his side.
“Are you working for Francoeur?” he repeated, his voice even quieter.
She shook her head vehemently and mouthed, “No.”
“What were you doing in the B and B?”
“I was looking for you,” she managed.
“Why?”
“I was at the schoolhouse getting the cable ready for here and saw you go into the B and B, so I followed you.”
“Why?”
It had taken him a while to put it together. At first he thought he owed Nichol an apology, for slamming the door in her face. But then he’d begun to wonder what she was doing in the B and B.
Was she there for the same reason he’d gone, to make a quiet call? If so, who was she calling? Gamache could guess.
“Why were you in the B and B, Yvette?”
“To speak to you.”
“You could’ve spoken to me at Emilie’s home. You could have spoken to me at the schoolhouse. Why were you in the B and B, Yvette?”
“To talk to you,” she repeated, her voice barely a squeak. “Privately.”
“What about?”
She hesitated. “To tell you that this won’t work.” She gestured up toward the hunting blind and the satellite dish. “Even if you get online, you can’t get into the S?reté system.”
“Who says that’s our goal?”
“I’m not an idiot, Chief Inspector. You asked for untraceable satellite equipment. You’re not building a robot army. If you were going in through the front door you could do that from home or your office. This is something else. You brought me here to help you break in. But it won’t work.”
“Why not?” Despite himself, he was interested.
“Because while all this shit might get you connected, and even hide where you are for a while, you need a code to get into the deepest files. Your own S?reté security code will give you away. So will Superintendent Brunel’s. You know that.”
“How much do you know about what we’re doing?”
“Not much. I knew nothing until yesterday, when you asked for my help.”
They stared at each other.
“You invited me here, sir. I didn’t ask. But when you asked for help, I agreed. And now you treat me like your enemy?”
Gamache was having none of her mind games. He knew there was a far more likely reason she’d agreed to come down. Not loyalty to him, but to another. She was in the B and B to report to Francoeur, and had he not been distracted by his concern for Jean-Guy, he’d have caught her at it.
“I invited you because we had no choice. But that doesn’t mean I trust you, Agent Nichol.”
“What do I need to do to gain your trust?”
“Tell me why you were in the B and B.”
“I wanted to warn you that without a security code, none of this will work.”
“You’re lying.”
“No.”
Gamache knew she was lying. She didn’t need to tell him about the code privately.
“What have you told Francoeur?”
“Nothing,” she pleaded. “I’d never do that.”
Gamache glared at her. Once the computer was turned on. Once the satellite connection was made. Once Jér?me opened that door and stepped through, it was just a matter of time before they were found. Their only hope rested with the embittered young agent in front of him, trembling with cold and fear and indignation, real or forced.
Time was running out to save Beauvoir, and to find out what Francoeur’s goal was. There was a purpose here that went well beyond hurting Gamache and Beauvoir.
Something far bigger, put in place years ago, was maturing now. Today. Tomorrow. Soon. And Gamache still didn’t know what it was.
He felt slow, stupid. It was as though all sorts of clues, elements, were floating in front of him, but one piece was missing. Something that would connect them all. Something he’d either missed or hadn’t yet found.
He now knew it involved Pierre Arnot. But what was their goal?
Gamache could have screamed his frustration.
What role did this pathetic young woman play in all of this? Was she the nail in their coffin, or their salvation? And why did one look so much like the other?
Gamache brought his parka forward and zipped it up with a hand so cold he could barely tell he was holding the zipper. Putting his gloves back on, he scooped up the heavy cable at her feet.
As Nichol watched, Chief Inspector Gamache put the thick black cable over his shoulder and leaned forward, lugging it through the forest, in a direct route to the schoolhouse.
After a few steps he felt it grow lighter. Agent Yvette Nichol’s snowshoes plodded along in the trail he was making, picking up the slack.
She fell in behind him, puffing with the effort and relief.
He’d caught her. He might even suspect. But he hadn’t gotten the truth from her.