“So when do we start?” asked Nichol.
“Tonight.”
“But, Armand—” Thérèse began. Jér?me’s hand had tightened over hers, to the point of hurting her.
“Gilles was right,” said the Chief, his voice decisive. “There’s a reason thieves work at night. Fewer witnesses. We have to get in and get out while everyone else sleeps.”
“Finally,” said Nichol, getting up.
“We need more time,” said Thérèse.
“There is no more time.” Gamache consulted his watch. It was almost one in the morning.
“Jér?me, you have an hour to get your notes together. You know where the alarm was tripped last time. If you can get there fast, we might be in and out with the information in time for breakfast.”
“Right,” said Jér?me. He released his grip on his wife’s hand.
“You get some sleep,” Gamache said to Nichol. “We’ll wake you in an hour.”
He went to the kitchen, and heard the door close behind him.
“What’re you doing, Armand?” asked Thérèse.
“Making fresh coffee.” His back was to her as he counted the spoons of coffee into the machine.
“Look at me,” she demanded. Gamache’s hand stopped, the heaping spoon was suspended and a few grains fell to the counter.
He lowered the spoon to the coffee can and turned.
Thérèse Brunel’s eyes were steady. “Jér?me’s exhausted. He’s been going all day.”
“We all have,” said Gamache. “I’m not saying this is easy—”
“You’re suggesting Jér?me and I are looking for ‘easy’?”
“Then what are you looking for? You want me to say we can all go to sleep and forget what’s happening? We’re close, we finally have a chance. This ends now.”
“My God,” said Thérèse, looking at him closely. “This isn’t about us. This’s about Jean-Guy Beauvoir. You don’t think he’ll survive another raid. That’s why you’re pushing us, pushing Jér?me.”
“This isn’t about Beauvoir.” Gamache reached behind him and clutched the marble countertop.
“Of course it is. You’d sacrifice all of us to save him.”
“Never,” Gamache raised his voice.
“That’s what you’re doing.”
“I’ve been working at this for years,” said Gamache, approaching her. “Long before the raid on the factory. Long before Jean-Guy got into trouble. I’ve given up everything to see this through. It ends tonight. Jér?me will just have to dig deeper. We all will.”
“You’re not being rational.”
“No, you aren’t,” he seethed. “Can’t you see Jér?me’s frightened? Scared sick? That’s what’s draining his energy. The longer we wait, the worse it’ll get.”
“You’re saying you’re doing this to be kind to Jér?me?” demanded Thérèse, incredulous.
“I’m doing this because one more day and he’ll crack,” said Gamache. “And then we’ll all be lost, including him. If you can’t see it, I can.”
“He’s not the one who’s falling apart,” she said. “He’s not the one who was in tears today.”
Gamache looked as though she’d hit him with a car.
“Jér?me can and will do it tonight. He’ll go back in and get us the information we need to nail Francoeur and stop whatever’s planned.” Gamache’s voice was low and his eyes glared. “Jér?me agrees. He, at least, has a backbone.”
Gamache opened the door and left, going up to his room and staring at the wall, waiting for the trembling in his hand to subside.
*
At two in the morning Jér?me stood up.
Armand had awoken Nichol and come downstairs. He didn’t look at Thérèse and she didn’t look at him.
Nichol descended, disheveled, and put on her coat.
“Ready?” Gamache asked Jér?me.
“Ready.”
Gamache signaled Henri, and they quietly left the home. Like thieves in the night.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Nichol marched ahead, the only one anxious to get to the schoolhouse. But her rush was futile, Gamache knew, since he had the key.
Jér?me held Thérèse’s hand. Both wore puffy black coats and puffy white mitts. They looked like Mickey and Minnie Mouse out for a stroll.
Chief Inspector Gamache brushed past Superintendent Brunel and unlocked the schoolhouse door. He held it open for them, but instead of entering himself, he let it drift shut.
He saw the light go on through the frosted window and heard the metallic clank as the top of the woodstove was lifted and logs were fed to the dying embers.
But outside, there was only a hush.
He tipped his head back and looked into the night sky. Was one of the bright specks not a star at all, but the satellite that would soon transport them from this village?
He brought his gaze back to earth. To the cottages. The B and B, the bakery. Monsieur Béliveau’s general store. Myrna’s bookstore. The bistro. The scene of so many great meals and discussions. He and Jean-Guy. Lacoste. Even Nichol.
Going back years.