The Nature of the Beast: A Chief Inspector Gamache Novel

Gamache thought for a minute. “If Bull didn’t talk about it, how did people find out?”


“Most didn’t. And any information that did come out was patchy. A whispered word here and there. It’s a community filled with whispers. They add up to a sort of scream. Hard to separate the good intelligence from the noise.” He paused, thinking back. “They should’ve known.”

“CSIS? About the other half of Project Babylon?”

“Everything, they should’ve known it all. I think they did know. They just didn’t believe it. They dismissed Gerald Bull as a fool, a dilettante, especially after Baby Babylon failed.”

“So did you,” Gamache pointed out.

“But I didn’t have the entire intelligence apparatus at my disposal. I worked with the man, I knew he wasn’t capable of actually creating the machines he was marketing. What I didn’t appreciate was that Guillaume Couture was.”

Rosenblatt looked at Gamache.

“It honestly never occurred to anyone that Project Babylon wasn’t just a madman’s delusion. Especially after Baby Babylon failed. But he did it. He actually built it.” Rosenblatt shook his head and looked into his fragrant cider, stirring it with his cinnamon stick. “How did we miss it?”

“Did you miss it?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If everyone thought Bull was such a buffoon, and his designs the product of a delusional mind, why was he killed?”

“To be sure,” said Rosenblatt. “To be on the safe side.”

“Murder puts you on the safe side?” Gamache asked.

“Sometimes, yes.” Rosenblatt stared at the former head of homicide. “Don’t tell me you’ve never thought that.”

“And is this the ‘safe side’?” Gamache asked. “We’re half a kilometer from a weapon that could wipe out every major city down the East Coast, never mind Europe.”

Rosenblatt leaned closer to Gamache. “Like it or not, the death of Gerald Bull meant Project Babylon did not end up in the hands of the Iraqis. They’d have won the war. They’d have taken over the whole region. They’d have wiped out Israel and anyone else who stood up to them. In a dangerous world, Monsieur Gamache, this is the safe side.”

“If this is so safe,” said Gamache, “why are you so afraid?”





CHAPTER 32

Clara confided her suspicions to Myrna.

As she spoke she became more convinced. Sometimes, on saying things out loud, especially to Myrna, Clara could see how ludicrous they were.

But not this time. This time they jelled.

“What should I do?” asked Clara.

“You know what you have to do.”

“I hate it when you say that,” said Clara, sipping her white wine.

Across from her Myrna smiled, but it was fleeting, unable to penetrate beyond what Clara had just told her.

They hadn’t noticed the two men in the dark corner until one of them got up.

Clara nodded to Professor Rosenblatt as he walked by their table. He didn’t stop but continued to, and out, the door. Then they turned their attention to the person left behind.

Armand was either staring after the scientist or into space. He seemed to make up his mind. Getting up, he walked to the bar, and placed a phone call, turning his back to the room as he spoke. Then he returned to the table, wedged snug into the corner.

Clara got up, followed by Myrna, and slipped into seats on either side of him.

“I think I’ve found something interesting,” said Clara. “But I’m not sure.”

“She’s sure,” said Myrna.

“Tell me,” said Armand, turning his full and considerable attention to her.

*

“Take a seat.” Isabelle Lacoste indicated the conference table in the Incident Room. Mary Fraser and Sean Delorme joined Inspector Beauvoir, who was already there.

“Project Babylon wasn’t one missile launcher,” said Beauvoir without preamble. “It was two. Why didn’t you tell us this before?”

Gamache had called them from the bistro after Professor Rosenblatt confirmed there were two guns, christened with the unlikely names Baby Babylon and Big Babylon.

Mary Fraser was perfectly contained, in her drab way. Isabelle Lacoste had the impression that the middle-aged woman should have a ball of knitting in her lap like some benign presence, there to calm and soothe infants who were acting out.

“Is it?” asked Mary Fraser.

Isabelle Lacoste leaned slightly forward and, lowering her voice, she said, “Highwater.”

It was like throwing a boulder into a small pond. Everything changed.

“But Baby Babylon didn’t work—” said Mary Fraser.

“Mary,” Sean Delorme interrupted.

“They already know, Sean.”

Now it was his turn to stare at his colleague. “You knew they’d found out about Highwater and you didn’t tell me?”

“I forgot.”

“That’s not possible,” he said, examining her.