The Nature of the Beast: A Chief Inspector Gamache Novel

“It’s what you think,” she said. “They’ve found out about the gun.”


“How much do they know?”

“They know about Project Babylon, about Gerald Bull, they know the gun’s somewhere in Québec, which is why they called me.”

“But they don’t know where it is?”

“Not yet. They’re holding the story until the six o’clock national radio news tonight. By then they might know everything. And even if they don’t, it’ll still hit the headlines like a bomb. Every journalist will be all over the story. They’ll find out everything eventually. You might have a day from the time of broadcast, or you might have hours.”

“Can you stop it?” he asked.

“You know what’s involved in censoring the press, Armand. I have an urgent request in for an injunction but judges are loath to give them. We have to assume the story will run.”

Gamache looked at his watch. It was already one thirty.

“They don’t know about Guillaume Couture?” he asked.

“No, but you found out within a matter of hours. They’ll have that soon enough. Once it airs, someone in the village will talk. It’s shocking that word hasn’t leaked before now.”

Three Pines was good at keeping its secrets, thought Gamache. But this one was about to escape.

“Merci.” He hung up. “Stop the car, please.”

Beauvoir pulled over and Gamache got out, bending over, one hand on the car, one on his knee, as though he was about to retch.

Jean-Guy hurried around the car. “Are you all right?”

Gamache straightened up and caught his breath. Then he walked away, along the dirt shoulder of the back road.

“What’s happened?” asked Jean-Guy, pursuing him, but stopping when Armand waved at him to give him space.

Beauvoir had only heard Gamache’s end of the conversation, but it was enough to get the gist.

Armand turned to Jean-Guy, his face pale and haggard. “We have four hours before word of the gun is all over the CBC national news.”

“Shit.”

Beauvoir felt his own stomach lurch. They both knew what that meant. Within moments of the broadcast it would be all over the Internet, social media, other media. NPR, CNN, BBC, Al Jazeera. News of Gerald Bull’s gun would be blasted around the world.

“They don’t yet know where it is,” said Gamache. “They don’t know about Three Pines. I’m not sure they know about Highwater yet. But they will. And when they do…”

Pandemonium, thought Jean-Guy.

Beauvoir studied his father-in-law and felt light-headed.

“My God, you can’t be considering…”

But he could tell by the expression on Gamache’s face that was exactly what he was considering.

“You’d release Fleming?” asked Beauvoir, barely able to make the words audible.

“We have to find the plans before the broadcast. The problem won’t be journalists or curiosity seekers. Every arms dealer, every mercenary, every intelligence organization, every terrorist group and corrupt dictator will hear about it. These people aren’t bumbling opportunists. They’re smart and motivated and ruthless. And they’ll be coming here. Jesus, Jean-Guy, you know what’ll happen if an arms dealer finds the plans before we do.”

“If, if,” shouted Jean-Guy. “It might not happen, but we know for sure what’ll happen if Fleming’s let out of that hellhole. He’ll kill again. And again.”

“Don’t tell me what Fleming will do. You have no idea what that man’s capable of. I do.”

“Then tell me, for God’s sake. What did he do? What is that man capable of?”

“He made the Whore of Babylon,” shouted Gamache.

“The etching, I know.”

“No, the real thing. Out of his victims.”

Beauvoir stepped back, away from Gamache. From the words that had come out of his mouth and the image that came with them. Of what Fleming had done. Of what had been so horrific it was kept from the public.

“Ohhhhh” escaped Beauvoir, a sigh, as though his soul had withered and was sliding out.

“The children?”

“Everyone. All seven victims,” said Gamache, and bent down again, his hands on his knees.

Beauvoir sank to his knees in the dirt. He watched Gamache trying to catch his breath. He’d had no idea of the weight this man had been carrying all this time. The images he must have seen. There were even rumors of a recording. Gamache had stood in that courtroom and absorbed it so that no other citizen had to. A few sacrificed for the many.

Gamache straightened up, stiffly, until he stood tall and resolute.

“If there was any other way, Jean-Guy…”

“You can’t let him out. I’m begging you.” Beauvoir, still on his knees, lifted his arms toward Gamache. “It won’t even do any good. He was probably lying to you. He might not even know where the plans are.” Beauvoir got up, angry now. “You were too close, you couldn’t see it. He was playing with you, messing with you.”