The Nature of the Beast: A Chief Inspector Gamache Novel

Beauvoir opened the script and turned the pages at random, with growing frenzy.

“Call Isabelle,” said Gamache. “Tell her about the CBC news at six, and get her to have every copy of that play picked up.”

“Mary Fraser and Sean Delorme have one,” Beauvoir reminded him, as the phone rang.

“Leave them alone,” said Gamache. “If they’ve read Fleming’s play then they’ve also missed the reference. Let’s keep it that way.”

Beauvoir got Lacoste on the line, put her on speaker and brought her up to speed.

“I know about the CBC,” she said. “Professor Rosenblatt was just in here. He had a call from a journalist asking about the Supergun. They’ve obviously done enough research to know he’s the expert on Gerald Bull.”

“What did he tell them?” Beauvoir asked.

“He says he told them he’s long retired and the case of Dr. Bull was long ago. They asked about finding Project Babylon and he said he thought that unlikely since it probably was never built and wouldn’t work anyway.”

“Did they buy it?”

“Not for a moment,” said Lacoste. “The professor’s afraid he might have even made it worse by denying what they already knew to be true.”

“I don’t think it’s possible to make it worse at this stage,” said Beauvoir.

“Well, the good news is, so far they don’t seem to know where the gun is, and I suspect they’ll zero in on Highwater to begin with. They might even stop there.”

But they all knew that wasn’t going to happen. “You’ll get all the copies of the play? But leave the CSIS agents out of it.”

“I’ll get Cohen on it,” she said.

“No,” Gamache interrupted. “Not Cohen. Can you get another agent to do it?”

“I can,” she said, her voice guarded. “Why?”

“I’d like Agent Cohen to stay in the Incident Room. Do you mind? I’ll explain when we get there.”

They hung up and Beauvoir glared at the phone, not daring to look at his father-in-law. He knew why Gamache wanted Cohen to stay behind.

It was a terrible thing he was about to do.





CHAPTER 38

“That’s insane.” Then, after a tense pause, Isabelle Lacoste added, “Sir. Even if we could get Fleming out of the SHU and bring him here, it would be like releasing a plague.”

“We have”—Gamache looked at the clock on the train station wall—“three hours and five minutes until the news breaks and there’s no going back. It takes two hours to drive to the SHU. Agent Cohen will have to leave now.”

“I can tell the time, patron,” said Lacoste. “What I can’t tell is if you’ve lost your mind. I understand the equation, I really do. But I agree with Inspector Beauvoir. There’s a better-than-average chance Fleming’s lying. That he has absolutely no idea where the plans are. And then what? Arms dealers might still find the plans before we do, and John Fleming will certainly kill again once he escapes. Because he will escape. And you know who his first victim will be?”

They looked over at Agent Cohen, who was watching them from across the room. He dropped his eyes and pretended to wipe something off his slacks.

“It has to be done,” said Gamache.

“Fleming gets what he wanted,” said Lacoste.

“And we get what we need. Look,” said Gamache. “You know what will happen if someone else finds the plans to Project Babylon first. Fleming will seem like a cartoon character compared to what would happen then.”

He glanced over at Adam Cohen.

“If I could go in his place I would, but only Adam can do what we need done. Only he can get Fleming out. He worked there for eighteen months. He knows the SHU, he knows the guards and the system. It gives me no pleasure, but this task falls to him. It has to happen, Isabelle.”

Gamache tried to mask his frustration. For years, decades, he’d consulted his team, but the final decision was always his. Now, though, he needed Isabelle Lacoste to agree, and to act.

“You’re talking about getting John Fleming out of the SHU?” asked Adam Cohen. He was leaning toward them. “I’m sorry, but I overheard.”

They turned to the young man and Gamache took a step toward him.

“Do you think you can do it?”

Cohen considered, then nodded.

“I think so.”

He looked both determined and about to run away. His eyes were wide, his pupils dilated, his skin was not just pale but gray. A man about to jump off a cliff, hoping he’d sprout wings.

“I’m sorry to ask, sir, but are you sure it’s such a good idea?”

“We just need to know if you think it’s possible,” said Gamache reassuringly. “No decision has been made yet.”

“But John Fleming,” said Cohen. “He’s not…” Cohen searched for the right way to put it. “He’s not a normal person.”

It was such an understatement it was almost funny. But the look of sheer terror on the young man’s face made amusement impossible.