“We’ve found a satellite,” he replied through lips and cheeks numb with cold.
“The rest?”
He shrugged.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Thérèse demanded. “Will it do the job or not?”
Gilles turned to her. “And what is the job, madame? I still don’t know why we’re here, except that it probably has nothing to do with watching the last episode of Survivor.”
There was a stiff silence.
“Perhaps you can explain it to Gilles back at the schoolhouse,” said Gamache. He spoke matter-of-factly, as though suggesting hot chocolate after an afternoon of tobogganing. “I expect you’re ready to get inside.”
The Chief turned to Nichol, standing alone a few feet away. “You and I can finish what was started.”
They were clear, cold black-ice words.
He wants us to leave them alone, Thérèse thought. He’s cutting her from the pack.
Seeing the slight smile on Armand’s face, and hearing his hard voice, an alarm sounded inside her. A deep, dark gap had appeared between what Armand Gamache had said and what he meant. And Thérèse Brunel did not envy this young agent, who was about to discover what the Chief Inspector kept locked and hidden, deep inside.
“I should stay too,” said Thérèse. “I’m not cold yet.”
“No,” said Gamache. “I think you should go.”
Thérèse felt a chill in her marrow.
“You have a job to do,” he said quietly. “And so do I.”
“And what job is that, Armand? Like Gilles, I’m wondering.”
“I’m simply doing my small part to make a crucial connection.”
And there it was.
Thérèse Brunel stared at Gamache, then over to Agent Nichol, who was untangling a twist in the frozen telecommunications cable and seemed oblivious. Seemed. Thérèse looked at the sullen, petulant, but clever young woman. Armand had sent her to the S?reté basement to learn how to listen.
Perhaps it had worked better than they realized.
Superintendent Brunel made a decision. She turned her back on Armand and the young agent, and ushered her husband and the woodsman away.
Gamache waited until he no longer heard the crunch, crunch, crunch of snowshoes, until silence fell on the winter woods. Then he turned on Yvette Nichol.
“What were you doing in the B and B?”
“Bonjour to you too,” she said, not looking up. “Good job, Nichol. Well done, Nichol. Thank you for coming to this shithole, freezing your ass off to help us, Nichol.”
“What were you doing in the B and B?”
She looked up and felt what little warmth she still had evaporate.
“What were you doing there?” she demanded.
He tilted his head slightly and narrowed his eyes. “Are you questioning me?” Nichol’s eyes widened and the cable slipped from her hands.
“Are you working for Francoeur?” The words came out of his mouth like icicles.
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?”