“Why’re you so impatient?” Jér?me demanded.
“Why aren’t you?” she replied.
“That’s enough,” said Gamache. “What can we do to help, Jér?me? What do you need?”
“I need to know about all that equipment she brought.” He glanced at Nichol, who was sitting with her arms across her chest. “Why do we need two computers?”
“One’s for me,” Nichol said. She decided to speak to them as though to Henri. “I’ll be encrypting the channel we use to access the S?reté network. If anyone picks up your signal, they’ll need to break the encryption. It buys us time.”
That last bit they understood, even Henri, but they needed to think about the encryption part.
“What you’re saying,” said Thérèse, slowly picking her way through the technical talk, “is that when Jér?me types something on the keyboard it’s put into code? Then that code is scrambled?”
“Exactly,” said Nichol. “All before it leaves the room.” She paused and her arms closed even tighter across her body, like steel straps.
“What is it?” Gamache asked.
“They’ll still find you.” Her voice was soft. It held no triumph. “My programs only make it difficult for them to see you, but not impossible. They know what they’re doing. They’ll find us.”
It didn’t escape the Chief Inspector that within a breath, the “you” had become “us.” There were few more significant breaths.
“Will they know who we are?” he asked.
Gamache saw the vise grip loosen around the young agent’s chest. She leaned slightly forward.
“Now that’s an interesting question. I’ve intentionally created an encryption that appears clunky, unsophisticated.”
“Intentionally?” asked Jér?me, not convinced it was on purpose at all. “Why would anyone do that? We don’t need ‘clunky,’ for God’s sake. We need the best there is.”
He looked at Gamache, and the Chief Inspector could see the slight lash of panic.
Nichol was silent, either because she’d finally figured out the immense power of silence, or because she was miffed. Gamache suspected the latter, but it gave him time to consider Jér?me’s very good question.
Why appear unsophisticated?
“To throw them off,” he said at last, turning to the petulant little face. “They might see us, but they might not take us seriously.”
“C’est ?a,” Nichol said, unwinding slightly. “Exactly. They’ll be looking for a sophisticated attack.”
“It’ll be like taking a stone to a nuclear war,” said Gamache.
“Yes,” said Nichol. “If found, we won’t be taken seriously.”
“For good reason,” said Thérèse. “How much damage can a stone do?”
The David and Goliath analogy aside, the reality was a stone wasn’t much of a weapon. She turned to Jér?me, expecting to see a dismissive look on his face, and was surprised to see admiration.
“We don’t need to do damage,” he said. “We just need to sneak past the guards.”
“That’s the hope,” said Nichol, and gave a great sigh. “I don’t think it’ll work, but it’s worth a try.”
“Jeez,” said Thérèse. “It’s like living with a Greek chorus.”
“My programs will make it difficult for them to see us, but we need a security code to even get in, and they’ll know as soon as you log in with your own codes.”
“And what could stop them from finding us?” Gamache asked.
“I told you that before. A different security code. One that won’t draw any attention. But even that won’t stop them for long. As soon as we break into a file they’re trying to protect, they’ll know it. They’ll hunt us down, and they’ll find us.”
“How long will that take, do you think?”
Nichol’s thin lips pouted as she thought. “Finesse won’t matter at that stage. All that’ll matter is speed. Get in, get what we need, and get out. It’s unlikely we’ll have more than half a day. Probably less.”
“Half a day from the time we break into the first secure file?” Gamache asked.
“No,” said Jér?me. He spoke to Gamache, but was looking at Nichol. “She means twelve hours from our first effort.”
“Maybe less,” said Nichol.
“Twelve hours should be enough, don’t you think?” asked Thérèse.
“It wasn’t before,” said Jér?me. “We’ve had months and still haven’t found what we need.”
“But you didn’t have me,” said Nichol.
They looked at her, marveling at the indestructibility, and delusion, of youth.
“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.