A Better Man (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #15) - Louise Penny Page 0,40
and gestures.
“When?” asked Olivier.
More sounds from Billy.
“Will it work?” asked Olivier.
Billy thought, then nodded. “Yurt.”
That Armand got. “It’s possible, then?”
“But you’ll have to wait until the temperature drops and the ground hardens,” said Olivier. “He figures it’ll be sometime after midnight.”
Armand looked over to the river. Then at his watch. It was almost 10:00 p.m.
“Do we have that long?” Olivier asked.
“I don’t know,” said Armand.
They went back inside and reported what they’d found as they toweled off their faces and hair, then stuck their hands out to the fire.
The others listened in silence. There was nothing to say and nothing to do, except wait.
Jean-Guy called from Montréal and reported that they’d decided to blow the ice dams on the St. Lawrence. “They’ll issue a public warning and close the bridges while it’s being done.”
“Good. Let me know if it works.”
“I will.”
Armand lowered his voice. “And the dams?”
“No word. No mention of them now, even on the secure channels.”
Gamache took a deep breath and said a silent prayer.
“How’s it going there?” Jean-Guy asked.
“We’ve designated St. Thomas’s as an evacuation center. Most of the residents have been moved up there, but some are staying behind.”
“You speaking to numbnuts?” came a familiar voice in the background.
“Do witches float?” asked Jean-Guy.
“I believe they do,” said Armand.
“Shame.”
“I see he’s staying where it’s safe and warm,” said Ruth. “I’d expect nothing less. Or more.”
“Bitch,” muttered Jean-Guy.
“Bastard,” said Ruth. “Oh, and tell him to give my love to my godson. And tell Honoré I have a few more words for him to learn, and a special hand signal.”
When Ruth moved on, Armand told Jean-Guy their plans for the Bella Bella.
There was a pause. “That’s still two hours away, at best. Will the sandbags hold?”
“Hard to tell.”
Armand exhaled, and Jean-Guy could hear the strain.
“Annie and Honoré are safe here, and I’m just sitting at HQ with my thumb up my—”
“Got it.”
“I’m coming down to help”—he glanced at the clock—“if I can get off-island before they close the bridges. See you soon.”
“But—”
But the line was dead.
“Jean-Guy’s coming down to help,” he reported to the others.
“Dumb-ass,” said Ruth.
But Armand could see relief in the ancient face, illuminated by the flames from the log fire.
* * *
“I’m sorry sir, you’ll have to go back. We’ve closed the bridge.”
Beauvoir flashed his credentials, and the officer stepped aside and waved him through, alerting agents along the span to let this vehicle pass.
Just as he made it over, Beauvoir heard a huge explosion. He winced and instinctively ducked, even though he knew what it was. In the rearview mirror, he saw a plume of snow and ice shoot into the air.
A few minutes later, some distance down the autoroute, he heard another, more muffled explosion.
The ice was packed in tight, the St. Lawrence beginning to flood. If this didn’t work …
As he drove, he monitored the secure Sûreté channels, while dynamite went off in a ring around the island and across Québec.
At least Annie and Honoré were safe on high ground. And he’d return to them by dawn. Even if he had to swim across the St. Lawrence to get there.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It had been decided by Ruth, apparently in consultation with a duck and a bottle of scotch, that sentries would be placed on the bridge to sound the alarm should the Rivière Bella Bella break through the sandbags.
Reine-Marie and Armand chose to take the first shift.
At the door Ruth made sure their heavy raincoats were well fastened. “You have your whistle, in case something happens?”
“I do,” said Reine-Marie.
“And your Boys’ Big Book of Flooding?”
“Always,” said Armand.
“Then we’ll be fine,” said the old poet.
“Fucked up,” said Gabri.
“Insecure,” said Olivier.
“Neurotic,” said Clara.
“And egotistical, yeah, yeah,” said Ruth. “Now, no necking, you two, and be home by midnight.”
“Yes, Mom.”
As the rain and ice pellets hit her face, Reine-Marie called to Armand, “Heck of a date.”
* * *
Inside, a discussion had begun around the fireplace. What to take, if an evacuation order was given.
“I’d take Gabri,” said Olivier.
“I’d take the espresso machine,” said Gabri. “And some croissants.”
* * *
At the bridge they stood, backs to the wind, shoulders hunched, hoods raised. Reine-Marie put on her flashlight and pointed it into the Bella Bella.
“It’s rising,” she shouted.
“Oui.”
* * *
“I’d take my Jehane Benoît cookbook,” said Myrna. “The photo album. The Lalique vase. That hand-knotted Indian rug—”
“Hold on,” said Gabri. “Do you have a moving van? Can we use some of it? I’d take my grandfather’s Victorian sofa.”
“Oh, no you don’t,” said Olivier. “The only good thing about a