They sent their lieutenants. That’s what they were for.
To have not one but both exposed was exceptional.
Yes, this was far better than they dared hope.
And even worse.
Their plan was based on a meeting in the forest, surrounded by trees, not in the bistro, surrounded by friends. By family.
“We can’t arrest them yet,” he said, his voice calm and steady. “We have no proof against either of them. That’s been the problem. Their soldiers, yes, but they make sure to be clean themselves. We have to catch them doing something illegal. Sitting in the bistro is not.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck,” said Beauvoir under his breath. Once again, the mantra did not calm him down.
The chief was right.
Their entire operation depended on catching them with their hands dirty. And that meant on site when the krokodil crossed the border. Until that happened, they had no definitive proof against the heads of the cartels.
They were together, yes, but in the wrong place.
If the exchange happened in the woods, while the cartel heads were having a pleasant chat in the bistro, then they’d have failed. They’d lose them. They’d lose.
Beauvoir was staring at Gamache, his eyes wide and questioning.
Lacoste was waiting on the other end of the line. They could hear her breathing. And then the rattle of the door again.
“Hello?” came a man’s voice, in English.
“Tabernac,” she said. “I think that’s the bodyguard.”
“Almost done,” she sang out cheerfully.
Gamache knew once he hung up he couldn’t reach her again. His orders had to be clear, definitive. And fast.
One shot.
“There’s one other thing,” came Lacoste’s voice, so low they could barely hear it. “Madame Gamache is here too. With Annie and Honoré.”
The blood drained from Gamache’s face and he looked at Beauvoir, whose hands tightened on the steering wheel, and the car’s engine roared as he sped up even more.
“They have to get out of there,” said Jean-Guy.
“No, wait,” said Gamache. “Wait.”
They waited a beat.
“We’ll be there in fifteen minutes—”
“Ten,” said Beauvoir.
“Keep them there, and invite Ruth to join you.”
“You can’t be serious,” said Beauvoir.
Lacoste flushed the toilet in case the bodyguard could hear Beauvoir’s raised voice down the line.
“Honoré,” said Jean-Guy forcefully, as though Gamache hadn’t taken that in. Then, more quietly, “Honoré.”
It was as though Jean-Guy’s entire world had come down to one word.
“Annie,” he whispered.
Two words.
Reine-Marie, thought Gamache.
“They have to stay. It’s safe. They’re there to talk, not shoot up the place.”
“How do we know?” asked Beauvoir, his voice unnaturally high. “Wouldn’t be the first time a parlez turned into a bloodbath.”
“Non. If one or both had that in mind, they’d be meeting in the woods, with their soldiers. Not in the bistro. They’re brutal, but not stupid.”
He sounded more confident than he actually was. But Chief Superintendent Gamache understood that a leader could not afford to reveal his own emotions. He couldn’t demand courage in others while quaking in fear himself.
“If we didn’t see this coming,” said Beauvoir, “we probably won’t see what’s coming next. They could do the exchange right there, in the bistro. In front of everyone. We’re the ones who convinced them it’d be safe. We did this.”
“He’s right,” said Lacoste, running the water now. “What do I do then? I’d have to arrest them, or try. In a roomful of people.”
Honoré, thought Gamache. Annie. Reine-Marie.
Not just people.
Beauvoir’s foot pressed harder on the gas. The car was going 140 kilometers an hour, and gaining speed. They’d turned off the highway and were on secondary roads. Roads not designed for speed. The car bounded off ruts, flying then bumping to the asphalt.
But Gamache didn’t tell him to slow down. If anything, it was all he could do not to shout at him to hurry up. Speed up.
“Get Ruth to the bistro,” Gamache repeated, his voice low. “And go and join Reine-Marie and Annie. The head of the American cartel probably won’t know who they are, but the Canadian does. They’d never believe we’d put them in harm’s way.”
There was silence.
None of them could believe it either. Especially Gamache.
But there was no choice. To have Isabelle remove Reine-Marie and Annie and Honoré would almost certainly alert the cartel, and they must already be on the lookout for anything unusual.
They might be confident that they were in no danger, but they’d still be vigilant. It was animal instinct. And these people were animals.
“Are you sure?” Lacoste whispered.
From anyone else, in any other circumstances, Gamache might have been annoyed at this questioning of his orders. But he understood her need to be