How the Light Gets In (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #9) - Louise Penny Page 0,92
not just my tree, but all the trees crying.”
He was quiet for a moment.
“It was horrible,” he whispered.
“What did you do?” Jérôme asked.
“What could I do? I stopped cutting and I made my team stop.” He looked at his huge, worn hands. “They thought I was mad, of course. I’d have thought the same thing, if I hadn’t heard it myself.”
Gilles looked directly at Jérôme as he spoke.
“I could live in denial for a while, but once I knew, I could never un-know. You know?”
Jérôme nodded. He did know.
“Gilles now makes the most wonderful furniture, from found wood,” said Gamache. “Reine-Marie and I have a couple of pieces.”
Gilles smiled. “Doesn’t pay the bills, though.”
“Speaking of payment—” Gamache began.
Gilles looked at the Chief Inspector. “Don’t say any more.”
“Désolé,” said Gamache. “I shouldn’t have said that much.”
“I was glad to help. I can stay if you’d like. That way I’ll be here if you need help.”
“Thank you,” said Gamache, getting to his feet. “We’ll call if we need you.”
“Well, I’ll come tomorrow morning. You’ll find me in the bistro if you need me.”
With his coat on and his large hand on the doorknob, Gilles looked at the four of them.
“There’s a reason thieves steal at night, you know.”
“Are you calling us thieves?” asked Thérèse with some amusement.
“Aren’t you?”
Armand closed the door and looked at his colleagues.
“We have some decisions to make, mes amis.”
* * *
Jérôme Brunel drew the curtains and walked back to his seat by the fire.
It was almost midnight and, while bone-tired, they’d gotten their second, or third, wind. More coffee had been made, another maple log was tossed on the fire, Henri had been walked and now slept curled up by the hearth.
“Bon,” said Gamache, leaning forward and looking into their faces. “What do we do now?”
“We’re not ready to connect,” said Jérôme.
“What you mean is, you’re not ready,” Nichol said. “What’re you waiting for?”
“We won’t get a second chance,” Jérôme snapped. “When I operated on a patient I didn’t think, Well, if I screw up I can always try again. No. One shot, that’s it. We have to make sure we’re prepared.”
“We are prepared,” Nichol insisted. “Nothing more’s going to happen. No more equipment’s going to show up. No more help. You have everything you’re ever going to have. This is it.”
“Why’re you so impatient?” Jérôme demanded.
“Why aren’t you?” she replied.
“That’s enough,” said Gamache. “What can we do to help, Jérôme? 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 Sûreté 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 Jérôme 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 Jérôme, 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 Jérôme’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 ça,” Nichol said, unwinding slightly. “Exactly. They’ll be looking for a sophisticated attack.”