The Nature of the Beast (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #11) - Louise Penny Page 0,106

his eyes to the computer screen, where the poem had appeared.

In his line of sight, forming a tableau, were the firing mechanism, the Son My Massacre, John Fleming’s play on Beauvoir’s desk, and the words on the computer:

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,

Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

CHAPTER 31

“The clock is ticking,” Gamache said quietly as he and Rosenblatt took seats at the back of the bistro. “Isn’t it?”

Around them, young waiters set the tables for the dinner service. Out the window, dying leaves shuffled in the wind and rain, and two chipmunks sat up on their haunches, alert.

Were they hearing it too? Gamache wondered. On the wind.

The tick, tick, ticking of time running out.

“Yes,” said the old scientist. He raised a hand and caught the attention of a server. “Chocolat chaud, s’il vous plaît.”

“Have you considered a nice warm apple cider?” Olivier asked. “Please?”

“Sounds good, patron,” said Gamache.

“And one for me too. Nonalcoholic. I’m still recovering from last night,” he said to Armand once Olivier had left. “You know, I ordered a hot chocolate yesterday and they brought an apple cider.”

Professor Rosenblatt extended his hands to the fire in the hearth, rubbing them together as though the warmth was water.

“That was quite a trick,” said Gamache, when the cider arrived. He stirred the drink with the cinnamon stick, the warm apple and cinnamon scent mixing with the musky wood smoke. “Finding the firing mechanism.”

“A trick?” Rosenblatt studied the man in front of him.

They’d left the Sûreté officers to continue their research, galvanized by the findings, and Gamache had brought the elderly scientist to the bistro. People were beginning to arrive for drinks before dinner, but their table was tucked nicely away and few would even notice they were there. To be certain of privacy, Gamache had asked Olivier not to seat anyone too close.

“This isn’t a magic act, you know, monsieur,” said Rosenblatt, as serious as Gamache had ever seen him.

“And you’re not the magician?”

The professor pursed his lips, contemplating. “Do you suspect me of something?”

“What’s in Highwater?”

Now the lips went taut and a stillness came over Rosenblatt. Gamache could almost smell the man’s mind working. It smelled a bit like apple.

Rosenblatt smiled, more with resignation than humor.

“You know about that?”

“Mary Fraser and Sean Delorme went there shortly after seeing the gun,” Gamache explained. “We tracked their cell phones.”

Rosenblatt shook his head. “File clerks.”

“Well?” Gamache asked.

“Highwater was the site of the first Supergun,” said Michael Rosenblatt. He watched Gamache as he spoke. “You’re not surprised.”

Gamache was quiet, waiting to see what Rosenblatt would say, or do, next.

“You went there, didn’t you?” said the scientist, once again fitting the pieces together. “You already knew. So why ask me?”

But his companion remained silent, and once again Rosenblatt put it together.

“It was a test? You wanted to find out if I’d tell you the truth. How did you even know I knew?”

“The redacted pages,” said Armand at last. “You read them but didn’t mention the plural. The censors took out everything, except one reference. Superguns. Everyone else who read those pages saw it. I couldn’t believe you didn’t too. So why wouldn’t you point it out? There was only one answer. Because you already knew, and hoped I hadn’t seen it.”

“Why wouldn’t I want you to know?”

“That’s a good question. Why didn’t you tell us this as soon as you saw the gun in the woods? Didn’t you think it might be important for us to know there’d once been another one, close by?”

Michael Rosenblatt took off his glasses and rubbed his face, then he replaced his glasses and looked at Gamache.

“I actually thought it didn’t matter, but hearing you say it like that, I can see how it might seem suspicious. Not many knew about the other part of Project Babylon,” said Michael Rosenblatt. “The two halves were called Baby Babylon and Big Babylon.”

“Two halves?” asked Gamache. “Of a whole?”

“No, better to call them two parts, but not of a whole. One led to the other. The first was Baby Babylon, the smaller of the two.”

“The one in Highwater.”

“Yes. It was conceived by Gerald Bull through his Space Research Corporation. Baby Babylon was a sort of open secret, like a lot of products in the arms market. Secret enough to be enticing, but out there enough to attract interest.”

“And it did,” said Gamache. “Didn’t it?” he asked when Rosenblatt didn’t answer.

“Of a sort. Baby Babylon was met with ridicule. It was called ‘Baby’ but it was so