All the Devils Are Here (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #16) - Louise Penny Page 0,91

themselves looked like they were housed in a bunker. In Moscow. In the fifties.

Reine-Marie greeted him.

“What is it?” he asked, seeing her face.

“Come with me.”

He followed her to a terminal in the reading room.

This building in the Paris archives held almost one hundred kilometers of documents, dating from 600 A.D. to 1958. But it all came down to one tiny entry.

One name.

Whatever Armand had expected to see, it wasn’t that.

“Oh, Daniel,” he whispered.

Jean-Guy looked out the window and tried to imagine he was not in a jam-packed elevator. Pushed up against the glass.

He shut his eyes and imagined himself sitting with Annie and Honoré in the bistro in Three Pines. Listening to friends and neighbors talking and laughing. The scent of wood smoke and coffee and sweet pine in the air.

He inhaled. But instead of pine, or coffee, or even the oddly comforting scent of mud, he smelled Sauvage by Dior. And felt elbows digging into him.

There was no escaping the fact he was in a crowded elevator, with Paris at his feet. Literally.

The elevator climbed higher and higher, and the space grew tighter and tighter. The scent grew more and more suffocating.

And then the elevator stopped, and he was expelled onto the very highest platform of the Tour Eiffel.

The wind was bracing. Going to the edge, he breathed in the fresh air.

“Why’re we here?” Séverine Arbour demanded.

Beauvoir was looking around, and then, spotting what he was looking for, he waved the man over.

“Xavier Loiselle, this is Séverine Arbour.”

“We’ve met,” said Loiselle, putting out his large hand.

Madame Arbour stared at it, then at Beauvoir.

“He’s a security guard at GHS. I’ve seen him when I’ve signed in. What’s this about? When you came to my house, you said something about the Luxembourg project. I thought we were going into the office, not coming here.”

She looked around.

Séverine Arbour was not afraid of heights, which was just as well. She was standing as high as a person could get in France without wings.

* * *

Le Comptoir was hopping when Reine-Marie and Armand pushed their way inside.

When they caught the owner’s eye, a spot was made for them at a small table at the back.

Armand and Reine-Marie knew this bistro in the Odéon well. Knew the patron. Knew the patrons. And would spot any strangers trying to overhear their conversation.

After they ordered two salade Niçoise, Armand told her about Jean-Guy’s brief text.

UR followed.

It was not a huge surprise. He’d assumed. What perplexed him was how skilled his shadow was, and how ham-handed Jean-Guy’s had proved.

Even if he couldn’t spot the tail, Gamache knew they were almost certainly being watched and overheard. Listening devices were so sophisticated it was almost impossible to get far enough away to prevent someone from monitoring their conversation. But they could obscure it by being surrounded by other, louder conversations.

Once they reached Le Comptoir and could finally talk, all Reine-Marie needed to say was one word.

“Daniel.”

“They planted his name,” said Armand.

Reine-Marie looked relieved, though Armand knew this was actually reason to be even more worried.

“They wanted us to think he was involved,” she said.

“Non. I think they knew we wouldn’t believe it. But they want us to see the threat. As a warning.”

Like a head on a stake during the Terror, he thought.

“To show us what they can do, to Daniel, to any of us, if they want,” said Reine-Marie.

“Yes.”

“Armand, that request at the archives was made five weeks ago. They’ve been planning this for that long?”

“At least.”

“They’re ready for us,” she said. “They know exactly what we’ll do.”

“Not completely,” said Armand. “They couldn’t have foreseen that we’d be right there when Stephen was hit. Or for us to be the ones to find Alexander Plessner’s body. This was all supposed to happen when we were at home in Québec. By the time we arrived, Stephen’s death would be ruled a hit-and-run, Plessner’s body would be removed. And whatever they were looking for would be found. We’ve messed up their careful plans. They’re scrambling.”

“But Daniel’s name in the archive requests?”

“They had to put someone’s name,” said Armand. “Whoever found those documents couldn’t use their own.”

“But how did they even know about Daniel?” She looked at him, and blanched. “Because they knew about you. Claude Dussault knows you. Knows Daniel. He did it.”

“I think so.”

“But how did he know we’d go looking?”

“He couldn’t have,” said Armand. “Not then. He was preparing for all the scenarios. What would happen if I came over, if I had my doubts about Stephen’s accident. If