“You wouldn’t,” said Gamache, barely finding his voice.

“I’m tired, Armand,” she said, getting up and taking her seat behind her desk. “Jérôme is exhausted. You’ve dragged us both into this fantasy of yours. Give it up. Better still, retire. Go to Paris for Christmas, think about it, and when you come back…”

She let the sentence hang in the air between them.

He stood up. “You’re making a mistake, Superintendent.”

“If I am, I’ll be making it in Vancouver with our daughter. And while there, Jérôme and I will also discuss my future. It’s time to step aside, Armand. The Sûreté isn’t falling apart, you are. We’re dinosaurs and the meteor has struck.”

*   *   *

“Ready?” Tessier clapped Beauvoir on the back.

No.

“Ready,” said Beauvoir.

“Good. I want you to lead the team into the second level of the bunker.”

Tessier was smiling as though he’d just given the Inspector a ticket to the Bahamas.

“Yessir.”

He just managed to get to a bathroom. Locking the stall door, he retched, and retched. Until only fetid air burped up, from deep down inside him.

*   *   *

“Call for you, Chief.”

“Is it important?”

His secretary looked through the open door into his office. In all the years she’d worked for Chief Inspector Gamache, he’d never asked that question. He’d trusted that if she put a call through, it was, in her judgment, worth taking.

But he’d seemed distracted since he’d returned from his meeting with Superintendent Brunel and had spent the past twenty minutes staring out the window.

“Would you like me to take a message?” she asked.

“No, no.” He reached for the phone. “I’ll take it.”

“Salut, patron,” came Olivier’s cheerful voice. “Hope I’m not disturbing you.” He went on without waiting for an answer. “Gabri asked me to call to make sure you still want your room for tonight.”

“I thought I’d already spoken with him about that.” The Chief heard the slight annoyance in his voice, but did nothing to change his tone.

“Look, I’m just passing along the message.”

“Has he double-booked or something?”

“No, it’s still available, but he wants to know how many you’ll be.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, will Inspector Beauvoir be coming down?”

Gamache exhaled sharply into the receiver.

“Voyons, Olivier,” he began, then reined himself in. “Listen, Olivier, I’ve been through this as well. Inspector Beauvoir’s on another assignment. Inspector Lacoste will be staying in Montréal to continue the investigation from here, and I’ll be coming down to Three Pines, to look into that end of the case. I’ve left Henri with Madame Morrow so I have to come down anyway.”

“No need to get all upset, Chief,” snapped Olivier. “I was just asking.”

“I’m not upset”—though it was clear he was—“I’m just busy and have no time for this. If the B and B is available, fine. If not, I’ll collect Henri and come back to Montréal.”

“Non, non. It’s available. And stay as long as you want. Gabri isn’t taking any bookings leading up to Christmas. Too involved with the concert.”

Gamache wasn’t going to be dragged into that conversation. He thanked Olivier, hung up, and looked at the small clock on his desk. Almost one thirty.

The Chief Inspector leaned back in his chair, then he swung it around so that his back was to the office and he faced the large window that looked out onto snowy Montréal.

One thirty.

*   *   *

It was one thirty.

Beauvoir took another deep breath and leaned back against the rumbling van. He tried closing his eyes, but that made the nausea worse. He turned his face so that the cold metal was against his hot cheek.

An hour and a half and the raid would begin. He wished the van had windows, so he could see the city. The familiar buildings. Solid, predictable. Jean-Guy was always more comfortable with the man-made than the natural. He tried to imagine where they were. Were they over the bridge yet? Were there buildings outside, or forests?

Where was he?

*   *   *

Gamache knew where Beauvoir was. He was on a raid scheduled to begin at three.