“Wait,” said Jérôme sharply, from the next desk. “Stop what you’re doing.”

Gamache and Thérèse froze, as though their own movement would somehow betray them. Then Gamache stepped over to Jérôme.

“What is it?”

“They’re out looking,” he said. “Not just guarding the files, but now they’re looking for us.”

“Did we trip another alarm?” Thérèse asked.

“Not that I know of,” said Jérôme, and glanced over at Nichol, who checked her equipment and shook her head.

Dr. Brunel turned back to his monitor and stared. His pudgy hands were raised over his keyboard, ready to leap into action if need be. “They’re using a new program, one I haven’t seen before.”

No one moved.

Gamache stared at the screen and half expected to see a specter crawl out from the corner of the monitor. Picking up pieces of text, files, documents, and looking beneath. For them.

He held his breath, not daring to move. In case. He knew it was irrational, but he didn’t want to risk it.

“They won’t find us,” said Nichol, and Gamache admired her bravado. She’d spoken in a whisper and Gamache was glad of it. Bravado was one thing, but silence and stillness were the first rules of hiding. And he was under no illusions. That’s what they were doing.

Gilles seemed to sense it too. He tipped his chair forward quietly and put his feet on the ground, but stayed where he was, guarding the door, as though their pursuers would come through there.

“Do they know we’ve hacked them?” asked Thérèse.

Jérôme didn’t answer her.

“Jérôme,” Thérèse repeated. She too had lowered her voice to an urgent hiss. “Answer me.”

“I’m sure they’ve seen our signature.”

“What does that mean?” asked Gamache.

“It means they probably know something’s up,” said Nichol. “The encryption will hold.” But for the first time she sounded unsure, like she was talking to herself. Convincing herself.

And now Gamache understood. The hunter and his hounds were sniffing around. They’d picked up a scent, and now were trying to decide what they’d found. If anything.

“Whoever’s on the other end isn’t some hack,” said Jérôme. “This isn’t some impatient kid, this’s a seasoned investigator.”

“What do we do now?” asked Thérèse Brunel.

“Well, we can’t just sit here,” said Jérôme. He turned to Nichol. “Do you really think your encryption is hiding us?”

She opened her mouth but he cut her off. He’d had too much experience with arrogant young residents during grand rounds at the hospital not to recognize someone who would rather eat a juicy lie than an unpalatable truth.

“For real,” he cautioned, and held her pasty gaze.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But we might as well believe it.”

Jérôme laughed and got up. He turned to his wife. “Then the answer to your question is that the encryption held and we’re just fine.”

“She didn’t say that,” said Thérèse, following him to the coffeepot on the woodstove.

“No,” he admitted, pouring himself a cup. “But she’s right. We might as well believe it. It changes nothing. And for what it’s worth, I think they haven’t a clue what we’re about, even if they know we’re here. We’re safe.”

*   *   *

Gamache stood behind Nichol’s chair. “You must be tired. Why don’t you take a break too? Splash some water on your face.”

When she didn’t respond, he looked at her more closely.

Her eyes were wide.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Oh, merde,” she said under her breath. “Oh, merde.”

“What?” Gamache looked at the monitor. UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS filled the screen.

“They found us.”

THIRTY-FIVE

“I found something,” Chief Inspector Lambert said into the phone. “Better come down.”

Chief Superintendent Francoeur and Inspector Tessier arrived within minutes. Agents were crowded around Lambert’s monitor, watching, though they scattered when they saw who’d entered the room.

“Leave,” said Tessier, and they did. He closed the door and stood in front of it.