Chapter 14 #2
There was one other thing Prime Minister Woodford was.
An accomplished strategist. Something he learned on the backstreets of Montréal and honed as a peacekeeper.
He was certainly canny enough to give his scheming Deputy PM the job hitting those net-zero environmental targets, while also making him head of the committee assigned to oversee international investments.
Prime Minister Woodford had, in effect, placed Marcus Lauzon not just on a hot seat, but on a political electric chair.
“Woodford isn’t behind the plots,” said Gamache.
“How do you know?” Lauzon’s eyes were closed, his face turned toward the setting sun.
“Because he has all the power he needs. Not just the support of his party, but the overwhelming support of the electorate. His approval numbers remain the highest of any Prime Minister in a generation. Of all the politicians in Canada, he’s the least likely to enter into a devil’s bargain.
His power is not threatened, and there’s no more to be had. ”
“Are you so sure?” Lauzon opened his eyes and locked onto Armand’s. The village below was bathed in golden light, precious for being the last of the day. In this light, the former Deputy PM’s face looked almost angelic.
It was fleeting.
After a long moment, as the shadows reached toward them, Gamache asked, “What do you know?”
“I know what you’ve missed. I know that there’re no boundaries when it comes to greed.
To those addicted to power, there are no borders.
There’s always more to grab. There are new territories, new worlds, to conquer.
Look at the Caesars. Alexander. Look at Genghis Khan.
Napoleon. Look at Hitler and Putin. Wolves know no boundaries, respect no borders. ”
Lauzon’s stare was so intense, Armand could feel cold creeping over him, and though he knew it was almost certainly the approaching night, he sensed it was far more than that.
Between the motion / And the act / Falls the Shadow.
“What are you saying?”
“You know what I’m saying, you’re just refusing to hear it.”
Behind them Beauvoir and Tardiff exchanged glances. They too had heard the accusation against Prime Minister Woodford. Jean-Guy did not believe it. He knew this was more misdirection by a man desperate to throw blame elsewhere. And crafty enough to make them beg for the lie.
It was, at least, a relief to see that Gamache clearly did not believe Lauzon either. And he was, with luck, beginning to see what was all too obvious. That the man greedily grabbing the last of the light was the Black Wolf.
“You’re saying that Prime Minister Woodford is planning to, what? Make himself into a dictator? Rule Canada as a despot?”
“Isn’t that what I’ve been accused of wanting to do? Why me and not him?”
“Because he’s a decent man?” said Gamache.
Behind them there was a small snort of amusement. Lauzon turned and glared, unsure if it was Beauvoir or Tardiff. Then turned back to Gamache.
“You’re thinking too small, Armand. Far too parochially.” He moved his hands to indicate more. More.
“This’s ridiculous.” Gamache stood up. “There’s no way Woodford, or any Prime Minister, could make a power grab. Even if his party would stand for it, the premiers would never allow it. Neither would the electorate. You don’t give the people enough credit.”
“You don’t give fear enough credit.”
“You’re desperate. Making up conspiracies, throwing a good man—”
“To the wolves?” said Lauzon with a smile.
“You’re wasting our time. When I invited you down here, I actually thought you might’ve been telling the truth. That you were set up. That the person behind the plots is still out there and active. But now I see I was wrong. Get up. You’re going back. And this time not into solitary.”
They all knew what that meant. Gamache might as well have pulled out a gun and shot Lauzon between those steady eyes.
The former politician paled, though it might’ve just been the dying of the light. Getting to his feet, Lauzon stepped toward Gamache but stumbled over a rock. Instinctively Gamache reached out and grabbed him to keep him from falling. As he did, Lauzon whispered directly into his ear, “FEDS.”
Armand righted the man, but before he let him go, he said, quietly, “What does that mean?”
But instead of answering, Lauzon simply straightened his clothing and said, audibly, “Merci, Armand. I think you know the truth when you hear it.”
He gave Gamache a warning look.
“If it’s the truth, and you’ve apparently known it all along,” said Gamache, taking that warning onboard, “why not say something before now? Why suddenly tell us that Prime Minister Woodford is the Black Wolf?”
“Did I say that?”
Gamache turned and began walking away.
“I was waiting for you to ask, Armand,” Lauzon called after him, a very slight whiff of desperation in his voice.
It was such an extraordinary thing to say, such an unlikely thing to say, that it arrested Armand. He turned and for a moment the two men, the two combatants, stared at each other.
“Why me?”
“Because you hate me, and with reason. Just as I hate you, with reason. Still, in the face of all my attacks, you wouldn’t yield. You held your ground. You’re the only one I can trust with the information. To do what’s necessary. To not yield.”
It was, Armand and Jean-Guy both knew, exactly the same reasoning Jeanne Caron had given for approaching Gamache about the poisoning plot.
It proved true then. Could this also be true? Could this rancid man be telling the truth about the Prime Minister?
“Why the code ‘Black Wolf’?” asked Lauzon. “What’s it supposed to mean?”
Gamache considered not telling him, but thought it would be interesting to see Lauzon’s reaction to the story.
“It’s an old Cree legend about a chief who had two wolves fighting inside him, tearing him apart.
The grey wolf wanted the chief to be compassionate, to lead with fairness and be forgiving of his enemies.
To strive for peace. For reconciliation.
The other, the black wolf, warned him that he’d lose everything, would be slaughtered, if he did that.
It would be weakness. He needed to make examples of his enemies, to exact revenge.
To make examples of anyone who crossed, who even questioned him.
To forgive nothing. To be brutal and rule with terror. ”
Armand stared at Lauzon, who seemed to have lost interest. It was Evelyn Tardiff who spoke, quietly asking Beauvoir, “Which one won?”
When he was silent, she answered it herself. “The black wolf.”
“Not necessarily.” Lauzon was listening after all. “It’s not over yet, is it. No one has won. Yet.”
At the car, the cuffs were put back on Lauzon, and Armand held the back door open.
“Merci.” He held Armand’s eyes, and in them he still saw kindness. And knew who he was actually seeing. “Maybe this meeting did serve its purpose. I wonder if salvation is possible.”
“That wasn’t the purpose of the meeting.”
“Are you so sure? What other purpose could there possibly be? If not for me, then maybe for you.”
Before getting into the vehicle that would return him to prison, Marcus Lauzon had stopped to look around, buying precious moments of freedom. Though he knew, as did Armand, that no one was completely free. There were always limits.
The former Deputy Prime Minister, the second most powerful man in the nation, stared at the modest homes and shops of Three Pines; then his gaze went further.
“We’re very close to the United States here, aren’t we? We could probably walk right across. And vice versa.”
Just as the door was swinging shut, he said, “The one that’s fed. That’s the wolf that wins, isn’t it.”
And then the door closed, and automatically locked. He was on his way back to prison, and Armand was on his way back home.
“You mentioned social media.”
“Did I?”
“You know you did, Ruth,” said Reine-Marie. The three of them, including Rosa, were in the church basement. “You said we obviously hadn’t seen the posts. What posts?”
“About Canada invading the States.”
“Yes, you said the people of Jericho were afraid that would happen. Back in 1812, I’m assuming. You read that on some site on American-Canadian history?”
Reine-Marie, as a librarian but especially from her work in the Archives nationales du Québec, was very aware of that history.
The two nations had not always been close allies.
That was fairly recent. Most of the relationship in the early years had been acrimonious at best, often combative.
And much of the fighting had been along the Québec-Vermont border.
In fact, Three Pines was created as a place of refuge for those Americans fleeing the fighting.
That was a long time ago.
“No,” said Ruth. “These people who are posting have no idea of the history, and probably don’t care about the past any more than they care about facts.”
“What do they care about?”
“Hard to tell. Most are shit disturbers.”
“Your people,” said Reine-Marie and expected to hear the elderly poet cackle. But there was silence.
“No. There’s crazy and then there’s crazy. These people are crazy.”
“Then why are you reading it?”
“Because if you pile up enough shit and leave it long enough, it has a way of combusting. And then you’re in trouble.”
Reine-Marie wanted to get away from that analogy. “What’re they saying?”
“Among other things, that during the pandemic Canada sent infected vaccines to the US that, when triggered, will turn the person into a zombie—”
“Oh, come on.” Reine-Marie laughed. “No one would believe that.”
“There are millions who believe the vaccines contained tracking devices.”
“Still, that’s pretty marginal stuff. And to what end? Why would we want zombies on our doorstep?”
“To finish what was started.”
“And that is?” Even as she asked it, she regretted the question. The answer would be crazy, and they had more important things to talk about.
The overhead florescent lights not only illuminated the map on the wall, they made both women look sallow.