Chapter 22 #2
Armand held his breath. Say it, say it. Tell me. But he saw Whitehead pull back. Though even that was telling. It suggested to Gamache that whoever Whitehead suspected of being behind this was prominent. Perhaps even someone he owed allegiance to.
“Someone’s trying to push us into a war with each other,” Gamache probed. Pushed. “If you have any idea who it might be, you need to tell me. I need to see that plan.”
“I’m sorry, Armand. I can’t. Not before I speak to someone.”
“The person who’s behind it?”
“I hope not. But I need to find out. Then I will give you what you need. I promise.”
It sounded so sincere, almost innocent. Armand was tempted to ask for a pinkie swear. Instead, he asked, “Is this really only about water?”
“Isn’t that enough? No water, no life. But it doesn’t hurt that we’d have access to your vast supply of hydroelectricity.”
In Québec, electricity came from the network of huge dams. From water. In Québec water literally meant power.
“But it doesn’t stop there,” said Armand. “You’d have our oil, minerals. Natural resources are the new currency. Power is measured in liters now. Not missiles. Not GDP.”
“Now you’re getting it,” said Whitehead. “The countries with the most water, the most oil, the most minerals are quickly becoming the most powerful. Canada is climbing to the top of the heap.”
“And becoming a target. Like walking around inner-city Montréal with a bag of heroin around our necks.”
“Now there’s an image, and oddly appropriate. With water comes another sort of power. Political power. And that’s a drug. It’s driven more than one decent person crazy. Power-mad. If this takeover happens, the person who leads it will become a despot, with all of North America under their control.”
“You’re talking about your President,” said Gamache.
“I didn’t say that,” General Whitehead snapped.
“But you suspect.”
Whitehead said nothing.
“You need to find out who, Bert. And we need proof.”
“It’s not just the US, Armand. There’re people in Canada involved. People who want this to happen. Who’ll benefit.”
“Moretti,” said Beauvoir, who’d been following this closely.
Finally, it was clear why Joseph Moretti was involved.
What he’d get out of this unholy alliance.
He would provide the muscle for the corrupt politicians and greedy corporations.
He would do the assassinations, the murders, the intimidation.
The dirty work. He would eliminate anyone standing in their way. He’d open the door for the Americans.
And when it was over, and the new government installed, he’d turn his soldiers loose on them.
Joe Moretti was not content to be the capo di tutti capi of Canada. His addiction demanded more. Always more.
Sitting in the calm of the Haskell Free Library and Opera House, with the soft sound of music drifting under the door, it was near impossible to believe it could happen.
But Armand suspected every country ever invaded had felt the same way. Every group ever targeted, ever rounded up, refused to believe their neighbors could do it.
Every people who found themselves under the thumb of a tyrant must wonder where it began, and how they didn’t see it coming. And what moment they missed, when it could have been stopped.
Armand was quiet, hesitating to voice what needed to be asked. “You’re the head of the Joint Chiefs, Bert. You control the forces. Would you…?”
“Invade Canada? If ordered by my Commander in Chief?”
The two men stared at each other. Armand Gamache was shocked that it had come to this. That he’d had to ask the question, and that Bert Whitehead was considering his answer.
One the hunter, one the hunted,
A life to live, a death confronted.
“Would you, Armand? If I was in your sights, would you fire?”
And for you the bell is ringing,
And for you my bullet’s stinging.
Oh, my friend, it’s you or I.
“Suppose American forces…” General Whitehead moved his foot slowly, slowly. Inch by inch. Approaching the black line.
Touching it. Penetrating it.
Slowly. A centimeter at a time. Then breaking through the other side. One foot, then the other. Until the head of the American armed forces stood, uninvited, in Canada.
Gamache watched this. A few paces away Beauvoir and Lacoste stepped closer until they were ranged behind their Chief.
Armand had raised his eyes from the violated border, from the boots on the ground, and was staring at the head of the Joint Chiefs. Whitehead was also staring. Daring Armand to retaliate.
There was complete silence. And then, in the face of Gamache’s unwavering glare, Whitehead stepped back with a laugh.
But it had been no joke. They had their answer.
“Where would an invasion start from?” Armand asked. “The commando base in Jericho?” Another piece had found its place in an increasingly ugly picture.
“You know about it? That’s a shame. I can’t confirm, of course.” Though he just had. “I’ve already broken my oath. If anyone finds out, I could be, will be, put in prison. At the very least.”
“I would hide you.” Armand was not actually kidding. “I would protect you. Just look for three pines planted in a cluster.”
Though both knew Bert Whitehead would never leave his country. He was doing this to save it, not betray it. And would take whatever punishment it meted out. Including a firing squad. But he would not run away.
“Are there any scenarios where we repel your attack?” When Whitehead shook his head, Armand gave one curt nod. “I need to know the rest.”
“You do know. If armed commandos came across and seized”—he looked around—“this place. Seized all the towns and villages along the border. And on our way to Montréal, Three Pines…”
“We’d fight back.”
“You’d lose.” The General looked at his friend, his confrère, and the two younger people standing resolute behind him. Whitehead’s eyes were beseeching. Begging. “Why not just give up? Would it be so bad to be the fifty-first state?”
Now Armand smiled. “Animal Farm.”
“I’m sorry?”
“We’d fight back because in your new country, some would be more equal than others.
Any nation that would invade a friendly country is not a friend and certainly cannot be trusted.
How long before we were taken from our homes, because you’d need them too, and put on …
let me think … reserves? You call them reservations, but it comes to the same thing.
Or maybe camps—” He put up his hand to forestall the protest. “You know perfectly well, Bert, how easily the inconceivable becomes a reality. Becomes acceptable. Becomes the norm. Isn’t that what we’ve been talking about?
As you said, never underestimate the power of groupthink.
Non. We would fight. And once we lost, as you pointed out we inevitably would, then a guerilla war would start.
A resistance would spring up. We might concede, but we’d never, ever surrender.
It would become a mutual nightmare. For generations. Did your war games predict that?”
“Yes,” General Whitehead admitted. “But still, if given a choice between generations of conflict or slow death by starvation, I suspect Americans would hop on board the invasion train. Besides, you’d be the bad guys, remember?
We’re the patient victims with a legitimate grievance, pushed to do something we really didn’t want to do, but had no choice.
After all, you attacked us first. Or so people would believe.
It doesn’t matter if it’s true or not. All that’s needed now for this to work is a common enemy. ”
“Attack first?” said Lacoste. “Never.”
There was silence. Until Armand spoke.
“It’s already started, you said.” They saw Whitehead nod. “The wildfires. Those dark web sites are already sending out the narrative.”
“‘The worst attack on American soil since 9/11,’” said the General. “That’s how they’re framing the wildfires. They’re preparing. Grooming the population. Those photos are pretty convincing.”
“They’re AI-generated,” said Lacoste.
“You’re still living in a world where truth matters, where facts are important. They aren’t anymore. They’re fluid, and we’re losing facts as fast as we’re losing water.”
Armand felt the pit of his stomach drop out. For the first time, he could see how this could actually happen. How the common enemy would be created. How Americans, even reasonable ones, would be persuaded to come across the border.
“The frightening thing is, our water crisis isn’t manufactured.
” Whitehead’s voice was soft, reasonable.
“We really are facing a disaster. The Mississippi is drying up. It’s forecast that in a generation Palm Springs and Phoenix will be uninhabitable.
Major cities are already in crisis, rationing water.
The UN has declared a global emergency, and warning that all-out regional war over water is inevitable.
Inevitable. Anyone who thinks we’re different from people in Africa, in Asia, in the Middle East is wrong.
We’re all driven by the same need to survive. ”
“Your President isn’t a warmonger,” said Gamache. “Would she really authorize an invasion?”
“If public sentiment swung that way? If Americans were suffering and scared and angry and reelection was in doubt. If powerful lobby groups like the National Association of Realtors—”
Beauvoir’s sudden laugh stopped Whitehead.
“What? You expected the NRA? The Realtors’ Association spends billions every year lobbying. Can you imagine what happens to their members when cities become uninhabitable? Add to that pastors in churches demonizing Canada and preaching that it’s America’s God-given right to protect itself—”
“If there was another megafire…,” said Lacoste.
“Another aggression,” said Beauvoir.
And with that twist of the prism, Gamache saw what Charles Langlois had tried to warn them about all those weeks ago.
But had Charles told him the US was preparing to invade Canada for their water, would he have believed the young biologist as they’d sat over bomboloni at Open Da Night?