Chapter 25 #2
The last thing she needed was for Nichol to complete that sentence: This time the posts are true.
That Armand really did believe the US was being groomed to take over Canada, by force, if necessary.
It sounded crazy. Delusional. Except to those few who understood the global water crisis, and what the future held for drought-stricken nations. Including their neighbor to the south.
“Wait,” Beauvoir shouted.
Lauzon was being led away. The guard kept going, despite Beauvoir’s call.
Now he repeated, louder: “Wait!”
This time the guard paused, then turned. “What?”
“I need to speak to him.”
“You just did.”
The guard had his hand gripping Lauzon’s thin arm. It did not look right. And neither did the expression on Lauzon’s face. It looked to Beauvoir as though the man was about to cry.
“Bring him back to the interview room.” When the guard hesitated, Beauvoir approached. For a not-very-large man, he had the ability to look menacing. A bundle of tightly wired threat about to come unraveled.
The guard escorted Lauzon back.
Beauvoir made a note of his name, then followed the former politician into the room. When the door closed, Lauzon exhaled.
“Okay, I’ll play,” said Beauvoir. “Suppose you’re telling the truth about what?”
“That I am not the one behind, or even involved, in all this. I’ve been set up. Just for a moment, Inspector, entertain that possibility.”
“So, if not you, then who?”
“Think. Who could have placed those documents in my desk? Who had access to my accounts and my diary? Who could have set up those meetings with Joe Moretti in Sainte-émiline and made sure I was photographed? And made sure Gamache saw them?”
Beauvoir remained silent. But he was now in the game. It didn’t take much to arrive at the answer.
“Jeanne Caron.”
Lauzon nodded. “My Chief of Staff, my longtime assistant and confidante.”
“And a man’s foes shall be they of his own household,” muttered Jean-Guy.
“What was that?” Lauzon asked.
“Matthew 10:36. Something the Chief Inspector learned from his first boss in the S?reté and passes on to all his agents.”
“I wish he’d told me.”
“Jeanne Caron,” Beauvoir whispered.
“I’m a shit, I know that. I’ve bribed and bullied and threatened. I’ve done terrible things. Broken all sorts of laws. But I’m nothing compared to her.”
“Why’s everyone staring at us?”
Shona tilted her head toward the crowd in the lounge.
Sure enough, one by one, almost everyone had turned toward them, then quickly looked away.
“Are we suddenly naked?” Shona actually looked down at her fully clothed body.
“I think this’s why.” Armand showed them his phone. Reine-Marie had sent him a message.
“Oh, shit,” said Isabelle. “Someone’s posted that we believe the US is about to invade Canada.”
“Not ‘we.’ You.” Shona looked at Gamache, then took out her phone.
“There’re calls for your resignation, patron,” said Lacoste, now on her own phone. “Saying this proves you’re incompetent. That you’re delusional and dangerous.”
“Really? The posts I’m reading have a different take,” said Shona.
The two S?reté officers turned to her, hopeful despite themselves.
“They say you’re just plain loony. Too many knocks to the head.
” She looked at him. “They’re not wrong.
Unfortunately, in this case, you’re actually telling the truth.
But why would they put this out there? Why admit it?
” She opened her eyes wide. “Ooooh, I see what they’re doing. The clever fucks.”
Armand was nodding. The fact he was being portrayed as incompetent, perhaps even crazy, wasn’t necessarily new or worrisome. What was new was that they were using the truth against them. Turning it into something ludicrous. Laughable.
So that when he did sound the alarm, no one would believe it.
“They’ve grabbed the narrative,” said Shona. “And twisted it.”
“The Ministry of Truth,” said Gamache. “This time actually telling the truth.”
“Ah,” said Shona with a small appreciative laugh. “Nineteen Eighty-Four.”
“This must’ve been put out in a hurry,” said Lacoste. “They might not have covered their tracks as thoroughly as before. We might be able to trace it back.”
Gamache and Lacoste exchanged glances, then he sent off a message to Yvette Nichol.
If Nichol was sending information to Chief Inspector Tardiff, as he believed she was, and if Tardiff really was working for Moretti, as he was afraid she was, they were well and truly in the merde. This would just hurry it along.
There was little to lose at this stage if Nichol and Tardiff were working against them, and a whole lot to gain if Nichol and Tardiff were on their side.
“It’s time for you to contact your mentor,” Gamache said to Shona. “That Paul fellow.”
“Paul Workman.”
Gamache stared at her. “Paul Workman’s your mentor?”
“You sound surprised.”
“Surprised doesn’t begin to cover it,” said Isabelle. “He’s the most senior, most respected journalist in Canada. One of the top foreign correspondents internationally. He’s covered wars and catastrophes, crisis after crisis—”
“God, you sound like you have a crush on the guy,” said Shona. She was not far wrong. Even Gamache looked a bit smitten.
“Until his network, CTV, closed his London bureau and let him go in a journalistic bloodbath,” said Gamache. “It was a travesty.”
It left millions of Canadians at the mercy of the reporting, the perceptions, and the interpretations of other nations. Including, especially, the American networks.
Paul Workman. This might actually work.
Gamache told her what he needed.
Just then a message from Jean-Guy appeared on the secure app.
“Lauzon says Jeanne Caron’s either the Black Wolf or knows who is.”
Gamache’s mind raced. How much had he told her?
“Didn’t he suggest the PM was the Black Wolf not long ago?” said Lacoste, reading the message. “Who’s next? You? He’s messing with us.”
Gamache took a deep breath. He hoped so. Because if either Woodford or Caron was behind all this, they were in deep trouble.
He put his phone away and looked around. “We have to get out of here.”