“Yes,” said the Chief. “I know.”
“Do you?”
The two men held each other’s gaze, and Jérôme realized that the Chief knew something about fear. Not terror. Not panic. But he knew what it was to be afraid.
“And now, Jérôme? Are you feeling safe?”
Jérôme closed his eyes and leaned back in his armchair. He was quiet so long, Gamache thought maybe he’d nodded off.
The Chief sipped his cognac, leaned back in his own chair, and let his mind wander.
“We have a problem, Armand,” said Jérôme after a few minutes, his eyes still closed.
“And what’s that?”
“If they can’t get in, we can’t get out.”
Jérôme opened his eyes and leaned forward.
“It’s a beautiful village, but it’s a little like a foxhole at Vimy, isn’t it? We might be safe, but we’re stuck. And we can’t stay here forever.”
Gamache nodded. He’d bought them time, but not eternity.
“I don’t want to spoil the moment, Armand, but Francoeur and whoever’s behind him will find us eventually. Then what?”
Then what? It was a good question, Gamache knew. And he didn’t like the answer. He knew, as a man used to fear, the great danger of letting it take control. It distorted reality. Consumed reality. Fear created its own reality.
He leaned forward in his seat, toward Jérôme, and lowered his voice.
“Then we’ll just have to find them first.”
Jérôme held his eyes, not wavering. “And how do you propose to do that? Telepathy? We’re fine here, for now. For tomorrow even. Maybe for weeks. But as soon as we arrived a clock started ticking. And no one, not you, not me, not Thérèse, not even Francoeur, knows how long we have before they find us.”
Dr. Brunel looked around the bistro, at the villagers lingering over their drinks. Some chatting. Some playing chess or checkers. Some just sitting, quietly.
“And now we’ve dragged them into this,” he said softly. “When Francoeur finds us, that’ll be it for our peace and quiet. And theirs.”
Gamache knew Jérôme wasn’t being melodramatic. Francoeur had proven he was willing to do anything to achieve his goal. What preoccupied the Chief, what gnawed at him, was that he hadn’t yet figured out what that goal was.
He needed to keep his fear at bay. A little was good. Kept him sharp. But fear, unchecked, became terror and terror grew into panic and panic created chaos. And then all hell broke loose.
What he needed, what they all needed, and what they could only find here in Three Pines, was peace and peace of mind and the clarity that came with it.
Three Pines had given them time. A day. Two. A week. Jérôme was right, it wouldn’t last forever. But please, Lord, prayed Gamache, let it be enough.
“The problem, Armand,” Jérôme continued, “is that the very thing that keeps us safe is what will eventually be our undoing. No telecommunications. Without that, I can’t make any progress. I was getting close, that much is certain.”
He lowered his eyes and swirled his cognac in the bulbous glass. Now was the time to tell Armand what he’d done. What he’d found. Who he’d found.
He looked up into Gamache’s thoughtful eyes. Beyond his companion, Dr. Brunel saw the cheerful fire, the frosted mullioned windows, the Christmas tree with the presents underneath.
Dr. Brunel realized he had no desire to stick his head out of this pleasant foxhole. Just for this one night, he wanted peace. Even if it was pretend peace. An illusion. He didn’t care. He wanted just this one quiet night, without fear. Tomorrow he’d face the truth and tell them what he’d found.
“What do you need to continue the search?” Gamache asked.
“You know what I need. A high-speed satellite link.”
“And if I could get you one?”
Dr. Brunel studied his companion. Gamache was looking relaxed. Henri lay at his feet beside the chair and Armand’s hand was stroking the dog.
“What’re you thinking?” asked Jérôme.
“I have a plan,” said Gamache.
Dr. Brunel nodded thoughtfully. “Does it involve spaceships?”
“I have another plan,” said Gamache, and Jérôme laughed.
“You said we can’t stay and we can’t leave,” said the Chief, and Jérôme nodded. “But there’s another option.”
“And what’s that?”