“They just showed up. I think General Langelier at CFB Valcartier must’ve called someone at CSIS. He said he’d try to find us someone who could help. But I don’t think anyone really believed that what we found was Project Babylon. I think if they did believe it they’d have also sent some higher-ranking intelligence agents. I expect some to arrive any moment now.”
She gazed out the window at the quiet village.
“They want to keep the existence of the Supergun secret, which might suit their purposes—”
“But it makes investigating Laurent’s murder almost impossible,” said Jean-Guy. “But I guess we have no choice.”
“Mmmm,” said Gamache. “There’s something I think you should see.”
He got up and returned a minute later with the papers he and Reine-Marie had left in the living room. Had Ruth read them? Had she learned about Gerald Bull and Project Babylon? And realized that was what was hidden in the woods?
Armand had the uneasy feeling that she probably had, though she didn’t say anything when he picked them up. Which in itself was suspicious.
Returning to the kitchen, Gamache handed a page to Isabelle.
“Madame Gamache found these in a search of the archives,” he explained. Jean-Guy was reading over Lacoste’s shoulder. “Much of the information has been redacted, but they missed one reference.”
Jean-Guy got there first and looked up from the page into Gamache’s thoughtful eyes.
And then, a moment later, Lacoste hit it. The one word. The one letter.
“A typo?” she asked.
“Maybe. We wondered the same thing.”
“And if it’s not?” asked Beauvoir, sinking back into his chair. “If there’s another one?”
“Or two, or three?” said Lacoste.
Gamache held up his hand. “We don’t know if there are more. I think we need to keep this quiet for now.”
“Not even tell CSIS?” asked Lacoste.
“They’re presumably the ones who blacked it out,” said Gamache. “They must already know.”
“There was something else strange. Arabic and Hebrew. They look quite different, don’t they?”
“Very,” said Gamache. “Why?”
“Would you expect CSIS agents to know the difference?”
“I would,” he said, and studied her for a moment. “Why’re you asking? Is it the etching?”
“Yes. Mary Fraser found the writing, but she thought it was Arabic.”
He stared at her, not sure what to make of that.
“And there’s something else,” she said. “They didn’t get lost.”
“Pardon?”
“Mary Fraser and Sean Delorme,” said Lacoste. “They drove down from Ottawa and came straight to Three Pines.”
Gamache grew very still. The village itself was lost. Hidden in the hills. It was not on any map, or GPS. And yet the CSIS agents had come straight there. Which meant they might already have known where the village was.
* * *
Though invited to stay for dinner with the Gamaches and Ruth, and Rosa, the Sûreté officers declined.
“I think we’ll go to the bistro, patron,” said Beauvoir. “See what people are talking about.”
“You know what they’re talking about, numbnuts,” snapped Ruth. “Al Lepage.”
“And are you helping spread the rumors, Ruth?” Armand asked.
She glared at him, then shook her head and went back to her drink.
“Should she be…?” Beauvoir tipped his hand up to his mouth.
“It’s tea,” said Armand as they walked to the front door. “We put it in the Glenfiddich bottle.”
“And she doesn’t know?” asked Lacoste.
“If she does, she doesn’t say,” said Gamache. “Thank you for coming over and keeping me informed.”
“Always, patron,” said Lacoste. “Why don’t you join us for breakfast at the B and B? We’ll see if our little social experiment of throwing the professor and the CSIS agents together has produced anything.”
“Like an explosion?” he asked, and agreed to meet them for breakfast.
* * *
“Oh, dear.”
Mary Fraser sat straight up in bed the next morning and stared at the softly closing door. The footsteps retreated down the corridor of the B and B and she heard a tap next door.
The owner, Gabri, was bringing up morning coffee. And news.