How the Light Gets In (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #9)

How the Light Gets In (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #9) Page 144

“I was on my way to that village when we picked up Gamache’s vehicle and cell phone.”

“He’s left the village?”

Tessier nodded. “He went to the SHU. We got there a few minutes ago, but missed him.”

Francoeur shot out of his chair. “He went inside?”

He was shrieking at Tessier so loudly he could feel the skin of his throat rip away. He half expected to spew flesh all over the imbecile in front of him.

“We didn’t expect him to leave the village,” said Tessier. “We actually thought he’d given his car and cell phone to someone else, as a decoy, to draw us away, but then we realized the car was at the SHU. We accessed the security cameras and saw it was Gamache.”

“You’re a fucking moron.” Francoeur leaned across his desk. “Does he know?”

Francoeur was glaring at him and Tessier felt his heart stop for a moment.

Tessier nodded. “He knows the man in the SHU isn’t Arnot. But that doesn’t get him any closer.”

Tessier himself had taken care of Arnot, as Arnot should have taken care of himself years before. A bullet to the brain.

“And where’s Gamache now?” Francoeur demanded.

“Coming toward Montréal, sir. Heading for the Jacques Cartier Bridge. We’re on him now. We won’t lose him.”

“Of course you won’t fucking lose him,” snapped Francoeur. “He doesn’t want to be lost. He wants us to follow him.”

He’s heading to the Jacques Cartier Bridge into east-end Montréal, thought Francoeur, his mind racing. Which means he’s probably coming here. Are you that bold, Armand? Or that stupid?

“There’s something else, sir,” said Tessier, looking down at his notebook, not daring to look into those heart-stopping eyes. “The Brunels aren’t in Vancouver.”

“Of course they aren’t.” Francoeur punched the speakerphone back on. “Lambert? Francoeur. Dr. Jérôme Brunel’s the one who’s hacked us.”

Lambert’s tinny voice came through. “No, sir. Not Brunel. He tripped the alarm a few days ago, right?”

“Right,” said Francoeur.

“Well, the person I’m chasing is far more clever. Brunel might be one of the hackers, but I think I know who the other one is.”

“Who?”

“Agent Yvette Nichol.”

“Who?”

“She worked with Gamache for a while, but he fired her. Put her in the basement.”

“Wait, I know her,” said Tessier. “In that monitoring room. Awful little shithead.”

“That’s her,” said Lambert. As she spoke they could still hear her fingers on the keyboard. Running Agent Nichol to ground. “I brought her to Cyber Crimes but she didn’t work out. Too damaged. I sent her back.”

“It’s her?” asked Francoeur.

“I think so.”

“Meet me in the sub-basement.”

“Yessir.”

“You find out where Gamache is going,” he said to Tessier, and headed out the door. Was it possible Gamache’s people had been working out of Sûreté headquarters? They’d been here all along, right under their noses? In the sub-basement? That would explain the ultra high-speed.

And Gamache, hiding away in that village, was a decoy.

Yes, thought Francoeur as he descended to the sub-basement, it was the sort of bold move that would appeal to Gamache’s ego.

Inspector Lambert was already outside the locked door in the basement when Chief Superintendent Francoeur and two other massive agents arrived.

Francoeur took Lambert a few paces down the corridor and whispered, “Could they be inside?”

“It’s possible,” said Lambert.

Francoeur turned to the two agents. “Knock it down.”

One drew his weapon while the other kicked. There was a bang as the door flew open, to reveal a tiny room, with banks of monitors, keyboards, terminals, candy wrappers, moldy orange peels, empty soft drink cans. But otherwise empty.

Lambert sat at the desk and hit some keys.

“Nothing. She wasn’t working from here. But let me check something.”

She walked rapidly down the corridor to another door, unlocked it and called them over.

“What am I supposed to be seeing?” Francoeur asked.

“Old equipment confiscated from hackers. The room should be full.”

It wasn’t.

“What’s missing?”

“Satellite dishes, cables, terminals, monitors,” said Lambert, studying the near-empty storage room. “Clever little shit.”