Page 121 of The Grey Wolf
“Yes, maybe. We keep running into it.”
“I’ll look, but I don’t know of any organization that uses it as a codename, or any slang for a poison, though it would be a good one. Have you ever tried it?”
“Non.”
Whitehead leaned toward Beauvoir. “I hope and pray you’re wrong about the drinking water. We’ve gone over and over this scenario. Contaminating a city’s water is one of our top fears. Just below a nuclear attack.”
Beauvoir raised his brows. “Surely another 9/11 or—”
“No.” Whitehead shook his head. “The thing about poisoning the drinking water isn’t just the deaths, it’s the knock-on effects. Hundreds of thousands would fall sick at the same time. Civilians, yes, but also essential services like police, firefighters, health care workers. Hospitals couldn’t cope. Not to mention the fact that millions would be without drinking water. How long can people last without it?”
He stared at Beauvoir, who did not have the answer, but knew it wasn’t long.
“Panic then spreads to other cities as they fear that their water is poisoned too. Rioting breaks out across the country to get what little bottled water, what little food is available. All authority breaks down. Businesses are vandalized. Misinformation, conspiracy theories, are everywhere, often planted by the terrorists. People don’t know what to believe, what to do, who to turn to for help. Who to trust. There’s chaos. Imagine a sudden, all-encompassing, catastrophic event. That we do to ourselves.”
Whitehead was drawing his own mud map, leading Jean-Guy through it. But General Whitehead wasn’t finished. The map just kept going.
“That’s what the terrorists want. Not the deaths of a few hundred, or even a few thousand. They want us to turn on each other. To do to each other what they cannot. They want anarchy. And they’ll have it.”
As he spoke, Jean-Guy suddenly realized that Three Pines was not safe after all. It would be invaded by hordes of desperate people who would do anything to survive, including killing those whose offer of help would not be enough.
“Political power, as you know, Inspector, lies in trust.” The General tapped the coaster in front of him, a caricature of a past president. “The only reason democracy works is that there’s a contract between elected and those electing. A consent to be governed. But that contract is fragile. That consent can be withdrawn. Sophisticated terrorists know this. They hit targets that can shatter that trust. And few things are more powerful, more symbolic, more important than water security. We’re already experiencing some of that fragility, that threat, with the shifting climate. Droughts, wildfires, floods. Add terrorists being able to poison what drinking water we do have, and…”
He lifted his hands.
Much of this Beauvoir had heard from Gamache, but even he had not gone this far, drawn so dire, so extensive a map.
“The thing is,” General Whitehead continued, though now Beauvoir wished he’d stop talking, “the attack on the drinking water would not have to succeed to be catastrophic. An attack quickly contained with almost no injuries could be enough to undermine trust in our institutions. It could have significant political fallout.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning it could create a disproportionate political response.”
“Such as?”
“It could be used as an excuse to declare a nationwide state of emergency. Prompt mass arrests. The shutting down of news organizations and social media. Controlling all information. Curfews. Shoot-to-kill orders. Effectively a dictatorship.”
“A coup.”
General Whitehead didn’t respond to that, which was itself a response. “It’s been done before. It would be the perfect excuse to hold on to power.”
“To suspend elections? I hate to ask…,” said Beauvoir. The General was shaking his head, warning him not to. But he did anyway. “If the President is facing losing, could he—”
“Go no further, Inspector.” The voice was sharp. Commanding.
But Jean-Guy had stared down a nun. A general was easy.
“—be behind this? Choosing a large city? Close but not American?”
“No.”
“Are you sure? Who better to hide an attack than the government. The very people trusted to stop it? And who would benefit the most but a government on the verge of defeat? Wars have been started for that very reason.”
General Whitehead got to his feet, as did Jean-Guy. “This meeting is over.” He glared at Beauvoir, then left.
Beauvoir sat back down and finished his email to Gamache. As he hit send, he realized that everything Whitehead had said about the US President could also apply to the Canadian Prime Minister.
Armand sat in his car in the parking lot of the Société des alcools du Québec in Knowlton and stared at the bright green bottle of Chartreuse he’d just bought.
