Page 187 of The Grey Wolf
The two of them took out the notebooks, setting aside the first, where the young biologist documented his visits to central and northern lakes in Québec. It was, Gamache now recognized, just for show. Meant to mislead, misdirect anyone who came looking into thinking the biologist was investigating pollution in lakes.
The important information was in the second notebook. That onecovered his time working first at the Atwater treatment plant, then, the last few pages, at the Charles-J.-Des Baillets facility.
Gamache went right to the final entry. There was no mistaking what Charles Langlois had found out. Writ large and underlined several times was:
Botulinum. 08/25 @ 23:50
“Jesus,” said Beauvoir, turning pale. “That’s today. In”—he looked at his phone—“forty-seven minutes.”
Gamache was silent. Below the time, Langlois had written,Which pump???
“Question marks?” said Beauvoir. “Question marks? For God’s sake, he wasn’t sure?”
Gamache was skimming through the notebook, looking for names. He saw Caron, with question marks beside her name. He saw Lauzon, the Deputy Prime Minister.
There were others. Some with question marks, some not.
His heart sank when he saw both Madeleine Toussaint, the head of the Sûreté, and Evelyn Tardiff, the head of their Organized Crime division, on the list.
There was one name that did not surprise him.
David Lavigne. The deputy commissioner of the RCMP and his friend.
As soon as he’d realized the Mountie who’d been sent to “protect” him was working against them, he’d known Lavigne must be behind it.
“So he’s not Diane’s brother?”
“No. That was said so that I’d accept him without question. Someone thinks I’m far more fragile than I actually am.”
But still, Jean-Guy could see that the mention of the murdered agent had found a wound that would never fully heal. The Chief had learned to live with it. As people in chronic pain do.
While Beauvoir scanned the notebook, Gamache accessed the background checks done on the employees by the Sûreté.
Charles Langlois, at least in his written records, seemed unsure who was involved in the plot. It would have to be someone who couldget access to the massive pumps. Who could turn off the sophisticated levels of treatment.
One person couldn’t do it. It would need to be a small team of trained terrorists, and at least some engineers familiar with the plant.
Gamache stared at the building, lit up and ominous.
If Langlois was right, they were now… Gamache checked his phone… forty-three minutes away from the attack.
The conspirators must already be in the plant. Gamache and Beauvoir could not risk warning anybody and setting it off, even if they knew who to warn. But there was something he could do.
Gamache called the agent on duty in homicide at Sûreté headquarters.
“Forrest, I need you to get a tactical squad together. Heavily armed. I can’t tell you more. Be ready.”
He hung up before he heard the “Yessir.”
“Is there a way to shut down the plant completely?” Beauvoir asked.
Gamache shook his head. “I don’t know.” He thought there must be, but had no idea how. “We need help.”
“But who?”
“Her.”
Gamache was pointing to the name of a junior engineer.
