Page 46 of The Grey Wolf
“What’s that?” He pointed to the last word on the list. “I’ve never heard of angelica stems.”
Beauvoir brought his phone out. “Got it. It’s known as archang—… whatever.”
“Archangelica,” said Lacoste, reading off his screen. “Archangel.”
“It grows in Russia.” Beauvoir caught the Chief’s eye, then went back to the page. “It’s used in vermouth, Chartreuse, Bénédictine. But, get this, it’s often mistaken for a poisonous species.”
Gamache had his hand up to his face, thinking. Poison.
“What is it,patron?” said Beauvoir. He knew Gamache better than almost anyone.
Gamache brought out his phone and, tapping on the secure-communication app, he paused.
“Patron?” asked Isabelle.
“Give me a moment, please.”
He needed to think. Gamache stared out the window. It was almost dark. Not many more minutes before the sun set completely. But what Armand saw weren’t the buildings warmed in the last glow of a spent day in Old Montréal, it was a list of names scrolling by in his mind.
Men and women he’d met in his years of policing. Trusted allies, colleagues, friends.
He needed to choose one, just one. And it needed to be the right one. Rarely had one of his decisions had such consequence.
The scroll stopped on one name. While Jean-Guy and Isabelle watched, Armand stared at the name and considered, examining that person from every angle.
Then he sent off a terse message and placed his phone on the table.
“What was that about?” asked Jean-Guy. The look on Gamache’s face was scaring him.
“It’s probably a toxic spill into one of the lakes,” he said. And paused before he went on. “I hope it is.”
“Oh, God,” said Beauvoir. “What’re you thinking? What would be worse?”
Armand turned to Lacoste. “You said you watched our meeting several times. Did you notice the water?”
“When he spilled your glass? Yes. You think it was to try to destroy the list? You said so at the time.”
“But he pointed out a little water wouldn’t do that. No. I think there was another reason. He also refused water himself and made some cryptic remark about water not being all that healthy to drink.”
Gamache was looking down at the list still on the table. “When I showed this to him, he said it meant nothing to him. But he said that the paper did. I had no idea what he meant, and we went on to other things. But now I think…” Armand turned the paper over.
“Water,” said Jean-Guy. His brow furrowed, trying to put it all together.
“After 9/11, multinational, multidisciplinary anti-terrorist task forces were formed,” said Armand. “Their job was to not just look at possible threats, but targets.”
“Go on.”
“I got a seat on one when I took over the Sûreté. Most of the focus was on hijackings, bombs. Assassinations. But some had a different concern.”
“What?” said Lacoste, her face growing paler.
“Water security.”
“That’s what Action Québec Bleu studies,” said Beauvoir. “Pollution. Weren’t we just talking about that? That Langlois discovered a toxic spill.”
“Non.Not a spill in a remote lake. The attack these strategists are looking at, are afraid of, is against drinking water.”
“What do you mean?” asked Lacoste, though by her face it seemed she knew exactly what the Chief meant. She just refused to see the size of the monster he’d conjured.
