Page 133 of The Grey Wolf
“The karaoke bars were closed last night by the time I got there, but I went out early this morning, in case the cleaning staff was in. I went to a few—”
“Jean-Guy!”
“Okay. We were right. Three of them sang karaoke every Tuesday night, in their robes. They’d become a sensation. The local newspaper did a story on them. It’s tacked to the wall here, with a photo of them. I think that’s how the seminary found out. And why they were punished.”
“But only Frère Sébastien was kicked out,” said Gamache. “Not the other two. What does the article say?”
“I’m looking at it now. I’ll send a scan.Patron, one of them’s a nun. A Dominican. A Sister Irene.”
“I know. I have Lacoste on the line from the Vatican. She’s with her now. The third one?”
“A Brother Robert. But get this. He’s not a Dominican. He’s a Carthusian.”
Armand tipped his head back and exhaled.
That was it. An answer to one of their big questions. Why Grande Chartreuse? This was why.
He brought his own phone back up. “Isabelle, did you hear?”
“Non.What?”
“The third one is a Brother Robert. And he’s a Carthusian. He must be the one they were meeting at Grande Chartreuse. Contact Claude Dussault. Tell him to meet you there. Take Sister Irene with you.”
“Right.”
Though she had no idea how she was going to get the nun out of the bathroom, never mind the Curia, never mind from Italy to France and the mountain stronghold of the Carthusians.
“What about Sébastien?” she asked.
“Forget about him. It’s the other monk we need. He’s the one who knows what’s happening.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because Brother Robert’s the one in hiding. He’s the one the Abbot went to see. You have to find him.”
Lacoste looked at the nun, who was now standing tall, glaring at her. She suddenly seemed almost formidable. Daring her unexpected visitor to do her worst. As maddening as it was, Lacoste could not help but admire Irene. The woman must be terrified, thinking she was trapped in a bathroom with the very thing they were hiding from.
Not a born martyr, Sister Irene was still willing to face whatever was coming, to protect what she knew. To protect her friends. Though she must hope this was not the time, and the men’s bathroom in the Vatican was not the place.
But there was another problem.
“Patron, I looked it up. It takes ten hours to drive to Grande Chartreuse from here.”
“You need to fly.”
“But how? I don’t see how I’d get her onto a commercial flight.”
“When you call Claude Dussault, ask him to arrange a helicopter.”
“On the Sûreté?”
“No. I’ll send you my personal bank card. Use it. Do not use your Sûreté account.”
He felt a hand on his arm. It was Reine-Marie. “I’ll call the bank and increase our limit.”
“Substantially,” said Armand.
“Dad?” Armand hadn’t noticed that Daniel had joined them. “This might help.”
