Page 100 of The Grey Wolf
Armand sighed. He did not for a moment believe the Vatican, theCuria, was behind a plot to poison Québec’s drinking water. That was absurd. He suspected the truth was far simpler, and probably much closer to home.
But he understood what Jean-Guy was saying and agreed that the Holy See did not always see clearly. And often saw what served its purposes. Still, he suspected that what these two monks had discovered had less to do with the sins of the church, and everything to do with more earthly sins. Mortal sins.
“Do we ever totally trust anyone?Non, we’ll listen to what they say, then we’ll corroborate. But I think these monks are risking a great deal. I think the American found out who’s behind the plan to poison the water. He passed it on to Sébastien, who told his Abbot. Who wanted to give me the information.”
“But why the games? If they knew something, why not just tell the authorities?”
“It’s possible they did.”
Beauvoir stared at his chief as the importance of what he said sank in.
Suppose these monks found out that there was some terrible and imminent threat to the population? Where would they go? Not to the local cop shop. They’d go to the top. To the head of the Sûreté in Québec, charged with protecting the people. And to the federal government, which had the power and resources to investigate and stop any plot. They’d go as far up the chain as they could, possibly all the way to the minister responsible for counterterrorism. The Deputy Prime Minister of Canada. Thinking the head of the Sûreté and the federal leader would stop it. Not realizing they were actually informing the very people who needed to be stopped.
“That might explain how Jeanne Caron came to have half the Chartreuse formula. They gave it to her. Not realizing…” Beauvoir thought for a moment. “We still don’t know how Chartreuse fits into it.”
“We’ll find out eventually. It might be the monks’ own code, using an elixir of life to stop so many deaths. But for now, we don’t let anyone know we know about the monks. The Abbot. We try to look as incompetent as possible. Do you think you can manage that?”
“Which of us went for a stroll in woods thick with wolves? I think we can manage incompetence.”
But it wasn’t really a joke. It needed to appear, to anyone watching, as though the Chief Inspector and his team were now just bumbling along in shadow. Stuck in perpetual vespers. And it wasn’t all that far from the truth.
“If Jeanne Caron somehow got the other half of that list, why did she send it to you?”
That was also worrying Gamache. He was beginning to wonder if it was a game she was playing. She’d obviously studied him. She knew about Open Da Night. She knew where he lived. She’d gotten a key to their apartment.
Was she manipulating him? Did she know him well enough to know that dangling an ancient mystery, a secret formula, right in front of him, would catch his attention, his imagination? Had it worked? Was he standing here in a remote monastery interviewing cloistered monks when he should be somewhere else?
It was ridiculous to think that an old recipe for Chartreuse, an obscure liqueur, could have anything to do with a terrorist plot to poison Québec’s drinking water.
Gamache realized he might not be pretending to be incompetent. He might actually be.
And yet… and yet… Charles Langlois had been murdered, and Dom Philippe had left Gamache one of the fragments. Propelling him here. Where they’d found Langlois’s map. And where there might be more hidden in this remote monastery.
Something was happening. And it was all connected.
There was still far too much they didn’t know. But they knew far more than when they’d arrived, less than twenty-four hours earlier.
“Come on.” The Chief Inspector made for the door.
“Are you really going to take Frère Simon with us?” Jean-Guy asked as they hurried through the pools of sunshine in the long corridor.
Saint Gilbert Between the Wolves was, Gamache knew, a place ofduality. Of profound silence and the voice of God. Of light and dark. Of good and evil. Of Heaven and the Hell on earth that was coming.
“We have to,” he said. “Before someone shows up here to get rid of the meddlesome monk.”
“Oh, shit. You think he’s next on the list?”
“I think in this case knowledge isn’t power, it’s a death warrant, and our curious friend knows more than he’s telling.”
Within minutes, the investigators were packed and standing on the dock. The monks stood shoulder to shoulder in a semicircle just outside the abbey. Not so much to say goodbye, thought Gamache, as to make sure they left.
The Chief Inspector had spoken to Frère Roland, who was now acting Abbot, and asked him to organize a search of the monastery.
“You’re looking for a laptop and notebooks that belonged to a young biologist named Charles Langlois. I think the Abbot agreed to hide them here.”
Frère Roland, while surprised, did not question except to ask, “And if we find them?”
“Try not to handle them. Call me. Here’s my card. Andmon frère, whatever happens, do not let anyone else into the monastery. No matter who they are.”
