Penny, Louise - All the Devils Are Here

Then, later, over the body of Alexander Plessner.

In his office at the 36 and in the suite at the Lutetia.

Their dinner the night before.

His conversation at the fountain.

Their exchange in the elevator of Stephen’s building as they went up to see Daniel and his captors.

Armand put his hands in his pockets. His right hand felt the gun. It had almost certainly been placed in his apartment by Claude Dussault. Or on Dussault’s orders.

In the other he felt the nickels. Stuck together with a magnet more powerful than anything else known to engineers. Known to engineering and design.

They’d been tossed into the fountain. By Dussault.

Everywhere Gamache looked, there was the Prefect.

Despite his efforts not to be manipulated, was that what was happening? In thinking he was carving his own path, was he really only doing their bidding? Dussault’s bidding?

He walked on, in the dim room, lit by pools of light at each reading station. Time was short, but he couldn’t be rushed. Patience. Patience. With patience comes power.

He needed to think. Think.

Dussault, in what appeared to be a rant against Gamache’s arrogance, had demanded to know what was different between the deaths GHS had caused and what other industries did. Killing people by the tens of thousands and getting away with it. In full view.

Airlines that flew planes they knew were dangerous.

Pharmaceuticals that allowed dangerous drugs to remain in circulation.

The entire tobacco industry.

Elevators that plunged to the ground.

Engineers using faulty materials.

He stopped in his tracks and stared into the darkness. Then turned toward the others, sitting in the pools of light. Watching him.

Faulty materials.

That cause elevators to plunge. That cause planes to crash. That cause trains to derail. It wasn’t the design that was the problem. It was the material.

Neodymium.

Each of the dates Stephen had noted had some sort of major accident. Including the first one. The train derailment that Anik Guardiola wrote about.

He turned and stared at Arbour.

His face had gone pale. His eyes were wide.

“It’s the accidents,” he said, striding past Arbour and back to Pinot’s terminal. “That’s what your journalist was on to, at the very beginning. That’s why they killed her. She asked too many questions. I got it the wrong way around. Stephen didn’t bring Plessner in. Plessner contacted Stephen. As an engineer, he must’ve made the connection. He’s the one who dictated those dates to Stephen.”

Gamache sat down and started going back over the AFP stories.

“That plane crash eighteen months ago,” he said. “And there was another, just four months later on the next date.” He brought up that page. “Different airlines, different make of plane. Two hundred and thirty killed in the second crash. They’d appear to be unrelated, but suppose that’s not true? Look here, cars exploding into flames. Again, different makes. That bridge collapse in the middle of winter in the Alps. The failure of the elevator’s safety mechanism.

“The inquiries into every one of the so-called accidents, even the plane crashes, came to no firm conclusion, and the investigations petered out.”

“So-called accidents?” asked Madame de la Granger. “You think these were sabotage? Even terrorist attacks?”

“No,” said Gamache, staring at the screen. “I think the first one, the derailment in Colombia, really was an accident. And I don’t think the others were deliberate. At least, not targeted. But neither were they unavoidable.”

“What’re you saying?” asked Pinot.

“He’s saying that GHS is responsible for all these accidents,” said Allida Lenoir. “Or whatever they are.”

“I’m saying they’ve known for years that something was wrong, ever since the train derailment. And they’ve done nothing to correct it,” said Gamache. “I think GHS Engineering is using the neodymium to make something common. So common that it’s used in all sorts of things.”

He went back to the airline story.

“What happens to aircraft at thirty-five thousand feet? We’ve all watched the flight maps, and seen the report on speed, altitude, and outside temperature.”

“It can get to minus sixty or more,” said Judith.

“Everything freezes. A plane is designed to withstand that. But suppose one element is not? Neodymium has many advantages, but one flaw. When overheated or frozen, it can shatter. I think that’s what’s happening.” He turned to Séverine Arbour. “Isn’t that right?”

But she didn’t speak. Didn’t say a word. She, too, was pale.

“Holy shit,” said Madame Lenoir. “They knew, and they didn’t stop it?”

Gamache turned to Alain Pinot. “What would happen if GHS accepted responsibility?”

“Early on? After the train derailment?” He thought. “Not a lot. No one was killed.”

“So why didn’t they?” asked Madame de la Granger.

“Denial,” suggested Pinot. “They didn’t want to see.”

“I think it went far beyond denial,” said Gamache. “I think by the time the train went off the rails, whatever caused it had already been built into all sorts of things, all over the world. Hundreds, thousands, hundreds of thousands, maybe millions of things. Some would never cause a problem, but some would. And to issue a recall would be ruinous.”

“So they turned a blind eye?” said Judith de la Granger. “Knowing what would happen? That thousands would be killed?”

“Not thinking anyone would make the connection back to them,” said Pinot. “And no one did. How many planes are taking off right now, with …”

“We have to stop it,” said Allida Lenoir.

“We don’t even know what ‘it’ is,” Judith said. “What’re they making?”

They stared at each other, but no one had the answer. At one time, Gamache had thought it had to do with the Allen wrench or the screws Stephen had lying around. But that couldn’t be right. They were not made of neodymium.

But something Stephen had was. Something magnetized those Canadian nickels.

“We need proof,” he said. “We can’t just tell aviation around the world to stop flying. We’d be dismissed as cranks. Oh, my God.”

“What is it?” Judith demanded, seeing the look of shock, of horror, on the Chief Inspector’s face.

“Something Dussault mentioned. The nuclear power plants coming online. Some already are.”

“Oh, fuck,” whispered Judith, sitting, collapsing, into a chair.

“Planes freeze,” said Allida. “But nuclear reactors superheat. And if there’s neodymium—”

Gamache, wide-eyed, was nodding. Seeing the map the newscasts had shown, of the new power plants around the world.

In Colorado. In Arizona. In Ontario and Manitoba. In the UK and France. China. On and on. Next-generation, safer. Safest, they were guaranteed. Brought online to reduce fossil fuel use. Their designs checked and rechecked. Until even the most ardent environmentalists gave their reluctant approval.

But the problem wasn’t the design. The catastrophe would be caused by the material. A near-miraculous rare earth element that promised to make everything more efficient.

Safer.

If one or more of those reactors goes … ?

“We have to stop it,” said Allida.

“We have to find out what it is,” said Armand. “We need proof.”

“Can’t we just tell them it’s the neodymium?” demanded Pinot.

“Would you shut down power plants, ground planes, stop elevators in office buildings internationally based on us saying it’s neodymium?” asked Gamache. “Of course not. We need to know exactly what it is they’ve built into those things.”