Penny, Louise - All the Devils Are Here

“Nothing,” said Dussault. “He’s babbling. Trying to buy time. Kill him. Do it now.”

“If you do,” said Gamache, holding his hand up in front of him, “you’ll never find it.”

“There’s nothing to find,” said Dussault.

“Then why did you throw the coins into the fountain at Place de la Concorde? It’s because you wanted to go back and get them later. Keep them for yourself, as blackmail.”

“What coins?” asked Girard.

“The ones in my pocket.”

Gamache went to put his hand in, but Girard stopped him and gestured to one of the guards.

It was all Gamache needed. As soon as the armed guard lowered his weapon and reached out, Gamache grabbed him. Pulling the gun from his pocket he got off two quick shots.

Blood spread over Claude Dussault’s chest as he staggered backward and collapsed.

“Run!” Armand shouted to Daniel.

He heard the door slam just as a burst of gunfire hit the SecurForte guard he was using as a shield. They both fell back. The dead weight of the guard against him dragged Gamache to the floor.

As he fell, the gun bounced from his grip.

Daniel had slammed the door closed. But was still in the apartment.

He knew he could never outrun the guards, or their bullets. And he couldn’t leave his father behind. His only hope was to hide.

Hide-and-seek. The game he and Annie had played as children.

The one his father had reminded him of just minutes ago.

The game Grandma Zora had taught them.

Over and over, she’d challenged the children to quickly find someplace to hide. Not under a bed. Not in a closet, or behind a curtain. Too obvious.

She’d made it fun, but there always seemed something intense about it. It was the same intensity his father had just now. When talking about their game.

Then, one day, he and Annie had successfully hidden from everyone. Here in Stephen’s apartment. Unaware it was a game, their parents and Stephen had searched for them. Growing from anxious to worried to terrified. The children were missing. Gone.

Once they’d emerged, laughing, their mother and father had, through thin lips, explained that they’d been scared to death.

And now Daniel remembered where that hiding place was. The false cupboard in the armoire in Stephen’s bedroom. It looked like drawers, but actually swung open, revealing a large empty space inside. Large enough for two children.

And now, Daniel, a very grown man, threw open the door and squeezed in. Shutting it behind him. Only just.

There wasn’t a centimeter to spare, and hardly any air to breathe. But he was in.

Through the crack, he could see into the living room.

Alain Pinot was cringing behind an armchair.

Claude Dussault’s body was on the floor.

And his father was struggling to get out from under the dead guard.

Girard put his own gun back in its holster and picked the weapon off the floor. “Get up.”

Daniel’s breathing came in sharp jabs as he watched his father get to his feet.

“He got away,” said Loiselle, returning to the living room.

“He couldn’t have,” snapped Girard. “He must still be here. Find him.” But just as Loiselle gestured to the other guard to follow him, Girard said, “No, wait. I have a better idea.”

He stepped back and aimed the gun at Gamache.

Armand stared Girard straight in the eyes and lifted his chin, in defiance.

But instead of firing, Girard called, “Daniel Gamache. Come out now, or we’ll kill your father.”

“Daniel, don’t.”

“Daniel, do,” ordered Girard. “Or he dies now.”

Daniel stared, frozen.

He knew if he did, Girard would kill them both. If he didn’t, his father would be gunned down. In front of him. And then they’d find him. And kill him anyway.

He closed his eyes and stepped off the ledge.

“Okay, okay,” he said, and crawled out from his hiding place.

“Oh, Daniel,” his father whispered.

“Now that was a mistake, young man,” said Girard.

He nodded to the guard, who raised his rifle at Daniel.

“No,” screamed Armand, and leaped forward, just as the guard pressed the trigger.

Armand knocked the weapon down so that the shots went into the floor.

At that moment, Girard fired. Point blank. Three shots. Bang. Bang. Bang.

“Dad,” Daniel shouted.

His heart pounding, his brain exploding, he fell to his knees as his father collapsed.

Girard put two more bullets into him. To be sure.

“Oh, no,” whispered Daniel, crawling across the carpet. “Dad?”

“Fuck me,” said Alain Pinot, coming out from behind the chair and staring at the bodies.

Girard was bending over Gamache, going through his pockets. When he stood up, he was holding something.

“Huh. So, these are nickels. He was right. They’re magnetized. Somewhere along the line they came into contact with the neodymium.”

“Then there is hard evidence somewhere,” said Pinot. “And you just killed the only person who knows where it is.”

“Exactly. No one else will find it.” He looked at his watch. “The board meeting’s about to start. We have to get you and the documents over there.”

“What about him?” Pinot nodded toward Daniel, who was holding his father and crying.

Girard picked the file up off the floor. “Loiselle, you know what to do.”

Daniel heard the door close and the now-familiar rattle of a rifle being lifted.

He hugged his father, rocking him gently, and whispered, “I’ve got you. It’s all right. I’ve got you.”

As the scent of sandalwood and rosewater settled around Daniel, he was transported back home.

He lay in bed. Curled in his father’s arms. Reading Babar together.

One more, one more. Please, Daddy. I don’t want to go to sleep. Not yet. Don’t leave me.

I will never leave you.

Daniel felt the kiss on his forehead, and heard the deep, soft voice: Sleep tight. I love you.

Kissing his father’s forehead, Daniel whispered, “I love you, too.”

As they walked down the stairs, Girard and Pinot heard a burst of gunfire.

“Here she is.”

The nurse handed the pink and crying child, wrapped in a blanket, to Jean-Guy. He held her close against his chest. Cradling her, tears streaming down his cheeks, he kissed his daughter’s forehead and whispered, “I love you.”

CHAPTER 42

The GHS board meeting was finally called to order.

There had been twenty minutes or so of chat, of drinking strong coffee and teasing each other about their night out in Paris. Alain Pinot was a particular target since he’d arrived disheveled, in the same clothes he’d been in the night before, and looking slightly ill.

Thierry Girard had placed the file in front of Eugénie Roquebrune.

“Is this … ?” she asked, looking at Girard over her reading glasses. Another declaration of power. No contact lenses.

“ Oui. It’s all here.” He bent down and whispered, “There was some trouble, but we have it contained.”

“Where’s Monsieur Dussault?”

“Tragically, there was a series of terrorist attacks overnight, assassinations really, including the Prefect of Police while he was with a Québec colleague and some others. The police will soon be on full alert.”

“The Prefect is dead?” Madame Roquebrune asked, her tone abrupt and businesslike.

“Oui.”

The CEO simply gave a small nod. “ Fluctuat nec mergitur. Paris will be in mourning.”

“And those responsible will be found.”

“Alive?”

“Who can say?” said Girard.

The CEO looked at Girard. They could both say. Then her eyes traveled down the long shiny table. “And him?”