Armand Gamache looked over, almost surprised to find he wasn’t alone with his thoughts.
“A decision had to be made. And we all knew what that was. If Agent Lacoste’s information was right we had to abandon Agent Morin. Our efforts had to go into stopping the bombing. If we tried to save Morin the bombers would be warned and might move sooner. No one could risk that.”
“Not even you?”
Gamache sat still for a very long time. There was no sound outside or inside. How many others had hidden in there against a violent world? A world not as kind, not as good, not as warm as they wished. How many fearful people had huddled where they sat? Taken refuge? Wondering when it might be safe to go out. Into the world.
“God help me, not even me.”
“You were willing to let him die?”
“If need be.” Gamache stared at Hancock, not defiantly but with a kind of wonder that decisions like that needed to be made. By him. Every day. “But not before I’d tried everything.”
“You finally convinced the Chief Superintendent?”
Gamache nodded. “With a little under two hours to go.”
“Good God,” exhaled Hancock. “That close. It came that close.”
Gamache said nothing for a moment. “We knew by then that Agent Morin was being held in an abandoned factory. Agent Nichol and Inspector Beauvoir found him by listening to the sounds and cross-referencing plane and train schedules. It was masterful investigating. He was being held in an abandoned factory hundreds of kilometers from the dam. The plotters kept themselves at a safe distance. In a town called Magog.”
“Magog?”
“Magog. Why?”
The minister looked bemused but also slightly disconcerted. “Gog and Magog?”
Gamache smiled. He’d forgotten that biblical reference.
Once again Gamache saw Paul Morin at the far end of the room, bound to the chair, staring at the wall in front of him. At a clock.
Five seconds left.
“You found me,” said Morin.
Gamache took off across the room. Morin’s thin back straightened.
Three seconds left. Everything seemed to slow down. Everything seemed so clear. He could see the clock, hear the second hand thud closer to zero. See the hard metal frame chair and the rope strapped around Paul Morin.
There was no bomb. No bomb.
Behind Gamache, Beauvoir and the team rushed in. Gunshots exploded all round. The Chief leapt, to the young agent who sat up so straight.
One second left.
Gamache gathered himself. “I made one final mistake. I turned left when I should have turned right. Paul Morin had just described the sun on his face, but instead of heading to the door with light coming through, I headed for the darkened one.”
Hancock was silent then. He’d seen the video and now he looked at the solemn, bearded man sitting on the cold stone floor with him, his dog’s head with its quite extravagant ears resting on Gamache’s thigh.
“It’s not your fault.”
“Of course it’s my fault,” said Gamache angrily.
“Why are you so insistent? Do you want to be a martyr?” said Hancock. “Is that why you came out in a blizzard? Are you enjoying your suffering? You must be, to hold on to it so tightly.”
“Be careful.”
“Of what? Of hurting the great Chief Inspector’s feelings? If your heroism doesn’t put you beyond us mere mortals then your suffering does, is that it? Yes it was a tragedy, it was terrible, but it happened to them, not you. You’re alive. This is what you’ve been handed, nothing’s going to change that. You have to let it go. They died. It was terrible but unavoidable.”
Hancock’s voice was intense. Henri lifted his head to stare at the young minister, a slight growl in his throat. Gamache put a calming hand on Henri’s head and the dog subsided.
“It is sweet and right to die for your country?” asked the Chief.
“Sometimes.”
“And not just to die, but to kill as well?”
“What does that mean?”
“You’d do just about anything to help your parishioners, wouldn’t you?” said Gamache. “Their suffering hurts you, almost physically. I’ve seen it. Yes, I came out into the blizzard in hopes it would quiet my conscience, but isn’t that why you signed up for the ice canoe race? To take your mind off your failings? You couldn’t stand to see the English suffer so much. Dying. As individuals, but also as a community. It was your job to comfort them but you didn’t know how, didn’t know if words were enough. And so you took action.”
“What do you mean?”
