All the Devils Are Here

by Penny, Louise

  “Yes.”

  “Would they know?” asked Reine-Marie.

  Daniel thought about it. “The individual board member would have to know, but the chair of the board, the CEO, the majority owner, wouldn’t necessarily. Not if the shares remained in the board member’s name until the last minute.”

  “That’s interesting,” said Armand. “According to Mrs. McGillicuddy, Stephen transferred a huge amount of money into his account at your bank a few weeks ago. It’s unfrozen tomorrow morning.”

  “Just before the board meeting,” said Annie.

  Daniel nodded a few times, his brows drawn together in concentration. “It’s possible.”

  “Why would someone agree to sell their shares and give up their seat?” asked Séverine Arbour.

  “Money,” said Daniel. “Why else? He’d offer to pay twice, five times, ten times what the shares are worth.”

  “Cash raised by, let’s say, the sale of a priceless art collection,” said Jean-Guy.

  That sat on the gleaming table. They finally seemed to be getting somewhere.

  “There is,” Daniel began, “another reason a board member might sell.”

  “What’s that?” asked Reine-Marie.

  “Stephen might’ve made it unbelievably attractive to sell, and unbelievably unattractive not to. A push-pull. Suppose he approached a member of the board and told them what he knew. What he was about to reveal. Something so compromising it could not only bring about the collapse of the company, it would ruin anyone connected with it.”

  “And within days their shares would be worthless anyway,” said Armand.

  “But how would Stephen know that person wouldn’t go directly to Madame Roquebrune?” asked Séverine Arbour.

  “He’d have to know the board member personally or have some information that would make him think this person would agree,” said Daniel. “The devil you know.”

  “Oui,” said Armand.

  “Who’s on the board?” Daniel grabbed the annual report and flipped to that section. “Holy shit.”

  “What?” demanded Annie.

  Daniel passed it to his sister and looked at his parents.

  “Have you seen? Former Presidents, Prime Ministers. Emirs. Generals. She’s a former Secretary-General of the UN. And this one’s a Nobel Peace Prize winner. Two media moguls. It’s a who’s who. And all respected, or, well, mostly respected.”

  “All with a great deal to lose if, as you said, it comes out that they’ve been propping up a corrupt conglomerate,” said Armand.

  “Collaborators,” said Reine-Marie.

  “So,” said Annie. “Which of them sold his or her stake in the company to Stephen?”

  “We don’t know that’s what really happened,” Gamache cautioned.

  There was silence. No answer was possible, yet.

  “We have news, too,” said Beauvoir. “Something I didn’t tell you.” He turned to Annie. “You’re not going to like this. When I left here a couple hours ago, I was pretty sure that man was back, watching us.”

  “The SecurForte guard? The one you chased last night?”

  “Loiselle. Yes.”

  “And you went after him again?” demanded Annie. “Once was bad enough. You said yourself he’s ex–special forces. He could’ve killed you.”

  “But he didn’t.”

  “That’s not the point.” She was shouting now. Balling up all her anger, all her fears, and hurling them at him. “Suppose he had? I can’t imagine …” She stopped, unable to find the words. “What would we do without you?” She had both hands on her belly. “If something happened? What—”

  She dropped her head and started crying. Sobbing. Her mother and father made to go to her, but stopped. It wasn’t their role anymore.

  Jean-Guy was already there, kneeling down and holding her. Whispering, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. But I had to know what his orders were. To hurt you? The baby? Honoré? I had to stop him. I’m sorry.”

  “You can’t leave me,” Annie whispered. “I can’t … this child … I can’t raise her on my own. I need you.”

  “You won’t have to. I promise. I promise.”

  Annie and Jean-Guy left, returning more composed a few minutes later.

  “Okay?” Armand asked his daughter.

  When she nodded, he turned to Jean-Guy. “Annie’s right. A younger special-forces-trained guard should’ve been able to take you. He’d take all of us, combined.”

  “It was stupid, I admit,” said Jean-Guy. “The guy must’ve been told to intimidate me, but not to directly engage. When I confronted him, he disappeared.”

  Madame Arbour cocked her head. She knew that wasn’t the truth. But at a look from Jean-Guy she remained silent. Still, she wondered if she should say something.

  This was getting far too complicated.

  “That’s when I went to see you,” Jean-Guy said to her. “To get some answers.”

  “And what were the questions?” asked Armand.

  “Is GHS involved? And if so, what did Stephen find out that was so bad?” said Jean-Guy. “I think now that’s why he got me my job there. He knows my strengths aren’t in business or engineering. But they are in criminal investigation. In noticing if something’s off. And something is off in GHS. Unfortunately”—he turned back to Madame Arbour—“I thought it was you.”

  “And I thought it was you. I mean, really? Why hire someone obviously unsuited to the job? Why put someone so absolutely incompetent in charge?”

  “I wasn’t so incompetent,” said Beauvoir. But at a stern look from Madame Arbour, he conceded the point.

  “Unless,” she continued, “because of his vast ignorance, he could be easily manipulated. Or, more likely, you were part of it. There to help them cover up. If you knew crime, presumably you’d also know how to hide it.”

  “While we’re at it,” said Beauvoir, “why put a competent engineer—”

  “Brilliant engineer.”

  “—in a department where there’s no original engineering done? Unless the idea is that you’re there to cover up, to make sure I didn’t spot anything.”

  “No fear of that,” said Madame Arbour. “You’re perfectly capable of missing it without my help.”

  “Their office Christmas parties must be fun,” said Daniel to his mother.

  “I eventually realized my mistake,” Jean-Guy admitted. “You weren’t covering up, you were digging for something, and I wanted to know what. That’s why I went to your home this afternoon. To find out what you knew about the Luxembourg project. But you surprised me.”

  “How?” Gamache asked.

  “Patagonia,” said Arbour. “I still think there’s something off with Luxembourg, but like we talked about at the Eiffel Tower, I think Patagonia’s the key.”

  “The Eiffel Tower?” asked Annie. “Why go there?”

  “I needed someplace where we wouldn’t be overheard,” said Jean-Guy.

  “It’s perfect,” Armand agreed, though Reine-Marie noticed that just the mention of it had made him, and Daniel, pale. “Now, what about Patagonia?”

  “Wait a minute,” said Madame Arbour, putting up her hands and looking around. “If we had to go all the way to the top of the Tour to avoid listening devices, what’s stopping someone from listening in now?”

  “Nothing. I can almost guarantee they are,” said Gamache.

  “What?” said Daniel. “With all we’ve talked about? Are you kidding me?”

  “They might not be, but we have to assume they are. There’s no avoiding it.”

  “Then shouldn’t we be discussing the weather or ice hockey or whatever it is you Canadians talk about,” said Madame Arbour.

  Gamache got up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. “There may be bugs in the room, but more likely high-powered mics from one of the buildings nearby.”

  He paused to gaze out, then turned to them.

  “They’ve attacked Stephen, first with blackmail and then they tried to kill him.
They succeeded with Monsieur Plessner. They’ve set you up, Daniel. They’ve done everything they can, over the course of years, it seems, to cover up, to hide. I want them to know”—he raised his voice slightly and turned back to the window—“that they’ve failed.” Then he dropped his voice and whispered, “We’re coming for you.”

  He’d leaned so close to the window that his words fogged up the glass. And on it, he drew what looked like a snowflake before returning to his chair. “Let’s continue.”

  “They’ll hear everything we say,” said Annie, lowering her voice. “They’ll know what we know. And don’t know.”

  “Yes, but—” Jean-Guy began.

  At that moment there was a bang and the door to the suite blew open. While the others froze, Armand and Jean-Guy sprang to their feet.

  Roslyn and the girls came in. Laughing and talking. Then, seeing their faces, Roslyn stopped.

  Armand immediately lowered the knife he’d grabbed from the tray. A spoon clattered out of Jean-Guy’s hand.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” said Jean-Guy.

  “Nice, Rambo,” said Annie, glancing at the spoon.

  “Yeah, well, look what you grabbed, Betty Crocker.”

  Annie looked at the scone, now crushed in her hands. And smiled.

  “Okay,” said Roslyn, uncertainly. “We’re just getting our coats. Sky’s clearing, so we thought we’d walk over to the Arc de Triomphe.”

  Daniel got up, hugged them, and explained that it was probably best if they stayed in the suite. Roslyn was about to protest when she studied his face and nodded.

  “Come on, girls. Grab your books. We’ll go upstairs, lie on the bed, and read.”

  It took some convincing, and the promise of time on the iPad, but they finally agreed.

  Daniel took them up, then returned to the table. “You’d better be right,” he said to his father. “If you’re wrong and anyone gets hurt …”

  He couldn’t finish.

  “Yes.” Armand turned back to Madame Arbour. “Tell us what you know about GHS.”

  She looked frightened and unsure. And she was.

  Séverine Arbour was used to flow charts and schematics. To things that made sense. Or, if they didn’t, there was a method, a way to find the flaw and correct it.

  Engineers were problem solvers.

  But this was a problem she couldn’t seem to solve. Couldn’t even see. Not clearly.

  And it was getting muddier by the minute. She could feel the hysteria roiling up inside her.

  Composing herself, she took a deep breath and plunged on.

  “This all started—”

  Gamache’s phone buzzed with an incoming text, and he dropped his eyes for a moment, then held up his hand.

  “Désolé. Just a moment.”

  He turned his phone around for all to see the message that had just arrived.

  Can we meet? Fontaine des Mers, Place de la Concorde. 9 p.m.

  It was from Claude Dussault.

  He typed, Oui.

  “Are you insane?” demanded Daniel.

  “Maybe,” said his father, but without a smile.

  “He’s listening,” said Annie, looking around, as though the Prefect might appear from behind the sofa. “He knows we’re getting close. That’s why he wants to talk.”

  Instead of answering, Armand put a finger to his lips and, getting up, he motioned them to follow.

  CHAPTER 33

  Armand took Annie and Jean-Guy aside. Lowering his voice, he said to his daughter, “You need to stay here.”

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry, but Honoré will be awake soon. And there’s—” He pointed to the unborn baby. “Please.”

  “Where’re you going?”

  “Not far, but I can’t say.”

  She stared at her father, as serious as she’d ever seen him.

  Armand turned to Jean-Guy. “Would you like to stay with Annie?”

  “I …” He wanted to stay. To stand in front of her. And the baby, and Honoré.

  But he also wanted to stand beside Armand.

  And there were things only he knew. Things he needed to tell them.

  “I …”

  “You need to go with them, mon beau,” said Annie. “We’ll be safe. We have the cop, and no one’s going to bother us with such a strong, handsome, manly man protecting us. I bet he has a huge gun.”

  Jean-Guy narrowed his eyes in mock concern.

  “Go,” Annie whispered and gave him a long kiss as her father looked away.

  Outside the door, Jean-Guy spoke to the cop, letting him know that if anything happened to Annie and Honoré, to Roslyn and the girls, he would come for him.

  “Entendu,” said the flic, and tightened his grip on his automatic rifle. “Je comprends.”

  “You’d better understand,” said Jean-Guy as Armand and Reine-Marie, Daniel and Séverine Arbour waited by the elevator. “And you tell no one we’ve left.”

  “Oui. I mean, non.”

  The ferocity of Jean-Guy’s tone and expression had thrown the cop off a bit.

  Once in the elevator, Reine-Marie said quietly to Armand, “You’re not really going to meet him, are you?”

  He took her hand and squeezed. “We’ll talk.”

  But she had her answer.

  Jean-Guy stood in silence, watching the numbers drop. With each floor they passed, there was a chime, meant to be cheerful, but all it did was rattle him further.

  “You okay?” Armand asked as they sped past the main floor. And kept going.

  “Oui.”

  Past the basement. Past the subbasement. And as they dropped, so did the color from Jean-Guy’s face.

  “You can go back up, if you like.”

  “Non.”

  When it could go no deeper, the elevator stopped.

  They stepped out, and Armand took an envelope from his pocket and removed a slip of paper and a key.

  Unlocking a door, he led them down a dim corridor, pausing once to consult the hand-drawn map. Then he headed this way, then that.

  Both sweaty and ice-cold, Jean-Guy followed. Adown Titanic glooms of chasmed fears.

  A fine time, he thought, to remember that quote. But he finally understood what it meant.

  Pipes hissed, as though serpents were passing overhead. The walls clanked and groaned.

  Finally, Armand stopped in front of a metal door. Consulting the map again, he unlocked it.

  When the lights came on, they could see stacks of broken equipment. Vacuum cleaners, trollies, crates.

  “How did you know?” Reine-Marie whispered.

  Closing the door and locking it, he held up the key and spoke in a normal voice. “Madame Béland.”

  “The General Manager?” asked Reine-Marie.

  “Oui. The waiter gave it to me when she brought up the food.”

  “How did she know you wanted it?” Madame Arbour asked.

  “I sent a message down with the concierge—”

  “That was the envelope you gave him?” asked Reine-Marie.

  “Oui. I asked for the use of a room in the lowest level, where there were no cameras. I knew we’d eventually need a place where we couldn’t be overheard. Or seen.”

  Daniel stared at this man, this stranger. Who thought so many steps ahead. Who found a corner of order in chaos.

  Was this really the same man who made scrambled eggs in his bathrobe on Sunday mornings?

  “Why didn’t we come down sooner?” Daniel asked as they pulled crates into a circle.

  “Because we wanted them to overhear,” said Jean-Guy.

  “You knew about the key?” asked Daniel. “The plan to come here?”

  “No, but I trust your father.”

  Daniel stared at Jean-Guy in open and undisguised amazement. Even as his heart sank.

  What this man and his father had went so far beyond the bounds of camaraderie and friendship. Beyond even blood.

  Daniel now kne
w he could never, ever compete. Once, maybe, but not now. It was far too late.

  He’d ceded his place to Jean-Guy Beauvoir.

  “Since they were listening anyway,” said Armand, “it made sense to have it work in our favor. Tell them only what we wanted them to hear—”

  “—and not tell them everything we know,” said Jean-Guy. “Let them think we’re further behind than we are.”

  “Loiselle,” said Madame Arbour. “You didn’t tell them the truth. I was wondering.”

  “Thank you for not saying anything,” said Jean-Guy.

  “Look, I’m just trying to keep my head above water,” she said. “I have no idea what’s going on.”

  Armand, from his crate across the circle, wondered if that was true. Another advantage of being down there was that, while no message could get in, neither could messages be sent out.

  They were isolated. Which was good.

  But they were also trapped. Which was not.

  “What’s this about Loiselle?” he asked, but before Jean-Guy could answer, Reine-Marie touched his arm.

  “If the GHS meeting is tomorrow morning, wouldn’t the board members be in Paris already?”

  “Yes, probably. Why?”

  “Where would they stay? Most don’t live here.”

  Armand looked at his wife in wonderment. How had he missed that?

  “A hotel,” he said.

  “A luxury hotel,” she said.

  Jean-Guy’s eyes opened wide. “Is that why Stephen decided to stay in the George V instead of the Lutetia or another place? He knew that this’s where the board members are being put up.”

  “I bet Stephen arranged to meet that board member here,” said Daniel. “To finalize his deal to buy the shares.”

  “When we leave, I need to speak to the General Manager,” said Armand.

  “I can go up right now and ask,” Jean-Guy volunteered.

  “That’s not a bad idea,” said Armand, then narrowed his eyes. “You will come back?”

  “Maybe.” But he nodded as he took the key and map from Armand.

  Jean-Guy stared at the door. His way out. His way up. Then offered the key and map to Reine-Marie.

  “You go. The GM knows you and is more likely to tell you what we want to know.”

  “You sure?”

  He looked anything but. “Oui.”