Page 63

“How’s it going there?” Jean-Guy asked.

“We’ve designated St. Thomas’s as an evacuation center. Most of the residents have been moved up there, but some are staying behind.”

“You speaking to numbnuts?” came a familiar voice in the background.

“Do witches float?” asked Jean-Guy.

“I believe they do,” said Armand.

“Shame.”

“I see he’s staying where it’s safe and warm,” said Ruth. “I’d expect nothing less. Or more.”

“Bitch,” muttered Jean-Guy.

“Bastard,” said Ruth. “Oh, and tell him to give my love to my godson. And tell Honoré I have a few more words for him to learn, and a special hand signal.”

When Ruth moved on, Armand told Jean-Guy their plans for the Bella Bella.

There was a pause. “That’s still two hours away, at best. Will the sandbags hold?”

“Hard to tell.”

Armand exhaled, and Jean-Guy could hear the strain.

“Annie and Honoré are safe here, and I’m just sitting at HQ with my thumb up my—”

“Got it.”

“I’m coming down to help”—he glanced at the clock—“if I can get off-island before they close the bridges. See you soon.”

“But—”

But the line was dead.

“Jean-Guy’s coming down to help,” he reported to the others.

“Dumb-ass,” said Ruth.

But Armand could see relief in the ancient face, illuminated by the flames from the log fire.

“I’m sorry sir, you’ll have to go back. We’ve closed the bridge.”

Beauvoir flashed his credentials, and the officer stepped aside and waved him through, alerting agents along the span to let this vehicle pass.

Just as he made it over, Beauvoir heard a huge explosion. He winced and instinctively ducked, even though he knew what it was. In the rearview mirror, he saw a plume of snow and ice shoot into the air.

A few minutes later, some distance down the autoroute, he heard another, more muffled explosion.

The ice was packed in tight, the St. Lawrence beginning to flood. If this didn’t work …

As he drove, he monitored the secure Sûreté channels, while dynamite went off in a ring around the island and across Québec.

At least Annie and Honoré were safe on high ground. And he’d return to them by dawn. Even if he had to swim across the St. Lawrence to get there.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It had been decided by Ruth, apparently in consultation with a duck and a bottle of scotch, that sentries would be placed on the bridge to sound the alarm should the Rivière Bella Bella break through the sandbags.