Page 111

Finally, it was clear why Joseph Moretti was involved. What he’d get out of this unholy alliance. He would provide the muscle for the corrupt politicians and greedy corporations. He would do the assassinations, the murders, the intimidation. The dirty work. He would eliminate anyone standing in their way. He’d open the door for the Americans.

And when it was over, and the new government installed, he’d turn his soldiers loose on them.

Joe Moretti was not content to be the capo di tutti capi of Canada. His addiction demanded more. Always more.

Sitting in the calm of the Haskell Free Library and Opera House, with the soft sound of music drifting under the door, it was near impossible to believe it could happen.

But Armand suspected every country ever invaded had felt the same way. Every group ever targeted, ever rounded up, refused to believe their neighbors could do it.

Every people who found themselves under the thumb of a tyrant must wonder where it began, and how they didn’t see it coming. And what moment they missed, when it could have been stopped.

Armand was quiet, hesitating to voice what needed to be asked. “You’re the head of the Joint Chiefs, Bert. You control the forces. Would you…?”

“Invade Canada? If ordered by my Commander in Chief?”

The two men stared at each other. Armand Gamache was shocked that it had come to this. That he’d had to ask the question, and that Bert Whitehead was considering his answer.

One the hunter, one the hunted,

A life to live, a death confronted.

“Would you, Armand? If I was in your sights, would you fire?”

And for you the bell is ringing,

And for you my bullet’s stinging.

Oh, my friend, it’s you or I.

“Suppose American forces…” General Whitehead moved his foot slowly, slowly. Inch by inch. Approaching the black line.

Touching it. Penetrating it.

Slowly. A centimeter at a time. Then breaking through the other side. One foot, then the other. Until the head of the American armed forces stood, uninvited, in Canada.

Gamache watched this. A few paces away Beauvoir and Lacoste stepped closer until they were ranged behind their Chief.

Armand had raised his eyes from the violated border, from the boots on the ground, and was staring at the head of the Joint Chiefs. Whitehead was also staring. Daring Armand to retaliate.

There was complete silence. And then, in the face of Gamache’s unwavering glare, Whitehead stepped back with a laugh.

But it had been no joke. They had their answer.

“Where would an invasion start from?” Armand asked. “The commando base in Jericho?” Another piece had found its place in an increasingly ugly picture.

“You know about it? That’s a shame. I can’t confirm, of course.” Though he just had. “I’ve already broken my oath. If anyone finds out, I could be, will be, put in prison. At the very least.”

“I would hide you.” Armand was not actually kidding. “I would protect you. Just look for three pines planted in a cluster.”

Though both knew Bert Whitehead would never leave his country. He was doing this to save it, not betray it. And would take whatever punishment it meted out. Including a firing squad. But he would not run away.

“Are there any scenarios where we repel your attack?” When Whitehead shook his head, Armand gave one curt nod. “I need to know the rest.”

“You do know. If armed commandos came across and seized”—he looked around—“this place. Seized all the towns and villages along the border. And on our way to Montréal, Three Pines…”

“We’d fight back.”

“You’d lose.” The General looked at his friend, his confrère, and the two younger people standing resolute behind him. Whitehead’s eyes were beseeching. Begging. “Why not just give up? Would it be so bad to be the fifty-first state?”