“What’s to stop him?” another asked. “Not the Sûreté, that’s for sure.”
That brought a round of laughter that verged on hysteria.
Chief Superintendent Gamache was relieved too, but he was also wary. It was at about this time that mistakes were made.
Just as he thought he was luring them into a trap, perhaps they were luring him. If they’d learned one thing about the cartel, it was that they were smart. They might be invisible, but that didn’t mean they didn’t see everything that was happening around them.
Gamache let the celebration go on. There’d been precious little to be happy about in recent months. Let them enjoy this moment. Eventually the excitement died down.
“Walk me through your thinking, Madeleine,” said Gamache.
“This’s the first shipment of chlorocodide across the border. It looks poised to become a significant drug, a huge moneymaker. Cheap to produce and an easy sell to a population always looking for the next great high.”
“It turns their skin into scales,” said one of the agents, reading the briefing bullet on krokodil.
“Right, and their brains to mush and eventually kills them young,” said Toussaint. “When has that ever stopped a junkie? These are not reasonable people making rational choices.” She turned back to Gamache. “You want my thinking? I think they’re meeting to discuss territory. Borders are for politicians, not drug runners. But I also think they’re meeting to size each other up. This is an indication of just how powerful the Québec cartel has become. What else would bring the head of the largest syndicate in the U.S. into the woods of Vermont?”
“He feels threatened?” asked Beauvoir.
“I think he might.”
“You think he’s come to kill the head of the Québec cartel?” asked another agent.
Toussaint thought. “No. I think he might be prepared to, but these are also businesspeople. It’s bad business to kill your supplier, unless there’s no choice. I think they want to come to an understanding.”
“The head of the Québec cartel is smart enough to figure all this out,” said Beauvoir.
“Oui, certainly,” said Toussaint. “And clever enough to be prepared to strike first.”
“Hell of a tête-à-tête,” said an agent.
“I think it’s time to let the DEA know,” said Toussaint. “This meeting can get out of control real fast and we’re going to need help.”
“When do you think this’s going down?” asked Gamache.
“Tonight, for sure. Probably shortly after nightfall. Before midnight, I think. They’ll want to get it done.”
“And you think they’ll meet at the crossing point?” asked Beauvoir.
“I do. It’s the safest place. We’ve proven to them that we have no idea it’s being used. The krokodil will be given to the U.S. syndicate. The money will come to the Québec cartel. And the heads of both syndicates will at least start the process of coming to a new understanding.”
Everyone, except Gamache, looked at the clock on the wall. He was perfectly aware of the time, but also of the folly of being pushed into a near-panicked decision.
“We do not tell the DEA,” he said.
There was a commotion, as everyone spoke at once. Objected at once. He let that die down too. And when there was silence, he spoke.
“If we told them that the heads of two of the largest syndicates in North America will be coming out into the open, that they’ll be meeting tonight, when a drug deal is going through, what do you think they’d do?”
He let them think, but only briefly.
“They’d mobilize,” he answered his own question. “They’d have to. We would too, if told the same thing. Even if they were willing to let us take the lead, there’d be so much activity, the syndicates couldn’t help but notice. No. There’re risks either way, but my decision stands. We do this alone. We stick to the plan that has brought us this far.”
“But what happens if the meeting is on the other side of the border, sir? Where we have no jurisdiction?”
“We might lose them both,” someone else jumped in.
“You let me worry about that,” said Gamache. “Focus on your own jobs tonight, and I’ll focus on mine.”
He’s not going to let that happen, Jean-Guy realized. One way or another, the head of one or both cartels would be brought to justice, if Armand Gamache had to drag them back across the border by the hair.
“Chief Inspector Lacoste is on site?” Gamache asked.
“She’s monitoring the head of the Québec cartel, and will let us know any movement,” said Toussaint.
“Bon. Inspector Beauvoir, you have the tactical plans?”
“I do.” He pointed to the ordnance maps on which he’d laid out where each of them would be positioned and what their objective would be. Plans every person in the room was very familiar with.
Their lives, and those of their comrades, depended on knowing exactly what would be expected of each of them. What each of their targets and objectives would be. Both primary and secondary.
They’d be a small force, so each agent had to be perfectly placed. Every person, every movement, precise.
The tactical team had been alerted, briefed, weeks ago, without being told the objective.
The Sûreté had two great advantages. They knew, after months of monitoring, exactly where the drugs would cross the border. And the syndicates had been lulled into believing the Sûreté was completely useless.
There was, though, another great advantage, Beauvoir knew. One perhaps less obvious. Motivation. Desperation even. Their backs were to the wall, to the ocean. This had to work.
But now something unexpected, though not unwelcome, had been added.
The head of the East Coast syndicate would also be there, and would no doubt bring his own small army.
A series of unknowns had been thrown into their carefully constructed plan.
The stakes had just gone higher, and the rewards had become almost inconceivable. But so had the dangers.
“They might not be relevant anymore,” Beauvoir warned, gesturing toward the maps.
“The American head might change the drop-off point,” Toussaint said. “There might be another one they prefer.”
Gamache could feel the tension rising. And he could sense the mammoth efforts each agent was making to keep their anxiety under control.
“They might. Or they might not. We can’t know. All we can do is go with what we do know, and be prepared to pivot. D’accord?”
“D’accord, patron,” they said as one.
Gamache thought for a moment, going over the strategy laid out in the plans. Then he turned to Beauvoir. “Do you think there’s a better way to do this?”
Beauvoir had also been quickly reviewing the plans, now indelibly in his head.
“I’ll need to adjust it,” said Beauvoir. “With the head of the syndicate there, there’ll be more security. And they’ll be more alert. But”—he thought about it—“I think the plan is still solid. As long as nothing else changes.”
“Your informant is with them?” Gamache asked, and Toussaint nodded.
“Bon,” said Gamache, getting to his feet. Everyone in the room rose with him. “If we have to makes changes on the fly, well, it won’t be the first time, will it?”
That brought laughter and knowing nods. Though the more veteran members of the team weren’t laughing so much anymore.
“I’ll be in my office if anyone needs me.”
As soon as the Chief Superintendent left, Beauvoir bent over the plans he’d worked on at home, for months, hoping this day would come.
When Honoré awoke in the night, he’d fed and soothed him while Annie slept. Rocking his son gently, and poring over the map, murmuring plans of attack.