Where they could get across the border easily. And where the boss could monitor it all, from the kitchen where he worked, first as a dishwasher, then as a chef.
Anton had learned from his father, and his uncle, and apprenticed with his father’s best friend and confidant. Antonio Ruiz. Whom he was named after.
Until he’d been ready to take over himself.
They could hear the others, up ahead. They were gaining on them, since the drug dealers were essentially running wildly. One chasing the other. The Americans needing to kill the Canadian cartel head. To take over the territory.
And Anton needing to escape, and regroup, and defend his territory.
And Gamache and Beauvoir needing to stop them both. If they failed, there would be a bloodbath.
They could not fail.
Gamache saw Jean-Guy, just up ahead, split off and head east, and Gamache, understanding what he was doing, turned west.
They were driving their quarry, herding them, toward where Toussaint and the assault team were waiting.
Madeleine Toussaint arrived at the bistro with her team, weapons drawn. They approached rapidly but carefully, not sure what they’d meet.
The krokodil heading to the village had been a surprise, but she realized that even if the exchange took place there, they’d still have to get it across the border. And so she’d ordered her team to sit tight. To stick to the plan.
Until she’d heard the shots. Then she’d changed the plan and ordered her people into the village. To help the officers down there.
Even at a run, it took precious time to get there.
They skidded and scrambled down the hills, crashing through the forest, the gunfire getting louder and longer.
And then it stopped. And there was silence.
And then they heard it. The screams. The shrieking. The cries for help.
And then even that went quiet.
Superintendent Toussaint led her team into the village. Her sharp eyes taking in everything. Her assault team in formation behind her, they crouched and swung their weapons, scanning the homes, the windows, the gardens.
Bikes were lying on the side of the village green. A ball sat there.
But there were no people. No dogs. Not cats. Not even birds.
And then a woman came out of the bistro, a fireplace poker in her hand. Behind her, Toussaint heard the familiar and unmistakable sound of assault rifles leveled.
She raised her fist. Stop.
It was Madame Gamache. Running toward them. Calling for help.
Toussaint gestured to a squad to patrol, while she went to Madame Gamache.
“Are there any targets inside?” she demanded.
“Targets? I don’t know,” said Reine-Marie. “There’re people hurt. Some dead, I think. We’ve called for help.”
“Stay here,” said Toussaint, and led her team into the bistro, guns at the ready.
Reine-Marie did not stay there. She ran in behind them.
Toussaint saw tables and chairs overturned. She smelled the putrid scent of recently fired weapons.
But it was what she heard that she would never forget.
Nothing.
There was near total silence. As eyes, wide, turned to her.
“You have to help Armand,” Madame Gamache broke the silence.
“Where is he?”
She scanned the place and saw Lacoste on the ground, an elderly woman and two others kneeling beside her. One of the women, Toussaint noticed, was clutching a fireplace brush. Another, a duck.
Chief Superintendent Gamache wasn’t there. Neither was Beauvoir.
They weren’t dead. But neither were the cartel heads.
“They went through there. Into the woods.” Madame Gamache pointed toward the back of the bistro.
“How many were there?” Toussaint asked Madame Gamache, her voice urgent.
“I don’t know.”
“Three.”
A slender blond man, a dishtowel tied tightly around his arm and propped against a heavyset man, spoke. His voice weak but his words clear.
“Anton and two others,” said Olivier.
Toussaint ordered her team out of the bistro.
Instead of going out the back, Toussaint led her assault team the way they came.
Past the church, up the hill, and into the woods.
If she were Gamache, she thought as she ran, she’d try to herd the cartel members toward the border. Where the Sûreté assault team would be waiting and could finish the job.
Except they were no longer there. They’d veered from the plan.
Shit, shit, shit.
Gamache’s lungs were burning and he could taste blood in his mouth, but he didn’t slow down. Willing his legs forward, faster.
He could see the American and his lieutenant through the trees, up ahead.
Good, good, he thought. They’d be there soon. Right into Toussaint, who’d be waiting.
But as he ran, another thought occurred to him.
What would he do, if he knew the opioid was heading to the village? And then heard shots?
Christ, he thought. He’d change the plan. Would have to. He’d take his team into the village. To help.
He’d leave the border.
Toussaint wouldn’t be there. But the syndicates would. They were running right into the arms of both cartels.
But it was too late. Far too late to stop. They had to see this through, to the end.
Anton recognized this part of the forest.
The border, he knew, was just ahead. And waiting there were his people. Armed and ready.
Gamache had shocked him. The Chief Superintendent had obviously known for a long time who he was. And what he was doing. He almost certainly knew about the root cellar and the hidden door.
The Americans were gaining on him. He could hear them, like a stampede through the forest. Anton picked up speed.
But then he slowed down.
Something had occurred to him.
He wasn’t running to the border. He was being herded.
The border was just up ahead, he knew. He couldn’t see it. Couldn’t see his men, though he knew they were there. But whether Gamache was alive or dead, he almost certainly would have positioned a Sûreté assault team by the border. And the Americans would have their own people there.
He was running into a trap.
He stopped. He’d have to fight it out there. He turned and leveled his gun at the sound coming at him through the forest.
He fired.
A bullet grazed Jean-Guy’s leg and he fell.
He lay there for a moment, taking in what had happened. What was happening.
For some reason, Anton had stopped and decided to take a stand. The bullets from his gun moved in an arc, away from Beauvoir, as Anton sprayed the forest.
Beauvoir edged forward, the burning in his leg ignored.
The goal had not changed. To win the war, they had to do one thing.
Get the leaders.
Anton was behind a tree, sighting on the Americans. He fired again, his automatic weapon pumping out rounds.
Jean-Guy moved to the side, any noise he made masked by the weapons fire. Then he brought his gun up, and placed it behind Anton’s ear.
The syndicate soldiers, waiting at the border for their chiefs, heard the gunfire and quickly raised their weapons.
The Canadians pointing, unflinching, at the Americans.
The Americans, equally determined, held their weapons on the Canadians.
It was a standoff. Until one of the younger members panicked.
And then it was bedlam.
Toussaint, realizing what was happening, ordered her squad to get between the syndicates fighting it out, where she suspected Gamache and Beauvoir were running down the cartel heads.