Part 17 (1/2)

Being a scientist, Professor Rosenblatt knew it could not possibly be a tree, walking. But he also knew that this forest contained other unbelievable things.

And then his vision adjusted, and he saw that it wasn't, of course, a tree at all, but another Srete officer, dressed in his moss-green uniform. And off to the side was another one.

And coming around that hill, still another.

And then his eyes adjusted some more, and focused on what it was they circled. And guarded.

He thought he was prepared, but as he stared at the towering jumble of vines in front of them all rational thought escaped and left him light-headed.

”Ready?” Isabelle Lacoste asked.

One by one they went inside. First Inspector Beauvoir, then Chief Inspector Lacoste. Then it was Professor Rosenblatt's turn.

He hesitated and realized with some surprise that he was afraid. Afraid of what he'd find. Afraid it wasn't what he thought it was. Afraid it was.

Gamache held back the thick vines at the opening so that the professor could squeeze through on his hands and knees, pus.h.i.+ng his briefcase ahead of him.

The Srete officers had turned on their flashlights but they didn't provide much light. And then there was a thump and huge floodlights were turned on.

Michael Rosenblatt brought his hand to his forehead, s.h.i.+elding his eyes from the glare. And then his gaze traveled up. And up. And up.

And his mouth went slack. He held his breath and then released it in a long, long exhale, at the tail end of which were two words, barely audible.

”He didn't.”

And then Professor Rosenblatt dropped his briefcase.

CHAPTER 12.

”My G.o.d,” Rosenblatt whispered.

But he didn't seem to Gamache, who stood beside the elderly professor, like a man who'd seen his G.o.d. Just the opposite.

”Can I go closer? Am I allowed to touch it?”

”Yes. But be careful,” said Lacoste.

He handed his briefcase, no longer all that important, to Gamache and approached the gun. Slowly, carefully. His hands out in front of him, as though worried he might scare it off.

”The main thing we need to know from you, Professor,” said Lacoste, as they followed him, ”is whether it can be fired. We'd need to disable it.”

”Yes,” said Rosenblatt, in a dream state.

He walked up to the etching, and stopped. Considering the monster. Then he laid his palms flat on it. Feeling the cold metal. Almost expecting to feel a pulse.

He leaned into it, and Gamache thought he heard a whisper, but couldn't make out the words.

Then Professor Rosenblatt stepped back. And back again. And another step. Craning his neck, dropping his head back until it could go no further. His mouth open, his eyes wide, he tried to take in the magnitude of what he was seeing. Not simply the size of the weapon, but the very fact of it.

He turned his head to look along the barrel as it disappeared into the darkness. Not even the floodlights could reach to the end.

Gamache watched as the professor closed his eyes, took a couple of deep breaths, then with one last exhale he turned to his companions.

”I need to find the firing chamber, to see if it's armed.”

He was all business now.

”It'll be around here,” he said, walking to the rear of the gun. ”Did you open this?”

He pointed to a round metal door, large enough to walk into.

”We tried, but couldn't make it open,” said Lacoste. ”We stopped, afraid we might inadvertently fire it.”

Professor Rosenblatt was nodding. ”You wouldn't have. The firing mechanism is somewhere else. This is the breech. If there's a missile, it would be in here.”

They watched as the professor ran his hands over the latches and handles and k.n.o.bs.

”Careful,” warned Beauvoir, but Rosenblatt didn't respond. He was too focused on the mechanism.

”Do we know for sure he knows what he's doing?” Lacoste asked Beauvoir.

Before Beauvoir could answer, they saw the professor reach out and grasp a lever. Leaning into it, the elderly man pulled but nothing happened.

”I need help,” he said. ”It's stuck.”

Beauvoir joined him, and between them they pulled and pulled until it gave with such suddenness both men leapt back.

There was a whirring, grinding sound, then a loud hiss.

Gamache tensed. Afraid Rosenblatt had just set it off, but not at all sure what to do if he had.

Then the ma.s.sive door swung open, like a mouth. Like a maw. Inviting them in.

The four of them stared. Gamache could hear heavy breathing and knew it came from Jean-Guy. Not because the effort had winded him, but because he was staring into his nightmare.

While Gamache was afraid of heights, Beauvoir was terrified of holes. Armand stepped over to him.

”Stay here,” he said. ”If the door closes, please open it again.”

Beauvoir didn't answer, but continued to stare.

”Do you need to write that down?” asked Gamache.

”Huh? Pardon?” said Jean-Guy, coming out of his reverie. ”Right. Wait, are you going in there?”

He waved to the opening, where Professor Rosenblatt was already standing.