He froze, then slowly turned and saw Sean Delorme holding a gun.

In his peripheral vision he saw Jean-Guy with his hands up in hasty surrender. He’d taken a few steps away from Gamache.

“It’s best that you hang up the phone.”

Gamache did and turned to Mary Fraser. “Not CSIS?”

“You really don’t understand our world, do you? And this is not the time for explanations.”

She still looked like Mary Poppins, right down to the oversized handbag and the spoonful-of-sugar expression.

“You took that picture,” said Gamache. “Of Gerald Bull and Dr. Couture. And John Fleming. You were the fourth person in Brussels.”

He’d stepped to within feet of them but she didn’t seem concerned. She knew he was unarmed. She had nothing to fear from Armand Gamache.

She nodded. “You’ve worked a lot out, Monsieur Gamache. I was young, of course. And now I’m making up for those mistakes. The plans, please.”

Beauvoir lowered the hand holding the scroll.

“No, you can’t,” said Professor Rosenblatt, stepping forward. Delorme and Fraser glanced over to him, and in the moment it took to turn back, Beauvoir had swung his arm behind him and was holding the plans for Project Babylon over the fire.

Delorme raised the gun and took aim, but Gamache stepped between him and his son-in-law, spreading his arms out.

“Non.”

The act was so unexpected, the sequence of events so rapid, that Delorme hesitated.

“You’ll have to kill us all,” said Gamache. “Are you prepared to do that?”

“If you’re prepared to die, we’re prepared to do it,” said Mary Fraser. “The few for the many, remember?”

“You have a warped idea of the greater good,” snapped Beauvoir. “For your information, this is what it looks like.”

He dropped the plans in the fireplace just as Professor Rosenblatt stepped in front of Gamache. Behind him, Armand heard a whoooosh as the design for Project Babylon went up in flames.

“Shit,” shouted Delorme, and shoving the professor aside, he scrambled toward the fireplace, but Gamache and Beauvoir grabbed him, knocking the gun from his hand.

It was over in a matter of moments, the time it took for the plans to be fully consumed by the fire. Beauvoir held on to Delorme while Gamache’s eyes swept the room.

Mary Fraser had taken a few steps forward but stopped when she saw it was too late. Now her eyes were on Professor Rosenblatt, who’d stooped and picked up the gun.

Gamache turned to him too, and there was a pause. As long as a breath, it seemed to last forever, as the elderly scientist held the weapon and looked at them. And they looked at him.

And then he handed the gun to Gamache.

“Well, it’s over,” said Gabri, walking into the bistro from the kitchen. “Almost the whole newscast on the goddamned gun.”