Professor Rosenblatt looked at them, still seeing disbelief, but now also seeing a willingness to try. To be open to the possibility that what he was about to tell them was the truth.

“It was no secret that Saddam wanted to destroy Israel,” said Rosenblatt. “And start a full-scale war. He wanted to control the whole region.”

Gamache nodded, remembering the late 1980s, early nineties. To Beauvoir and Lacoste it was history. To him, and Rosenblatt, it was a memory.

“To be fair, there are all sorts of theories about Project Babylon,” said Rosenblatt. “Some more outlandish than others.”

No one looked at Beauvoir who, with a mighty effort, was keeping his mouth shut.

“Some even believed Dr. Bull was building the Supergun for the Israelis. To hit Iraq first. They’re pragmatists. They believe in God, but how do you fight the devil? With prayers? Well, Gerald Bull was the answer to a prayer.”

“But the Israelis have all sorts of sophisticated weapons,” said Lacoste. “Why would they need the Supergun?”

“They wouldn’t,” said Gamache. “But Saddam Hussein would.”

Across from him, Armand saw Beauvoir’s brows come together as logic began to penetrate disbelief.

“Yes,” said the scientist. “A weapon of mass destruction that could be assembled anywhere, the middle of a desert, for instance. Without need of electronics or expertise.”

“How would the missiles be aimed?” Gamache asked, remembering images of Israeli citizens wearing gas masks and huddling in their homes as the sirens wailed during the Gulf War.

“There’s a guidance system,” said Professor Rosenblatt. “But without electronics it’s difficult to be completely accurate, especially at a distance. It’s the one possible flaw in Bull’s design.”

“Flaw?” asked Gamache. “I’d call it more than that, wouldn’t you?”

The professor, under the sharp gaze, reddened.

“And that means?” Gamache pushed.

“It means from a distance the Supergun could not be guaranteed to hit just military targets.”

“It means more than that,” said Gamache. “It was never designed to hit military targets, was it?”

“Then what was it designed to hit?” asked Lacoste.

“Cities,” said Gamache. “The biggest, crudest bull’s-eye. It was meant to destroy Tel Aviv and Jerusalem. It was designed to kill men, women, children. Teachers, bartenders, bus drivers. It was meant to wipe them out. To bomb Israel back to the Stone Age.”

“Or Baghdad to the Stone Age,” said Lacoste. “If the buyer was Israel. After all, that inscription on the etching was in Hebrew.”

Beauvoir had been quiet, except the initial grunts as he fought to keep scathing comments in.

“What are you thinking?” Armand asked him.

“I’m thinking about Armageddon,” he said.

“The movie?” asked Lacoste, and saw him smile.

“Non. If that thing in the woods works, this Bull fellow made a gun that would fling a missile into orbit with the intention, the hope, of wiping out entire cities. Anywhere.”

Professor Rosenblatt nodded. “Anywhere.”