A Better Man

“You don’t like the idea of setting off explosions, you don’t like redirecting resources,” said the Mountie. “You demand action, then refuse to actually act.”

Toussaint turned to Gamache, seeing her chance. “What do you suggest?”

Two people could play at humility, and this would put him not in the driver’s seat but in the hot seat.

“It’s a risk,” agreed Gamache. “But one I think we need to take.”

“Just to be clear,” said the Hydro rep. “Are you suggesting removing the equipment and teams from the dams?”

“Yes,” said Gamache, nodding slowly. He turned to the chief meteorologist. “You said it yourself. The thaw hasn’t hit there yet. Might not. Why keep precious resources there when they’re needed down south, where the crisis isn’t just imminent, it’s upon us.”

“Because if the dams go, we’re blown back into the Stone Age,” said Toussaint. “If there’s a flash thaw, like there has been down south, we’re screwed. We won’t be able to get the workers and equipment back up there fast enough. If even one of those dams breaks…”

She didn’t need to say more. They all finished her thought.

Hundreds of millions of tons of water would be released, shooting straight down the province. Gathering ice and debris. Trees. Houses, cars, bridges. Animals. People.

Until much of Québec was smeared across Vermont.

“So we have a choice,” said the colonel. “Keep the dams safe and guarantee terrible flooding down south. Or risk the dams.”

“Like you say,” said the RCMP officer. “One’s a risk, the other’s a certainty.”

“To put it another way,” said the colonel. “One’s catastrophic, the other’s Armageddon.”

It sounded melodramatic, but anyone who’d witnessed a tidal wave, a tsunami, would know it was no exaggeration.

The Deputy Premier moaned.

“Bet you’re glad you’re not sitting in my seat now,” Toussaint said to Gamache.

He smiled. “I’m glad you’re in this office, yes. We all are.”

She doubted that was true. “Any more advice, Armand?”

He thought, looking at the map. “I think you should open the sluice gates at the dams now. As a precaution—”

“But we’d lose power,” said the Hydro rep, and the politician moaned again.

“Non. You’d lose money. But we both know you have plenty of power in reserve you could use.” Gamache stared at the executive. “We won’t be shivering in the cold and dark just yet.”

That had been a threat, by Hydro, by politicians, for decades, justifying all sorts of draconian measures by the massive utility.

There was a long silence before the Hydro exec gave a curt nod. The politician just glared at Gamache. The old lie exposed.

“You keep one team at the most vulnerable dam,” said Gamache. “In case opening the gates isn’t enough. Then redirect all possible resources to digging those runoffs, the spillways along the tributaries.”

“Merci,” Toussaint said, in an attempt to interrupt. To stop this torrent of advice.

“There’re clearly key spots,” the colonel from the Corps of Engineers said, taking up the suggestion and pointing to several rivers. “We can choose a dozen of the most significant tributaries. Maybe here … and here.”

“Oui,” said Gamache, familiar with the terrain. “We don’t have to divert all of them.” He looked up from the map and held Toussaint’s eyes. “And we could get local farmers to help. Use their equipment to dig—”

“We?” she asked, and once again the room grew still. Except for the smile that was spreading across the politician’s face.

“You,” said Armand, straightening up and removing his reading glasses. “This’s your operation, Chief Superintendent. You asked for my help and advice. I’m simply giving it.”

“Thank you.”

“A battle might be won on a single front,” he pressed on. “But a war is won on many. You’re concentrating your forces on the most urgent need. Which makes sense. But you can also get out in front of the crisis. Though it is a risk.”

“Not just a risk, Gamache,” said the Deputy Premier. “It’s reckless.”

While the others watched, Gamache raised his head and turned to the politician.

“This would be a calculated risk, monsieur.” His voice formal, freezing. Those listening were surprised the words didn’t come out in an icy vapor. “There’s more risk in paralysis. In reckless indecision.”

“You think so? Maybe we should ask those under your command who were wounded and killed because of your so-called calculated risks. You shouldn’t even be here. You should be at home, or guarding some Walmart. Or in prison.”

No one spoke, no one breathed. Eyes opened wide. Even Madeleine Toussaint was shocked by the vitriol.

“Chief Superintendent Gamache did—” she began, but a look from the politician silenced her.

“When your committee offered me the chance to return as head of homicide, sir,” said Gamache, glaring at the Deputy Premier, “you must’ve known there was a risk that I’d take it.”

At least two in the room snorted in amusement. Or it might have been amazement.