The Nature Of The Beast Part 22

"Why not?"

"That's a good question, Inspector."

He glanced behind him, and saw Mary Fraser swiftly drop her eyes. Then Rosenblatt returned his attention to Beauvoir.

"How did they react to the Supergun?"

"They were as surprised as you were," said Beauvoir.

"I wonder if that's true."

"He was brilliant, you know," Mary Fraser said. "Gerald Bull. The youngest person to get a Ph.D. in Canada. At the age of twenty-two. Twenty-two. He was light years ahead of the rest. But there was something wrong with him. He had no brakes. He drew no line. And if he saw one, he was determined to cross it."

Isabelle Lacoste listened. The two CSIS agents were taking turns telling the story. It was now clear to Lacoste why they'd been sent.

Mary Fraser and Sean Delorme might not know much about being spies, but they knew a great deal about Gerald Bull. They were tasked with gathering, and guarding, that knowledge. And now they were letting it out.

Or, at least, some of it.

"Dr. Bull worked with the American government, he worked with the Brits. He was involved with the High Alt.i.tude Research Project," said Sean Delorme, speaking, Lacoste noticed, without need of notes. "He was with McGill University in Montreal for a while. And then he moved to Brussels and went out on his own."

Delorme took his gla.s.ses off and polished them with one of the linen napkins.

"It was a disaster," he said, putting his gla.s.ses back on. "Gerald Bull went from being a scientist, a designer, to being an arms dealer."

"And Canada lost control of him," said Chief Inspector Lacoste.

"I think any control we thought we had over him was an illusion," said Mary Fraser. "I think Gerald Bull was always beyond control because he was beyond caring."

"That man isn't much better," said Sean Delorme, indicating Michael Rosenblatt across the bistro. "We have a file on him too, you know. Not very thick, of course. Did he tell you he helped design the Avro Arrow? One of the most sophisticated jet fighters in the world, before the project was sc.r.a.pped. He's no stranger to the arms race and arms deals. Don't be taken in by him."

"Do you seriously think Gerald Bull could have created the Supergun without the government knowing?" asked Rosenblatt.

"I don't know," said Beauvoir. "He seems to have built it outside this village without anyone knowing."

"Given that that's the quality of agent at work, do you wonder?" Rosenblatt waved toward Lacoste's table.

The scientist seemed to want it both ways. The government knew and de facto supported Bull's research, while at the same time, the government was too incompetent to know anything.

When Beauvoir pointed this out, Rosenblatt shook his head.

"You misunderstand me," he said. "I think the Canadian government supported Dr. Bull's research, encouraged it even. Poured money into it. Knew perfectly well what he was building. And I think the papers filed away at CSIS will prove all that."

"But then?" asked Beauvoir.

"But then when Bull suddenly moved to Brussels and cut ties with Canada, they went, pardon the term, ballistic. They panicked. Listen, I'm no fan of Gerald Bull's ethics. I think he would have done just about anything to make a fortune and prove himself right. To rub the nose of the establishment in what he created."

"And which establishment was that? The other armament designers?" Beauvoir asked.

"You carry a gun," said Rosenblatt, looking at the holster attached to Beauvoir's belt. "Best not to be hypocritical."

But his smile softened the statement.

"I guess we're all hypocrites, to a degree," Rosenblatt admitted. "I worked on ballistics and trajectory, and it wasn't for the fisheries department."

Beauvoir smiled, nodded and took a forkful of grilled scallop. It turned out to be delicious. The only possible improvement would be to deep-fry them, he thought.

"We all draw lines," the professor was saying. "Even those who design weapons. Things that are too horrible to do, even if they can be done."

"This is a world with nuclear bombs and chemical weapons," said Beauvoir, putting his fork down. Suddenly no longer hungry. "How much more horrible can it get?"

To his relief, Professor Rosenblatt didn't answer. Instead the elderly professor looked out the old windowpanes, to the quiet little village. "I can't believe he built it. He was begged not to, but he thought the other designers were just jealous."

"Did you know Dr. Bull?" Beauvoir asked.

"As I told you, only by reputation. I wasn't in his league, but I was a part of that community, even if it was just at the edges, the academic part."

"And were you jealous?" asked Beauvoir. "Were the other designers jealous?"

Rosenblatt shook his head. "We were frightened."

"Of what?"

"That what Gerald Bull said could be done really could. And that he'd actually do it. He was a.s.sa.s.sinated to stop him, there's little doubt of that. I think the CSIS files will prove it. But they didn't realize it was too late. The die was cast. The weapon built."

"Oui," said Beauvoir. "But who did he build it for and why did he build it here?"

"He's a crackpot," said Mary Fraser, looking across the bistro at the elderly man's back. "Has all sorts of strange ideas about Gerald Bull. And about us. He's got a sort of persecution complex. Thinks we're keeping information from him."

"Well, we are," said Delorme.

"Yes, but it isn't personal," said Mary Fraser. "It's all covered under the Security of Information Act. We can't release it, even if we want to. Which reminds me, who have you told about the Supergun besides him?"

"It's in our official report on the crime," said Lacoste. "But that's confidential. We haven't made any announcement."

"Good. Please don't until we get a handle on the thing."

"Yes, we need to put this on lockdown," said Delorme, obviously enjoying using that phrase perhaps for the first time in his career.

"I can understand keeping the Supergun confidential for now, but why has the information on Gerald Bull been kept a secret?" asked Isabelle Lacoste, taking a forkful of her warm duck salad. "The man's long dead."

"I don't really know," said Mary Fraser. It seemed she'd never asked herself that question. Her job, after all, was to a.n.a.lyze the files, not question the content.

"You've obviously read the files," Lacoste pressed. "You're probably more familiar with Gerald Bull than anyone else in the world. What do those files say?"

"They say he was a common arms dealer, probably a sociopath," said Mary Fraser. She was talking about Gerald Bull, but continued to look at Rosenblatt. "He didn't care who he sold his weapons to, or how they'd be used."

"All Dr. Bull wanted was boatloads of money and the chance to prove his theories right," said Delorme. "And if, in the process, hundreds of thousands of people died, it wasn't his concern."

"If he'd succeeded, G.o.d knows what would've happened in the region," said Mary Fraser, turning back to look at Lacoste.

"Then his client really was Saddam?" asked Lacoste.

"The field agents believed it," said Mary Fraser.

"But even if they were wrong and he sold to the Israelis or the Saudis, it would still be a G.o.dd.a.m.n mess," said Delorme.

"Armageddon," said Mary Fraser. Somehow she managed to say it without making it sound ridiculous, even in this most peaceful of places.

"How did you know about the etching on the gun?" Lacoste asked. "The Wh.o.r.e of Babylon."

Sean Delorme leaned across the table with enthusiasm. "It's all part of the legend. That's what's so amazing. Our job is to collect information and file it."

"We'd come across stories about the etching in some field agent reports from the late eighties," said Mary Fraser. "The agents were trying to keep track of Dr. Bull. While they were pretty sure his client was Saddam Hussein, they couldn't pin it down."

"There were all sorts of wild rumors," said Delorme. "Makes for entertaining reading but not useful intelligence."

"One rumor that kept coming up was that Bull had commissioned a drawing for the side of the Supergun," said Fraser. "The Wh.o.r.e of Babylon. From the Book of Revelation."

"Satan. Armageddon," said Delorme.

"Pure Bull," said Mary Fraser, shaking her head.

"Did you mean to say that?" Delorme turned to her. "Very clever."

Lacoste, watching these two, thought the play on Dr. Bull's name was more obvious than clever, but the CSIS agents seemed amused.

"What I meant was that Dr. Bull was famous for these grand gestures," said Mary Fraser. "But they were always empty. The more extravagant the claim, the emptier the bubble."

"And a Supergun etched with the Wh.o.r.e of Babylon was pure Bull," said Delorme, sneaking a smile, still amused by the obvious, and now worn, joke.

"No one believed it?" asked Isabelle Lacoste. "It was a step too far. Just like the boy who was killed. Laurent Lepage. No one believed him either."

"Obviously someone believed it," said Mary Fraser. "They were both killed."

Isabelle Lacoste walked over to Gabri's B and B with the two CSIS agents, to make arrangements for them to stay there.

It would be crowded, but it would also be interesting. Throw the agents and the academic together, and see what happened.

Like Mary Fraser and Sean Delorme, she found it odd that Professor Rosenblatt should be so obsessed with a long-dead arms dealer. But she also found it odd that Mary Fraser claimed not to know the difference between Arabic and Hebrew, written on the etching.

And she found it even odder that Sean Delorme had made his way straight to Three Pines, when getting lost was almost a prerequisite for finding the place.

The Supergun was definitely strange, but it wasn't the only strange thing going on.

CHAPTER 15.

"You're back," said Reine-Marie.

She turned from the computer to look at Armand and Henri, who were standing at the door into the study.

"Oui," said Armand. "What're you up to?"

"Research," she said, getting up to greet them. "How bad is the play?"

He tossed it onto the table by the door. "As a play? It's not bad at all. In fact, Antoinette was right. It's brilliant."

He looked like he'd just eaten something foul.

"I didn't finish it, but I will later. Just needed a break. Drink?"

"Please," she said, returning to the computer. He heard the printer working and glanced in on his way to the cleaning closet, where they hid their best brands from Ruth.

"Lysol or Mr. Clean?" he called.

"Actually, a Spic and Span sounds good. But a light one."

He handed her a gin and tonic, with extra tonic and a wedge of lemon, and noticed she had the McGill site up and was reading.

Armand slipped a CD into the stereo and the unmistakable voice of Neil Young came out. Then he took his Scotch and a book over to an armchair.

He read the familiar first lines of the book and felt the calm come over him, like a comforter. He lost himself, even momentarily, in the familiar world of Scout and Jem and Boo Radley.

Reine-Marie found him half an hour later sitting by the window, his finger in the book, staring into their garden and listening to the music. Henri by his side.

"Happy?" she asked.

"Peaceful," he said. "Find any interesting courses?"

"Pardon?"

He waved to the sheaf of printouts in her hand.

"You were looking on the McGill site. Are you also going to check out the Universite de Montreal? They have some terrific courses. Will you audit cla.s.ses, or go for a degree?"