The Kashmir Trap Read Online Free Page B

investigated, they just pile up, nothing to get upset about. Then they get shuffled to the bottom of the pile. Vague, impersonal statistics. Open it,” said Béatrice, pointing to the glovebox.
    She did, and inside was a firearm, very small, a .25 calibre of the kind you might slip into a handbag. Juliette was surprised to see Béatrice had one.
    â€œIn El Salvador I was constantly afraid, so I took shooting lessons without saying anything to Philippe. Go ahead. Pick it up.”
    â€œI’ve never used a gun.”
    â€œEasier than a tube of lipstick. You’ll see.”
    Juliette closed the glovebox. Enough violence. Why make more?
    Along Route 87, Max, now travelling as Peter Flanagan in a rented Ford Taurus from Kennedy Airport, heard on the radio that his nephew hadn’t regained consciousness after the attack but the surgeons were hopeful they could bring him back: “His heart is solid, and he’s strong, so he’ll pull through.” Max also learned that David hadn’t travelled alone from Delhi; Juliette was with him, bent over the stretcher, in tears, naturally. Max knew his nephew was married but hadn’t met the young bride yet. After the death of Philippe, his son David had cut Max off, or rather he had fallen into oblivion.
    He crossed the border at Rouses Point using one of his American passports. The customs officer, already blasé about the security measures introduced after 9/11, barely glanced at it, cellphone in hand, more interested in lecturing his eldest daughter about letting everything lie about the house than hunting potential terrorists. Max then went directly on to Montreal. He thought about stopping at Mimi’s first, but the pain, like the curiosity, was unbearable. He just had to know, to understand.
    David’s mother lived in a building, the Rockhill, in Côte-des -Neiges , where she’d moved after Philippe died. Béatrice could have gone back to Ottawa to be near her son when he was recruited by Foreign Affairs, but Montreal was more her style.
    â€œDo you know how many years I’ve spent in boring capitals, practically going to bed at curfew? Ottawa’s pretty and calm, but no thanks!”
    Juliette fell asleep fully dressed, and it was the doorbell that cut into her dreamless sleep. It was daylight, and she heard voices. This is it. They’ve come to tell me it’s all over , she thought. In the kitchen she came face to face with a bulky, grey-haired , uniformed policeman who respectfully stood aside, surprised to see this little thing appear from behind him. A second man sat at the table, a smaller, younger plainclothes officer. He got up when he saw her and offered a cold, hairy hand, very official.
    â€œDetective Sergeant Luc Roberge, Quebec Police Force. I’m very sorry to bother you. This is Officer Morel.” The officer nodded. Juliette turned to Béatrice, who was leaning on the counter and paying no attention to her.
    Why did she let these two in?
    â€œWhat’s happened is absolutely horrible,” Roberge continued. “Since 9/11, it’s as though everything’s upside down. Totally.”
    Juliette said nothing, so he went on.
    â€œI hope he makes it through. Sincerely.”
    Hallmark Plus .
    He coughed. “I realize this is a delicate moment, but you may be getting a visitor …”
    â€œVisitor?”
    Roberge turned to Béatrice, looking for encouragement and getting none. “We have good reason to believe that Max O’Brien will soon be back in Montreal,” he went on. “He’s sure to know his nephew’s in a coma from the media. We think he’s bound to show up.”
    Roberge was stickhandling, so Béatrice came to his rescue: “Sergeant Roberge is from the Economic Crimes Squad.”
    â€œI thought I’d already mentioned that.”
    â€œThey want to arrest Max. End of story.”
    â€œWe’ve been after him for fourteen