He turned his head to look along the barrel as it disappeared into the darkness. Not even the floodlights could reach to the end.
Gamache watched as the professor closed his eyes, took a couple of deep breaths, then with one last exhale he turned to his companions.
“I need to find the firing chamber, to see if it’s armed.”
He was all business now.
“It’ll be around here,” he said, walking to the rear of the gun. “Did you open this?”
He pointed to a round metal door, large enough to walk into.
“We tried, but couldn’t make it open,” said Lacoste. “We stopped, afraid we might inadvertently fire it.”
Professor Rosenblatt was nodding. “You wouldn’t have. The firing mechanism is somewhere else. This is the breech. If there’s a missile, it would be in here.”
They watched as the professor ran his hands over the latches and handles and knobs.
“Careful,” warned Beauvoir, but Rosenblatt didn’t respond. He was too focused on the mechanism.
“Do we know for sure he knows what he’s doing?” Lacoste asked Beauvoir.
Before Beauvoir could answer, they saw the professor reach out and grasp a lever. Leaning into it, the elderly man pulled but nothing happened.
“I need help,” he said. “It’s stuck.”
Beauvoir joined him, and between them they pulled and pulled until it gave with such suddenness both men leapt back.
There was a whirring, grinding sound, then a loud hiss.
Gamache tensed. Afraid Rosenblatt had just set it off, but not at all sure what to do if he had.
Then the massive door swung open, like a mouth. Like a maw. Inviting them in.
The four of them stared. Gamache could hear heavy breathing and knew it came from Jean-Guy. Not because the effort had winded him, but because he was staring into his nightmare.
While Gamache was afraid of heights, Beauvoir was terrified of holes. Armand stepped over to him.
“Stay here,” he said. “If the door closes, please open it again.”
Beauvoir didn’t answer, but continued to stare.
“Do you need to write that down?” asked Gamache.
“Huh? Pardon?” said Jean-Guy, coming out of his reverie. “Right. Wait, are you going in there?”
He waved to the opening, where Professor Rosenblatt was already standing.
“I am. And if we need to climb up on the thing?”
“I’ll go,” said Beauvoir, with a smile.
“You’d better.”
Gamache followed Rosenblatt and Lacoste into the chamber.
In the beams of their flashlights, Gamache could see the professor’s face. His eyes. Bright, but not overexcited. He seemed almost calm, in control.
This was his natural environment. The belly of the beast. This was where the little professor belonged.
“Incredible,” Rosenblatt murmured, shaking his head. “No electronics.” He looked back at his companions. “It’s like a Meccano set.”
“But is it armed?” asked Lacoste. She was beginning to get antsy. She’d never suffered from claustrophobia, but then she’d never been crammed into the firing chamber of a giant weapon with two other people before.
“No,” said Rosenblatt, and pointed toward the great long tube stretching out in front of them.
Rosenblatt was studying the wall of the borehole.
“Empty. There’s never even been a missile in here. It’s unmarked.”
Gamache reached out and touched the side. It felt slightly greasy.
“It’s been prepared,” he said.
Rosenblatt looked at him and nodded. “You know guns.”
“Sadly, yes,” said Gamache. “We all do. But never anything like this.”
“No one has known anything like this,” said Rosenblatt, and even by the limited beam of the flashlight Gamache could see the wonder in the professor’s eyes.
“Can it be fired?” Lacoste asked.
“I need to find the firing mechanism before I can answer and for that, we need to leave.”
He did not need to say it twice. Lacoste was out in a flash, following the professor around to the side of the machine.
“That’s interesting. The trigger should be here.” He placed his fist in a large hole. “But it’s missing.”
“Maybe it’s somewhere else,” Beauvoir suggested.
“No, it would have to be here, given the configuration inside.”
He looked behind him, toward the back wall of the camouflage netting, and shook his head.