Red Rainbow G Johanson (i am malala young readers edition .txt) 📖

Gehring hoped that that was a bluff.

“I cannot for the reasons I said. I’m loyal to my people. I want to bring her in to save them. She’s the one to blame, not the people who helped me meet her.”

Gehring and Strohkirch paused the interview when it began going round in circles. César was taken to a cell, the two officers remaining in the interview room. They had little to show for the interview, pages of ineffectual notes. Gehring wanted to take him downstairs and encourage him to give them every name he could. Strohkirch was suddenly squeamish. He argued, “Do you think those names would even lead anywhere?”

“You never know. Probably not, but he is currently holding out on us, and we’re letting him. It’s not like we’re going to go and arrest 100 men.”

“We will be soon,” Strohkirch said, the reprisals only a matter of time.

“Not 100. 87. Or 86.”

Strohkirch pursed his lips, which lowered as he considered this. “He’s a popular employer in the community who was trying to help however misguidedly. Not a good choice for this. I’ll get Girndt, see what he says.”

Why consult a junior who he already knew would agree with him? Gehring waited for them to come back, nevertheless.

“He seems genuine to me,” Girndt said upon prompting.

“Same. Thank you. The question is, what do we do about it?” Strohkirch accepted there was a problem at least.

“Why are you being so polite to him? I know he’s not ugly, but you all gone queer or something?” Gehring couldn’t work out why they were swooning over him like teenage girls.

“You’re the one commenting on his appearance. César is trying to help us – he got closer to her than we have,” Strohkirch said.

“The last time our soldiers got close to her, they died. Remember them. He slinks away from her. A demonic witch and Cupid in silk slacks. You’re under his spell.”

“Bullshit. I read him the riot act when he first came in. Yes?” Strohkirch said, receiving an affirmative nod from Girndt, who his next comment was aimed at, a dig at Gehring. “He’s recommending him as one of the ones to be executed when he’s friends with a general.”

Gehring sighed. “I didn’t say definitely him. It depends if he quits yapping to say what he wants to say and starts answering our questions. I don’t see why he should be ruled out either way at this stage.”

“Do you want to tell the general he’s playing golf alone?”

“Which general? That’s not necessarily true.” They needed to do a lot more digging into César Vadeboncoeur.

César was brought an unsolicited blanket into his cell by the guard who’d escorted him there. It wasn’t even particularly cold, but he’d take it. He had a long haul ahead of him. A Gestapo officer with immunity to his power. That was a setback. The rest of them fell like dominos but not Gehring. Patience had struggled to pick up their names, only being formally introduced to the commanding officer. He wasn’t there, César fancying that Strohkirch’s huge lugs established him as the interrogator she christened Big Ears. Gehring had to be the one she called Dead Eyes. Kretschmer’s return would make things easier, assuming he was returning. Immunity to his gift was so extraordinarily rare that César couldn’t envision two men in the same employ sharing it.

César could usually influence even the most hard-hearted of folk, albeit by small degrees. This man was one of the very, very few who he was struggling with. While he had not given up, he did now wonder whether Gehring had any love in his heart. If not, as seemed to be the case, then he was virtually dead inside and unreachable. Those who were incapable of caring for anyone and anything were puzzles that were hard to solve.

He could not accept failure, and not just because his life was depending on his success. His gift was a curse, no question, never knowing if his loved ones truly loved him or were just responding to the call. Yet those ones he couldn’t reach, the select few immune to his power, were the ones he worked hardest on when required. Game on.

César had only met two other person who were definitely immune. There was his aunt’s father who had been blinded in the Great War. César only saw him very occasionally at soirees at his aunt and uncle’s house, the odd other time too. ‘Uncle’ Jean (as they called him, despite there being no real relation) was pleasant to César, treating him the same as his siblings and cousins. Jean’s failure to give him preferential treatment irritated his mother, who didn’t hide her feelings very well. It didn’t get to the stage of being addressed, but she did find an excuse not to go to his funeral.

The other case was back at school, a young boy who went with the flow and pretended to like him. César caught him out once, the boy unaware that he could see his unguarded expression of contempt towards him in the reflection of his watch, masked as soon as he turned around. This was more telling than Uncle Jean, showing César that it was possible to see him and not fall at his feet. Young Pierre-Paul had been unpopular, largely because he was unremittingly negative. He didn’t seem to care about anything, though was still diplomatic enough to pretend to like César when anyone was looking. There was being unpopular, and then there was making yourself a universal target, Pierre-Paul not daft enough to do that.

César had thought about Pierre-Paul a lot over the years. No girlfriends, few real friendships. He was not very sporty or academic – he never seemed to try so it was hard to tell whether he could have been gifted. The ennui was deep-rooted in this one, César speculating if that was what made him unreachable. It made him try with Pierre-Paul, who