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

“Give me strength...”

“Hey now!” the guard blasted back. “Bringing visitors here is most irregular, don’t start.”

“Check it out with your superior then. Don’t ask him for permission.” Damnit. He should have said ‘oh, you just did’ – it would be too clunky to add on now. Gehring complied, aware that this was a hill he could die on if he wasn’t careful. He told the guard to call him when César was ready for them. He did too, in person. He also loitered as Gehring led Alexia to the door of the cell. She was excited and shy, standing back as César scrutinised her, sat on his bed – with two pillows in sight!

“Do you recognise her?” Gehring asked.

“I think I may have seen the young lady around. She’s not involved in any of this, if that is what you are asking.”

“Alexia has risked her own damnation to try and free you. There are three letters that I’ve heard of, probably more, asking the same, for mercy, clemency. We have a cause célèbre in the making.”

“I didn’t send any letters,” Alexia said, unable to hold César’s gaze for more than a second as she spoke.

“No, you came in person. She betrays six of her people – your people – to try and save your skin. I imagine there will be more like her when the news of your arrest spreads further. You know how to make it all stop.”

“The names of my contacts is not the solution to this that you think it is.”

“If you won’t talk to help yourself, she’ll have to talk to help you.”

“I think he looked pale,” Alexia said after giving Gehring a full statement regarding the first name. She showed nous in wanting proof that he’d fulfil his end of the bargain before she’d reveal more. “Does he get to go outside?”

“We’re not a prison. We don’t have a yard.” He’d only been locked up four nights, hardly long enough to turn chalk white.

“Can I see him again?” She’d flunked the moment, hardly saying anything, turning coy and flushing.

“What would you say to him?”

“I have ideas in my head. I can’t say I’d get the words out. I applied for a job at his office. I didn’t make it to interview.”

“You heard what he said. You’re just another girl in the neighbourhood to him, one he’s barely noticed.”

“I don’t kid myself that he’ll rush into my arms when you set him free. I’m not doing it for that.”

You’re doing it because you’re obsessed. This cult was getting out of control. Gehring was hopeful that Kretschmer’s return would deal with the problem. He let Alexia go without getting any more names (and torturing her was a nonstarter; she’d endure anything for him). Kretschmer was the key. Gehring had been tempted to ask him over the phone for permission to terminate César. The idea was a nonstarter due to the risk – the order and the request had to come from Kretschmer alone. All Gehring had to do was make sure that Kretschmer didn’t see him. He instructed his juniors to notify him as soon as Kretschmer came back and told them to ask Kretschmer to come and see him as a matter of urgency. He should never have left Germany at this time in the first place; Gehring was unimpressed that he asked for dispensation to return home at such a crucial time, considering it unprofessional, but he’d leave that out of his welcome back speech.

César had two main concerns about Alexia’s visit. Her safety, of course, and also somebody from the outside seeing him looking less than immaculate. Maybe he needed to be locked up longer to lose those vanities, an Abbé Faria length stretch or two. They let him wear his own clothes still, the ones they had arrested him in. He was pleased he’d had a blue shirt on, the dirt at the sleeves and collar not quite so visible as it would have been on a white shirt. They took his tie, which instantly made him look less smart, the laces from his shoes too. He wasn’t going to hang himself – not unless they showed him a mirror and he’d gone to seed.

His vanity had got worse when he joined the sales team. He was presenting himself as a representative of the company, therefore his appearance was vital to his work. The lies one tells oneself... The sale was made before he opened his mouth, whether he went in dressed like a scarecrow or tramp. He dressed up because he wanted to look good for himself, and not just good, top 1% fantastic. He dressed in the best clothes he could afford, went to the best barbers he could too, shifting allegiances as his pay packet increased. A monthly visit to a health spa was added to the repertoire once he became the national director (for treatments Severin would judge beyond the pale), all to look his absolute best because shining up his shell was the easiest way to feel better about himself. It didn’t change the way he felt inside, the emptiness. Florence had a trail of bodies behind her. He left a trail of broken hearts and disappointed friends. He was unable to deliver what they expected from him. This test was another potential way for him to feel better about himself. Two hollow husks of men were facing off. César’s power gave him an early advantage, but Gehring’s complete lack of ethics and willingness to play dirty levelled the playing field to a degree. The battle of the nothing men, but the fact they’d found something to fight for suggested there could be something deep down in both of them. Whose seedling would win out?

“I heard you wanted to see me,” Kretschmer said, knocking on Gehring’s door after opening it. He looked exhausted. Kretschmer already looked much older than his years, the bags under his eyes today looking particularly heavy.

“Yes, thank you for coming, sir.