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

“Speak for yourself,” Florence said.

This would be the point they would part ways. Hilaire was prepared to directly intervene in combat but was mindful not to cause distractions or to potentially jeopardise military plans. There was even the possibility that Allied troops could do what Scrambler did, take enemy uniforms and masquerade as them better than Scrambler’s impersonation. Florence could wade into the heart of it, but she wouldn’t be with her for that.

Or with her for this, apparently. Hilaire was leading the pace, and the group stopped following her. Florence called to her, “Where are you going?”

“The Gestapo headquarters.”

“I don’t think that way will lead to it,” Patience said.

“We used to target it back in the day,” Hilaire said, adamant that she was right.

“Doesn’t even know her own city, she’s only lived here 60 years,” Florence teased.

“No, that way would be better,” Scrambler sided with Hilaire, having walked the perimeter of the building many times.

“She’s been a prisoner there, I can sense the current convict,” Florence said.

“Okay,” Hilaire said through gritted teeth, letting Florence lead them. “This isn’t the way to their official headquarters, that’s all I’m saying. And don’t use words like convict that aren’t even correct.”

“She’s not offended at me calling her a prisoner. How about inmate? The accused? The condemned?”

“Behave, Florence. That’s not a request.”

“We’re busting him out, we can all call Prisoner 69 names if we want to,” Scrambler said light-heartedly. “I said he should go by Quasimodo instead of the Love Phantom, but the boy doesn’t listen. The bells must have done his hearing in.” Hilaire envied him his relaxed state – this was not a jaunt, not at all. A delicate touch was required, something they were not demonstrating at any point so far in the mission.

César opened his eyes to see a dark male face staring directly at him. This face kissed his nose and pulled back, César groaning in confusion and fright as he tried to roll off his bunk to move away from him. Even this minor movement fatigued him, Scrambler grabbing onto him to stop him rolling to the floor.

“You’re safe,” Patience said, standing in the cell alongside Hilaire while Scrambler sat on his bed next to him. Florence stood with a heel raised against the open door. She had done this to him, and they’d let her? Not that she was easy to stop but coming here together suggested they accepted this course of action. He understood that everyone overlooked flaws in friends, family and allies, but she’d badly drained him and now stood there trying to look menacing. It would genuinely be terrifying if the others were not there because he was utterly helpless and she knew it – she knew it because she had made him so, and she revelled in it. This was how she was after seeing his face. It had not been a fleeting glimpse either, she’d studied every inch at length over their meal. This was the form of her affection, a way of getting closer to him.

“But we would like to move as soon as possible,” Hilaire said. “We’ll give you two minutes.” She said this chiefly to Patience and Scrambler rather than César. She walked out of his cell and took hold of Florence’s arm. Florence smiled at him and said,

“Such a nicer meal than the last one you gave me.” She slowly licked her lips before allowing Hilaire to escort her away, Hilaire closing the door behind them.

“I couldn’t walk out of here in two minutes even if I wanted to,” César said. He wanted to sit up to talk to them, aborting the attempt to do so when he realised he didn’t have the energy. It was no wonder they had the free run of the place. Florence had taken a lot from him and the others, no doubt. They’d just be husks... he didn’t feel like much more than that himself right now.

“We understand. We’ll help you,” Patience said.

“I don’t want to either. This wasn’t the plan.” César said. This was not just not the plan, it was the anti-plan. He was taken into the lair as a suspect with the aim of distracting them, delaying them and, if he was lucky, manipulating them for their goals. The reprisals had still not happened. It had been hard, and he’d had to think on his feet at times, his mind often blank when he tried to figure out what to say next to them. But they continued to want to please him, which meant finding an alternative solution to achieving justice for the 87 men without condemning innocent Frenchmen and women.

“Things have changed. They tried to burn down the factory,” Patience said.

“Don’t even mention that.” He’d heard about that earlier in the day, the investigation introducing some new Gestapo officers to him who came to him full of wrath – and left as puppies tame in his clutches but keen to bite someone. César couldn’t fathom why anyone had tried to set it up to look like incognito German soldiers would attack any of his premises. That was a shit plan, whoever thought of passing that off as a real attack. It hadn’t got him into trouble, but it had made his new ‘friends’ worry about him. “Why dress them up like that?”

“The Germans dressed themselves up like that,” Patience said, demonstrating the qualities of her name as she tried to help him understand what was going on.

“Let’s forget about that. They want to take me to Berlin. To protect me.” Plans to send him to safety in Berlin were afoot, plans which César considered as potentially advantageous for their goals. He would be sent ostensibly as forced labour, in a senior role, but would be looked after. It wasn’t what he wanted at all – he wanted Paris and France to be free and to get back to his old life – but the manipulation he could pull off there could make a major difference