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

to the war beyond the little he’d done so far. This had fallen into his lap. He didn’t feel he had the right not to do it. “If I can get into the inner circle there, who knows?”

“César, you’ve been locked away for almost two weeks now...”

“The door was unlocked, right?”

“Yes, but you’re still in a cell. You’ve been sequestered away. Understandably, I don’t think you’re quite up to date with what’s going on – and I’m sure your head is in the fog right now anyway,” Patience said softly, crouching down next to him. “My power has given us fresh information that’s helped us realise their plans and the danger you’re in.”

“Listen to Oracle,” Scrambler ordered.

“Oracle?”

“You came up with the name. Maybe there was a reason for that. Maybe you knew that one day my advice would be worth listening to. Our advice,” ‘Oracle’ said.

“Yours. He has strange ideas,” César joked without smiling, weighing up her words. He was out of their loop, but he was in the Gestapo loop now. They consulted him and informed him of what was to come, asked him for his opinion. That was how much they trusted him. He now knew who had informed on Patience for attending Deveral Meyer’s funeral. They knew everything that went on at the funeral from an eye witness with a perfect view of proceedings, seeing as he was orchestrating them. The ‘vicar’ made mental notes of everything Maurice Cassard and Patience said and did. The whole funeral had been a sham; Deveral’s body had been thrown in a ditch shortly after it became apparent that he was involved in the atrocity. That was why the decision was made to conduct the service in a synagogue, so as not to make a mockery of a Christian church. He’d earnt that level of trust. He also knew that Florence’s claim that all 87 men died at the scene was indeed correct. That one was less surprising.

“What do you mean by that?” Scrambler piped up. “I’ve got a business idea for my home that’ll rival anything you’ve got in the pipeline. You only sell soda. I’ll be selling...”

“We sell eight products of... nah, I’m too beat to give the full spiel. I don’t know. Marcella?”

“She’s safe,” Patience said. “She was resistant to this but realised it was the only course of action left.”

“What you said, Oracle, about the reason behind me coming up with your name. I’m not that clever. You clearly are. You won’t want to start yet while we’re under scrutiny; after all this, though, there’s a job for you if you want it.”

“That’s good of you, and as a short-term measure, I may take you up on it. I think... I think I have something on the horizon.”

“Which department am I going to be working in again?” Scrambler asked.

“I’ll pay you not to work for me! Somewhere away from the machines, we’ll think of something. Okay. Do you want to wait out there, Scrambler will help me get dressed, then we’ll... they still at yours?”

This was directed at Scrambler, who replied, “Yes. The sofa is free if you want it.”

“Sold.”

They heard a banging on the cell door that alarmed César more than his companions. That would have echoed around the whole building, not that she would have cared. Florence was returning to finish the job. She said shrilly through the door, “This is a long two minutes. I thought men usually exaggerated time.”

“I don’t even think that makes sense,” Patience said to César. They all knew what Florence was trying to say, a putdown regarding sexual stamina, but it was too hard to work out whether that even applied within this example. Not that he had even been the one to give this figure in the first place.

Hilaire opened the door, attempting to shut it behind her as Florence waved her arms through. “Sorry, but we will have to make a move soon. We should have brought you a wheelchair, sorry.”

“I can break them too,” Scrambler said.

“How? That’s not even mechanical... we didn’t anyway, sorry about that. We’ll help you back all the way.”

“You mean I’m not getting a piggyback ride home?” Scrambler quipped.

“I can’t speak for the others, but it’s a rain check from me,” César said.

“Some gentleman, eh, ladies? I’ll try Florence, she seems full of beans,” Scrambler said.

“She might,” Hilaire said, playing along with him. Back to César, “We can slow the pace down once we’re out of this area, but we need to make a move.”

“I understand. Can I just have two more minutes, please? I’d synchronise watches and stick to it, but we struggle with that, don’t we, Guillaume?”

“Oh, man,” Scrambler said. The tears that Marcella had held back under fire came from nowhere down his cheeks. He rubbed his eyes with his forearm and stood facing the wall.

Neither Patience nor Hilaire understood this reaction. Unless this was the first time César used his first name. Hilaire looked down at César, examining him beyond the superficial, beyond the handsome man that earned the name he gave himself. She focused on his breathing, his heartbeat. No wonder he wanted two more minutes.

“That’s fine,” Hilaire said, opening the door and slapping Florence’s arm as she started waving through the door again. She pushed her with both hands, Florence staggering back. “How much did you take?”

“You wanted them all subdued. I couldn’t filter it out over such a wide area. César’s weak right now – more than normal. I’m not, so don’t push me again.”

“Of course you’re not, feasting like that. Stop.”

“I have stopped. I stopped when we identified him. I can’t give it back.”

“We came to rescue him!”

“I know that! I’m not going to intentionally try and kill the Love Phantom, am I?”

“Intentional or unintentional...” What was she trying to say here? How could she... no, not even Florence. How could she have been so stupid as to think Florence could hold herself back? Florence had killed her own lover during their first feud