Cecelia Ahern - Perfect

I call the number.

“Highland Castle Hotline,” a woman answers.

I roll my eyes at the name, and I alter my voice, assuming these calls are recorded.

“I’d like to speak with Whistleblower Kate, please. I have information that I would like to share only with her.”

“Connecting you now.”

It couldn’t be that easy.

The phone rings and she answers, out and about, probably searching for me.

“Kate speaking.”

I’m assuming the Whistleblowers’ cell phones are also being monitored.

“It’s the girl from the tree.”

She’s silent. I hear her move away from wherever she was. The background noise changes. “I’m sorry, I can’t hear you. This is a bad line—let me call you back from a landline. Can I have your number?”

I pause. “No.”

“Fine. Call me on this number in two minutes.”

I rummage through Mona’s things, looking for a pen. I can’t find anything but makeup. I use a red lipstick and write on the wall.

Kate hangs up and I pace. Two minutes.

Agitated, confused, I don’t know why I do it, but I put the red lipstick to the white wall again and draw the red V from the Vigor logo that equals a square root sign.

√

I study it for a moment, wondering for the thousandth time where I’ve seen it before.

Someone knocks on the door.

“Just a minute.” I hear the tremor in my voice and take a deep breath.

The door opens anyway. Mona, Carrick, Lennox, Kelly, Adam, Rogan, Cordelia, and Evelyn are lined up in the corridor, bags in their hands, ready to go. Bahee, squeezed tightly between Fergus and Lorcan, looks like he’s not there by choice. The tension is thick. Even Carrick looks nervous, and I’m sure his relying on somebody else to take control isn’t easy for him. I fear he’s losing his faith in me already. I fear that he might be right to.

“The other evaders are all gone; they scattered. We need to move, Celestine,” says Mona. “Eddie is about to kick us out any second. We have one chance to get away with their help, or that’s it.”

Everybody stares at me with expectancy, such hope, such reliance. I can’t function like this. I can’t lead a team.

I clear my throat and will myself to be more authoritative. Problem, solution—this is the stuff I should be good at.

“We need to split up,” I say. “Fergus, Lorcan, and I can’t travel together. Our faces are too recognizable.”

Everyone agrees instantly.

“Carrick and I will take the next step alone. The rest of you will wait somewhere safe until we give you further instruction.”

They look at one another uncertainly.

“Where do you suggest we wait?” Mona asks, the doubt in my leadership already growing.

Think, think, Celestine. Problem-solve, that’s what you’re good at.

“What the hell did you do to my wall?” she says, eyes narrow.

“Who cares, Mona? It’s not your wall anymore,” Carrick says, but I can hear the impatience in his voice. They’re all getting tired of standing around and waiting … for me to make a decision.

I turn around and see the phone number scrawled in red lipstick, with the Vigor logo beside it, and suddenly something clicks into place so clearly, my heart starts pounding.

I recall a conversation from a couple of weeks ago with Professor Lambert. His wife, Alpha, who was my math teacher, brought me to their home for a meeting disguised as a support group for families affected by Flawed issues. It was more of a rally, an attempt to raise support for the Flawed cause, and it was raided by Whistleblowers. In hiding, I met her husband, Professor Lambert, who is Flawed. He’d been a prominent scientist; he had photographs of himself with important people in gold-framed photographs all over his wood-paneled walls. He even had a photo of himself with Crevan in happier times. They’d been old acquaintances, until Crevan branded him. I knew he was an intelligent man, but he’d also had a few too many whiskeys and so hadn’t thought any further of his parting advice. It’s only now, as I struggle to find a solution, that his words mean something to me.

“Are you familiar with George Pólya?” he’d asked.

“Of course,” I’d replied. He was a mathematician; my mom had bought me a book of his for my birthday. Strange gift for most kids, but I’d loved it.

“I liked his philosophies. Pólya advised, if you can’t solve a problem, then there is an easier problem you can solve: You just have to find it.… Like I say, look to your strengths, look to your heroes for guidance. I’m a scientist.”

Professor Lambert gave me that advice, and now he can help me in more ways than one. I never thought to ask how he was using his being a scientist in his own favor, but I know the answer now because the Vigor logo is the very logo I saw in Professor Lambert’s secret office in his home, stamped on his work, on the backs of his photographs, on stationery, on plaques. It’s Professor Lambert who’s in charge of this facility.

“The owner of this facility will help us; he’ll take you in,” I say, the adrenaline kicking in again as my plan comes together.

Bahee snorts. “You don’t even know the owner. Nobody does, apart from me, and Eddie just told us that the owner is no longer interested in helping us.”

“I know him personally,” I say confidently. “His name is Professor Bill Lambert.”

Carrick looks at me in surprise.

“He may not want you to stay here anymore, but he didn’t say he wouldn’t help. He and his wife, Alpha, are awaiting your arrival at their home as we speak.” Or they will be a few minutes from now. Alpha will be more than happy to do this, especially if there are two F.A.B. children in the group.

“But how did you know about Professor Lambert…?” Bahee splutters. “He is anonymous … he…” Bahee looks at me, surprised, confused, angry, impressed. It all flashes across his bruised face as he looks from Carrick to me in surprise.

“How does she know this?”

“I told you: She’s powerful,” Carrick says smugly.

“Now excuse me for one more minute, I have to make an important phone call,” I say, and close the door in their faces.

I press my back up against the door and take a deep breath before dialing the number I wrote on the wall.

Kate picks up on the first ring.

“It’s me,” I say.

“Our conversations are being listened to on our mobiles. This is a secure line. How can I help you?”

I almost want to cry with relief. “Are you on my side?”

“I should have reported you as soon as I saw you; why else would I leave you there?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“You got away, didn’t you? You’re a tough cookie; I knew you’d be fine.”

Which is apparently the message I give out to most people when, in fact, the opposite is true.

“Two things. There’s another Whistleblower on our side. His name is Marcus—he’s Professor Bill Lambert’s Whistleblower.” Marcus helped Granddad hide from the Whistleblowers at the Lamberts’ house; he made sure we weren’t seen. “I have to get in touch with him. There are some people here who need hiding in a safe place.”

Kate is silent.

“Hello?”

“He’s my husband,” she says quietly.

I smile with surprise and punch the air, grateful for life’s wonderful coincidences.

“So he can get my people to the right place?”

“Yes, I’ll call him right away.”

“There’s another thing. I need an address for someone called Raphael Angelo.”

“Raphael’s your next move?”

“Yes.”

“I can get it, but no one has seen him for years. Crevan scared him off a long time ago.”

“Well, then we already have something in common.”