In Which Combeferre Becomes the Chief
Marius glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed. "We've been waiting for forty-five minutes, and he still isn't here."
The other Friends of the ABC sprawled around the room, bored. Feuilly shifted position in his chair. "It's not like Enjolras to be late."
"Maybe he's sick," Joly suggested.
Laigle halfheartedly shoved him. "He's never been sick a day in his life. Maybe he's just got something else to do at home."
"An army wouldn't keep him from coming to the meeting. It has to be something else," Feuilly said.
"And where's Combeferre?" asked Courfeyrac. "It's not like him to be late, either."
As though summoned by Courfeyrac's words, Combeferre crashed into the room, his face gray. He clawed for breath, hands on his knees, then straightened and composed himself.
"Where have you been, Combeferre? And where's Enjolras?" Courfeyrac demanded.
"Enjolras – is missing," Combeferre gasped.
"We know he's missing. That's why I'm asking you where he is."
"No," and Combeferre caught his breath at last. "I mean he's really missing. I wanted to walk to the meeting with him, but when I arrived at his house I was told he wasn't home."
"Maybe he forgot it was a weekend and went to class," Laigle said.
Bahorel slapped him on the arm. "He would never do that. He's not as stupid as you."
Laigle sighed and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "One time. I go to class on a Saturday one time, and you still won't let me forget it."
"Listen!"Combeferre yelled. "I was a little worried, so I went to the police station to see if they knew anything, and his parents were there. Apparently he disappeared last night and has been missing all day."
All the air went out of the room. Grantaire choked on a mouthful of wine, and his coughs split the silence.
"He disappeared?" Courfeyrac said. "You mean he's – you know…"
"Dead?" Prouvaire whimpered.
"Lost?" Joly clutched his chest.
"Ran away?" said Bahorel dryly. "I don't blame him."
"Kidnapped," said Combeferre. "His parents showed the police a note they found. It said, 'If you ever want to see your son again, bring 500,000 francs to No. 55 Rue Plumet within the week'."
All the color zapped out of Marius's face, and then some. "But – but that's where –"
"Where what?" Courfeyrac snapped.
Marius ran a finger along the inside of his collar. "Er, uh, it's not – that can't be right."
Combeferre's face hardened. "That's what the note said. Who cares what you think about it? The point is, Enjolras is in danger."
Shouts filled the room.
"Let's rescue him!"
"Can't we just leave him for a little bit?"
"His parents are rich enough."
"Who would be crazy enough to kidnap him?"
"EVERYBODY QUIET!" Combeferre shrieked. Instantly silence fell. Shocked faces stared at him. Combeferre never shrieked.
"Now," said Combeferre, glaring at them all, "all this yelling isn't going to help matters. We need a plan of action."
Joly raised his hand. Combeferre hesitated, then said, "Yes?"
"Why don't we just let his parents pay the ransom? That would be safer for everyone."
"Why not!?" Bahorel jumped up, knocking over his chair, and leaped onto a table. "I'll tell you why not! Enjolras is our chief! It is our duty to rescue him, even if he is a little crazy!"
"Look who's talking!" Grantaire taunted.
"Oh, shut up! We're loyal to Enjolras. We won't leave him in the hands of his captors! What if they torture him!? Or what if they kill him once they have the ransom!? And even if he is released, it would kill him to have been saved by money!" Bahorel said this last word with all the loathing only a Friend of the ABC could muster. "Will we let our chief come to an untimely end or suffer a disgraceful fate!? I don't know about you twerps, but I'm not letting that happen!"
Bahorel stood, his eyes alight, raising his fist in a heroic manner. He seemed ten feet tall as all eyes turned to him. Marius swore he could hear drums in the distance.
"Oh, Bahorel," Prouvaire sobbed, wiping his eyes with his hair. "I'll fight with you. I'll die with you!" Tears drenched his jacket.
"That won't be necessary," said Feuilly as he steered Prouvaire away from the table. Bahorel climbed down, grabbed Grantaire's wine bottle, and drained it to the dregs. He looked at Combeferre with a mild, expectant smile. Grantaire glowered.
"Er, thanks, Bahorel," Combeferre said. "Now, we need to establish a few things. Such as: is No. 55 Rue Plumet where they are actually holding Enjolras captive, or is that just the pick-up point for the ransom?"
"They're not holding him there," Marius said. Everyone looked at him. "How do you know?" Courfeyrac demanded.
"I just know." Marius felt himself blushing. "Trust me."
"Last time I trusted you I was stuck under a bridge for two days."
Combeferre stared at Courfeyrac. "How did that happen?"
Courfeyrac waved his hand. "Long story."
Combeferre held his head in his hands. "Please, can we have no more interruptions? Now, as I was saying, we need a plan."
"Oh! Oh! I have a plan!" Prouvaire's arm almost jerked him out of his chair as he waved it around. "It's the perfect plan!"
"Isn't it always?" Joly muttered.
"Does it involve shooting?" Bahorel asked.
"And bribing?" asked Courfeyrac.
"Is it reckless?" asked Laigle.
"It's amazing," said Prouvaire modestly.
"Then say it already," said Combeferre. He placed his hands on his hips and surveyed them all. "The rest of you shut up. Yes, you too, Courfeyrac. Let's not make this more of a mission impossible than we can help."