The Gender Fall (The Gender Game #5)(53)

“Before I tell them anything is wrong—Thomas, why would two of the three people in this room be showing up as way redder than the other one?” I asked.

Ms. Dale and Thomas both turned off their mics. Thomas glanced over at my screen and frowned, perusing the screen, then gave a little shrug. “It could be an area set up for first aid,” he announced. “Those two might be running a fever.”

“Should I count them as guards? Do you think they are some of the Patrian males?”

Ms. Dale answered for him. “Until we know better, they are guards. If they’re running fevers, that might be to our advantage, but I would prefer not to test that theory. Let’s report three hostiles to Viggo, but warn him that two could be sick.”

Decided, we patched back into Viggo and Owen’s line, and I informed Viggo, who acknowledged me tersely. Then I piloted the drone to the last trailer, relieved when I saw it was empty. “Northeast trailer is empty—I recommend it as a first stop.”

Only if we get the go-ahead from Ms. Dale, Viggo replied.

Ms. Dale moved over to Thomas, studying his map closely. “Do you see a point of ingress?” she asked the pudgy man.

Thomas shook his head, his fingers flying. “If they approach from the same direction as the trailer, fifteen feet from the corner, they’ll have a minute-and-a-half window to get through the gate and into the tents. It’ll be tight, but it’s doable.”

Ms. Dale nodded. “All right,” she transmitted. “You get that, boys?”

Started moving five seconds ago, came Viggo’s dry response.

I suppressed a smile and transitioned the camera back to low-light vision, using it and Thomas’s directions to help pilot the drone over to the point Thomas had indicated on the screen. Then I waited for Viggo and Owen to come into sight, that one spark of humor bleeding away into tension as the seconds slowly clicked by.





21





Viggo





Owen eased the car to a stop as we slowly pulled up through the forest nearest the northeast corner of the camp, killing the engine. I got out, taking care to close the door quietly. I almost felt naked with no backpack on my shoulder, but the small bags at my belt contained everything I was likely to need, packed tight so nothing bounced around.

The night air was cold, and my breath crystallized as it encountered the frigid environment, but my black cargo pants and heavy wool sweater kept me warm enough. I also wore a black hat pulled down over my ears, and gloves covering my hands. There was no moon tonight, the night dark under a haze of obscuring clouds, but Owen had brought a small flashlight that shone dimly through a filter lens, radiating only enough light to make our way slowly through the forest.

We moved quickly to the tree line, stopping just short of the open grassy field that separated us from the fence surrounding the camp.

We’re in position, I announced through the subvocalizer.

“Hold on,” came Thomas’ reply. “You have an opening in forty-five seconds.”

I checked my watch. Waiting for your order, I replied.

My breathing felt abnormally loud in that moment, but I knew from experience it wasn’t. As the seconds ticked by, I ran through a mental checklist, making sure I had remembered everything we needed. The gear was split between Owen and me, but we had gone over it together as Violet and Thomas mapped the camp. We were ready for this.

“Go in five, four, three, two, one… Go.”

Owen and I leapt into motion, loping across the field, keeping ourselves low to the ground. Light generated by the high, bright spotlights within the camp helped us see, but it also meant a stray eye might spot us. Luckily, the ground was flat and mostly even, so we made short work of it.

At the fence, we crouched down low, hugging the earth, and moved a few feet down.

“There,” came Violet’s voice. “That’s the spot.”

Owen slipped a hand into one of his bags and pulled out a small white tube. I palmed my gun and kept an eye on the inside of the fence, watching for the guards, just in case something in the situation changed. There was a thirty-foot gap between the fence line and the first row of tents, and the tents obscured my vision of the other side. Still, I could make out dark forms standing at attention just on this side of the tents—two on either corner. If I could see their shadows, they might be able to notice us if we made a mistake.

There was the snap of the tube’s plastic cap being opened, and then Owen pressed its mouth to the chain link, squeezing small dollops of the cream on the insides of the joints. He moved quickly and with confidence, applying the cream from top to bottom in a long, even line, and was two-thirds of the way done when the first fence links he’d marked began to sizzle and smoke, the metal melting and dripping down with soft plops. Careful not to let the stuff touch his fingers, he screwed the cap back on and slipped it into his belt, and by the time his hands were free again, the last spot was beginning to hiss and sputter.

“Forty-five more seconds,” announced Thomas.

My stomach was a tight knot, but I ignored it as I grasped my half of the fence, sliding my finger through the holes. Owen mirrored my movement, and we lifted and pulled, taking painstaking care not to rattle the fence. The two halves split apart as easily as butter sliced with a knife, and I held mine open as Owen slipped through.