The Gender Game 4: The Gender War Page 7

  “Exactly. Owen! How do you know he won’t just report everything you say to Desmond?” I trusted Owen, but if he had blown our cover, I wasn’t optimistic about our chances. Most of us were running on empty. My body still hurt too much to seriously think about food, but the last time Viggo, Ms. Dale and I had eaten was that morning on Alejandro’s boat… And now our stores were deep in the bottom of Veil River. Irritation flashed through me, but I tamped it down, waiting for an explanation.

  “Not everyone is one of Desmond’s sycophants,” Owen replied tartly. “Thomas has worked with Desmond because he hates Patrus, but he’s never been interested in following her off a cliff. And…” he hesitated, then said simply, “Thomas will do anything I ask, Violet. Anything.”

  No matter what was true, it was clear that Owen didn’t believe Thomas would betray us. And since the information was already out, we’d have to take our chances. I sighed, then asked, suddenly curious, “Did you tell him about Desmond’s deceptions? What did he say?”

  Owen frowned again, his face shadowed with anger and betrayal. I watched him open and close his hand several times, making and unmaking a fist. “He said that he had predicted a seventy-four point three percent chance that Desmond was working for Matrus the entire time,” he finally spat.

  “Oh.” I bit my lip, and then rested my hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Owen.”

  He shrugged his shoulder out from under my hand and shook his head. “There’s no reason for you to apologize. I got myself into this mess… and I’m going to do my best to fix it. Anyway, before the explosion, Thomas was telling me that Desmond sent a team into Patrus. Very hush-hush. They were ordered to work outside of Thomas’ network, so he doesn’t know much. Except that they were supposed to leave their handhelds behind in case they were compromised… and their target is the king.”

  “Damn,” I said, taking a step back. I took a deep breath, trying to think for a moment. “We can’t do anything from here on the riverbank. We’ve got to find transportation to Patrus… and more supplies.”

  “Well, I thought… I can reach out to the Porteque gang under my old alias. They would probably be willing to meet us and smuggle us in. I don’t have any money on me, but I bet I can scrape by on credit…”

  “I’m sorry,” said Viggo, scooting next to me. I wasn’t surprised he had been listening in—it wasn’t like there was a lot of space in the small area. “Did you say Porteque gang? Like how you got in last time?”

  I nodded at Viggo, but then returned to shaking my head at Owen. “It won’t work—we don’t have any costumes!”

  Owen fidgeted, throwing Ms. Dale and me apologetic looks. “It will if we tell them we botched it. That we were trying to grab you, Violet, and got her by mistake.”

  “She has a name and can hear you,” Ms. Dale called, from where she was helping a dazed Alejandro sit upright.

  The older man was massaging his jaw with his hand, his confusion palpable. “What happened?” he grumbled, and I caught a guilty look from Viggo on my left.

  “Violet?” said Tim, overriding Alejandro’s question. “Who’s Porteque? Why costumes?”

  “Not you—just Ms. Dale and myself,” I said.

  “Why?” Tim demanded.

  I moved to one side while Viggo went to kneel next to Alejandro, speaking in hushed whispers to the older man. I assumed he was apologizing. Beckoning Tim over, I met his gaze with my own.

  “We have to pretend that Owen, Viggo, and Alejandro are going to sell Ms. Dale and me. It’s called a cover, and we—”

  Tim cut me off before I could get further. “Sell?”

  I couldn’t contain the buried anger I felt toward the Porteque gang as I was forced to explain. “Tim, in Patrus, some men… they kidnap women from Matrus and sell them to other men as wives. And… worse.”

  Tim’s face went from curious to alarmed within moments. “NO!” he shouted angrily. “Won’t pretend.”

  I gave him a pleading look. “It won’t be real, Tim. It’s the only way. We have to get to Patrus now.”

  “Leave,” Tim rebuked.

  I shook my head and sighed. “We can’t, Tim,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “Because of Cad. Because of our family. And because… because a lot of people will get hurt and die if we don’t try. We have to warn the king in time to stop the war. And we’re going to have to do things that aren’t easy.”

  Tim gave me a dubious look, but didn’t say anything. I turned back to the others in time to see Alejandro’s watery eyes and trembling hands. Maybe he’d forgiven Viggo for hitting him, or maybe he was just so overwhelmed with everything that it didn’t really matter anymore.

  “My boat,” he said, his voice thick with sadness. “I have to… I have to get home. Jenny will be worried about me.”

  “Are you sure?” Viggo asked him gently. “I mean… how are you going to get back?”

  Alejandro took his arm out of Viggo’s hand and gave him an irritated look. “I’m not a wanted criminal, and I’m a Patrian. All I have to do is find the nearest border crossing and tell ’em my boat sank. I’ll be fine.”

  “I’m glad,” Viggo said. “But… Alejandro—you need to get to Jenny, and then run. Take only what you can carry, and get out. We don’t know what will happen out there.”

  “Alejandro,” I interjected, and Alejandro looked at me as I approached, his eyes wide. “I’m sorry, but I need a favor from you. If you could find my family… My aunt and uncle are Sarah and Kurtis Thorne. And my cousin’s name is Cad—Cad Thorne. He might be married, he might not—at one point he was seeing a girl called Margot, but I don’t know. Just please… please tell them Violet said to run.”

  Alejandro nodded solemnly. “I’ll do it, girl. I’ll find them for you.”

  The gratitude I felt was overwhelming, and I pulled the old man in for a hug. “Thank you,” I whispered into his ear, and he nodded, patting me gently on the back.

  We said our goodbyes quickly and quietly as Alejandro began to trudge south through the long grass. I felt a moment of apprehension for him—after all, it was going to be dangerous where he was going. I had no idea when Elena was going to strike, or how she was going to do it—all I knew was that it involved the king. Maybe if we could prevent what she had in mind for him, it would put a stop to her entire plan.

  I turned back to the group, my mind whirring. Sitting on the grass here gave us a break from all the rushing around for a moment, and everything felt almost possible again. I could keep my fatigued body going for a few more hours… and if I could, I knew the rest of them would follow my lead. “Owen, get ahold of your Porteque contact. It’s our best plan, and we can’t afford to wait.”

  “I’m on it,” he replied. “It shouldn’t take too long if they’re out here—if not, we might have to try something else.”

  “It’ll have to do. What’s our weapon situation?”

  “It’s not good,” said Ms. Dale, crossing her arms. “I’ve got a pair of pistols and two extra clips.”

  “I’ve got one pistol and one clip,” added Owen as he pulled out his handheld and moved away from the group.

  “Still got mine,” announced Viggo, pulling his gun out of his pocket.

  “When we get to the city, and you turn us over,” I said, looking at Viggo, “what should we expect?”

  He considered the question for a moment. “We’ll be directed to a specific location. I would say one of the warden stations, but to be honest, you’re too high profile. That means a secret location, meant for spies and terrorists.”

  “And… when we get there?”

  “It’s hard to say. You’ll be patted down for weapons, and they’ll want to make sure you’re secure. After that, it’s a waiting game. I’m not sure if the king will want to question you immediately, or if he’ll let you stew.”

  Turning to Tim, I shook my head. “Viggo, there are four other people that we have to hide, or else come up with a story about. And we have to do s
omething about Tim—I don’t want him getting frisked.”

  Viggo frowned and crossed his arms, rocking back on his heels for a second. “All right—Ms. Dale, Owen, and Jay will be a part of the terrorist cell that you’ve been working in. I managed to capture you all, and… uh, while I was there, I found Tim living in the wild.”

  I gave him a look. “That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard,” I retorted. He eyed me and then nodded in agreement.

  “Yeah. Give me some time to think about it.”

  I bit my lip, deep in thought. “We need rope or something to restrain us, so it’ll look more convincing.”

  “The Porteque gang will have that,” Owen supplied, approaching with a grim nod.

  “Won’t they wonder why we aren’t restrained?”

  “You’ll have to pretend to be unconscious, I think,” Owen replied. “We can say the job got botched—we managed to drug you, but we lost the man who carried the restraints. It’s flimsy, but it’ll have to do.”

  I sighed but nodded. It was a thin sketch of a plan, but it was the best we had at the moment.

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s get going.”

  9

  Viggo

  The air was still as I stood beside Owen, watching the lights of the approaching vehicle growing brighter in the night. When it trundled near us, I could see that the truck was massive, meant for hauling heavy loads of mechanical parts, with a two-person cab and huge, heavy-duty off-roading tires. The extra-long bed’s carrying capacity had been increased by the addition of a tall metal frame that rose several feet above the cab. A thick black canvas tarp was stretched over the frame to protect—or conceal—the cargo. It was a fairly standard modification on trucks like this, but the wardens I’d worked with had always called them ‘kidnapping vehicles’ for a reason.

  I wasn’t sure whether I was glad that Owen’s contacts had come through so quickly—there might have been a better way to do this, but at least this way was fast. Violet and Ms. Dale had crouched down in a nearby copse of trees, waiting to be carried, ‘unconscious,’ onto the scene when we signaled to them; Tim and Jay stayed with them to do the carrying. I was less than sure about this plan, but it was happening. Desmond’s team—whoever they were—had a head start on us, and we needed to make every second count.

  I stood behind Owen. He was the most familiar with them, so it would be better if he did all the talking. Not to mention, I loathed the Porteque gang. I was far more likely to shoot them than to have anything useful to say.

  I also had to hope that none of them recognized me right away.

  Owen held up a hand as the vehicle coming toward us pulled to a stop. The engine cut off, but they left the lights on to glare in our faces. As I watched, six large men climbed out, wearing clothes with various levels of shabbiness—two from the cab of the truck, and four from the back. When they approached, I could see the familiar black triangles underneath one of each of their eyes, and I tamped down a surge of fury.

  “Hey, Peter,” Owen said to one of the approaching members, holding his hand out.

  The man who had gotten out of the driver’s seat, a burly guy with a long, greasy blond ponytail and a goatee, stepped up to Owen, grabbing his hand with a firm shake. “Hey, Sam,” he replied. “Where’s the rest of your team? And… who’s the new guy?” He stared at me, and I inclined my head toward him, trying to conceal my seething glare.

  “It’s a long story, my friend. Let’s just say we had a bit of a botched job. Oh, and this is Alfred.”

  My face reflected nothing, but Owen’s choice of cover identities definitely left something to be desired. I held out my own hand and gave what I hoped passed as a congenial smile, rather than a baring of teeth. “Friends and associates call me Fred,” I stated as Peter took my hand in his. “I’m new.”

  “Yeah,” Peter said wryly. “I gathered.”

  We released the handshake, and Peter turned back to Owen. “Any heat we need to be worried about with this botched job?”

  Owen shook his head. “No—I left one of my guys behind to clean it up, so none of it will fall back on you. But we had to step up our timeline because of it. That’s why this call was so last-minute. I’m glad you could make it.”

  “Boss,” one of the other men, a smaller guy with narrow eyes and a tight, turned-down moustache, said behind him, but Peter waved a dismissive hand at him. My gaze passed over him once and then snapped back. Something about him looked… I didn’t want to say it, even to myself… familiar.

  “In a minute,” Peter said to the man, clearly irritated. “Well, Sam, I hate to say it, but that means you’re going to have to pay more.”

  “Well, I hate to say this too, Peter—but I’m clean out. This job… it went down pretty bad, and a lot of our stuff went missing. But don’t worry, I’ll be able to get you double the amount through our usual contact soon.”

  Peter’s affable expression tightened. “Double? When?”

  Owen gave an exasperated tsk. “Soon enough for you. Peter, please, trust me. How long have we been in business together, man?”

  “Boss,” called the same man, his narrow eyes glittering at me.

  “I’m working up here, man. Tell me in a minute.” Peter rolled his eyes at Owen, who smiled back amiably. He considered Owen for a long moment as he rubbed the back of his neck, fiddling with his ponytail. “I can’t do it, man. You’ve been good for business, sure, but I can’t smuggle you in with some vague promise of—”

  At this point, the man behind Peter lost his patience. “Boss, you’re gonna want to hear this.”

  Peter’s jaw clenched in irritation. He gave Owen a long, hard stare. “Excuse me for a second,” he said to Owen before whirling on his heel and stalking back to the man, who urged him farther away from us, standing in the truck’s headlights.

  I leaned in close to Owen. “Do you know what’s going on?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

  Owen shook his head, his face tight. “Not sure, but it isn’t good.”

  Peter turned back toward us, and this time his eyes lingered on me, giving me a long, appraising look. I smiled with mock cheer, and he turned back. The two conversed furtively for several more seconds, and then Peter stalked back, shaking his head.

  I folded my hands behind my back as he approached, carefully lifting my shirt up so I could put my hand on the gun I was keeping there, tucked into the waistband. Peter approached us with a smile, but I could see a hard gleam in his eyes, as if a switch had been thrown.

  “Sorry about that, man,” he started to say, and I pulled the gun on him. Owen flinched next to me. Peter froze, his eyes widening in fury, but the men behind him started to reach for their guns.

  “Don’t,” I said, and they all went very still. “I will shoot him.”

  Peter looked at me and the gun, and slowly raised his hands. “Donald was right,” he sneered. “You’re a warden.”

  I gave him a little shrug. “Not at this very moment, but technically, yes.”

  “Not just a warden,” the man with the moustache said, his voice dripping hate. “He’s Viggo Croft. You thought you could fool us, eh? Didn’t think we’d call your bluff? I’ve had you on my list for years, Croft.”

  “And yet here I am, holding your leader at gunpoint,” I said tightly. “Did you predict that too?”

  “There are six of us and two of you,” Peter broke in. “No offense, man, but not exactly your best odds.”

  Just then, Owen put his fingers to his mouth and whistled, and in moments, Violet, Ms. Dale, Tim, and Jay pushed out of the trees in a rush, weapons bared and fists raised. I knew that Violet held her gun in her off hand, but you would have never guessed it from the confidence with which she stared down the barrel at the six men.

  “I think the odds may have shifted,” I remarked. “Guns on the ground. Now.”

  The vein in Peter’s jaw throbbed as he glared at me. “Put ’em down, boys—go slowly, eh? We don’t want these psycho women getting all tri
gger-happy on us.” He turned to Violet. “You aren’t on your period, are you? Because if you are, your man should never have given you a g—”

  He never finished what he had to say. I had already crossed the small distance between us and struck him in the jaw. He crumpled to the ground, his eyes wide in shock. I stood over him, daring him to get back up, riding my fury like a bird riding the winds of a thunderstorm.

  “You ever talk to her, or any woman, like that again,” I hissed as soon as he focused on me, “I will end you, your crew, and anyone else related to your stupid gang.”

  I caught a tiny smile crossing Violet’s face out of the corner of my eye as I stepped back. Peter climbed back to his feet, rubbing his jaw, his expression murderous.

  “So, what, you’re going to leave us out here?” he snarled. “How are you going to get across the border?”

  I gave him a droll look. “I’m a warden, idiot. They’ll let me in. Now—you and your friends start walking. Head toward the river. I see any of you come back, I’ll put a bullet in your heads without thinking about it. Got it?”

  Peter sneered again. “We ‘got it’. Let’s go, men.”

  “Thanks for letting us borrow your truck,” Violet chirped after them as they reluctantly moved away.

  As they shambled toward the river, pushing into the grass, the group of us kept our sights trained on where their backs disappeared into the dark for well after they were gone.

  “I wish we could’ve tied them all up and arrested them,” I growled, and Violet nodded in agreement, her face stiff. I knew she was thinking of her own kidnapping by the Porteque gang.

  As soon as we were reasonably certain they were gone, I looked at Owen. “Grab their guns and let’s get moving. I’m going to keep watching the riverbank until we’re on our way.”

  The rest of the party snatched up the abandoned weapons, and then we piled into the men’s truck—I took the wheel, with Violet riding shotgun. I felt exactly zero guilt for stealing equipment from a group of people who dealt in human flesh. I turned us around, then began heading toward civilization the way they had come.