The Gender Game 5: The Gender Fall(108)

Cruz was glaring at me, his eyes glistening with malice. “I get it. You’re working for them,” he spat. “The Daughters of Patrus or whatever those terrorist brats call themselves.”

I checked my watch, my skin tingling. The tech hadn’t been up to the room yet, but according to Jeff’s information, there were only a few minutes before she was supposed to be here to load up the next news installment. It was very likely we needed the special case she carried with her, as it was coded specifically to connect to this terminal—without it, we couldn’t play our video. We were lucky to have figured that one out beforehand, thanks to Jeff’s information-gathering skills and Thomas’ strategic thinking.

“Hey, I’m talking to you, you coward,” Cruz continued.

“Jacob, people are starting to arrive,” announced Cad, turning back from where he sat at the control panel.

I stepped closer, peering out the large panel of security glass. People were beginning to stream into the stadium, their paces sedate, picking their seats around the ring.

“Tell everyone to get ready,” I told Jeff, and he nodded, his mouth moving. Already, I could see the strain of this amount of tension was getting to Jeff. Sweat was pouring off the older man’s forehead and dripping down his cheeks. I gave him a reassuring nod when I heard his voice come through the earbud.

I turned to Cruz and squatted down. “I’m not part of a terrorist organization,” I told him calmly as I grabbed the roll of duct tape I’d seen in the beaten-up red toolkit sitting on the floor near the console. “I’m just a man trying to do the right thing.”

“You’re betraying your own gender,” he hissed, his hands jerking against his bonds.

I shook my head at him. “Well, maybe I am, but for the right reasons.” I yanked a strip of tape out, tearing it off, and proceeded to place a piece over Cruz’s mouth, ignoring his attempt to bite me. Then I moved on to tape the other prisoners’ mouths. I checked my watch again. Only two minutes left before show time—where the hell was this tech? Just waiting like this was alarming in its own right, and if Elena or Desmond had somehow caught on to our plan, this little room could become a trap very quickly. I imagined, for a moment, trying to escape by breaking the security glass and leaping… first I’d have to find a way to break the reinforced glass; then, of course, would there even be something to hold on to—?

A sudden tapping followed by two long scratches sounded at the door, and I whirled, my gun leaping out of the holster under my jacket, the sights trained on the door.

“Get ready,” I whispered softly.

I heard the muffled sound of voices, but it was difficult to make out what they were saying. Jeff and Cad stepped next to me, aiming for the door as well. A familiar beep sounded, followed by the metallic thunk I recognized from earlier. And then the door swung open, toward us.

The tech strode in, flanked by two guards, and then paused, her eyes widening, as she saw us. The guards behind her nearly slammed into her, the whole group a tumble of chaos as they reached for their weapons.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” said Ms. Dale from behind them. Her announcement was punctuated by a click as she pulled back the hammer of her own gun.

The women froze, and, in a moment of déjà vu for me, raised their hands up. The technician regarded us. She was short, and pretty, with a round face and hair so blond it was almost white, cut artfully around her face in a short bob. She licked her lips, clutching the black case in her hands.

“Who are you?” she demanded, her blue eyes watching us warily.

Ms. Dale and Amber reached into the guards’ holsters, disarming them, and exhaled slightly.

“My name is Jacob,” I said. “And I’m terribly sorry about the inconvenience, but my associates and I need the black box you are holding.”

“Just over a minute ‘til broadcast time,” announced Thomas through the earbud.

The woman looked down at the box in her hands and back up to us. I noticed the quiver in her chin that indicated her fear, but she seemed to push it back. “And if I refuse to give it to you?”

I applauded her bravery, however misguided it was. It occurred to me how threatening we were, and the impression that might leave. Even though they were the enemy, I couldn’t bring myself to leave that sort of lasting impression on these women. Better to muddy up their perceptions with politeness.

“Miss, I cannot accept your refusal, but I promise you, my associates and I would never hurt you and your friends, unless it’s in self-defense.”

She swallowed and then looked around the room.