The Gender Game 5: The Gender Fall(63)

“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.

“Thirty seconds. You need to move now.” Ms. Dale’s voice was brusque, but I detected the hard edge of her concern as I worked my body through the hole, Owen holding it open for me. As soon as I was on the other side, we were running.

Sweat beaded on my forehead as I kept low to the ground, the threat of being discovered sending an icy chill through me. I kept a careful eye on Owen, not wanting to get separated as we raced ahead.

We made it to the tents, moving in three deep and one over, where Thomas had indicated it was safe, before taking a moment to catch our breath and await the next set of instructions. I looked up and noted the shadow of Violet’s drone overhead, suppressing a curse.

Violet, the drone needs to be higher—if it’s under the lamps, its shadow might be noticed, I commanded.

“Oh, shoot,” her voice came back. After a moment, she asked, “Is that better?”

Yes, I replied. Awaiting advice for the next move.

“Head straight down the row you entered, and then turn left after three tents,” came Thomas’ reply.

I looked at Owen, who nodded and took lead, walking quietly and keeping low. I was still out of shape after my surgery, I noticed, my thighs and back already burning slightly from holding my body so low. I was riding a wave of adrenaline on top of tension, which meant I could probably keep this up all night if I had to—but I kept moving, knowing if I stopped for too long, the overtaxed muscles would grow stiff and cumbersome.

The bright white lights gave off a kind of low-pitched buzz that seemed to drill itself into my ears; other than that, it was eerily silent in the camp, and our footsteps sounded too loud, as though they would wake the sleeping prisoners at any moment. Owen and I hooked left, and then took an immediate right at Thomas’ instructions, the two of us sliding through the tents in a pattern that seemed random, but I knew was based on our team’s careful observations. We quickly threaded our way through, stopping one row short of the end, with the group of trailers visible.

Eyeing the thirty feet between us and the door to the nearest one, I hesitated. Violet, can you do a quick sweep of the area around the trailers? I asked, prudence taking control.

“Roger that,” she replied. Owen and I waited in tense silence as she swept the drone around the area. “No guards outside,” she informed us after several minutes had gone by. “The trailer is still empty.”

I released a pent-up breath, trying to ease my body’s tension, and then nodded. Tapping Owen on the shoulder, I took point, heading for the door, leaping out into empty space and rushing headlong at the building. At any moment, I expected an alarm to go off, to hear a woman’s angry shout… but nothing came. Breathing heavily, I planted my back to the metal structure and watched as Owen twisted the knob with his hand.

He frowned and shook his head. Locked, his lips moved soundlessly, but I could hear his voice in my earbud. In response, I reached into a bag at my belt, pulling out our lock-picking device and handing it to him. He slid the thin rods into the lock and pressed the button on the side.

The machine made the slightest of whines as it turned on, followed by a click. I winced at how loud the noise sounded, looking around. There was nobody there to hear it, but the sooner we were inside, the better. Normally there would have been background noises to mask the little device’s operation, but in a place this quiet… Owen unhooked the machine, handing it back to me, and I slid it into my bag as he opened the door and stepped in. I was right behind him, pushing it closed behind us.

The narrow building was devoid of any internal structure save small windows at either end, which let in little slices of cold light from the camp’s lamps. I swung up the flashlight that hung from my jacket pocket, clicking it on to survey the room as Owen did the same. Filing cabinets were stacked along the walls, taking up every inch of space around the edges of the trailer. There was a desk sitting to the left, a computer atop it.

We’re inside, I transmitted. Good call on this trailer—we’ve got a computer and walls of file cabinets. Are we clear to proceed?

“Good to go,” replied Ms. Dale. “Our scope is clear of any guards, but be careful—you are only a few feet away from the other trailers.”

I turned to Owen. Computers or file cabinets?