The Gender Game 5: The Gender Fall(73)

“Destroying it is only addressing one part of the problem,” Ms. Dale said. “We have no idea how the boys’ bodies will react without the Benuxupane. Desmond might have found a way to, I don’t know, make them dependent on it. If we destroy it without testing that, we might be killing them.”

“Good point,” Owen replied. “What if they react violently? Right now, the drug might be helping them cope with the side effects of their isolation and emotional maladjustment. It might be like kicking the crutch out from under a man with a broken leg.”

I raised my eyebrows at the metaphor, but couldn’t help but agree. “I guess that’s a bridge we’ll cross when we get to it. Right now, the fact that the Matrians are using them at all is a bigger concern, so anything we can do to…”

I trailed off, noticing Ms. Dale and Owen’s eyes had jumped to a place just over my shoulder, their faces blanking, draining of casual emotion. A tense silence had once again descended upon the clearing, and I felt a prickling at the back of my neck as the hair there rose in anticipation of danger. As slowly as possible, I turned.

Another boy wearing a black mask and black clothes stood only twenty feet away from me. My fingers twitched as I stared at his small form. He was breathing heavily, his shoulders and chest heaving, and I could see, even in the sparse light, that his black outfit was soaked with sweat.

I watched as the boy pointed at his ear, and then looked at me expectantly. I stared, baffled, and the boy slowly lowered his arm and then waited. After several long heartbeats, he repeated the gesture.

“Maybe he wants us to put the earpiece in,” Owen whispered behind me.

Seeing no better option before me, I cautiously moved toward the trunk of Ms. Dale’s car, keeping a careful eye on the boy. He didn’t move, making no sound but that of his labored breathing, even as I opened up the trunk and pulled out the box, grabbed the earpiece, and slid it into my ear.

“Hello, Mr. Croft,” a feminine voice crooned from the other side.

I balled my hand into a fist, my response scraping out through gritted teeth. “Hello, Desmond.”





25





Viggo





“There’s no need for that tone, my dear boy. After all, I’m just here to congratulate you on revealing which of our frequencies you had that dear, sweet moron Thomas monitoring.”

My eyes flicked over to Thomas, and I pointed at the earbud, shooting him a pointed, questioning glance. “What do you want, Desmond?” I asked.

Nodding sharply, Thomas moved over to the car, and I stepped aside to give him access to the trunk. I heard him moving items around behind me, but I didn’t look, turning my full attention to the boy standing in the clearing. He hadn’t moved, but I knew he was listening in. I could only hope nothing Desmond said now could be interpreted as a command on his part.

Desmond chuckled through the line. “You know, I really do have to congratulate you,” she said. “You were clever not to return to your secret base. I’m surprised to see you had that much common sense. Is my failed protégé with you?”

“Which one?” I retorted. “I seem to be collecting a set of them.”

“I see you still have that clever mouth… and zero insight about when best to use it,” the woman chided. She clucked her tongue in disapproval, and I resisted the urge to add something else incendiary. “The failed protégé I was referring to is the industrious Melissa Dale. Tell me, is she there with you?”

I cast a look at Ms. Dale, who was watching me closely, her mouth pressed into a thin line. “She’s here. She says you should go take a dive into Veil River.”

“I’m sure she did. Ah, well, she never really was up to my standards. I won’t miss her after I kill her.”

I clenched my teeth together, refusing to rise to the bait. “What do you want, Desmond?” I repeated.

“Patience, patience, Mr. Croft. You’re ruining all my fun… Now, where was I? Ah yes. It is a shame you haven’t led me straight to your base, but no matter. I’ll find it soon. Are you sure you don’t want to help me out a little bit? Give me a direction?”

“How about down? Just stop when you see flames.”

“Hmmm, color me unsurprised. You always were a stubborn little thing.”

“Well, that’s just part of my charm,” I said.

Behind me, I heard Thomas muttering to himself. I looked back just in time to catch his eye: the small man motioned to his wrist as though he was tapping a watch, then flapped his hand in a circular motion as though to say, ‘Come on!’ More time, I realized. He wants more time.