He shook his head, denial stamped on his features. “No,” he said stubbornly.
“Tim, I can go help Viggo, or I can stay and make sure you get out alive. If I go and help Viggo, then I have a chance of saving him.”
“How?”
In response, I pulled out a pistol—another object I had pilfered from the supply room. I had tucked it into one of the many dangling bags on the harness, and then slid it out when Viggo wasn’t looking. I hadn’t been sure he would approve at the time. The ammunition was live—meaning that it would kill.
Tim’s eyes went wide as he stared at the gun. “Oh,” he replied.
I tucked the gun back against the small of my back. “Go,” I said, urging him to the door. “And don’t forget Samuel,” I reminded him. It was an unnecessary reminder—the dog followed him everywhere.
Suddenly the same crackle filled the air. I turned, half-expecting to see Desmond right behind me on the ramp, but she wasn’t. Still, a bead of sweat dripped from my forehead.
“Ms. Bates, you only have a few precious minutes left to save him,” she said, practically singing the words in her triumph.
I took a step onto the ramp. “Do it, Tim,” I ordered, my voice coming out harshly.
I didn’t look back as I marched down the row. He wouldn’t argue with my back to him, and I didn’t have time to entertain his argument, even if he planned to. Viggo’s life was on the line—again—and if Desmond thought she was going to take him from me when I had just gotten him back, she had another thing coming.
Namely, a bullet.
I threw open the door to the stairwell and marched up the stairs. I could already hear hushed whispers filtering down the stairwells. Someone was standing with the door wide open, waiting for me.
I wasn’t sure that she had any idea where I had been, but if she had, I prayed that Tim hurried before someone caught him and Ms. Dale. I took a deep breath and forced my face to relax. I straightened my spine and squared my shoulders, then continued up the stairs.
Stepping through the doorframe, I nodded at the Liberator who was holding it open. I vaguely remembered her—I thought her name was Phyllis, or maybe Phoebe—and I was a little surprised when she nodded back. So was she, given the flush of pink across her high cheekbones, and the speed at which she pulled the door closed behind me, avoiding eye contact.
Her reaction reminded me that not everyone in the room was bad. They were just being misled by a very disturbed individual.
The same disturbed individual who was standing in the middle of the largest patch of sand with a man kneeling in front of her.
I marched through the crowd, who regarded me with curiosity, disdain, and some outright hatred. The last came from Meera, who shouted something incoherent at me before shoving me hard. I was surprised by her vehemence, until I remembered Solomon. Things had been strained, but she had tried. I guessed that was over now.
Her shove caused me to lose balance and I fell to the ground on my hands and knees. A few people cheered, but the rest remained silent, waiting for the scene to unfold before them. Given how Desmond had gotten everyone down here—likely by sending them messages through their handhelds—it would prove to be theatrical.
I drew in a lungful of air and glanced over to where Meera was standing when a flash of movement caught my eye. I lifted my gaze and saw Nissa standing practically on top of me, her face marred by a frown, which intensified as our eyes met. She took a step back, and I felt hope crumble in my chest.
Convincing these people that I wasn’t their enemy was going to be impossible. Desmond had spent years with them—she knew them better than they knew themselves, it seemed. She had molded them all into believing in her, creating a sense of devotion that would be impossible to overcome in these circumstances.
Her plan wasn’t a secret: They had come to terms with it already. And who could blame them? They were the outcasts of societies that had wronged them, and Desmond represented a very real way of dealing a blow to the institutions. They didn’t care about the people they hurt in the process: All they cared about was revenge.
I also highly doubted that they would believe me about Desmond drugging the boys. If I mentioned it, it would seem like a desperate claim, trying to taint the reputation of someone they loved.
I stood up and continued walking, doing my best to ignore the snide comments and yells. The sand crunched under my feet as I marched through it and stopped about thirty feet from Desmond.
“Let him go,” I said, my voice ringing out loudly, and, thankfully, calmly.
Turning her back to me, Desmond held the microphone to her lips. “You see,” she cried. “Why else would she come, if she weren’t a spy?”
The crowd murmured in agreement, and I felt my brows draw up in confusion. “What are you talking about?” I asked, taking a step forward and looking at the audience. “I came up here because you were threatening my boyfriend!”
I felt Viggo’s eyes on me, but I kept my focus on Desmond and the crowd. Desmond was trying to convince them that I was working against them, but I wasn’t about to make it that easy.
Desmond turned back to me, shaking her head sadly. “We trusted this girl—we trusted her with our deepest secrets, never knowing that she was really working for Matrus. And her boyfriend here for Patrus.”
She planted a foot on Viggo’s shoulders and gave him a little shove, sending him tumbling to the ground. He sat up quickly, shaking the sand off his face. I held my ground, staring at her. “Seriously? This is the best you can come up with? That I work for Matrus and him Patrus? There are so many problems with that I don’t even know where to start!”
“Enough, Ms. Bates. We are tired of your… deceptions. I have suspected you for some time, ever since that… special meeting you wanted to schedule with me out of the blue… mere days before seeing our plan finally come to fruition. You see… when I started this operation, I knew that both countries would eventually figure out that something was up and send agents to investigate. I don’t know how, but you must have been tipped off that Lee was working with someone else. You probably didn’t know who then, but you and your partner here—as unprecedented as it seems—started working together once you realized how effective we could… would… become.
“But then you got impatient. You bided your time, put on the good soldier act, all the while waiting to be clued in to the details of our plan. And when that didn’t work, you got more impatient and had your boyfriend sneak in to my office to steal the plans that we have spent years putting into motion and escape like rats in the night. Do you deny it?”
The crowd hushed, waiting for my answer. I didn’t address Desmond—instead, I turned to the crowd. “You don’t actually believe this, right?” I said incredulously. “Most of you saw the aftermath of the twins—the princesses—we killed defending ourselves. How could I do that if I was a Matrian spy? Why would I?”
The crowd murmured, and I took that as a good sign; I hesitated, and then decided to go for it. “She’s right—Viggo was in her office, snooping around—but not to report her location to her enemies. He was there because… we suspect Desmond is giving the boys a drug to make them more complicit to her ideas! She’s trying to use them, the same way Matrus used them!”
The crowd hushed and then someone shouted, “Where’s your proof?”
I looked at Viggo, who shook his head grimly. “Desmond caught Viggo before he could find it. But that doesn’t mean it’s not true. Ask for her handheld! Check it out for yourself.”
Desmond gave me a bored look and glanced at the crowd. “Go ahead. I have nothing to hide—you all knew about the Benuxupane. I’ve been giving it to them in small doses to see if they showed improvement, and they have. Why do you think they’ve been getting better faster?”
I felt stunned by her declaration. “You promised you wouldn’t start administering it until you had determined whether or not Viggo’s plan would work!” I shouted.
“I had determined th
at his program was helping, but not fast enough. Certainly not fast enough for the family members who want nothing more than to have their children returned to them, healthy and whole.”
I paused, realizing I was on a slippery slope. “Okay, but what about this grand idea? Have any of you stopped to think about it? What it means? She doesn’t want to target the nobility or the people in power—she wants to manufacture a war between two countries. One that will kill innocents. Now, I don’t know about you, but I still have family living out there. People I care about, getting killed in the name of a war that they don’t even understand! I can’t live with that. Can you honestly tell me you can?”
The crowd fell silent, and I could see the thoughtful expressions on many of their faces. For a second, I felt certain that my words had swayed them, until someone in the back shouted, “Traitor!” The entire room crumbled into shouts and jeers.
Desmond sauntered over to me and I held steady, keeping my hands at my sides. She twisted her wrist, letting the microphone drop from her mouth and point toward the ground, before giving me a pitying smile.
“You know, Violet,” she said, her voice soft and low, “I never imagined that it would come to this. But now that it has, I hope you can appreciate the irony as much as I do.”
“You’re a snake, Desmond. No wonder your son wanted to be free of you.”
Her smile flickered and faded into a scowl, and she turned back to the crowd. As she did, I took a step back and pulled out my gun, pointing it at her head. Someone in the crowd screamed in warning, and Desmond whipped around, coming face to face with my gun.
My finger tensed on the trigger, and my heart hammered in my chest as I prepared to carry the weight of what I was about to do. Spill more blood. Claim another life.
A roar at the back of the crowd reverberated off the walls with such intensity that the clamor of the crowd was drowned out, causing voices to fall silent in unison. A pale white and dark blur leapt over the crowd, landing to a skidding stop in front of me.
As the dust settled, I found myself staring at one of the boys, who had put himself directly in front of my gun, standing between me and Desmond, his face contorted with anger and determination. People shifted as more boys began to pour through the door that I had passed through minutes ago. Several more came to stand between Desmond and me. The rest pressed in, forming a circle around us.
My hands shook as I took in the development. I heard a familiar cry of pain, and turned back in time to see my brother and Ms. Dale hauled unceremoniously into the circle around us. One of the boys tossed a squirming black bag in between them, and I heard a yip from Samuel.
Grimacing, I turned back to Desmond, who grinned at me, daring me to pull the trigger with the boys in the way.
Reluctantly, I lowered the gun and the second I did, the boys rushed at me, grabbing me and forcing me to the ground.
“My boys, please—be calm!” Desmond shrilled. “Let’s put that training to good use! Drag them all to the airlock, and let’s make a sport of it.”
Desmond’s announcement was met with a chorus of cheers, and I squeezed my eyes shut, unable to accept another failure on my part.
35
Viggo
The five of us—including Samuel—were hauled upstairs through the levels and marched out by several of the boys, with Desmond bringing up the rear, a self-satisfied bounce in her step. I did my best to ignore it, but it was hard to ignore the boys giving me sidelong glances with pain in their eyes.
They looked at me like they wanted to ask why I had betrayed them. As if I could give them an answer to something that wasn’t true.
It hurt that the boys hadn’t trusted me enough to question Desmond’s lies, even if they were being fed a drug. It hurt that they felt I had betrayed them. And at the center of all that hurt was Desmond—whatever she was planning, however she planned to achieve it, looking at those boys made me feel a rage that I had never known before.
I was supposed to be protecting them from people like her, yet I had missed what was going on. If I had been more attentive about what was happening under my nose, I probably could have done something to stop her.
As it was, I kept my mouth shut. I knew that no amount of reasoning with the boys would work now. From their point of view, Violet had pulled out her weapon first. That made her, as well as the rest of us, the aggressors. We were a threat, and we needed to be eliminated.
We reached the final set of stairs, and I felt a coldness in my gut, wondering what exactly Desmond had planned. Would she throw us out of the airlock without a mask, leave us to choke for breath and then suffocate from the toxic fumes of The Green?
No. She had mentioned something about the boys making a “sport” of this. That meant a fighting chance, if only a slim one. I needed to bide my time and see what she had planned. Depending on what it was, it might mean I died a few minutes sooner, fighting for all our lives.
Ahead of me, Violet marched forward, resolute. I felt a pang of sympathy for her—she probably wished she had pulled the trigger before the boys had arrived. As I thought about it, however, I realized that this might be better. Even with the training, the boys still had the potential for volatility, and shooting Desmond would have caused a strong reaction in them.
I realized now that my own rules for the boys would have backfired in a way, had Violet pulled the trigger. Most of them would’ve reacted, seen the others react, and then acted upon their instincts. In a single moment, I could’ve lost her, lost everything. I was grateful that she had decided to back down.
We were shoved unceremoniously into the antechamber. Most of the boys remained in the halls and stairwells—this floor wasn’t open enough to hold all of them. A few of the team leaders stood inside the room, glaring at us. Desmond pushed through the group of boys, placing gentle hands on their shoulders and whispering words of encouragement.
She stepped into the room and raked us with a gaze. “Change,” she ordered.
She must have sent for someone to bring regular clothes, because within seconds of her order, articles of clothing were passed up from the back. Desmond snatched them one by one, tossing them casually on the floor.
I ignored her as I bent over and grabbed the clothing. Tim, Ms. Dale and Violet weren’t wearing invisibility suits, so they had no need to change. I turned my back on them and began changing.
“So, Ms. Dale,” I said conversationally, as I stepped out of the suit. “How do you think Desmond’s going to kick this war off?”
There was a long pause behind me, and then Ms. Dale responded. “It’s… tough to say, Mr. Croft… Starting a war is not an easy business. It requires resources, timing, and careful consideration… Whatever it is, it has to be big.”
I nodded, sliding the pants over my hips and buttoning them quickly. “Like a bombing, maybe?” I asked, casting a quick glance at Desmond to read her expression.
“That might work,” Ms. Dale replied. “But it’d have to be at a target vulnerable enough to cause a public outrage.”
Desmond’s face tightened as her smile began to fade. I hid my face, subsequently hiding my grin, and quickly slipped the shirt over my head. “I see. Like an orphanage?”
Ms. Dale scoffed. “A bit cliché, but it could work. However, I think if it were to be truly believed as an act of war, an orphanage isn’t political enough. It’s all emotion, no real target. No, if it were to be believable, it would be a political target, as well as an emotional one.”
I nodded and sat down on one of the benches, forcing one foot into a shoe. Violet sat down next to me, flashing me a questioning look. I knew she was curious about what Ms. Dale and I were doing, but I couldn’t stop to explain right then, so I gave her a tiny nod of my head.
“I guess maybe… if you really wanted to make the people angry, you would have to assassinate a public official,” I drawled on.
“I suppose so,” Ms. Dale said. “It would have to be someone in the public eye, someone who was beloved e
nough to stir them toward war.”
I nodded, stepping hard into one shoe and stealing another covert glance of Desmond. She had planted a bored expression on her face with a faint air of impatience, but I could tell she was listening intently.
“Well, what about the queen?” I suggested.
I caught a flash of Ms. Dale’s smile as it quickly formed and faded. “Actually, she would be a great target, Mr. Croft. Especially considering the tragic death of her mother before her.”
Desmond’s eyes narrowed, and I felt a pulse of triumph as I looked up and met her gaze. “That’s your target, isn’t it?” I said softly. “You plan to make it appear as if Patrus killed the new queen.”
Desmond smirked at me and gave a little shrug. “Even if it were my target, you’d never get there in time. I’ve already sent my best agent to handle it—whatever it might be.”
I frowned, thinking. Violet stood up beside me and faced Desmond. “Who did you send?” she demanded, her voice constricted.
Desmond gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes and stepped over to the suit display, studying it idly. A tense silence reigned before she finally sighed and turned around.
“I supposed it doesn’t hurt to tell you, seeing as you’ll be dead within a few hours… I sent Owen.”
Violet’s face flushed with horror, and I felt a pang of jealousy again. Until I remembered the fire and passion that we had shared recently. I knew Violet loved me. Her concern was for someone she had become close to during our time here. She was worried about her friend, and I could understand that.
I stood up and dropped my arm over Violet’s shoulder. “I’m sure he’ll be all right,” I whispered.
Desmond’s chuckle tore a hole through my reassurance, and I turned, allowing my anger toward her to surface. “What’s so funny?” I spat.
She shook her head and waved it off, but I took a step forward aggressively. Immediately, the boys moved forward, thunderous expressions on their own faces. I clenched my fists, torn between wanting to punch the smug look off Desmond’s face and not proving the boys wrong.
The Gender Lie Page 22