Up Against It - M. J. Locke [80]
“Amaya, turn your back to me,” he said softly. “I’ll undo you first.”
They both squirmed till they were back-to-back. Geoff got to work on her bindings, biting his lip hard against the pain that shot up his arms. It seemed to take forever; his fingers were little more than dead stumps, the pain in his wrists was piercing, and he couldn’t get a purchase on the knots. And the idea that the kidnappers could come back in at any moment made them all jump at every noise.
But finally—finally!—the knots started to loosen, and he worked at them with increased ferocity until they came free. Amaya pulled her hands loose and rubbed them. Then she started on her feet.
“No, no—do my hands first,” he whispered, and she obliged, swearing softly at the knots. After a few minutes, he felt the bonds loosen. Circulation—and more pain—flowed into his hands. He pulled free and flexed them, as Amaya had done. She started working at the knots at her own ankles, while Geoff rolled off the bed and scooted over to Ian.
Ian did not say anything, which was for the best; Geoff might punch him or something, and now was not the time. Ian turned around as best he could and let Geoff untie him. Soon they were all free.
Geoff had seen their kidnappers throw their waveware into the closet. He quietly opened it and found their equipment on the floor. He brought it out and sorted it on the bed. They all took a couple of seconds to don their ear- and eye- and handwork. Geoff tested his connection. Dead.
Amaya was listening at the door. “They’re playing some shooter game, I think. Someone’s in the kitchen.”
“There were five of them,” Geoff said.
“Do you remember the layout?”
“Everything was happening so fast when they brought us in,” he replied. “I don’t remember anything but the sofa and the view wall.”
“I do.” It was the first thing Ian had said in hours. “They took me here before.”
Geoff and Amaya glared. Ian had the decency to look embarrassed. But he went on. “There’s a kitchenette to the right and a bathroom next to this room. The front door is directly opposite this door.” He pointed at their only exit.
“All right. Hang on.”
Geoff tested the door. It was unlocked! He slid it open a crack, and looked into the other room.
Blue Tattoo and White Mohawk were on the couch working invisible wavespace controls. Images jumped around on the wall. No one else was in the small room, but he caught a glimpse of movement in the kitchenette. A gun lay on the coffee table, along with a couple of big bulbs of dark liquid. The room smelled of alcohol and undercooked meat.
A call came in on the view wall as he was closing the door. A big man in a suit appeared. His neck was thick, bull-like, and he had Popeye arms. He was very well groomed and smooth-looking, and he had a dead look in his eyes. Just looking at him made the hair on Geoff’s arms stand up.
“Hey, Mr. Mills!” Blue Tattoo lifted a beer at the man’s image. “We have guests! Come on by and meet them.”
Creepy Bull Neck—Mills—merely gave Blue Tattoo a cool stare and didn’t bother to reply. “You got the coordinates for their ice?” Geoff noticed he had a Martian accent.
“What do you think I am,” Blue Tattoo asked, “an idiot? You get the coordinates when we get the money.”
The man called Mills looked exasperated. “What? You think we’re going to stick the rock in our cargo hold and fly away? Mr. Glease works for the Ogilvies. He has his reputation to protect. You do what we want, we’ll play straight with you. But the kind of money we’re talking about, we’ve got to check it out. See how much ice there really is. You can send one of your own people with me.”
Blue Tattoo and White Mohawk huddled, talking in low voices. Then Blue Tattoo said to Creepy Bull Neck, “All right. Here’s the deal. I’m sending two of my people. They’ll meet you up on the landing pad in an hour.”
“Not tonight. I need more time to line someone up to do the survey.”
“A surveyor? Shit,