Loyalty In Death Part 25

"Look, sister, you'll be holding your run of the show in pieces blown over to Hoboken if you don't let us do our job." She elbowed the woman aside and pulled out her communicator. "Malloy? Status."

"Multiple devices detected. We've located and neutralized two. Scan indicates six more. Teams already deployed. The stage has four elevators, every one of them can go down twenty-seven feet into the bas.e.m.e.nt of this place. We got hot ones in all of them. Working as fast as we can here."

"Work faster," Eve suggested. She jammed the communicator back in her pocket and turned to the woman beside her. "Get out." "I certainly will not.

I'm the manager."

"That doesn't make you captain of this sinking ship." Because the woman outweighed her by a good fifty pounds and looked frazzled enough to put up a good, entertaining fight, Eve was tempted to haul her along personally. It was too bad she couldn't spare the time. Instead, she signaled to a couple of beefy uniforms, indicated the woman with a jerk of her thumb.

"Move this," was all she said and pushed her way through the noisy, complaining crowd of evacuees.

She could see the impressive block-long expanse of stage. A full dozen cops in riot gear were posted on it to keep any ticket holders from scrambling in that direction. The heavy red curtain was raised, the stage lights brilliant. No one, she thought dryly, would mistake the helmeted figures onstage for The Rockettes.

Babies wailed, the elderly griped, and a half dozen schoolgirls clutching their souvenir Rockette dolls wept silently.

The cover story of a water main leak had staved off panic, but it didn't make for cheerful cooperation from the civilians.

The evacuation teams were making progress, but it was no easy task to move several thousand annoyed ticket holders out of a warm theater and into the cold. The main lobby area was jammed shoulder to shoulder.

And there were countless other rooms, lounges, lobbies. Beyond the public areas there were dressing rooms, control centers, offices. Each one had to be searched, emptied, secured.

Add panic to annoyance, Eve mused, and you'd have several hundred casualties before they hit the doors. She slapped on her headset and climbed onto a wide Art Deco table to look down on the grumbling horde being pushed along through the grandiose lobby with its stylized gla.s.s and chrome.

She switched on her mike. "This is the NYPSD," she announced over the echoing din. "Your cooperation is appreciated. Please don't block the exits.

Continue to move outside." She ignored the shouts and questions thrown at her and repeated her statement twice more.

A woman in her matinee pearls curled a hand around Eve's booted ankle. "I know the mayor. He's going to hear about this." Eve nodded pleasantly. "Give him my best. Please proceed in an orderly fashion. We apologize for any inconvenience." The word inconvenience pushed the b.i.t.c.h b.u.t.ton. The shouts increased even as uniforms firmly led people through the doors. Eve had just swiveled her mouthpiece aside, pulled out her communicator for another status check when she saw someone come in instead of out.

Her blood went instantly on boil as Roarke slid gracefully through the crowd toward her.

Her teeth were grinding as she stared down at him. "What the h.e.l.l do you think you're doing?"

"Insuring that my property -- and my wife," he added just deliberately enough to make her snarl, "remain in one piece." He hopped agilely beside her. "May I?" he began and s.n.a.t.c.hed her headset.

"That's police property, ace."

"Which means it's an inferior product, but it should do the job."

Then, looking cool and sleek, he addressed the disorderly crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, the staff and performers of Radio City apologize for this difficulty. All tickets and transportation costs incurred will be fully refunded.

An alternate date will be set for today's matinee at no change to any ticket holders who wish to attend. We appreciate your understanding."

The noise level didn't abate, but the tone of it altered dramatically. Roarke could have told Eve that money, unfailingly, talks. "Pretty slick, aren't you?"

she muttered and swung down behind the table.

"You need them out," he said simply. "What's your status?"

She waited until he stood down with her, then contacted Anne. "We're about fifty percent evacuated. It's moving, but slow. Where are you?"

"About the same. We've got half. Cooled one in the organ console. Working on one in the orchestra pit now. This one's almost a lock, but they're scattered all over h.e.l.l and back. I've only got so many men."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Roarke checking a handheld scanner. It sank sickness into her gut. "Keep me posted. You," she said as she turned to him. "Get out."

"No." He didn't bother to look up but did lay a hand on her shoulder to prevent her from moving in on him. "There's one up on the catwalk. I'll take that one."

"You're taking nothing but a hike, and now."

"Eve, we both know there's no time to argue. If these people have the building under surveillance, they know you've tagged them. They could decide to detonate any time now."

"Which is why all civilians -- " She broke off rather than talk to his back. He'd already turned away and was slipping quickly through the oncoming crowd.

"G.o.dd.a.m.n it, G.o.dd.a.m.n it, G.o.dd.a.m.n it." Fighting off panic, she muscled her way through after him.

She caught up just as he was unlocking a side door and managed to push her way in behind him.

It slammed, locked, and they eyed each other narrowly. "I don't need you here," they said together. Roarke very nearly chuckled. "Never mind. Just don't crowd me." He moved fast up narrow metal steps, moved quickly along twisting corridors.

Eve saved her breath. They were in it now, win or lose.

She could hear the echoes of voices from below, just a hum as the walls were thick. Here the theater was plain and functional, like an actor without costume or makeup.

Roarke took another set of steps, more narrow than the last, and came out on what looked to Eve like the deck of a ship.

It swung out over the plush seats, gave a full view of the stage far below.

As heights weren't on her list of favorite things, she turned away and studied the ma.s.sive and complicated control panels, puzzled over the thick hanging hanks of rope.

"Where..." she began, then lost all power of speech as he stepped through an opening and out into s.p.a.ce. "I won't be long."

"Jesus, Roarke. Jesus!" She scrambled over, saw he was not actually walking on air. But from her perspective, he might as well have been. The platform was no more than two feet wide, a kind of bridge that spanned above the theater, slicing through huge hanging lights, more ropes and pulleys, metal beams.

Even as she stepped onto it after him, her ears began to buzz. She'd have sworn she could feel her brain start to swim in her skull. "Go back, Eve. Don't be so stubborn."

"Shut up, just shut up. Where is the f.u.c.ker?"

"Here." For both their sakes, he put her fear of heights out of his mind. And hoped she could do the same. Nimbly, he pivoted, knelt, then leaned over in a way that made Eve's stomach flip in one long, slow rotation. "Under this catwalk."

He ran the scanner as Eve gratefully lowered to her hands and knees. She kept her teeth gritted and told herself to watch him. Don't look down. Don't look down.

Of course, she looked down.

The crowd was thin now, just a few dozen stragglers being hurried along by uniforms. The trio of E and B men in the orchestra pit looked like toys, but she heard their shout of triumph through the ocean roar of blood in her ears.

"They took out another one."

"Mmm," was Roarke's only comment.

With sweaty fingers, she took out her communicator and answered Anne's beep. "Dallas." "We've got two more down. Closing in. I'm sending a team to the catwalk and another -- " "I'm on the catwalk. We're working on this one."

"We?"

"Just do the rest." She blinked her vision clear and saw Anne stride out onstage, look up. "We're under control here." "I hope to Christ you are. Malloy out."

"Are we under control here, Roarke?"

"Hmm. It's a clever little b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Your terrorists have deep pockets. I could use Feeney," he said absently, then held out a mini-light. "Hold this."

"Where?"

"Just here." He indicated, then glanced at her, noted she was dead pale and clammy. "On your belly, darling. Breathe slow."

"I know how to breathe." She snapped it out, then bellied down. Her stomach might have been doing a mad jig, but her hand was rock steady. "Good, that's good." He stretched out across from her so they were nearly nose to nose and went to work with a delicate tool that glinted silver in the lights. "They want you to snip these wires here. If you do, you'll be blown into several unattractive pieces. They're a front," he went on conversationally while he carefully removed a cover. "A lure. They've made it to appear to be a second-rate boomer when in reality... Ah, there's that little beauty. When in reality, it's top of the line, plaston-driven, with compu-remote trigger."

"That's fascinating." Her breath wanted to come in pants. "Kill the b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

"Normally, I admire your kick-in-the-face style, Lieutenant. But try that with this, and the two of us will be making love in heaven tonight." "Heaven wouldn't have either of us."

He smiled. "Wherever, then. It's this chip I need. Turn the light a bit. Aye, that's the way. I'll need both hands here, Eve, so I'll need one of yours as well."

"For what?"