Choking him out is an option. But that was a risk, and you might need him alive.
The rough stone had torn through my pants at some point, and I could feel blood seeping into the fabric. So much for the integrity of my incursion suit.
“Keep moving,” I yelled.
I turned on both listening channels on my earpiece, not wanting to miss a moment of either operation unfolding. On Pendragon’s channel, Bobcat’s voice stayed level while coordinating the lab breach.
On the Reynolds frequency, Scarlett and Malcolm’s backstage narration mixed with Drew’s position reports. Brie and Will maintained a steady stream of updates from our drone coverage above. Apparently, a hole had opened in the stage floor, and a golden phoenix statue had arisen atop a ten-foot-high pedestal.
And next to the phoenix was Noah.
The concert’s music started again.
“Two external guards,” came a voice I didn’t recognize—one of Bobcat’s team. “Both armed.”
A thud. Someone grunted. Metal scraped concrete.
“Outer guard’s down.” Bobcat’s tone didn’t change. “Pushing interior.”
I glanced over my shoulder to check on Brooke. She’d found her rhythm—three strides to my two, her breathing controlled despite our pace. She’d lost her incursion suit’s hood when she ripped off her mask, and her hair flew loose around her face.
My mask was safely stowed, so if she needed one, at least we’d have it.
“Contact interior. One runner.” Footsteps pounded through the Pendragon comm channel. Something crashed. Something that sounded like lab equipment hitting the floor. “Runner secured. Two lab techs detained.”
The ladder appeared in my headlamp beam. I pushed past our captive and grabbed the first rung left-handed, right hand already reaching higher, hauling myself up. Our captive grunted behind me as Brooke prodded him with her baton.
“Fuck you both!” he spat.
I dropped to the floor next to him, smashing an elbow into his face as I did. With a jut of my chin, I signaled for Brooke to go up first, then growled at him, “Get up those fucking stairs, asshole! And if you run or touch her when you get up top, it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”
Convinced, he struggled up the ladder, then waited at the top.
“They’ve got bleach bottles everywhere,” Percival’s voice cut through the chaos over my earpiece. “They’re mid-scrub. I’m not seeing any equipment. No paperwork either.”
Fresh air hit my face as I shouldered through the shed door, Fenix operative back in hand.
The amphitheater sat less than two hundred feet away, lasers and lights spewing into the night. Music pounded from inside—some Italian pop song I didn’t recognize.
“External stairs.” I pointed to the stone steps cut into the amphitheater’s outer wall. “Go.”
A security guard stepped toward us, hand raised, mouth opening to challenge us. I turned sideways, using momentum rather than confrontation to slip past. But I let go of the Fenix garbage as I ran, yelling to the guard, “We’re extra security. Caught him setting explosives underground! Call the police!”
The guard shouted at me in Italian.
I halted halfway up the steps and yelled louder, more clearly, pointing at the man with the zip-tied hands: “Explosives!”
It was practically the same word in English and French, so hopefully it was close in Italian. The guard grabbed the man, so it likely worked.
Brooke pulled ahead while I was trying to explain the situation to the guard, so I started taking the steps two at a time. When I reached the upper ring, she’d already dropped to her knees beside the first fireworks display, cracking open another test kit and swiping the mortar tubes.
“Nothing.” She scrambled to the next position. “Still nothing.”
“I tested six displays over here,” said Drew, from the opposite end of the amphitheater’s top edge. “All negative.”
From the lab, more Pendragon updates filtered through: “Checking drain traps now. Got a presumptive positive from the test kit. Confirmed Greek Fire was definitely here. HVAC pre-filters are lighting up too.”
“Fuck!” screamed Brooke, smashing a palm against one of the fireworks tubes.
