Page 117 of Every Last Breath

“Homebase,” she said to Harper, “keep eyes on them. Make sure they don’t double-back and slip by us.”

“Okay.”

Maddox squeezed through the crowd filtering into the stadium. “Out of the way. Coming through. Make a hole!”

Men staggered to the side, allowing her to pass. She dashed into section 101.

The arena lights dimmed. A bright spotlight bathed the stage. The high-voltage crowd buzzed with excitement as the opening act came out to warm up the audience.

Cole stalked left, sweeping section 100 straight down the middle, right to 101, and left to 121 along the center.

Maddox moved counterclockwise to the right, scanning up over the club sections and down the main concourse. Men making their way to their seats obstructed her line of sight. Grabbing hold of the railing, she climbed up to the club level for a higher vantage point.

She spied a man with blond hair and blue shirt standing with his back to her down the walkway on the lower level. A gaggle of men streamed across the main aisle, blocking her view, but Cole was closer with a better angle.

“Romeo,” she said to Cole, “at your eight o’clock, between the main concourse section 119 and club section 226. Near the stage.”

She clenched her tingling fingers into sweaty fists and backtracked clockwise along the upper level where the aisle was less crowded. She kept a fix on blondie with the blue shirt.

The horde thinned, peeling off to their seats, and a clear view opened. He had a professional television camera set on a tripod. It was Val. But where was Aleksander?

“Romeo, Tango has a camera.” Maddox shoved through the crowd, weaving around people. Staying on the second concourse, she maneuvered closer to the stage.

Cole charged across the lower-level walkway, ducking past men.

“Homebase, do you have eyes on the main Tango? Where is the Ghost?”

“He disappeared,” Harper said.

Shit.

Val opened the camera, pulled a metal container about sixteen inches in length from the side. Then he bent, dropping out of sight.

“Check,” she said, indicating a positive ID on the bioweapon. “I repeat, Check. Delta, get to the stadium ASAP.”

Cole elbowed someone hard to the side, nearly knocking a young guy over the railing.

Val homed in on the commotion in Cole’s direction. He spun on his heel and rabbited from the stadium into the arena’s lobby.

Cole tore past stragglers taking seats, dashing in pursuit of Val, leaving the stadium.

“Make some noise,” the guy who was the opening act said, “and let me hear how excited you are to see Dez Dax tonight.”

The crowd went wild. “Dr. Sex! Dr. Sex!”

Maddox raced to the nearest stairwell, flying down the steps between sections 227 and 226. At the bottom on the main concourse walkway, she hesitated. A man appeared out of the shadows and stepped into the dim light of the aisle up to the mounted camera. Shaggy brown hair, white shirt.

Novak. It was Aleksander Novak. Her insides knotted.

He tipped the canister with his toe, sending the bioweapon rolling off the main walkway under the seats. Then he looked around as if checking the area.

Their eyes met for an instant.

Maddox bolted toward him.

He smiled, that crazy-evil grin, and scrammed.

“Main Tango confirmed.” She sprinted to the television camera and dropped to the ground. Without thinking about what filth she was lying on, she reached down and felt around. Her fingertips stroked smooth, cold metal. She pressed up against the back of the seat and stretched. Curling her fingers around the canister, she pulled it up.