by I.B. Holder
Chapter 53 Abduction Junction
Brent felt his senses sharpen with each angular footstep he made toward the shining jewel that was his goal. He took the stone steps three at a time, his gear silent like he was hovering in space. His team were ghosts behind him – well-armed ghosts with a serious, solid purpose.
Brent was surrounded by a jacket of anger barely kept in check, and that was why he didn’t chatter. He kept his orders in tight bursts. Brent blew by the gate guards, delegated one of the agents at the rear to explain what looked like a small invasion to a couple of fat men in neon security shirts and caps. He heard their voices become raised behind him. This was his chance to let out some of his mood.
“Don’t shoot the civs unless you have to.” He spoke into a headset that connected everyone in his troop. There were no laughs, but a thaw of tension.
The crowd was pressing for an encore. It rang through outer halls and passages of the near deserted stadium. The only stragglers were the few people who’d left the venue to smoke. What an oddity to have people leave a concert to smoke, Brent mused, giving hand signals to his team to fan out across the natural flecked granite stone floor. Shrieks of surprise greeted the approach of the militia, but the sound melted into the evening sky blanketed by a chanting teenage army inside the venue.
Brent could see the door to the backstage at the end of the hall. Three men in neon polo shirts rose from their folding chairs, dropping stale crumbs from the ribbing of the material that betrayed their sedentary style of “guarding.” On cue, their radios crackled.
“Send the agents through, problem at the trailer.”
The security guard with the largest waist and shortest inseam then pointed to Brent with his walkie-talkie and said, “Are you the agents?”
Obviously, he was the brains of the operation.
Brent ignored him, and jumped the tables set up to barricade the backstage door in a single fluid movement. He plunged into the dimly lit passage, seeing out of the corner of his eye a sign that said “Restricted Area.”
The chanting suddenly stopped, that was a very bad sign.
Moments before and farther ahead, another group was still on the move, the security team escorting Sabita and her father down the grated steps to ground level. On one side of them was a private parking area, on the other the sound of the crowd chanting in rhythm was a booming heartbeat vibrating in the metal doors, even in the silence between syllables, “SA – BI – TA”
Sabita had heard it a thousand times, but the wall of sound seemed to annoy her father who wanted to be alert to any approach in the corridors. They came to the exit. The short one slammed into the wide bar with his elbow and the door swung out to reveal a world that concert goers seldom see.
The grounds behind the venue hummed with a rumble of generators and idling diesel engines. This was where the equipment buses and dressing trailers parked. Forget everything commonly associated with the words bus and trailer, however, when putting them together with a superstar tour. The trailers were packed tightly with luxury items, furnished with the latest in chic decor. They closely resembled a compact version of a five star suite. Sabita’s had large tinted windows for a public display of privacy and a walk in glass refrigerated pantry that housed three carefully sculpted fruit bouquets (fruit cut to look like flowers) and an assortment of sushi flown from the coast twice a day.
Sabita seemed eager to get back to her refuge and lock herself in and wait. Her father kept glancing in to the shadows that fell between all of the parked trucks. He didn’t notice what the tall security guy did. He put his hand in front of Sabita protectively and hushed the group as he brought them to a full stop.
A pause when he looked at the gleaming trailer. Squinting seriously, like he was surveying a prizefighter lined up to separate his head from his shoulders. He shook his head and pointed at an empty chair beside the door, “Wasn’t there a security guard in front when you left?”
Sabita’s father let his anxiety show “I left so quickly.”
Sabita raised an eyebrow. “There were two, there are always two.”
The small guard sounded a little excited like an unconcerned onlooker in a bar fight, “There aren’t two now.” He was obviously the kind of prick that thought that other people’s problems were amusing.
The tall one said in a quiet ominous tone, “Someone’s inside.” He took charge, backing them through the door from which they’d just come. A door across the hall emptied into the front of the auditorium, the guard put the walkie-talkie to his lips and announced “Send the agents through, problem at the trailer.” He switched frequencies in order to talk directly to the house manager. “House lights up.”
“We’re going out into the crowd, it’ll be safer there. Wear this.” He pointed to the short guard.
The short guard pulled a bandana out of his pocket and tied it onto her head, hiding her signature long auburn hair. She acquiesced nervously, looking at the door from which they just come, expecting it to open at any moment. She tucked the flaps of the bandana behind her ears. The arena was suddenly silent; the house lights had evidently knocked the wind out of the frenzied crowd. Finally her mind came to the question that it should have asked at first mention.
“How will we be safer out in the crowd?”
“I should have said “I’ll be safer”, darling.” Sabita felt the needle enter her neck and the drug quickly spread up the innominate artery. There was barely a second of confusion before falling forward into her father’s arms.
The surprise on his face would quickly give way to a lifeless fixed gaze as Feely took advantage of the defenseless man, completely unwilling to drop his daughter to raise a hand to protect himself. He slipped behind him and pummeled the base of his neck with a flashlight handle. His legs buckled, and Feely let him hit the ground after cutting in on his daughter like he was in the middle of some kind of sick dance. She fell into his arms, ending up face to face with her attacker. Sabita’s lips moved but no sound came out. Her face was chalk white yet somehow she fought to keep the muscles in her face moving over and over, silently mouthing a message. He saw her anger, and pulled her closer whispering in her ear. “Wait ’til I get you home darlin’.” Her eyes rolled back into her head and she went limp in his arms.
“I love the way their nipples get hard just before lights out.” Feely said, moving half of her weight onto Stones’ shoulder.
Stones glared at him with a look that said he was all business until the job was done. He had already slipped on a shirt hiding the security polo beneath, and he waited with Sabita leaning on him as Feely did the same. The agents should be coming pretty soon, he thought, looking down the dark passage. “Let’s go.” He urged, pushing through the door and pulling his cargo along. The height difference and dead weight caused three of them to sway like they were in a drunken three-legged race. The crowd was streaming up the stairs of the amphitheater. Moths flew in the bright lights that filtered down onto the crowd. Stones avoided these hot spots like he might burn up if the white light touched him, finding a handicapped exit tucked in the darkness to the left of the stage. They were out of the building and walking in a sea of cars in minutes. Red break lights on station wagons filled with tweens courteously allowed them to pass. There wasn’t an agent in sight and about a hundred yards in the distance, the van sat parked on an outer wing of the lot. It was far enough out that other cars weren’t hemming it in, and it emptied onto a service road. They were a five-minute stumble to complete freedom.
