Emakume
Log 6: The Disco tech is Calling You
Dance.
It's all I wanna do.
Ammo,
Bijou, bijou,
The Discothèque is calling you
02:14 Zulu
Club Pasha: Balearic Islands; Ibiza, Spain
At concerts she was used to the notion of band worship, but this was different. The band was removed but the songs were there, different in the creative styling of who was spinning, and for this generation of youth, for this massive it was the worship of the DJ that sat at the epicenter.
These twenty-something's were much different then when Courtney Krieger was a misguided youth.
Pasha was hard to get a grasp on. The constant pulse of the strobes overhead mixed with a rainbow of colored lights and moving bodies made it hard to get a fix on anything. She could hardly see Wayne beside her, who watched the dancers on stage gyrate to the bass booming from the speakers around them with a scowl. If not for the familiar warmth of his body and the sharp smell of his aftershave she wouldn't have known he was there.
He tried to say something to her but she couldn't hear him, and she couldn't see his lips to read them.
The crowd around them cheered as the high pitch siren like sound of some acid house song ripped through the club. Giant screens dropped down to cover the far walls as the wail of the song continued. When the bass dropped, when she felt the boom of it in her bones, the screens lit up, the strobes blinked so that the massive looked as though it were moving in slow motion, and what played on the screens stopped short of hardcore porn.
This really was the island of sin.
And what bothered her was that she kind of liked it.
Krieger stiffened when she felt a hand run along her shoulder blades. "You almost look comfortable here.... Cover Girl," she snapped her around.
Txomin.
The raven hared woman winked, a lazy smile on her red lips and a cocktail in one hand. Wayne had seen her before his partner had; he had yet to wipe the scowl from his face. It deepened when she looked up at him. Txomin causally glanced around her before she spoke again.
"We can't talk here, follow me."
It was Sneeden's turn to stiffen when she took hold of his forearm to urge him forward. There was no way they'd make it through the massive otherwise, and Beach instantly took hold of Courtney's hand, making a human chain between the three of them led by Sophia who held her cocktail at head level and lightly moved with the music.
She led them to a VIP room at the back of the club; the rooms beside it opening and closing as young people went in and out of them, going in sober but coming out wiping their noses or grinding their teeth. She knocked in a sequence that was quickly returned before the door opened hesitantly.
They moved inside.
The room had been converted into a make shift base of operations. A hand full of Spanish police officers stood at ready in riot gear; black heavy armor with the word "policía" written on the backs of their vests. One of them sat at a small computer terminal, video feed from surveillance cameras on the screen. The Spanish army and secret service flanked the prime minister who was currently being held in another room, which was on the monitor along with video from different parts of the club. Sophia moved up toward the monitor and looked it over; her body clad in spiked black boots and leather pants, a loose black top hung off of her shoulders.
"Aren't you a bit old to be trying to blend in with the kids?" there was just something about her that Beach found shady. Maybe it was her lackadaisical way of taking care of things, or maybe it was the fact that she always had a drink in hand.
"And you're a bit far from the woods, aren't you country boy?" she was still staring at the screen when she said that. "Pasar a Cámara empaqueta dos por favor," she directed the computer's operator.
He switched to camera two as she had asked.
"I got a tip from a friend of mine in Bilbao," she took a sip of her whiskey, "he said the ETA was sending a handful members here tonight," her eyes narrowed at the screen.
"Possible shooters on the floor? Why aren't there any guards posted at the entrance inspecting people as they come in?" Cover Girl moved to Txomin's side.
Sophia smirked, "because this is Europe, honey, and an island that doesn't give a fuck about what's across the water."
She straightened as she felt Wayne move up behind her, "right there," he reached across her shoulder and touched his finger to the screen. "Right there," the young man he pointed out had a tattoo the was barely visible from the cameras, but there was no mistaking it, it was a red cobra.