CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
"Hey, noob!"
Walter jumped at the sound of Akim's voice coming from his left. He'd plugged his ears with cotton balls to filter out Zhalo's deafening music and the screaming of several thousand of their fans. The actual concerts were his least favorite part of working for the band.
Glancing up from the sound board, he sighed. "What?"
"One of the guitar amps blew," said the head roadie. "Go fix it."
"Okay." He adjusted a knob before moving away and letting the other man take over.
Walter caught a glimpse of Happy as he made his way to the amp stack. She was refilling charges behind the drummer, a huge grin on her face, obviously loving the noise and explosion-filled atmosphere he abhorred.
It took him a few moments to determine which amplifier was in need of repair. Most of the band's equipment had seen better days, in his opinion. Blowing all their earnings on drugs and creature comforts instead of investing in the hardware they needed. . . He just shook his head at their shortsightedness.
Once he had the amp back on line, he peered around the corner. From his vantage point, he could see most of the stage, including the three backup singers. Paige was standing in the middle of the trio, her short black skirt showing off her long shapely legs. Legs which had been wrapped around him only hours earlier as they'd. . . A groan escaped his throat as he watched her swing her hips in rhythm with the music.
The band banged out the final notes of the song they'd been playing, dragging him out of his erotic memories. Yuri snatched his microphone off its stand. "Don't cup it, moron," Walter muttered under his breath.
His warning went unheeded as feedback squealed through the speakers when the lead singer shouted at the crowd, "You guys are great! Love you, LA!" The fans shrieked and waved their arms in the air at the mention of their city.
Walter shook his head as he mumbled, "Idiots." Intending to go back to relieve Akim from the sound board, a movement out in the audience caught his eye as he turned away. A man near the back of the venue was waving a sign, which itself wasn't unusual. But this one said "Free Samatov" and the man holding it was wearing a black ski mask over his head.
Several more masked people flooded the venue, carrying similar signs and chanting in English and Russian. Pulling the cotton from his ears, Walter stepped out from the stack of equipment as security guards began chasing the protesters. Spying Cabe in the fracas, he watched the older man tackle one of the demonstrators from behind, driving the man to the floor. A nearby guard struggled with another of the Samatovans, with the protester snatching a gun and waving it above his head.
The concert goers began screaming and trying to push their way out of the venue. Some of them clambered onto the stage, shoving the band aside in their panic. Walter had been rooted to the spot, staring in fascinated horror as the scene played out in front of him. The sight of the weapon being brandished so recklessly, spurred him to action.
"Paige!" he shouted into the din. The stage was filled with people, members of Zhalo and fans alike. He cleared a path through the panicking bodies, coming to a halt when he saw Paige still standing on the riser, staring in shock at the madness all around her.
He'd almost reached her when someone bumped into her, knocking her off the two foot high step. "Paige!" His heart pounding in his chest, he ran to where she was lying on the floor, the risk she'd be trampled increasing with each person who stampeded past.
"Paige! Talk to me!" he called out as he slid on his knees next to her, tentatively touching her shoulder and giving her a little shake.
"I'm. . .I'm okay. . .I'm okay, Walter," she replied a little breathlessly. "I. . .I think I. . .I just had the wind knocked out of me."
"Can you stand?" She nodded and he helped her to her feet. "Here, behind these speakers." She leaned against him as they moved in the direction he'd indicated.
"Oh, God," she said, slipping her arms around him and laying her head on his shoulder. Her breathing was fast and shallow, matching his as he enveloped her into an embrace. The chaos swirling around them started to fade, replaced by a calmness he only felt when she was near.
Paige's sharp gasp burst his peaceful bubble. "Oh, no." She was glancing out into the confusion, pointing to a spot several feet away.
Following her aim, Walter saw Zalina sitting on the ground, holding her right ankle as people darted around her, some of them jostling her as they hurried past. She, too, was in danger of further injury if she wasn't relocated somewhere safer. He looked over at Paige, who nodded at his unspoken question.
He dashed back out onto the stage, fighting his way to the blonde singer. "How bad it is?" he asked, waving his hand at her leg as he squatted next to her.
"It hurts," she blubbered, rubbing the swelling joint. Walter pressed his lips together to refrain from pointing out the six inch heels on her shoes probably hadn't helped her predicament.
"We need to move," he urged as a middle-aged woman, her eyes wild, screaming at the top of her lungs, came charging toward them, seemingly oblivious to their presence. Shoving his hands under Zalina's armpits from behind, he lifted her up, sweeping her out of the path of the crazed woman with only seconds to spare.
Adrenaline pumped through him as both he and the singer panted to catch their breath, her nasty perfume assailing his nostrils. It took Zalina snuggling into him to realize his hands were clutching her breasts. "Come on," he bit out, placing her left arm around his shoulder, but not before he'd felt her hardening nipples against his palms.
He led the limping singer to where Paige was waiting, the unmistakable glare of anger marring her beautiful features informing him she'd witnessed his gaffe. Her fury was short-lived, however, as a gunshot rang out.
An eerie silence hung in the air, the echoing of the blast the only sound for an long moment. Shrieks and shouts and panicked footsteps broke the quiet, the noise intensified by the addition of sirens. Walter worriedly scanned the pandemonium for Cabe, who'd been in the thick of the commotion. Relief filled him as he spotted the Homeland agent cuffing a mask wearing demonstrator; a relief which was quickly replaced by concern when he remembered he hadn't seen Happy since before he'd fixed the amp.
Shit. He needed to get Paige and Zalina safely out of the venue, but he also needed to find the mechanic, if for no other reason than to reassure himself she was okay. The backstage was crowded with people, band members, roadies, concert goers, security, all running around frantically. Darby was waddling about in a circle, flapping his hands and shouting in both broken English and fluent Russian. Translating what he could understand of the manager's native tongue, Walter wondered what he meant by "we're screwed now" and "everything's ruined," echoing the same phrase Nazar had used the other day on the bus.
"Come on," he said, once again assisting Zalina as she hopped on her good foot. A tug on the back of his jeans let him know Paige was following him. It was slow going as he made his way toward one of the exits. Halfway across the room, he caught a glimpse of Happy. . .huddling behind a couple of crates with Akim. The pair appeared to have reconciled, since the mechanic was allowing the head roadie to drape his arm around her.
"Police! Freeze!" An authoritative voice called out, stopping everyone in their tracks. Armed SWAT team members swarmed the area. "Hands on top of your heads!"
Releasing the hold he'd had on Zalina's waist, Walter did as he was instructed. The blonde singer tried to obey as well, but lost her balance, crashing against him, letting out a cry of pain when her right foot touched the ground. Walter reached out to steady her, allowing her to take weight off her injury.
"Hands on your head, jackass!" One of the cops nudged Walter's back with the barrel of his rifle.
"Her ankle is sprained," the genius snapped. "She's part of the band, one of the backup singers."
"And who the hell are you?" the officer asked, taking in Zalina's low cut top and obvious stage makeup.
"I'm. . .I'm one of the roadies. Sound technician."
"Let's see some identification." Walter slowly reached into his front pocket, which not only held his backstage pass but the vial of Rohypnol. Hoping the cop wouldn't decide to search him, he presented his pass. The other man whipped out a flashlight and shined it on the ID, then at Walter's face. "Yours, too," he said to Zalina.
With a coy smile, the blonde stuck her hand down the front of her blouse, leisurely withdrawing her pass from between her breasts. Walter gulped uncomfortably as she handed it to the officer, waving it at him when he didn't immediately respond. "Uh, yeah, okay," the other man finally said. "Take her outside to an ambulance."
The cop said something into the radio on his collar as Walter and Zalina moved toward the nearest exit. Looking over his shoulder, he expected to see Paige right behind them, but she was nowhere to be found. Dammit. She must have been swept along with all the others being herded outside.
Frantically he searched for her but couldn't find her in the mass of people. He felt Zalina shift her body closer to his, sending unwelcome sensations up his spine. He knew helping Zalina played into the deception he was interested in her and not the liaison. But that knowledge didn't calm his fear for Paige's safety.
With a weary sigh, he adjusted his hold onto Zalina, then led her out of the building.
ooooo
An hour later, Walter stood next to an ambulance, holding Zalina's shoes as her ankle was being wrapped by a paramedic. "You'll need to stay off of it for a day or two," the EMT instructed.
"Oh, I plan on spending plenty of time in bed," she purred, winking at Walter in a way even he could understand. Oh, boy.
"You okay?" Darby asked the injured singer as he came bustling up to the emergency vehicle. Yuri, Akim, and most of the band and crew, including Paige and Happy, followed behind him. The liaison flashed him a quick smile, which he hoped meant she was all right.
"I'm fine," Zalina said. "Just little sprain."
"Good, good." Darby lightly patted her on the shoulder before turning to the band leader. "See, she okay."
"I still think we should cancel. . ." Yuri began.
"Nyet, we not cancel."
"What if there are more protesters?" asked the lead singer, tossing back his long blond hair. "Someone could get killed next time."
Walter rolled his eyes at the whine in Yuri's voice, no doubt worried he'd be the one killed. A death the genius would be hard-pressed to mourn. It hadn't even been one of the demonstrators who'd fired a weapon. One of the younger security guards had shot at the ceiling, thinking it would calm down the panicked crowd. He'd been wrong, of course, and had gotten his ass chewed by Cabe.
"We have contract," the manager declared, shaking his head. "We no show we lose money." Walter noticed the man seemed more on edge than usual. Which was understandable, he conceded with a shrug, considering everything which had happened that evening.
"When are they gonna let us back in?" asked Akim. "How we supposed to do our job?"
"No worry." Raising his arms, Darby called for everyone's attention. "Go back to hotel. We take of everything tomorrow."
"All right," said Yuri, slapping the manager on the back. "Party at my place." He and the other band members started giving each other high fives and fist bumps.
Walter flung a glance at Paige, taking in her crossed arms and troubled expression. He didn't know why she was worried, their plan was still on track. If anything, he was more concerned she'd be partying with Yuri without him there to protect her. He tried to grin reassuringly at her, but evidently failed as her face grew even more uneasy.
"Shit," said Darby, catching Walter's attention. "What those?"
"My guess is bomb sniffing dogs," said Happy as they all focused on the four German Shepherds being led into the building.
"They go backstage?" asked the manager, confusion and concern clashing on his face.
"Probably." The mechanic smacked Akim's arm. "We didn't have time to secure the pyrotechnics. If they confiscate all our fireworks. . .not good"
"I go talk to them." Darby pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. "Akim, Pavel, come with me," he said, singling out the head roadie and the senior pyrotechnician.
"Do they sniff drugs too?" Anya inquired as the manager and the other two men walked away. "That how Mila got busted."
"Probably," Happy replied again.
Murmurs of "Oh, shit' in both English and Russian rippled through the group assembled around the ambulance. Most of them took off, heading toward the venue, no doubt to retrieve their contraband. Several of the roadies patted Walter on the shoulder or clapped him on the back as they moved past him. A few gave him a thumbs up while others wished him "Good luck."
He was puzzled for a moment, wondering about his co-workers' sudden camaraderie. Zalina's hand tightened its grip on his arm, and he realized they all thought he was going to have sex with her. A wave of squeamishness swept over him, the idea of drugging her unexpectedly feeling very wrong. He tried to assuage his conscience by telling himself the alternative, actual intercourse with her, would be an even worse transgression.
A waft of lavender teased his nose, startling him as Paige, accompanied by Happy and Anya, walked by. "Be careful, she breathed into his ear. "I will," he mouthed back as her hand glided over his for a fleeting second.
Walter watched her go, wishing he was leaving with her instead of staying behind with Zalina. A tug on his sleeve made him aware of the woman on the gurney beside him. "You and me. . ." Zalina began, rubbing her fingers up his biceps as she gazed at him in a vaguely threatening manner. "We have private party in my room, da?"
"Uh, yeah." Checking his pockets, he made sure he still had the vial, the cloning device, and the condoms. Paige's words to be careful echoed through his mind, words he planned to heed. He had no intention of letting things get out of control with Zalina.