Her blood went instantly on boil as Roarke slid gracefully through the crowd toward her.
Her teeth were grinding as she stared down at him. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Insuring that my property – and my wife," he added just deliberately enough to make her snarl, "remain in one piece."
He hopped agilely beside her. "May I?" he began and snatched her headset.
"That's police property, ace."
"Which means it's an inferior product, but it should do the job."
Then, looking cool and sleek, he addressed the disorderly crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, the staff and performers of Radio City apologize for this difficulty. All tickets and transportation costs incurred will be fully refunded. An alternate date will be set for today's matinee at no change to any ticket holders who wish to attend. We appreciate your understanding."
The noise level didn't abate, but the tone of it altered dramatically. Roarke could have told Eve that money, unfailingly, talks.
"Pretty slick, aren't you?" she muttered and swung down behind the table.
"You need them out," he said simply. "What's your status?"
She waited until he stood down with her, then contacted Anne. "We're about fifty percent evacuated. It's moving, but slow. Where are you?"
"About the same. We've got half. Cooled one in the organ console. Working on one in the orchestra pit now. This one's almost a lock, but they're scattered all over hell and back. I've only got so many men."
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Roarke checking a handheld scanner. It sank sickness into her gut. "Keep me posted. You," she said as she turned to him. "Get out."
"No." He didn't bother to look up but did lay a hand on her shoulder to prevent her from moving in on him. "There's one up on the catwalk. I'll take that one."
"You're taking nothing but a hike, and now."
"Eve, we both know there's no time to argue. If these people have the building under surveillance, they know you've tagged them. They could decide to detonate any time now."
"Which is why all civilians – " She broke off rather than talk to his back. He'd already turned away and was slipping quickly through the oncoming crowd. "Goddamn it, goddamn it, goddamn it." Fighting off panic, she muscled her way through after him.
She caught up just as he was unlocking a side door and managed to push her way in behind him.
It slammed, locked, and they eyed each other narrowly. "I don't need you here," they said together. Roarke very nearly chuckled.
"Never mind. Just don't crowd me." He moved fast up narrow metal steps, moved quickly along twisting corridors.
Eve saved her breath. They were in it now, win or lose.
She could hear the echoes of voices from below, just a hum as the walls were thick. Here the theater was plain and functional, like an actor without costume or makeup.
Roarke took another set of steps, more narrow than the last, and came out on what looked to Eve like the deck of a ship.
It swung out over the plush seats, gave a full view of the stage far below. As heights weren't on her list of favorite things, she turned away and studied the massive and complicated control panels, puzzled over the thick hanging hanks of rope.
"Where…" she began, then lost all power of speech as he stepped through an opening and out into space.
"I won't be long."
"Jesus, Roarke. Jesus!" She scrambled over, saw he was not actually walking on air. But from her perspective, he might as well have been. The platform was no more than two feet wide, a kind of bridge that spanned above the theater, slicing through huge hanging lights, more ropes and pulleys, metal beams.
Even as she stepped onto it after him, her ears began to buzz. She'd have sworn she could feel her brain start to swim in her skull.
"Go back, Eve. Don't be so stubborn."
"Shut up, just shut up. Where is the fucker?"
"Here." For both their sakes, he put her fear of heights out of his mind. And hoped she could do the same. Nimbly, he pivoted, knelt, then leaned over in a way that made Eve's stomach flip in one long, slow rotation. "Under this catwalk."
He ran the scanner as Eve gratefully lowered to her hands and knees. She kept her teeth gritted and told herself to watch him. Don't look down. Don't look down.
Of course, she looked down.
The crowd was thin now, just a few dozen stragglers being hurried along by uniforms. The trio of E and B men in the orchestra pit looked like toys, but she heard their shout of triumph through the ocean roar of blood in her ears.
"They took out another one."
"Mmm," was Roarke's only comment.
With sweaty fingers, she took out her communicator and answered Anne's beep. "Dallas."
"We've got two more down. Closing in. I'm sending a team to the catwalk and another – "
"I'm on the catwalk. We're working on this one."
"We?"
"Just do the rest." She blinked her vision clear and saw Anne stride out onstage, look up. "We're under control here."
"I hope to Christ you are. Malloy out."
"Are we under control here, Roarke?"
"Hmm. It's a clever little bastard. Your terrorists have deep pockets. I could use Feeney," he said absently, then held out a mini-light. "Hold this."
"Where?"
"Just here." He indicated, then glanced at her, noted she was dead pale and clammy. "On your belly, darling. Breathe slow."
"I know how to breathe." She snapped it out, then bellied down. Her stomach might have been doing a mad jig, but her hand was rock steady.
"Good, that's good." He stretched out across from her so they were nearly nose to nose and went to work with a delicate tool that glinted silver in the lights. "They want you to snip these wires here. If you do, you'll be blown into several unattractive pieces. They're a front," he went on conversationally while he carefully removed a cover. "A lure. They've made it to appear to be a second-rate boomer when in reality… Ah, there's that little beauty. When in reality, it's top of the line, plaston-driven, with compu-remote trigger."
"That's fascinating." Her breath wanted to come in pants. "Kill the bastard."
"Normally, I admire your kick-in-the-face style, Lieutenant. But try that with this, and the two of us will be making love in heaven tonight."
"Heaven wouldn't have either of us."
He smiled. "Wherever, then. It's this chip I need. Turn the light a bit. Aye, that's the way. I'll need both hands here, Eve, so I'll need one of yours as well."
"For what?"
"To catch this when it pops out. If they're as clever as I think, they'd have used an impact chip. Which means if this little darling falls, hits below, it'll take out a good dozen rows and put a very nasty crater in my floor. Very possibly shaking us off our perch here with the backwash. Ready?"
"Oh sure. Absolutely." She rubbed her sweaty hand on her butt, then held it out. "So you figure we can still have sex, wherever?"
He glanced up long enough to grin at her. "Oh sure. Absolutely." He took her hand, squeezed it once, then lowered it. You're going to need to lean out a bit. Keep your eye on what I'm doing. Watch the chip."
She emptied her mind, shifted so that her head and shoulders were unsupported. She stared at the little black box, the colorful wires, the dull green of the miniboard.
"This one." He touched the point of his tool to a gray chip no bigger than the first knuckle on a baby's pinkie.
"I've got it. Finish the job."
"Don't squeeze it. Be gentle. On three then. One, two." He slid the tip around the edge of the chip, pried it gently. "Three." And it snapped out with a quiet click that sounded like a bomb blast to Eve's ears.
It hit her cupped palm, bounced. She rolled her fingers into a loose fist. "Got it."
"Don't move."
"I'm not going anywhere."
Roarke pushed up to his knees, took out a handkerchief. Taking Eve's hand, he uncurled her fingers and placed the chip in the center of the silk, folded it, folded again. "Not much padding, but better than nothing. He slipped it into his back pocket. "As long as I don't sit on it, we'll be fine."