The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [212]
“No, just a look,” Anders muttered.
It was time to go into action before their nerves got the better of them. “It's fifteen minutes until showtime,” Travis said. “We'd better get moving.” He looked at Beltan, then Vani. “Good luck.” It was all he could think to say.
“We'll see you soon, Travis,” Beltan said.
Vani only gazed at him, then the two turned and disappeared into the crowd.
“Come on,” Deirdre said, touching Travis's arm.
The plans of the Steel Cathedral that Deirdre's mysterious Philosopher friend had sent were shockingly detailed. The drawing showed a guard station at the main entrance to the backstage area. There was another way to get backstage, through a smaller maintenance corridor. There was a guard station there as well, but the plans noted it was staffed by a single guard. That was the direction Travis, Deirdre, and Anders headed.
It was easy to blend in with the crowds of people buying souvenir pins, T-shirts, and CDs before heading to their seats. Travis caught sight of several security guards; patches with the crescent moon of the Duratek logo were sewn to their dark blue uniforms. However, the guards never even looked in their direction. It seemed odd there were so few of them, yet it made sense. What was there to guard up here?
The gate is below the cathedral, Travis. The blueprints showed a whole complex of rooms down there. This building is far larger than it has to be to hold two thousand people. It wasn't built this way to catch God's attention; it was built to hide what they're doing.
They ducked down a narrow side corridor.
“All right, partner,” Anders said. “If the map your spooky little Philosopher chum gave you is spot on, the maintenance corridor is right through there.”
“It is,” Deirdre said, approaching a door.
“Wait,” Travis said, panic rising. “That sign says an alarm will sound if the door is opened.”
Anders winked at him. “Don't believe everything you read, mate.” He pulled a small black device—about the size of a quarter, but thicker—from his pocket. He pressed it to the door, and some adhesive held it in place. A red light on the device flashed.
“It's activated,” he said to Deirdre.
She pushed through the door. Travis hunched his shoulders, bracing for the wail of an alarm. There was only silence.
“Hey there, Travis, what are you waiting for?” Anders said, and followed Deirdre through the door.
Travis let out a tight breath and headed after them. He caught up to the Seekers on the other side. The door shut behind them.
Travis looked at Anders. “What was that thing?”
“An electronic scrambler. It sends out electromagnetic pulses over a small area, pretty much befuddling any electronic gadget in range—including the motion sensor on that door. Pretty handy, eh?”
They moved down the corridor, and Deirdre raised a small black device to her ear.
“Vani, Beltan—can you hear me?”
There was a crackle of static, then a voice emanated from the radio, tinny but familiar. Vani. “We can hear you.”
“We're in position,” Deirdre spoke into the radio. “Can you see the main guard station?”
“We can. There are two guards. One stands at attention, while the other watches a number of screens that show pictures of places in this building. One of the screens shows a guard station in a narrow corridor; I believe it is the corridor you are in now. There is one guard there, a woman. She does not look very large or strong.”
“Good work,” Deirdre said. “Are you and Beltan ready?”
“Do not fear—we will not fail you.”
“I hope we can say the same.” Deirdre slipped the radio into her pocket, then looked at Travis and Anders, her cheekbones sharp. “Let's go. If Vani and Beltan do their job right, we won't have to wait long.”
They moved down the corridor, Deirdre first, Anders last. The walls and floor were bare cement; fluorescent lights shone overhead at distant intervals, so that the passage alternated between light and shadow.
Travis tried to imagine what was happening at the entrance to the backstage area. It was Beltan and Vani's job to pose as overeager