by Ian Jarvis
‘So what’s the plan?’ asked Watson.
‘First we have to get Ligeia away from Adler and end this dangerous exploitation. If she were ever to use her darker voice over a stage amplification system, the effects on the audience wouldn’t bear thinking about. I warned the Colonel, but she doesn’t care. As soon as Ligeia is safely out of the way, we can bring in the police.’
‘Prison is too good for that one-eyed bastard,’ snarled Rex, clenching his fists. ‘She should be dead like Charlotte Michie.’
‘Rex, listen to me...’ Quist glanced up at the moon. ‘However angry you feel, you have to control yourself. You mustn’t kill anyone tonight, do you hear me?’
‘Good advice, but a bit late,’ said Watson. ‘He’s already wasted one of them.’
‘What?’ Quist stiffened. ‘How?’
‘Er...’ Rex looked sheepish. ‘It was Lafont, the one they called the Padre. I sort of lost my temper and accidentally kicked him under a train.’
‘Alright, that’s bad,’ said Quist, relieved. ‘But thankfully not too bad.’
‘I reckon the voodoo guy would disagree,’ pointed out Watson. ‘Well, he’d disagree if he had a head and he wasn’t in several pieces. Anyway, you can’t blame Rex when you did the same thing to save me in the ghost train.’
‘True,’ agreed Quist. ‘But you mustn’t use your teeth and claws, Rex. No matter how angry you get tonight, do not transform and attack anyone. Do you understand?’
‘Yeah, right.’ Rex thought about mentioning how he’d bitten a certain one-eyed woman earlier, but this didn’t feel like the right moment. ‘No problem.’
Chapter 35
Standing at the very tip of the Greenwich Peninsula and soaring two-hundred feet above the looping Thames, the London Dome was practically surrounded by water. Quist, Watson and Rex stood outside the busy North Greenwich station, gazing up at this enormous white blister. Twelve support towers jutted from the exterior at angles, which reminded Watson of a giant pin cushion. He’d heard how £790 million had been spent to erect this place back in 1999 - a fairly high sum, he decided, for what was basically a temporary tent to house the Milenium exhibition. The rdiculous price had forced the planners into preserving the Dome as a permanent structure and the O2 Arena was built inside. This had proved to be a lucrative move and it quickly became a top venue for international stars.
The concert audience were already inside and the last stragglers were hurrying along the glass-covered causeway from the railway platforms and bus terminals in the transport hub.
‘It’s almost ten,’ said Quist, spotting the station digital clock. ‘Ligeia will be on stage soon and we need to find a way in.’
‘The Dome itself is no problem,’ said Rex, heading for the doors. ‘It’s full of public bars and restaurants, but the O2 is a separate structure inside. I’ve been to concerts here before and the security is always tight.’
‘How many entrances into the stadium?’ asked Watson.
‘Just the one,’ said Rex. ‘Once you’re through that, there’s a walkway around the interior with entrances to the various seating tiers.’
‘How are we doing?’ enquired an East European voice behind them. ‘This concert sold out ages ago, but if you guys want tickets, it’s your lucky night.’
The trio turned to find a stocky Polish man with a shaven head.
‘Are you a ticket tout?’ asked Watson.
‘Hey, no one likes that name.’ The man chuckled, showing his gold teeth. ‘I sell dreams to people who have a desire to turn dreams into reality.’ Upright advertising frames of illuminated posters stood every few metres along the covered walkway. He gestured for them to follow him behind the closest where their conversation would be more private. ‘The show’s about to start,’ he said. ‘If you want tickets, you’d better be quick or you’ll miss her entrance.’
‘One moment, please.’ Quist turned to Rex and Watson and lowered his voice. ‘This is obviously our easiest way in. We can use the money I found on Stan Laurel’s corpse.’
‘That isn’t a sentence I ever expected to hear,’ said Watson.
‘How much?’ asked Quist.
The tout grinned with delight. ‘Three-hundred each.’
‘Jesus,’ gasped Watson. ‘Do you sell many?’
Sighing, Quist reached into his pocket and the man raised his eyebrows to see the wad of cash. ‘Er, sorry, I meant four-hundred each.’
Snatching the tout’s shirt, Rex dragged him close, his eyes glowing amber. His wolf muzzle extended in a crackle of facial bones. ‘Give me the tickets,’ he snarled, licking the man’s cheek. ‘Give them to me now, or I’ll eat your fucking face.’
‘Rex, calm down.’ Quist grabbed his arm, but was unable to break the grip, the silver poisoning still leaving him weak. ‘Change your features before someone sees.’
‘Take them.’ A urine pool appeared around the tout’s feet as he quickly handed over three tickets. ‘Just take them and let me go.’
‘Thank you,’ said Quist. ‘You know this is illegal? You really ought to consider a new profession.’ He watched the terrified man scurry away as Rex released him. ‘What were you thinking?’ he hissed. ‘Rex, you need to control these violent urges before you...’
‘I can control them just fine,’ snapped Rex, his face transforming back to normal.
‘The moon is causing you to act rashly.’
‘No it isn’t.’
‘Yes, it’s making you angry and argumentative...’
‘No it isn’t.’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘No, it isn’t.’
Sighing, the detective rubbed his eyes wearily, wondering how long this ludicrous exchange might continue if he allowed it. Probably quite a while, he decided.
‘Come on,’ said Watson. ‘We need to get in there.’
They followed the causeway through the glass entrance and paused to look around the colosal interior of the dome. Ultra-modern sculptures were suspended overhead and, rising to the curved ceiling, the enormous music venue virtually filled the structure. An indoor street known as the Avenue ran around the outside, throbbing with lively bars, cinemas, bowling alleys and countless restaurants. The O2 doors were straight ahead and, showing their tickets to the security team, the trio were ushered inside. From the music and deafening cheers, the show had obviously begun and they hurried throught the foyer area and access tunnel to appear between the lower seating tiers. Watson spotted the tiny figure on the stage at the opposite end of the arena and caught his breath.
‘Shit,’ he shouted, above the noise. ‘We’ve missed the start.’
‘We aren’t here for the concert,’ shouted Quist, testily.
Illuminated by banks of coloured light and surounded by a carpet of dry-ice fog, Ligeia sang in her silver mini dress. A huge television screen backdrop allowed the crowd to watch her in close-up and Watson found it difficult to tear his eyes from the sight.
A vast oval filled with twenty-thousand people, the stadium was full and the detective looked around, attempting to work out some sort of strategy. The lighting was dim and the crowd resembled a starry night sky. It took a few seconds for him to realise the impression was caused by thousands of phone screens. Blocks of seating rose in two sloping tiers, the upper soaring into the roof of the dome. A packed standing area had been created between the sound mixing desks and the stage, and Quist saw the chances of reaching Ligeia from there were impossible. The audience were seperated from the stage by a chest-high fence and a no-man’s-land populated tonight by roving cameramen. The line of burly O2 security staff didn’t help matters.
‘We should split up,’ said Quist, leaning close to Rex’s ear to be heard above the music. ‘We need to somehow find a way backstage. She’s quite childlike, so if one of us could get her alone during the int
erval, we could make up an excuse and convince her to leave with us.’
‘If I can reach her, I can get her to come.’ Rex winked. ‘I’ll just switch on the famous Grant charm’
Quist tugged at Watson’s arm and they headed for the left side of the arena, leaving Rex to make his way to the right side of the stage.
‘So do we have a clever plan, Guv?’ asked the youth.
‘We’ve had better,’ admitted Quist. ‘I’m making this particular clever plan up as I go along.’
The detective skirted the standing crowd and led Watson between two of the seating blocks. They entered a walkway beneath the lower tier and Quist noticed the fire exit doors spaced at intervals along the wall. Security staff were also positioned on the walkway, but they’d congregated in groups where they could view the stage and he smiled to see their glazed expressions. These men worked for the O2, not Adler, and none would be using ear implants. Whilever Ligeia was singing, they’d be entranced like the audience and wouldn’t notice what he was doing.
‘How long does this song last?’ he asked, moving to the closest fire exit.
Watson smiled like a drunken simpleton and, sighing, the detective slapped him hard across the face.
‘Shit!’ spluttered the youth. ‘What the...’
‘Ths song,’ repeated Quist. ‘How long before it ends?’
‘Oceans of Love?’ Watson blinked a couple of times. ‘Er, she’s halfway through.’
Quist quickly checked the exit and saw the electronic sensor plates at the top, one fixed to the frame and the other to the door itself. If anyone operated the push-bar and opened this, the sensors would seperate and a host of alarms would sound. Glancing around and seeing that no one was watching, he gripped the unit and carefully peeled it from the woodwork with his strength, ensuring the plates remained together. Screws fell to the floor and, leaving the intact unit dangling by its wires, he pushed down the panic bar and eased open the door.
‘Come on.’ He pulled Watson through and closed it. ‘Quick.’
The teenager saw they were in a tunnel. ‘This looks as if it runs all around the arena,’ he whispered.
‘Yes, it’s an emergency corridor,’ said Quist. ‘Any fires or bomb threats and the crowds will be herded into this to make their way out. The stage is this way, so let’s follow it and see where it takes us.’
They hurried past several doors and muffled applause and cheering told them the current number had ended.
‘We need to be careful,’ murmured Quist, walking in front. ‘The security staff here will be enchanted during her songs, but whenever she isn’t singing, they’ll be...’
‘Guv,’ said Watson, his voice a frightened stammer. ‘It isn’t the O2 staff we need to worry about.’
Quist turned and saw the muscular arm wrapped around the teenager’s throat and the pistol pressed to his temple. A door behind them had silently opened as they’d passed by and one of Adler’s team had stepped quietly out. The Colonel followed and peered curiously at Quist.
‘Take them to the green room,’ she said. ‘I have to admit, I’m surprised to see you, Mister Quist. It seems the silver bullets didn’t work. Your resilience is to be commended, but I’m sure your young assistant here won’t be so lucky if my man fires one through his brain.’
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ whimpered Watson. ‘So let’s not trust to luck, eh?’
Chapter 36
Rex pushed and squeezed his way through the heaving crowd to reach the right side of the O2 stage. It wasn’t easy, as the entire standing audience swayed in time to the song Oceans of Love, the majority waving phones with their screens showing a candle flame. He knew this App was a modern alternative to the old tradition of holding cigarette lighters aloft and he tutted at such nonsense. Most of the Apps on Rex’s phone had comical functions that revolved around making girls giggle after picking them up. One or two rated female looks and sexual performance. He’d never dream of downloading something as juvenile and shallow as a virtual candle flame.
At any other concert, the audience might have turned nasty if someone brusquely pushed past them to reach the front, but this lot were enthralled by the love song and stared at the stage with glazed eyes and open mouths. Rex waved a hand in front of an unresponsive face. Pickpockets would have a great time here, he realised, except they’d be too enchanted to steal. He elbowed his way onwards and smiled grimly. Picking pockets was exactly what Irana Adler was doing, albeit on a slightly different scale. Rex now knew that Ligeia’s voice was supernatural, but still found it difficult to comprehend. This mediocre singing was the best thing these people had ever heard and in many ways he envied them. How truly wonderful must this Siren song sound to enchanted ears?
Rex made it to the front of the throng and saw Ligeia stiffen on sensing his presence, her excited eyes searching the swaying masses as she sang. She spotted him at the crowd control fence on the far right of the stage and gave a warm smile. Rex waved and, still singing into her microphone headset, Ligeia turned to look down the rear steps that she’d climb to reach the stage. Elva stood watching the concert in the sunken area below and Ligeia signed to her. Sixty seconds later, the mute girl opened a security door on Rex’s right and beckoned to him. He carefully eased between the mesmerised security personnel and darted through into the emergency corridor.
‘It’s great to see you again,’ he said, as Elva squeezed and kissed him. ‘I saw Ligeia signing to someone and I knew it had to be you. Were you backstage?’
She nodded and took his arm, leading him along the passage and around a corner.
‘Were you alone back there?’ asked Rex. ‘Are any of the Colonel’s men...’
The uniformed giant guarding the door around the next corner answered his unfinished question. The man reached into his jacket for a weapon. ‘Where do you think you’re going...’
Rex punched him hard and stepped over his unconscious body. ‘I’m going backstage,’ he said. ‘Any objections?’
He opened the door and found under stage would be a more accurate description, as the acts climbed the stairs from here to emerge in front of the crowd. He also found two more of the Colonel’s team on sentry duty. The mercenaries grabbed him and, tensing himself to fight them off, he suddenly hit upon an idea. Adler claimed the enchantment in Ligeia’s voice only worked when she was happy. Well, why not put that to the test? Rex head-butted one of the men, but not too hard; just enough to anger him. The pair attacked savagely and wrestled him to the floor as another two rushed through the door to assist.
‘Ligeia,’ shouted Rex. ‘Look down here.’
The singer turned and saw him at the bottom of the steps. Her eyes widened in alarm as she also saw the Colonel’s men booting him violently in the stomach and ribs.
Great, decided Rex. As experiments went, this was a fucking painful one.
Elva ran to help, but received a vicious backhand smack across her face. Ligeia gasped to see her friend fall to the floor, where she spat blood and trembled furiously. Shocked and frightened, Ligeia still sang as she watched the violence, but the Siren song instantly changed and a visible shudder ran through the audience like a wave, the crowd glancing at one another in confusion. The personnel on the sound mixing desk worked frantically at their controls, wondering what the hell could have happened to her voice; it had turned into something amateur and awful. Unable to sing any longer and bursting into tears, Ligeia ran off the stage and down the stairs where one of the guards snatched her.
‘You need to get back out there,’ he snapped. ‘The Colonel won’t be pleased and you can’t let your fans down. Come on. Get back on that stage now.’
Elva crouched on the floor, seething furiously and fighting down the primal urges she was experiencing. Rex was way beyond fighting urges. Seeing Elva’s split lip and Ligeia struggling in the guard’s grip, he lost cont
rol, the lupine desire to kill his attackers taking over. He knew it was the full moon, but he also knew he didn’t care anymore. Growling, he extended his talons as the metal base of a fire extinguisher slammed into the back of his head. The makeshift weapon cracked his skull on the second brutal strike and the wolf claws vanished with his consciousness.
***
The Green Room adjoined the O2 Arena via a security tunnel, a luxurious VIP lounge with a well-stocked cocktail bar and plush white leather seating where the acts and their entourages could relax before and after shows. A private area with subdued lighting, white columns and a polished wood floor, the Green Room could accommodate 150 guests and Adler’s team barely filled the corner by the bar. Doctor Roylott and Shane Guevara sat on a semi-circular couch with the sobbing Ligeia. Elva cuddled the distressed singer, trying to comfort her, and Adler paced angrily. Rex’s limp body had been dumped on the carpet, where Quist and Watson knelt examining him. Four of the Colonel’s men stood guard over them clutching automatic pistols, and the remaining seven leant on the bar.
‘Guv,’ whispered Watson, glancing nervously at the guns. ‘I have to say, this doesn’t look too good.’
‘It’s going to be alright,’ murmured Quist.
‘Really?’ snapped Adler, overhearing the exchange. ‘Because I honestly don’t think it will be alright.’ She turned to one of her men. ‘Are the doors locked?’
The guard nodded. ‘Yes, Ma’am.’
The Colonel glared at Quist. ‘The Green Room has superb soundproofing. Gunshots can’t be heard by anyone outside.’
‘Is Rex alright? Asked Ligeia, tears rolling down her face. ‘Why did your friends hurt him?’
‘They were playing.’ Adler took a deep breath, attempting to control the rage building inside. ‘It looked as if they were fighting, but it was all playacting.’