Let the Music Play - 30. Unfortunate Circumstances

“Dimitri, I fail to understand why I cannot have Internet access. I need to do some research to find a home for after our project is done.” The engineer knew from Dimitri’s reddening face that is was time to stop pushing, and nodded his acceptance, intending to press the matter another day. It was, he reasoned, one way of gauging Dimitri’s intentions.

Somehow managing to keep a lid on his temper, Dimitri checked his watch and strode from the building, pausing for a moment to ensure that his former-Spetznaz security detail were keeping an eye on everyone, especially the engineer.

Starting up the big diesel engine of the truck, Dimitri eased it into first, grinding the gears only slightly as the truck rumbled out of the Toowoomba facility. He didn’t even need to check a map; he knew the way to Brisbane by heart.

At the Brisbane City Limits, Dimitri spotted the sign that he and The Scar had noticed weeks before, declaring the city a nuclear free zone. Laughing, wishing that his employer were with him to enjoy the irony, he drove past the sign, rolling into Brisbane with two live nuclear weapons. The Suncorp Stadium, where Instinct and The Shadows had performed their final Australian concert a few hours before, was only a few miles ahead.

Thinking of his cargo, he considered all that they had accomplished. When his employer had first proposed the idea, Dimitri had thought it madness, impossible. How could they hope to build nuclear weapons when it had taken his country – he would always consider the Soviet Union his country – a decade to attain devices of such power, at unbelievable cost, via a program that involved thousands of people?

The engineer had explained, more than once and at exasperating length, how what had once been the work of nations could now be achieved with far less difficulty; modern machining technology and computers handled part of that, but the largest difference was knowledge itself. Today, the required information was easily obtainable, whereas in the early days of nuclear weaponry enormous test programs had been required to test the various theories. Indeed, as the engineer had so helpfully pointed out, now that they had a verified design, duplicating the process with the same designs would be far simpler. The actual design and fabrication of the devices, as they themselves had proved, was quite feasible. All that was truly required was the fissionable material; obtaining that and that alone was the true obstacle to producing nuclear weapons.

Dimitri arrived at the stadium, as planned, while the road crew was busy loading the first of Instinct’s equipment into the seven shipping containers which were nestled on flatbed trucks, parked at the stadium’s south side. The Scar stood by, supervising the crew, as Dimitri backed the truck in next to one of the containers.

The Scar began to perspire slightly in spite of the cool night air, his nerves on edge. As casually as he could manage, he hailed one of the forklift operators to say, “We have five replacement subwoofers in that truck that’s just arrived. That trucker is charging us by the hour so they need to go in the fifth shipping container right away.”

The forklift operator thought nothing of the order; ‘Jerry’ was in charge of shipping, after all. With no concerns, he trundled up to the newly arrived truck as Dimitri threw open the truck’s rear doors.

* * *

Bottles were hoisted, and with the roar of the crowd still ringing in their ears, the members of The Shadows and Instinct drank a round of beer to celebrate their final concert in Australia. After sharing a few drinks at the after-concert party with Jon, Eric, and The Shadows, plus their respective groupie dates for the evening, Brandon and Chase slipped away to celebrate alone, leaving their band mates to their female companionship for the evening. As soon as they were in Chase’s suite, Chase’s lips found Brandon’s, and the trail of clothes soon reformed, leading to the bed.

Two hours later, Eric, in bed with his two dates, sat up, momentarily distracted from his erotic pursuits by a sudden realization. Checking the clock, he said to his two companions, “Ladies, we’ve only got an hour; I’ve got an interview via teleconference.” Eric regretted the lie, but he felt it was best for all concerned. Any reservations that he had were soon swept away by caressing hands and writhing bodies.

Bidding his dates farewell and giving them each a goodbye kiss in the hall, Eric, wearing only a pair of boxers he’d hastily thrown on, waited until his lady friends entered the elevator, and then spun on his heel and padded down the hallway to Brandon’s door.

After pounding on it for a couple of minutes, he moved on to Chase’s door, rapping on the hard wood with his fist. Chase, wearing only a towel, opened the door and Eric rushed in before Chase could say a word. Ignoring the likely cause of Chase’s undressed state, Eric motioned for his perturbed brother to follow and made a beeline for the bedroom.

Barging in, he found Brandon partially covered by a sheet. “Dudes, get dressed. We’ve got a mission. I just realized that Jerry will be supervising the packing of our gear tonight. I’ll bet he’s got his Land Rover there; this might be our last chance to get that GPS,” Eric announced, with an excited gleam in his eyes.

Wanting to get back to what he and Chase had been doing before the interruption, Brandon asked, “Won’t it wait until morning? What about waiting until we’re at the resort?”

Shaking his head adamantly, Eric replied, “What if Jerry doesn’t go to the resort, or takes a different vehicle or a plane up? No it won’t wait. They usually get everything loaded overnight. You know that; you used to be a roadie. Either you guys come with me or I’m going alone; I even sent my dates away for this. We’ve got to get there. Come on guys, let’s get moving.”

Realizing that Eric was likely right, but having some serious reservations, Brandon shared a look with his boyfriend. Chase asked Eric, “You had to wait until two o’clock in the freaking morning to think of this?”

“Er, sorta. I thought of it an hour ago but I had to finish with the girls. Come on guys, please? You can screw later, but this might be our only chance of getting that GPS back.”

Biting back a reply of his own regarding the fact that Eric got to ‘finish’ but he and Chase didn’t, Brandon glanced at his boyfriend again, and seeing Chase’s opinion in his eyes, Brandon reluctantly nodded his agreement before asking Chase, “Could you throw me my clothes?”

Pacing back and forth impatiently at the foot of the bed, Eric stopped and grabbed the edge of the sheet. Ripping it off the bed, leaving Brandon naked, Eric said, “Come on bro, we have to hurry.” Biting his tongue, Brandon hopped out of bed, snatched up his boxers from the bedroom floor, tugging them on as Eric said, “Put on black clothes. We’ll be less noticeable in the dark that way.”

With a chuckle, Brandon said, “Dark colors, but not all black, otherwise we’ll look like a bunch of burglars or something. Better put on baseball caps too, so we won’t be as recognizable,” Brandon gave Eric’s cotton boxers a meaningful glance and added with a snicker, “uh, aren’t you a little under-dressed for this?”

Glancing down at his boxers, which were all he was wearing, Eric laughed, “Yeah, I better borrow some clothes.”

Raiding Chase’s closet, Brandon found a pair of jeans and a navy blue t-shirt. Chase threw on black boardies and a black tank top, and Eric rifled through his brother’s dresser, finding Levis and a black tank top. Eric was only half a shoe size different from Chase, so he borrowed a pair of high-tops and waited while Brandon and Chase pulled on their shoes.

The second they were ready, Eric reminded them, “Bring whatever tools you need.”

Brandon jogged to his suite and pocketed his Swiss Army Knife and a pen-light, and then let Eric pull him out the door, with Chase following along behind.

In the elevator on the way down, Chase asked, “Okay bro, how are we getting to the arena?”

Eric shrugged as the elevator arrived in the lobby, “I don’t know, I didn’t think that far ahead. I guess we can ask for a taxi at the front desk.”

Wondering what else could go wrong on their unplanned mission, Brandon and Chase followed Eric to the front desk and waited while he ordered a taxi to Suncorp Stadium. The three members of Instinct walked to the main entrance and stopped to wait just inside as Eric said, “We’ll have him wait for us while we’re in the stadium. We can sneak in a side entrance; the security people shouldn’t give us any hassles. I hope one of you guys has a wallet, because I don’t have mine. I could run back to my suite, but if I run into Helen we’re screwed.”

Brandon patted his back pocket. “I’ve got it.” Caught up in their own plans, they didn’t notice a small, plump man sitting on a lobby sofa, ostensibly reading a paper as he listened to every word.

As soon as Brandon, Chase, and Eric had piled into the taxi, the plump paparazzi scrambled to his vehicle, intent on finding out what the guys from Instinct were up to, and why they were sneaking around in the middle of the night.

The trip to the stadium did not take long, and wary of the taxi driver, the three guys passed the time in tense silence.

Leaving their cab at the Stadium’s side entrance, which, in the early hours of the morning, was the only one open; the three guys approached the lone security guard. “Hello,” Eric said in his most businesslike voice, “We’ve just performed here tonight, and we need to go check on the loading of our gear.”

The security guard arched an eyebrow and considered his options. He recognized the three teens, but he wasn’t expecting anyone other than crew. However, he reasoned, the crew works for the band, so no one could blame him for letting the band members enter. With a nod, he let them pass, and returned to reading his novel. A few minutes later, an overweight, out-of-breath man with a camera interrupted, flashing a press pass, claiming he was with the band, and again the security guard nodded, letting the man in. His job, in his opinion, was to get paid by the hour for looking official. Checking credentials and checking for authorizations wasn’t part of the deal: not at his pay scale, as far as he was concerned.

Skirting around the south end of the darkened stadium, the three guys made their way towards the sound of forklifts. Peeking around a corner at the trucks, cargo containers, and the busy crew, Eric motioned his band mates back a pace and then turned to say, “I can see Jerry. He’s standing next to a truck, looks like he’s directing traffic. What I don’t see is his Land Rover.”

Chase smiled, flicking his thumb to the right. Eric followed the gesture, and upon seeing Jerry’s Land Rover parked among several other cars, he said, “Okay, so I missed it. I’ll keep a lookout; you guys get that GPS.”

Brandon stooped low, jogging to the gap between the Land Rover and another car. The area was well lit, which made him feel very exposed. Seeing no option, he lay down and scooted under the vehicle, feeling for the starter motor. He found the oil pan instead, and after fishing out his pen-light and clicking it on, he scooted over another foot, reached up, grabbed the GPS, and ripped it from its hiding place. In a hurry, he yanked on the power cord, ripping it from its contacts with no need to use his knife. Stuffing everything in his pocket, he rolled out from under the vehicle and scrambled to his feet, trotting away from the vehicle with Chase by his side.

Meeting up with Eric as he peered around the corner, Brandon said, “That was almost too easy. I’ve got it; let’s get out of here.”

Eric, still intently watching Jerry, shook his head, “Jerry and the road boss are talking about something, and Jerry looks agitated. Maybe we better check on our gear?”

Thirty yards away and well out of Eric’s hearing, ‘Jerry’ was indeed in a confrontation with the road boss.

As with many of the jobs he’d held, Adam Creston had fallen into the position of road boss by happenstance; he held a degree in political science, though he’d never put it to any worthwhile use. Instead, after a brief stint as a campaign manager had soured him on his erstwhile chosen profession, he’d drifted from odd job to odd job, mainly in construction management. Finally, he’d taken the open position – thanks to the former holder of that job, Gabe, being both fired and under arrest at the time – of road boss prior to Instinct’s current tour.

It was a position that Adam enjoyed; the pay was good, and it involved travel. He liked the job, and took care to do it well. Part of that entailed knowing what was his area of responsibility, and what was not. Adam did not take kindly to interlopers when it came to his turf.

Jerry had control of shipping, but the crew worked for the road boss, who hadn’t been pleased when Jerry had taken to supervising and ordering his crew around. As a result, Adam took note of the speaker delivery with interest, wondering if he could turn the situation to his advantage in order to return the favor and tread on Jerry’s toes a little. Eyeing the final subwoofers being transferred, Adam walked up to Jerry and said with an edge to his voice, “Mind telling me what the hell is going on here? Nothing goes into the band’s gear without my okay, and I sure as hell didn’t approve these speakers.”

The Scar considered his options; he knew he couldn’t afford trouble, not now. He heard Dimitri, unaware of the problem, putting the empty truck in gear and driving away as planned. Plastering a smile on his face, he replied in an attempt to defuse the situation, “My good man, I apologize for any breach of protocol. However, these were ordered as replacements and they must be shipped with the equipment.”

Adam crossed his arms, relishing the chance to make the interloping little queer squirm. “This is all news to me. Why would five replacements be needed? We’ve had no issues with the sound system that I am aware of. I think I need to take a look at ‘em.”

Turning away with clear intent, Adam headed for the subwoofers that had just been loaded into the fifth shipping container. The Scar followed close behind, his right hand seeking the handles of the wire in his pocket as he glanced over his shoulder, making sure that the roadies were busy elsewhere.

Before Brandon or Chase had a chance to argue, Eric whispered, “Something isn’t right, come on,” and darted forward, staying in the shadows, working his way to the back of a nearby truck, where he turned and waved for his band mates to follow.

Brandon muttered, “Why can’t we just go? We’ve got what we came for,” as he and Chase followed in Eric’s footsteps, not noticing the paparazzi who was stalking them from a dozen yards back. The paparazzi watched as the three guys hunkered down with the cargo container-truck between them and their crew, and used his digital camera to snap a few low-light shots of the guys.

Eric inched forward, peeking around the end of the container for a few moments, and then turned to whisper at Brandon and Chase, “Jerry looks really agitated and he’s arguing with our road boss. They just headed for a cargo container on the far side of this one. I heard speakers mentioned. I smell a rat; maybe Jerry is stealing our speakers. I don’t see anyone near that container, let’s go have a look.”

Brandon’s hand shot out just a fraction of a second too slow to stop Eric. Sighing, Brandon whispered to Chase, “We should just get the hell out of here; sneaking around is going to get us in big trouble. Help me get Eric.” With Chase following behind, they inched forward, and then walked, as quickly and casually as they could, towards the flatbed truck under which Eric had disappeared.

In the darkness under the truck, Eric whispered, “Jerry climbed into the container above us, and I think Adam is in there too.” Eric pressed his ear to the grimy underside of the truck, but couldn’t hear what was being said, in part because neither of the men inside said a word. All Eric heard was a few muffled footsteps, not enough to be sure if one man, or two, was in the container.

Adam played his flashlight over the five speakers, and he began to suspect something really might be amiss – drug smuggling was foremost on his mind. Relishing the thought of ridding himself of Jerry once and for all, he stepped around the stacked beams and panels from the sound and light rigging to gaze at the normal-looking speakers, never noticing The Scar’s stealthy approach.

With a smooth and almost casual move, The Scar slipped the garroting wire over Adam’s head and used the small wooden handles on each end to pull it tight behind the man’s neck. Reacting to the pain, Adam’s hands flew to his neck as he dropped his flashlight with a clatter, but his already-crushed trachea was incapable of making a sound.

The pain was blinding, and Adam tried in vain to get his fingers under the wire, tearing at his own flesh in desperation. He could feel Jerry’s body behind him; but he had no attention to spare, he just wanted the agony to stop. He’d get his wish, though not in a way that he would have wanted.

The struggling road boss’s knees failed as he grayed out from the intense pain, coupled with a lack of blood flow to his brain, and The Scar used the man’s weight for additional leverage while counting off the seconds. The road boss stopped thrashing, and The Scar eased him to the steel deck, pausing only to secure the garrote around the man’s neck, just to be sure. Following his hastily concocted plan, he hid the body behind the rigging until he could load it into his Land Rover. Once the body was in place and hidden well enough to avoid a cursory glance, The Scar, resuming his persona of ‘Jerry’, walked to the back of the container and jumped down, intending to find the six roadies and send them into the stadium for more gear, in order to get them out of the way for a few minutes.

Under the truck, only Chase noticed Jerry’s legs appear as Jerry jumped down. Chase pointed, whispering, “Is Adam still in the container?”

Eric pressed his ear harder against the underside of the tuck, waiting for nearly a minute before whispering, “I heard footsteps and something rattling on the floor when Jerry was in there but nothing now. I saw him heading this way, but maybe he was going somewhere else. Let’s go see what Jerry was up too.” Eric darted towards the back of the truck before Brandon or Chase had time to object.

One by one, the three guys crept to the back of the truck, glanced around to see if the coast was clear, and scrambled into the open end of the big shipping container.

It was pitch black inside, and Eric’s whispered request for the pen-light made Brandon jump. Handing it over in the near total darkness, Brandon held his breath while Eric flicked it on and tip-toed to the rear of the container. There, the three guys saw stacks of rigging, and at the far end of the container, five large subwoofers. “If he’s stealing them, why are they in here?” Chase whispered at Eric. From where they were standing, they couldn’t see the road boss’s still-warm corpse. Eric turned to answer, but a sudden, blinding flash made them all wince.

The paparazzi cursed his own clumsiness; he’d knocked the camera to ‘auto’ and as a result, the flash had gone off. With nothing to lose, he snapped another shot and darted away from the container’s open end.

“Oh, shit!” Chase said, rubbing his dazzled eyes and blinking from the two flashes, “We better get out of here.”

“What were those flashes? A camera?” Eric asked as he moved beside Chase, following Brandon to the open end of the container. Due to the darkness and the dazzling effect of the flash, none of them had actually seen the photographer.

“Let’s just get the fuck out of here,” hissed Brandon, pausing before dashing from the container.

“Wait, Brand. If somebody has seen us, it’ll look suspicious as hell if we just sneak out. This is our stuff. Jerry and the crew both work for us, so let’s just stop by and say ‘hi’, and ask how it’s going. If those flashes were a camera, somebody knows we’re here.”

Nodding, Brandon led the way as the three guys circled around to the side of the work area, before strolling out from the darkness, heading for where Jerry stood on a small crate, gesturing towards the stadium, giving orders to the gathered roadies, thirty yards away.

“Hi, Jerry,” Eric called up cheerfully as the three guys reached the foot of the crate.

“What brings you gentlemen out at this hour,” The Scar replied, taking care to appear friendly.

“We just wanted to get out of the hotel, so we decided to stop by,” Eric answered with a smile, while wondering how best to bait Jerry. “Is everything going okay?” Eric asked, glancing first at Jerry and then at the seven big truck-mounted shipping containers.

“Everything is going splendidly, my dear boy,” Jerry replied as he hopped down off the crate, silently cursing the intrusion, “The crew is loading everything up, and we’ll have the trucks ready for the drivers to take to the port. You’ll have your gear in Los Angeles, safe and sound, I personally guarantee it.”

In Eric’s opinion, Jerry was uncomfortable with their presence. Seeking to irritate the man, perhaps into revealing something, and as a worthy end unto itself, Eric said cheerfully, “We’ll stick around and help you. We’ve got nothing better to do.”

Jerry shook his head adamantly, “I’m afraid not. There’s an insurance issue; you aren’t part of the crew so you aren’t covered.”

Dismissing the objection with a happy wave and hoping to twist Jerry’s tail, Eric replied, “No problem, we’ll just nose around and check on our stuff,” and turned away, heading for the cargo container they’d just exited, motioning for Brandon and Chase to follow.

With an apologetic shrug in Jerry’s direction, Brandon turned to follow Eric, intent on getting them all the heck out of there just as soon as he could manage it.

Jerry trailed along behind. Regretting the blood along with the near-certain interruption of his shipping plan that would result, ‘Jerry’ trailed his hand back, under the edge of his jacket, coming to rest on the handle of his work knife. A series of quick slashes on their necks, he knew, would take care of the problem before they had a chance to react. It would be difficult, and it would cause a major disruption, but if they discovered the road boss’s body and raised the alarm, the nuclear devices a few feet away would surely be noticed. And that, of course, he could never permit.

A thought occurred to Jerry. “I’m surprised that Helen let you come out here in the middle of the night without security. Now, why do I suspect that she’s unaware of your jaunt?” he asked, hoping to dissuade them from their search.

Stopping in his tracks, Brandon read between the lines; Jerry was threatening to tell Helen. Swallowing once as he envisioned her likely reaction, Brandon said, “We just wanted to get out of the hotel for a while. You know how over-protective she is.”

Eric stared up at the fifth cargo container – the one containing the bombs and the body – and hesitated. He really did want to have another look, and the fact that Jerry didn’t want them there was reason enough. The Scar waited, reasoning that if the annoying one jumped up into the container, he could dispatch the two boyfriends with a fast slash to their throats and then the annoying one would be both trapped and unaware. Chase broke the deadlock by asking ‘Jerry’, “Please don’t tell her we were here. We just wanted to get out for a while, but we’ll get out of your hair.”

Nodding pleasantly, and smiling with more than a little relief, Jerry replied, “Normally I’d welcome the company, but you would distract the roadies and we have a schedule to keep, and then there are those pesky insurance issues...”

Grinning a little too broadly, Eric turned away from the container and said, “That’s cool, we’ll stop by and see you some other time.”

The three guys walked away, heading for their waiting taxi, and Brandon waved goodbye to Jerry. As they rounded a corner, another brilliant flash blasted them in the face. Thanks to a nearby light, they spotted the photographer. “Paparazzi,” Eric hissed, as another flash dazzled his eyes, “Get the bastard!”

Eric lunged forward, but Brandon and Chase held him back. Chase looked at the guard shack and realized that there was a better way. “Security!” he bellowed, rousing the reluctant guard from his novel. The guard looked up from his book in time to see the paparazzi huff past, and then as the three members of Instinct approached he asked, “Is there a problem, sirs?”

“Why didn’t you stop that bastard?” Eric growled, seething.

The security guard shrugged. He worked for the stadium, not the talent, so he really didn’t much care what they thought. “I can’t. He has a press pass so he’s not trespassing. Besides, he said he was with you guys.”

Brandon, Chase, and Eric watched the paparazzi climb into his car and begin taking more pictures, this time without the flash. Knowing that the damage was already likely done, they returned to their waiting taxi for the ride back to the hotel. The paparazzi followed, eventually returning to his post in the lobby, wondering what the Instinct members were up to, and more to the point, how he could exploit it.

The Scar dashed for his Land Rover as soon as the band members were out of his sight. He knew he had a few minutes until the roadies returned, but he had to make sure the body was out of the container before that occurred, and he’d already had one unwelcome interruption.

After backing his vehicle up to the cargo container’s open end, he clambered into the oversized steel box, and dragged the road boss’s body from its hiding place. Grunting from the strain, he shoved it into the back of his Land Rover, and covered it with a tarp. That, he decided, would have to do.

While he returned the Land Rover to its parking spot, he considered the repercussions of having the road boss vanish. With that in mind, he made plans to cover up the sudden absence. Twenty minutes later, the roadies returned with another load of gear, and as ‘Jerry’ directed the loading of the cargo containers, he told them in an offhand way, “Your boss had to go; he’s had a death in the family. I’ll be filling in for him.” The Scar also made a mental note to send a written resignation, over Adam’s name, to Helen the next day, effective immediately and citing family issues, thus explaining his sudden and permanent absence. It couldn’t hurt to cover all the bases, and The Scar prided himself on paying attention to details.

* * *

Back in Eric’s suite, Brandon set the GPS on a table and after a peek at the manual began pushing buttons. After ten minutes of paging through displays with Eric and Chase looking over his shoulders, Brandon said, “Looks like he’s been staying in Toowoomba, about seventy miles from here, and taking trips from there to someplace out in the boonies a couple of hundred miles further west.”

Nodding happily, Eric said, “Maybe we can slip away and go investigate in Toowoomba. We’ll be spending our last night in Australia here at this hotel.”

“Helen would have a fit,” Brandon warned, “Going to our own concert venue and snooping around our own stuff is bad enough, but if we try sneaking around at night wherever Jerry has been, that’s trespassing, maybe even breaking and entering. We’d also better hope Helen doesn’t see the pictures that paparazzi bastard took of us.”

“Aw, come on,” Eric pouted, in a way that reminded Brandon very much of Chase, “We’ve gone this far to get the info, so we’ve gotta see what we can find out.”

Brandon had been a reluctant participant so far, but he was beginning to have his doubts. They’d found nothing incriminating, nor did they even have a good theory as to what, exactly, Jerry was up to. All they had, really, was some odd circumstances and Eric’s suspicions. Brandon didn’t bother arguing; he figured that Helen would see the photos, and that would put an end to Eric’s planned excursion.

* * *

Brandon and Chase managed to get three hours sleep before Helen rousted everyone bright and early for their trip to the Bunyip Beach Resort. Eric had no sleep at all, he’d lain awake, puzzling over what he’d seen, and becoming even more certain that Jerry was up to something. While everyone was getting ready, Eric walked into Jon’s suite, waited while his brother saw off his date, and then filled him in on the evening’s events. Jon was a little taken aback, but kept to himself the fact that he was happy he hadn’t been dragged along.

After breakfast, the two bands, along with Helen and The Shadow’s manager, filed out of the resort, and to Eric’s fury, he spotted the paparazzi who had hounded them the right before, blithely taking pictures along with several other photographers. With Helen around and so far unawares of their early-morning trip, Eric bit his tongue and kept his mouth shut.

At Brisbane international airport, Helen shepherded her charges through the terminal, and the Qantas official she’d made the arrangements with led them all to a private room. With a wink, the official said, “The photographers can’t bother you in here, so they’ll likely piss off. In ten minutes, I’ll have a bus outside for you, and the driver will open the exterior door. Don’t try it yourselves or you’ll set off the alarms.”

The Shadows bid farewell to their manager, who was flying out for Los Angeles that morning. With the airline’s connivance, the press was, they hoped, being fooled into thinking that Instinct was leaving for home. That, they all hoped, would increase their chances for privacy at the resort.

Ten minutes later, right on schedule, a terminal bus pulled up outside of the room, and the entire party boarded. The bus pulled away, pausing only to deliver The Shadow’s manager to another door with a waiting airline employee, who would take him directly to immigration control, then to security, and finally to his flight. It was hoped that the lurking paparazzi would not notice or recognize him. The lumbering bus trundled away, delivering Instinct and The Shadows to a guarded gate. On the other side Judy, the owner of the Bunyip Beach Resort, waited with her mini-bus.

Once everyone was on board and the drive north underway, Eric smiled at Helen and said, “You ditched the bastards again. I love it.”

Helen chuckled. “They’ll be camped out at the airport back in Los Angeles, waiting for us to get off the flight. I was careful not to lie, just let them make assumptions. This way it will give them something to do as well as keeping them off our trail for a while.”

The fact that they were traveling that day delighted Eric. He hoped that would make it less likely that Helen would find out about the photos the paparazzi had taken. With that happy thought, Eric drifted off to sleep in his seat. He was almost right.

Eric woke up as the mini-bus pulled onto a gravel road, passing between rows of palm trees which bordered a thick row of tall, green bamboo. The Shadows, he noticed, were all peering out the windows with intense interest, as they got their first look at the Bunyip Beach Resort.

As they drove into the main compound, Zeke was impressed; it looked clean and modern but with a very tropical feel. The tour bus crunched over the crushed coral as Judy pulled up next to the row of four guest cottages which they’d previously occupied. The distant rumble of surf filled the air as they emerged from the van into the hot, thick, and humid air.

Helen took charge of assigning the cottages. “Starting at the end, we’ll have Brandon and Chase in one, Jon and Eric in the next, Gunter and I in the third, and The Shadows in the fourth.”

As Eric had hoped, Helen didn’t see the tabloid story. However, much later that day, back in Los Angeles, Barbra’s regular search of the tabloid press found it in seconds. Barbra looked at the photos, and the accompanying brief story, and decided that she needed to alert Helen. Calculating the time difference, Barbra realized it was too late in Australia to call, so she’d wait a few hours and catch Helen early in the morning, Australian time.

* * *

The Scar, exhausted after the night’s events, drove his Land Rover into the Toowoomba facility. He’d had no sleep in forty-eight hours; he’d been up all night supervising the loading of the containers, and then he’d shadowed them, watching as they were driven to Brisbane’s port and loaded aboard a fast freighter. The freighter had sailed, on schedule, a couple of hours later, and The Scar at last was free to return to Toowoomba, though the body under his tarp had forced him to carefully observe the speed limit.

Parking around the side of the residence building for privacy, he nodded a weary greeting at Dimitri as the Russian came out to greet him. With a shrug, The Scar said, “As you were leaving, the road boss became overly interested in our speakers. I had to take care of him,” The Scar flicked a thumb towards the tarp-covered mass in the back of his Land Rover, as if he were reporting on a flat tire, “I just hope his disappearance does not cause us trouble. Dimitri, could you stash him somewhere for me? I really must get some sleep. I’m exhausted.”

With a nod, Dimitri caught the tossed keys, and drove the Land Rover around to the far side of the assembly building. There, he dumped the body into one of the spare bombcases, and welded it shut, happy to complete the task before the engineer could notice and begin asking annoying questions. With the airtight seal complete, he used the forklift to place the bombcase in the back of a storage shed.

The Scar had one task to complete before he slept; he quickly drafted a letter of resignation from Adam Creston to Helen, and digitally attached a purloined copy of the man’s signature. With that done, he printed it directly to his fax program – one which did not contain the originating phone number – and sent the fax to Helen’s Los Angeles office. As soon as he had confirmation that the fax had gone through, The Scar yawned and went directly to bed, where he was soon in a peaceful slumber.

The following morning, Dimitri was checking the internet. As had become his practice due to their involvement with the band, he looked for any news concerning Instinct. As yet unconcerned and sipping at his coffee, he casually clicked on the first of the resulting links. A story, replete with photographs, filed his screen. His blood ran cold as he recognized the subwoofers, and with them in the shipping container: three members of Instinct. Snatching the laptop from his table, he dashed for The Scar’s office.