angry about the cameras. But Samuel?
I thought of Faye Taft and gave a shudder.
Still, it might be a chance worth taking. I might be able to elude him. Any theater was full of hiding places.
They were probably in such a hiding place themselves. They had left the stage, but I hadn’t heard them moving through the house or up to the projection booth. I had seen no lights on in the area below the catwalk. They were probably somewhere behind or beneath the stage, then.
If I ran along the catwalk — dangerous even in full light — from one end of the building to the other, I might make it. I couldn’t just turn off the cameras. I’d have to make sure they couldn’t be repaired quickly, or it wouldn’t be worth the risk.
I studied the camera nearest me. I pushed at the thick rubber lining that surrounded the lens end of the camera. It gave way easily, and bright daylight came in through the small opening in the wall. I let my eyes adjust to it and looked out around the little space left by the camera. I couldn’t see anything outside the building, but I could hear the helicopter more clearly. The opening was larger than the camera itself, made to allow the camera to move for various angles.
To my relief, the camera was fastened to an arm by a simple camera screw, similar to one on a tripod. The arm itself had separate controls. If I unscrewed the mount and yanked the power supply loose, I could shove the camera through the opening in the wall.
I thought out the pattern I would need to follow. There were four ways to exit a catwalk. Up through the roof, but the roof access was probably booby-trapped. Down a set of stairs onto the stage or down the ladder into the projection booth — the two safest options. The final exit would be just that — a fall from one of the walks.
For several reasons I decided to disable the cameras nearest the projection booth first. That would prevent Bret and Samuel from monitoring any police activity at the front of the building, where Cassidy and his friends would have more room to move than the blind alley at the back.
The covering over the projection booth ceiling was a solid floor, not the narrow catwalk ramps that I’d have to take to reach the cameras at the stage end. It would be easier to take out the booth-end cameras first. I also knew the only other exit from the projection booth was a single stairway, while the stage would offer more chances for evasion if need be. Hocus might come up the stage entrance to the catwalk to see what was happening to the cameras, but that was a chance I’d have to take.
I walked to the stage entrance, opened the unlocked door, and listened. Silence and darkness. The flashlight revealed little beyond the stairway itself. Near the door, a set of large cardboard boxes stood on a platform. A closer look showed this platform to be the top of the mechanical lift I had seen on the stage below. There were no controls on the platform, or I might have had another way down. Reading the box labels, I saw they were speakers. A new sound system for the old theater, in the process of being installed. I used one of the smaller boxes to prop open the stairway door.
Mapping my escape along the way, I went to each camera, pushed off the rubber guards, loosened the mounting screws. Back near the projection booth I took several deep breaths, thought of orange blossoms, and yanked the first camera’s power cord, then shoved it out onto the street.
I skipped the pleasure of watching it crash and ran to the other corner at the front of the building and did the same to that camera. Now the long run down the catwalk to the camera at stage left. I tried to move as quickly and quietly as possible. I dropped the third camera and was moving to the fourth when the booth access door flew open, a shaft of light coming through it. I turned off my flashlight, prayed faster than I ran.
I forced myself to continue toward the camera, even as I saw a man crawling through the space. He was already pulling a gun from his waistband, though, so I detoured toward the stage stairway. He yelled, “Stop!” But he wasn’t looking directly at me, and I realized that his eyes had not adjusted to the dark. He had no flashlight, only the gun in his hand. I reached the stairway door, moved the box, then turned and toppled the other speaker boxes. I heard a shot as I closed the door behind me.
I grabbed the stair rail, turned on the flashlight for a brief second, then moved like hell down the stairwell. I reached a landing, turned the light on again just long enough to read a sign on a door that said FLY GALLERY.
I knew the fly gallery would be another narrow walkway, an area alongside the rigging for the mechanisms that operated curtains and backdrops. Counterweighted ropes would raise and lower curtains, borders, and backdrops from this area over the stage called “the flies.” There would be no exit from the other end, and I would be about sixty feet above the stage. Without entering the fly gallery, I opened and closed its door with a loud bang, then continued down the metal stairs.
I could hear my pursuer struggling with the boxes as I reached the part of the stairwell that opened onto the stage itself. One box fell to the seats with a loud crash.
I reached the stage and turned right. I used the flashlight again, this time to find the rigging. I went to the area where the flyman — the person who raises and lowers the scenery and curtains — would work during a production. There were dozens of line sets. I turned off the flashlight, tucked it into my jeans, and began moving along the line sets, releasing all of them, lowering curtains and backdrops like crazy.
This made noise in the fly gallery, and I could hear my pursuer opening the door I had passed. I reached the end of the line sets and bumped into a console: the on-stage controls lights. I hesitated, then worked my way around it. I risked the flashlight once more as I heard the fly gallery door slam shut again. I chose a relatively unobstructed path between a curtain and backdrop, then turned off the flashlight. I began tiptoeing along the path, trying to get to the other side of the stage without revealing my presence. I heard my pursuer reach the stage.
“Who are you?” I heard him call.
It was Samuel. I didn’t answer.
“You can’t get out of here, you know.” He tripped over something as he said this and swore as he fell. I listened but could not hear his footsteps. I moved a little farther, stumbled over one of Bret’s magician’s props. I grabbed the curtain to keep from falling. It made a soft noise as it swayed, but it didn’t rip or drop.
I waited, regained my balance, and moved on. I could hear Samuel again now. He was moving closer to the light console. I hurried forward, stumbled again.
The house lights came on. I was not far from the other side of the stage. I lurched to my feet, ran into the wings.
Suddenly there was a familiar whistling sound — the sound of the alarm I had heard in the delivery bay. I kept running, moving backstage.
