5:32 p.m. Passion Ministry

Brendan was going to miss the Ministry’s concert hall. He had helped refurbish it but his favorite accomplishment was the hidden trap door above the catwalk.

All he had to do pop out the trap door, crawl across a specially-made ladder that stretched to the fence, drop down and run half a mile to the waiting helicopter. It had cost ten thousand dollars to bribe the contractor to secrecy. Worth every nickel, he thought, mounting the back stage steps. He shone a flashlight on his watch. Thirty minutes left. Dead simple.

He dropped the flashlight into his knapsack. No one had seen him enter, he was certain. They wouldn’t even know he was gone until he was five hundred miles in the air. “Break a leg,” he whispered. Slung the bag over his shoulder.

He couldn’t resist. Flicked on the work lights. Took the stage one last time.