"Clear the east corridor right now," a voice barked over the tactical radio fixed to my collar.
I did not move an inch from my post beside the private suite's mahogany door. Below the balcony, the opera’s brass section reached a thunderous peak, but the sudden, rhythmic thump of heavy boots Echoing down the velvet-lined hallway cut straight through the music.
"Lockhead, do you copy?" the radio crackled again, sharp and impatient. "Vienna police and federal agents are sweeping tier three. They have a warrant for an unregistered intruder."
"Copy," I muttered into the hidden mic, my eyes tracking six heavily armed officers rounding the corner in tight tactical formation.
They were not conducting a routine check. They moved with purpose, guns raised, helmets reflecting the soft gold light
