Dr. Diminutive pressed his ear to the door and listened for carefully for several minutes. He didn’t hear anything. He bent down and pulled a screwdriver out of one of the pockets in his lab coat. He thrust it under the locking mechanism and jimmied it back and forth several times. It popped open and Dr. Diminutive stepped out. The loading dock was empty. Weird Al’s tour bus, along with the two other non-description looking crew buses. A small chink of light appeared in the dark space and Dr. Diminutive thrust his hand into the gap. He lifted up the door up over his head and climbed out from the storage compartment under the bus.
He hopped out on the ground. He cast a quick eye up toward the windows on either side, lest anyone be watching. They weren’t and he turned and gestured to the two large and burly men who had been wedged into the storage compartment with him. They straightened up and stretched. Dr. Diminutive only came up their waist.
“Get the shrinkinizor,” he said. Behind him, the two goons turned and bent over again. Dr. Diminutive turned and walked off without waiting for them. The goons, Dr. Diminutive hadn’t bothered to learn their names, pulled a compact object out from under the bus. It was a nondescript looking black box. The two goons grunted as they hefted it between them. It was very compact, but surprisingly dense for its size. They followed in Dr. Diminutive’s wake as he hurried past tour buses and across the loading dock. He reached the double doors that led into the arena and pushed them open. They swung open and he stepped into the carpeted hallway. Ignoring the concert signs, he strode down the hall until he found an unmarked door. He pushed it open and together the three of them found themselves in a stairwell. It had distinctly utilitarian look. It was lined with unpainted cinderblocks and well worn linoleum lined the floor. Metal pipes containing power cables snakes their way up the walls. Dr. Diminutive stopped for a moment or two to study the sign affixed to the wall, just inside the door. The broadcast booth was at the top. They climbed to the top of the stairwell, their footsteps echoing slightly off of the cinderblock walls, paused. Dr. Diminutive pressed his ear to the door again.
He listened carefully for several minutes and didn’t hear anything. He carefully pushed open the door and stuck his head into the carpeted hallway. It was empty. Pushing the door open all the way, he stepped into the hall. The two goons followed closely behind him, panting slightly, still lugging the shrinkinizor. He turned, seemingly at random and began to walked down the hall at a rapid pace again. The two goons were panting slightly as the followed him down the corridor, about ten feet behind.
Dr. Diminutive stopped at a nondescript door with a keypad. He glanced at it and snorted derisively. He fished in the pocket of his lab coat and pulled out a small took kit. He opened it and proceeded to pry the front panel off of the key pad. It fell loose, attached only by a tangle of wires, revealing a simple circuit board within. He snorted again as he as began to hot wire the key pad. These people think they’re so smart, he thought as he systematically stripped the key pad’s wires, but they have nothing on me.
After a minute or two, the key pad beeped and the door’s electronic lock clicked open. He pushed open the door. Music, laughter and applause thudded through it. On the other side, was a long metal catwalk. At the far end of the catwalk was the large four sided video screen, which usually served as the score for Marmot games. From up here, the brightly coloured stage lights were little more than a dim glow. Dr. Diminutive walked across the catwalk and pushed open another door. This one opened on to a square space filled with tangled bunches of cables for the video screens and building’s PA system. He walked into the middle of the space and turned to the two goons who were still crossing the catwalk.
“Come on,” he snapped impatiently at them, “I haven’t got all night.”
They reached the opposite end of the catwalk, audible out of breath and set down the shrinkinizor. The beefier of the two goons unslung a heavy backpack. He let us fall to the floor with a thud that was lost in the music drifting up from the arena floor. After a couple of minutes, a tripod, a video camera and several bundles of cables littered the metal grate that formed the floor of the ad hoc room they were in.
The two goons set about setting up the camera and the tripod. The smaller one bent over and picked up a spool of cable and began to unwind it. When he had unspooled around ten feet of coax cable, he bent over again and flipped open the lid of a tool box. He rummaged around inside and pulled out a screwdriver, needle nosed pliers, alligator clips and wire strippers. He walked over to the tangle of wires that covered the back of the video screen. After a minute or two of searching, he found the video screen’s signal input panel and set about removing the cover plate. He pulled it off, revealing a tangle of wires and circuit boards. He bent over again, picked up the dropped cable and deftly wired the cable into the video screen’s electronics. He turned to Dr. Diminutive. “Camera’s ready, Doc,” he said.
Dr. Diminutive pulled his head out from the guts of the shrinkinizor. It stood about four feet tall on three legs. A control panel glowed on the side facing the camera. An emitter crystal faintly refracted the ambience light from the concert. Dr. Diminutive smiled evilly. “Good,” he said. He fished in the pocket of his lab coat and produced what appeared to be a small flat box with several wires trailing from it. He handed it to the neared of the two goons, who took it and stuck it in his pocket. “This needs to be wired into the main control panel in the broadcast booth.” The man nodded in understanding. “I trust you can manage that?”
The man nodded again.
The tone of the evil genius’ voice made it clear that he though that this simple task was too onerous from the man from LOVEMUFFIN’s rent-a-goon service. He nodded toward the door. “Get going.”
If the man had any reaction to Dr. Diminutive’s insult, it was totally hidden. Instead, the goon for hire nodded and turned toward the door. He opened it and quickly crossed the catwalk back to the door through which they had come earlier. He slowly eased open the door and stuck his head through the crack. He looked up and down the hall. It was empty and after a second or two, he stepped into the carpeted corridor. He shut the door behind, turned down the hall and kept walking until found a sign that read Broadcast Booth. He pressed his ear to the door and listened carefully. He could voices talking inside.
“Let’s go to camera three.”
“Yeah, that looks good.”
“Light bar two is a little glitchy again.”
“OK, let’s put it on the maintenance list for the after the show.”
“Yeah, OK.”
The goon listened carefully, counting the number of voices. There didn’t seem to be that many people in the broadcast cast booth. He guessed many two or three. This shouldn’t be too difficult, he thought. He tried the door knob. It was locked. He suddenly noticed that it was locked a biometric thumb scanner. For a second he wondered if he could hack it, but immediately rejected the notion. Hacking the lock would take too long, and somebody might noticed him. Well, no matter, he thought with a shrug, I guess, I’ll just have to do this the hard way. He took several steps back and turned his right shoulder to the door. He dropped into the crouch of a football lineman and sprang at the door. He rammed his shoulder into the door with a bang. He felt it give a little. He paused momentarily. He thought he heard the voices inside the broadcast booth falter slightly. After a minute or two they resumed their previous tempo.
He took a step back again and launched himself at the door a second time, this much harder. He hit the door as hard as he could and it gave way. The door fell with a crash and the goon charged into the room. The two technicians started and turned in unison at the sudden intrusion.
“Hey-,” said the taller one in surprise.
“You’re not suppose-,” began the short one, cutting off his partner. Neither got a chance or finish their sentences. The big LOVEMUFFIN goon was on them before they could move. He landed a quick succession of blows and the two technicians fell unconscious to the floor. He bent over and one by one dragged them into a nearby supply closet. He piled the two unconscious technicians on top of each other in the cramped confines of the supply closet and jammed the door shut. He fished in his pocket for Dr. Diminutive’s signal amplifier and a tool kit. He set the thin black device on the edge of the control panel and got down on his hands and knees. He quickly found an access panel under the control console and set about removing the screws with a small screwdriver. He put the screws and the access panel in his pocket and reached up on the control console with his right hand. It closed over the signal amplifier and he retrieved it from where it lay. The goon thrust his hand into his pocket again and pulled out a pair of wire strippers and a pair of needle nosed pliers. He pulled some of the wires lose and quickly stripped off their outer covers. He held up the signal amplifier, separated its three trailing wires. One by one, he twisted them tightly around the three exposed wires inside the control panel. A red light glowed on the signal amplifier and its LCD display came to life. The goon examined it carefully. Five bars, he thought, good. It had tapped into the arena’s wifi hub and was receiving a strong signal. He tucked the device into the space inside the control panel and replaced the access panel.
He got to his feet and surveyed the control board’s array of buttons, levers and knobs. He ignored the view of out of the expansive windows down on to the arena floor, where Weird Al was bouncing across the stage in a fat suit to Fat. He made some adjustments to the control board. Satisfied, he turned and left, pausing to replace the damaged door in its frame. He quickly retraced his steps back to the door that led the catwalk and the video screen. He was reasonably certain that he hadn’t been seen, but he wasn’t about to take any chances. He opened the utility door, shut it behind him and crossed the catwalk.
“We’re all set to go, Doc,” he said.
Dr. Diminutive turned at these words. “Good,” he said. He pushed a button the remount Control in his hand. He smiled another evil smile. The Shrinkinizor emitted a high pitched whine. “Let’s begin.”