Page 92 of K-Pop Double Life

Friday June 5, 2026

Allianz Parque had been hosting events since 2014, and in that time it had developed security protocols that would make most venues look like they were operating on the honor system. The police had a dedicated team for events, the venue’s own security was ex-military or law enforcement, and the building itself was a fortress of controlled access points and surveillance.

I still didn’t trust any of it.

“Run it again,” I said to the venue’s head of security, a former police captain named Rodrigues who’d seen everything from championship boxing matches to papal visits.

He pulled up the venue schematic on the massive display screen in the security operations center. “Crowd has been assembling since before dawn, and all public entrances are locked down. Bag checks, metal detectors, wanding—standard protocol. VIP and press enter through the main entrance, separate screening. Performers and crew through the loading dock, credentials verified against our master list.”

“Who controls the master list?”

“My office. Updated daily, cross-referenced with your tour manager’s submissions.”

“I want to see every name on that list. Personal verification for anyone added in the last seventy-two hours.”

Rodrigues’s eyebrow went up slightly, but he nodded. “You expecting someone specific to try breaching security?”

“I’m expecting professionals who’ve been planning this for months. Which means they’re not going to walk through the front door with a sign that says ‘threat.’ They’re going to have credentials, backgrounds, and a plausible reason to be here.”

I’d said a version of that sentence in a dozen security briefings across fifteen years, and it had been true every time. In Tunis, the man who’d killed a Swiss commodities trader in the Hotel Africa had spent forty minutes in the business center afterward. He was dressed in the man’s polo shirt, using his laptop, looking exactly like someone who’d woken up early to check his email.

The real guest had been killed in his sleep and never knew his key card had been cloned. Nobody gave the killer a second look. By the time the body was found, he was on a ferry to Palermo.

The man’s company had hired us to track the killer to Palermo and retrieve that laptop. That investigation had taught me that the threat you caught was rarely the threat you were actually worried about. It was the one standing at the business center that mattered.

Rodrigues pulled up another screen. “We’ve got two hundred and thirty crew on the list for tonight. Lighting, sound, rigging, catering, venue staff, medical⁠—”

“Medical?”

“EMTs, standard for any event over ten thousand capacity. Two-person team, stationed backstage.”

“Who hired them?”

“Venue contract with a local service. Same team we use for all events.” He pulled up their profiles. “Both paramedics, backgrounds clean, been working Allianz Parque for three years.”

I photographed their credentials with my phone, sent them to Richard with a priority flag. “Verify these. Full background, not just what the venue has.”

My phone buzzed within seconds. Richard’s response: On it. ETA 30 minutes.

Aidan appeared at my elbow, coffee in each hand. He passed me one, then studied the screens. “How’s it looking?”

“Tight. Rodrigues knows his business.” I inhaled before taking my first sip. Dark chocolate. Toasted nuts. A hint of caramel. The espresso was rich without being bitter, smooth enough that I drank it without adding sugar.

“Now that’s coffee,” I murmured. I looked up at Aidan. “We’ve located every operative we know about. Sophie Tran is in Marseille. The makeup assistant is still in France. The pyrotechnician is cooperating with French police. Which means if Sara moves tonight, she’ll do it through someone we haven’t identified.”

The operations center hummed with activity as Rodrigues’s team started executing. I stepped away, pulled out my phone, called Jason.

“Update,” I said when he answered.

“All members are downstairs with our two regular security watching entrances and exits. Nothing unusual.”

I glanced at the security monitors showing different angles of the stadium. “What’s the backstage setup?”

“Individual dressing rooms with a single point of access. Venue security stationed there.”

Jason paused. “Liam? Do you actually think Sara Yoon will attempt something tonight? Here, with this level of security?”

“I think she’s desperate and cornered. She’s got millions in stolen money she’s trying to protect and a limited window before Interpol freezes her accounts. Desperate people don’t make rational calculations about success probability—they just act.”