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.He wasn't sure if he should laud the director for his bravery or kill him for his timing.The wide avenue between soundstages was clogged with people.The crowd pushed against the car, rocking it wildly on its shocks.Some men scrambled up the hood.Leaden footsteps buckled the roof as they clambered across to the trunk.The sunlight was marred by shadows as the terrified Taurus employees slid down over the small rear window.People were trampled underfoot.One woman was shoved roughly from behind and knocked through the open door to the nearest soundstage.She didn't reemerge."I can't get through this!" the driver shouted.He winced as a boot cracked the windshield.Remo spun to the last five extras."Three bombs left?" he asked sharply.Nods from the terrorists.After a second's rapid calculation, Remo slammed the heel of his hand into the temples of three of the men.So fast were the blows delivered, it was the burst of displaced air before Remo's flying hand that did the actual deed.The two surviving extras watched in shock as their confederates slumped forward.Pressure from the stampeding throng held the door in place.Unable to open it without severely injuring passersby, Remo did the next best thing.Fingers curling around the handle, he wrenched.With a shriek of protesting metal, the door collapsed in around its frame.Remo tossed the buckled door to the wide floor.The noise from the crowd exploded around their ears.Reaching over the seat, Remo plucked the driver from behind the wheel."Get ready to run," he instructed the man as he pushed him out the door."Wait!" the driver screamed.Holding the man by the shoulders, Remo hesitated."What?" he pressed.The driver looked sheepish."It's just that I've got this script I've been working on.If you could let someone know what I did today-"The rest of what he said was lost.Remo fed the man into the crowd.The limo driver was carried along with the fleeing mob to the main gate.Plucking up the two remaining terrorists, Remo jumped from the car.He was a salmon swimming upstream as he sprang to the roof of the limo, an extra tucked under each arm.He slid from the hood and met the crowd head-on, butting people from his path by twisting the men he carried right and left.The extras were bruised and bloodied by the time Remo ducked away from the thinning crowd into an adjacent avenue.Soundstages flanked the road.A huge 5 was painted on one side of the nearest big building.Beneath the number sat the next Plotz truck.Remo moved so quickly the next battered extra didn't even know what was happening until he felt himself sinking into fertilizer.Outside, Remo was sealing the door."Where's the next one?" he asked the final terrorist.The man seemed dazed.Blood trickled from gashes in his chin and forehead."In the alley between the creative-office complex and the commissary building," he offered, wobbling uncertainly."And the last one?""Soundstage 9."Remo had already gathered the man up and was running down the wide avenue when the extra added, "I think."The crowds were virtually gone by then.Alone on the road, Remo was at a full sprint heading for the commissary.Whitewashed buildings flashed by."You don't know?" he demanded."I didn't park it.I'm not sure."Page 57ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlRemo finally asked the question he dared not ask earlier."How much time do we have?" he said, voice grave.Even as Remo carried him along, the man looked at his watch.He was surprised at how easy it was to read the face.There was no bounce whatsoever to Remo's confident stride."Two minutes, ten seconds," the extra said, a freshly worried edge to his quavering voice.Thanks to his time spent at Taurus the previous year, Remo at least knew the basic layout of the studio.But now he had just over two minutes to eliminate the last two truck bombs on the lot.And no knowledge of the Taurus lot would help him if the last two trucks and the tons of explosive force within them weren't where they were supposed to be.Face hard, Remo's feet barely brushed the ground as he flew headlong into the ticking maw of death.Chapter 14"How long do we have to keep circling?" Hank Bindle asked, peeved.The Taurus cochair frowned as he looked out the car window.They were driving down the same strip of Santa Monica Boulevard for what seemed like the millionth time [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]