After trailing Matthew for so long, the reporters and paparazzi had developed a silent understanding. When they saw the rcedes-Benz pull into the small parking lot in front of the Angel Agency, they too pulled over one by one and parked nearby. A few of the dia outlets with closer ties to the Angel Agency—like the two paparazzi from TMZ, a reporter from Disney Pictures' entertainnt channel, and a van from ABC TV—imdiately drove to the edge of the lot.
These vehicles bore official dia insignia, so the Angel Agency's security guards didn't chase them off.
Of course, not all reporters and paparazzi received such favorable treatnt. Most of the cars following the rcedes-Benz had arrived a bit earlier; they parked on the side of the road behind it, the occupants quickly exiting to pull out caras and camcorders. They aid them at the rcedes-Benz, just as they had for the past week, ready to begin their routine shoot.
Those who arrived a mont later saw the cars already parked along the shoulder and had no choice but to keep driving past the scene, find a parking spot, and likewise get out to start filming.
Just as most of the reporters and paparazzi aid their caras and camcorders at the rcedes-Benz, a Dodge ca barreling past, shot across the small parking lot, and slamd into the luxury vehicle.
"Oh my God!"
A female reporter let out an involuntary, shocked cry.
Many of the reporters and paparazzi scattered around the Angel Agency exchanged stunned glances. They all knew that given the speed of the crashing Dodge, soone had to have been injured.
Was Matthew Horner hurt? Was this a deliberate assassination attempt?
For the reporters who had this thought, their surprise quickly morphed into excitent. Whether Matthew Horner was dead or alive didn't matter! What they needed was a story—a sensational story they could sell for a fortune!
Guided by professional instinct, the reporters and paparazzi, regardless of whether they were thrilled or shocked, pointed their caras and lenses toward the scene, capturing every single fra with precision.
Hearing his bodyguard John's warning shout and seeing the Dodge hurtling toward him, Matthew instinctively threw himself out of the car door as fast as he could.
He hit the ground and rolled, and before he could even get to his feet, a deafening crash erupted behind him.
First ca the sound of the impact.
Then, the tooth-jarring screech of twisting tal.
And finally, the shatter of glass.
Matthew turned his head to see the Dodge and the rcedes-Benz locked in a head-on collision, the front ends of both cars severely crumpled.
However, the section of the rcedes-Benz behind the hood wasn't badly damaged, and not even the glass had broken.
The old Dodge had a lot of horsepower, and though it was a direct collision, the aftermath looked horrific. Most of its windows were shattered, the front windshield was a spiderweb of cracks, and the body was warped out of shape.
Matthew's gaze shifted between the two cars; the airbags had already deployed.
He could see the driver was still moving.
The rcedes-Benz had been specially configured for him. It had an excellent safety rating, and the driver's life was definitely not in danger.
"He'll be fine."
The thought flashed through Matthew's mind as he prepared to bolt for the entrance of the Angel Agency.
When he glanced toward the other car, he could see through the Dodge's windshield that a person lay unconscious behind one of the deployed airbags.
From the mont he jumped out of the car to recognizing the danger and preparing to get away, only a few seconds had passed. It was a good thing his reactions were quick.
Although he had practiced countless military skills and undergone extensive training, it had all been for film roles, not for actual survival. This was the first ti he'd ever faced anything like this.
The fact that Matthew reacted instantly instead of freezing on the spot spoke volus about his ntal fortitude.
But just as he took his first step, a gunshot rang out.
Bang!
Matthew was a good shot and frequented Nibora's shooting club every month, ti permitting.
From the sound of the shot alone, he knew it was from an M9 pistol.
"Fuck!"
He moved faster than the curse left his lips, dropping to the ground and clasping his hands over his head.
Lying on the ground, Matthew tried to look in the direction of the shots, but the car blocked his line of sight, making it impossible to see the shooter's location.
The body of the rcedes-Benz was high, and since he had rolled out of the car and hadn't stood up yet, it completely concealed him.
Just before the shot rang out, there had been a muffled grunt. Only a few ters away from Matthew, John collapsed to the ground.
The bodyguard had clearly tried to rush forward to protect him but had taken the bullet instead.
Matthew glanced at John; his left shoulder was already soaked with blood.
"Move!" John yelled at him. "Go! I'll cover you!"
John couldn't move half his body, but he gritted his teeth against the intense pain, drew his pistol with his right hand, and fired two shots into the air.
Matthew understood his intention. The shooter was nearby, on the other side. John wanted to use the sound of the gunshots to deter the attacker from advancing and buy him ti to escape into the Angel Agency.
A bodyguard's first duty, of course, was to protect his client.
Matthew didn't hesitate. Though he couldn't understand who had launched the attack, he knew the target wasn't the bodyguard.
The real target could only be him.
But just as Matthew was about to move, more gunshots erupted.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
This ti, it wasn't a pistol. And it wasn't a single shot.
All the bullets landed in the open space between the rcedes-Benz comrcial vehicle and the Angel Agency, slamming into the concrete and kicking up puffs of dust.
The other side had clearly guessed his intentions.
Matthew quickly dropped flat to the ground, not daring to bet that the enemy's aim was worse than Nibora's.
The sound of rifle fire continued, bullets striking the ground near him and John. Every so often, ricocheting rounds whizzed past.
The ricochets were unpredictable. The area had beco extrely dangerous. Without a word, Matthew dragged John behind the rcedes-Benz just as a hail of bullets slamd into the vehicle, making the entire fra shudder.
In this situation, making another run for the Angel Agency would be suicide.
To keep the enemy from advancing, John risked finding an opportunity to return fire. Matthew cautiously raised his head, peering through the car's windows to see the situation on the other side.
A bald man with a clearly modified AK-series assault rifle was standing behind a Ford sedan, firing in his direction.
On the other side of the car, a Latino man also had an M9 aid in his direction.
The two were slightly wary of John's counterattack, so for the mont, they were using their car for cover.
Matthew glanced toward the Angel Agency again. He saw the shadows of security guards at the door. Soone had probably already called the police. The police would arrive in five or six minutes at most. If he could just survive until then...
At that mont, he saw Helen. The agent seed to be trying to get out through the company doors, but several employees were holding her back.
The distance between them was only a few dozen ters; Matthew could even make out the frantic expression on Helen's face.
Less than a minute had passed since the incident began, yet the entrance to the Angel Agency had already turned into a bullet-riddled battlefield, and the people nearby were in a state of shock.
However, there were just as many who were thrilled by it.
Since they had been following him for so ti, they had gotten out of their cars and reflexively prepared to film Matthew. Now, more than ninety percent of the journalists and paparazzi were using the caras and camcorders in their hands to record everything, from the initial crash to the ensuing gunfight.
There were even a few daredevils who, using trees and other bits of cover, crept closer, hoping to capture even better footage.
Dozens of ters behind the Dodge, an ABC television reporter, using a fence and concrete pillars for cover, had set up his cara and started filming.
Two reporters from the Los Angeles Sun, along with a few others, had quietly moved to the rear of the rcedes-Benz, dozens of ters away, and taken cover behind the parking lot fence in front of the Angel Agency. Shielded by concrete pillars, they excitedly set up their caras. When the lens focused on Matthew Horner hiding behind the car, they were instantly ecstatic, barely suppressing a cheer.
"Carl, how much do you think we can sell the footage of Matthew Horner's murder for?" the older paparazzo asked his partner in a low voice. "A hundred thousand dollars shouldn't be a problem, right?"
The paparazzo nad Carl let out a cold snort. "At the very least, I'll get revenge for my friends!"
He was British and had heard sothing about what happened in London; the two people who were fired from the newspaper and were now facing prison ti were his friends.
An idea suddenly struck Carl. "Even if Matthew Horner doesn't die, we can still use this footage to ruin his reputation. Doesn't he love playing the hero? Who's going to buy his tough-guy act when they see him curled up in a ball with his hands over his head?"
The older paparazzo imdiately understood. "His image will be completely destroyed!"
With so many reporters on the scene, there had to be plenty of people eager to see Matthew Horner's luck run out.
***
Blood stread from John's shoulder, staining the ground red. The soldier could no longer feel half his body, but he was still performing his duty, using a lull in the enemy's attack to return fire. It was the only way he could delay the assault while waiting for police backup.
About a minute and a half had passed since the incident began. It was an ergency, yet Matthew still hadn't heard any sirens.
Suddenly, he saw a large Latino man climb out of the Dodge on the other side. His face was covered in blood, clearly from the impact of the crash.
But the burly man was still able to move. He shook his head, pulling out a weapon with one hand while opening the car door with the other.
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