Line of Fire [antikvár]

CHAPTER ONEli/It was one of the mark-V jobs used throughout the British Army's sphere of influence up until 1953: wooden stock, forward pistol grip, 570 rounds per minute, and a standard 32-round magazine. Joss Harper weighed the gun in one hand, magazine in the other. Then, with swift precision, he slammed the two together, cocked the action and swung the barrel to the line of aim.For a shocked second the face of the big man in the doorway pulled with fear before the gun chattered to hfe with a furious burst of fire.The man, Victor, crumpled soundlessly in the doorway. He hit the floor, pitched over on his side, his knees coming up in the first of a series of convulsive death throes that lashed an adjacent chair half across the room and set Carlo giggling despite himself where he stood over by the window.'Give him more!' Producer Janos Dumbrowsky yelled, his pudgy arms alive with the swelling movements of a conductor. 'Give him the whole mag-full. We want people should hear. Right? What it's all about, huh? The people they gotta hear. The whole mag-full. Right?'Joss nodded and again levelled the gun at where Victor was staring up from the floor.'No, no. Leave it now.' Dumbrowski hurried across to take the gun. Mid-way he trod his rope-sole across Victor's hand. Victor bellowed indignantly, sat upright on the floor and nursed his fingers.'Sorry, sweetheart,' Dumbrowski said, handing the gun across to the assistant director. 'Top it up again, Ozzie. Box9P'fi'- I :: I ,