Guardian Angel by Warren Murphy

Author:Warren Murphy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 2007-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

The first shot brought an echoing hail of bullets from all around the square. After first seeing Worthington and Conchita were safe, Remo quickly appraised the situation.

The cheering was not so loud that the crowd did not hear the gunshots. Shouts of jubilation became screams of terror. The mob stampeded. Some were being crushed against walls and trampled underfoot by the surging mass of humanity.

On the stage, Santa Anna was watching the sky, but he was not watching the snipers. The general was looking toward the west, away from the gunfire.

Remo could have torn through the crowd like a thresher through an autumn wheat field, but to do so ran the risk of injuring too many innocents. There was only one way to go.

Behind him, the Master of Sinanju had reached the same conclusion. “Take that side!” Chiun commanded.

In a flurry of kimono skirts, the old man leapt into the air. The toe of one wooden sandal brushed the shoulder of a running man. Pushing lightly off, Chiun jumped to the head of another, the shoulder of a third.

In this crazy, zigzagging manner, the Master of Sinanju raced across the heads of the stampeding mob to the right side of the street.

Remo took his teacher’s cue. With a single leap, he took off in the opposite direction.

It was like running across the backs of a herd of stampeding cattle. The snipers continued to fire as he ran. Bullets zinged past his head. Some were hitting innocents in the crowd. He heard the soft thwaps of bullets striking flesh, as well as the cries of shock.

He reached the near building. A final toe on the rounded shoulder of a retreating protester, and he launched himself in the air. One hand caught the awning that hung over the door of a coffee shop. He swung up high, landing softly on the second-story ledge.

Bullets pelted the brick around him. He was out of sight for the shooters on his own side of the street. The snipers across the square were trying to get a bead on him.

The gunmen above were firing at the wall across the street where even now he knew the Master of Sinanju must be scurrying, squirrel-like, up the building’s facade.

Relieved that they had successfully drawn the fire away from the crowd, Remo began scaling the wall.

The days where he had to concentrate to climb a sheer face were long behind him. Still, it was not easy to keep focus in broad daylight with a rampaging mob beneath him and bullets kicking up brick and mortar dust as he ascended.

He was grateful to reach the top of the five-story building. He grabbed the ledge, flipped up and over, and found himself face to face with a very shocked Miguel Pagaza.

“You know what I’m sick of?” Remo asked.

Miguel jumped. He had been firing at the little Asian who could somehow scale the side of a building as easily as most people climb stairs. He swung his rifle at Remo.

“I’m sick of

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