My teacher is Bruce Lee, who dominated Hollywood.

Chapter 125 The Hunting Grounds Unfold

Chapter 125 The Hunting Grounds Unfold

The Lincoln sedan slowly pulled up in front of the Sheraton Hotel. When Fred Weintraub got out of the car, fine beads of sweat were still on his forehead.

He handed Qin Han a brown paper bag filled with designer brands: "Qin, here are the things you wanted, the security pass. I've printed them all out for you."

"Bill put in a lot of effort to get this approved under the guise of providing off-site technical support for a counter-terrorism exercise. We absolutely mustn't let anything go wrong, or we'll be invited to the Pentagon for coffee."

Qin Han took the bag and breathed a slight sigh of relief.

With this official veneer, Bruno and his fellow veterans could freely enter and exit the venue as security inspectors.

"Don't worry, Fred," he patted the portly producer on the shoulder, "it's just a rehearsal for potential risks."

"If nothing goes wrong tonight, this will be a perfect security test; if a rat does manage to sneak in, it will also prevent any real accidents from happening."

Bruce Lee stood to the side, already wearing a pair of large sunglasses, concealing the piercing sharpness in his eyes.

"Let's go see the biggest show in Hollywood." He straightened his tie and got into the car.

The wheels rolled on, and the scenery outside the window began to fly past.

Qin Han said to Fred, "Fred, once we get to the venue, you have a very important task."

"Take Bruce to meet those old academic types and those arrogant studio executives."

"People from MGM, Paramount, and even United Artists—anyone with a reputation—we had to introduce Bruce to them."

"Enter the Dragon is about to be released, and Bruce needs more exposure. I want everyone to see that the Chinese man who kicked down the 'Sick Man of East Asia' sign is a true superstar."

Bruce Lee turned his head, his eyes behind his sunglasses giving Qin Han a deep look. He didn't say anything, but silently clenched his fists.

He understood Qin Han's intentions: it was not only to promote the film, but also to make himself more conspicuous and attract the attention of the Japanese.

Fred thought for a moment, and his businessman's instincts made him quickly accept the offer: "Okay, leave it to me."

I'll make Bruce the busiest person on the red carpet tonight.

Soon, the group arrived at the Dorothy Chandler Theater.

This magnificent building in the heart of Los Angeles was illuminated as if it were daytime tonight by countless spotlights.

The red carpet stretched from the roadside all the way to the theater lobby, with crowds of enthusiastic movie fans and reporters armed with cameras and microphones lining both sides.

Screams, camera shutters, and reporters' shouts merged into a massive wave of sound that nearly blew the Los Angeles night sky apart.

As the black Lincoln sedan pulled up at the end of the red carpet and the waiter opened the car door, the flashbulbs went off like a raging thunderstorm.

Bruce Lee got out of the car first. He didn't rush to walk, but stood by the car, elegantly buttoned up his suit jacket, and then gave the camera that signature smile.

"Bruce! Bruce Lee!"

"Look this way, Mr. Li!"

A commotion broke out in the crowd as many kung fu fans waved posters of "The Big Boss" wildly.

Fred followed closely behind, a professional smile typical of Hollywood producers on his face, and put his hand on his shoulder, leading him toward the red carpet.

Qin Han was the last to get off the train.

Seeing Fred pulling Bruce Lee along and chatting enthusiastically with a bald old man—a senior executive at Paramount—he was certain Fred was in the zone.

Taking advantage of everyone's attention being drawn to the two of them, he slipped to the side of the red carpet and quickly walked towards the staff passage on the side of the theater.

There, an inconspicuous gray van was quietly parked in the corner, with the words "Los Angeles Power Maintenance" printed on its side.

As I opened the car door, a blast of cold air hit me.

The interior of the carriage has been converted into a command center.

Bruno Kirby, a former sergeant major from the 1st Marine Division, was wearing headphones and staring at the instrument screen in front of him, which was displaying various waveforms.

Three other veterans were sitting in the carriage, each fully armed except that they wore reflective vests with the words "Security Assistance" printed on them over their tactical vests.

Seeing Qin Han enter, Bruno took off his headphones, smiling as he pointed to the various devices in the car: "Boss, these are all toys Bill gave me."

He pointed to the black metal box in front of him that was still beeping: "A military-grade full-band radio interceptor, equipped with a triangulation module. This thing would be a rare find even on the front lines in Vietnam."

Qin Han tossed the file folder to Bruno: "The identification documents are all in here. From now on, you're legal security guards. What about the rest of you?"

"They've already been deployed." Bruno reported to his superior while distributing badges: "Thirty people, in pairs, disguised as parking lot security guards, cleaners, and hot dog vendors on the outskirts."

"Any person with yellow skin and a suspicious expression who gets close will be immediately targeted."

Qin Han took the wireless headset handed to him by an old soldier, skillfully inserted it into his left ear, and adjusted the frequency: "Test, clear?"

"Very clear," Bruno replied.

"Listen, Bruno," Qin Han said, staring at the flickering green waves on the screen. "We can't afford to be passively defensive. Monitor all communication bands, and if anything unusual happens, take the initiative immediately."

"The enemy is in the dark while we are in the light; we cannot follow their lead. Also, send people into the area as soon as possible to search for bombs."

Bruno nodded: "Don't worry, boss, we'll immediately conduct a thorough inspection of the theater's drainage system and ventilation ducts."

"If they really wanted to kill people, they would have planted the bombs on the supporting structures in these locations. Otherwise, a few bombs wouldn't kill many people."

Qin Han straightened his collar, concealing the headset wire beneath his shirt collar, and took a deep breath.

"Operation begins. Remember, our goal is to nip the danger in the bud before it explodes."

A motel just one block from the Dorothy Chandler Theatre.

This is the shadow behind the glitz and glamour of Los Angeles, where only the "SUN" of the neon sign "SUNSET" remains, flickering weakly.

A sign that read "Closed" was hanging at the front desk.

Room 104, the innermost room on the first floor, had its curtains drawn tightly shut, not letting in a single ray of light.

The room was filled with a nauseating mixture of smells: air freshener, cigarette smoke, and a faint, almost imperceptible rusty smell—the smell of blood.

The hotel's former owner was curled up in the bathtub, covered by a shower curtain, with a large wound on his neck, and had long since died.

In the center of the room, a map of Los Angeles was laid out on the carpet.

Oni-ya Jiro sat cross-legged in front of the map, holding a short wakizashi in his hand, slowly wiping the blade with a piece of clean white silk.

His hair was shaved very short, and his eyes revealed a fanaticism that had long since disregarded life and death.

Ever since Officer Sato sent that three-word emergency evacuation code, they've been like kites with broken strings.

No funds, no intelligence, no escape route.

In the steel jungle of a foreign land, this squad called "Ghost" became true wandering ghosts.

"Team leader," a lean man said in a low voice, peeking out from behind the curtains, "more police cars are passing by outside. That report really mobilized the entire city's police force."

Gui Jia didn't look up, but simply stared at the gleaming blade in his hand and said calmly, "The Americans are afraid of us."

"They thought we would hide like rats, waiting to starve to death, or be caught and brought to trial to be humiliated."

O

"But they were wrong. Cherry blossoms are most beautiful when they fall at their most brilliant moment. This is the fate of a samurai."

7