Chapter 487 - 320: Surface-to-Air, Air-to-Ground Missiles

Chapter 487: Chapter 320: Surface-to-Air, Air-to-Ground Missiles

Los Angeles, 4:45 AM.

The alarm went off.

Jason Miller pulled off his eye mask, quickly reaching out in the dark to shut off the alarm.

He sat up slowly on the edge of the bed and placed his feet on the cold floor, using the chill to wake himself up. He felt like an old machine waiting to be refueled.

"Jason?" His wife Megan’s voice came from beside him. "Ugh... what time is it?"

"It’s nothing, honey," Jason Miller said. "Go back to sleep. I have to leave for work."

"But it’s..." Megan groggily grabbed her phone. "It’s only 4:46."

"I have a packed schedule today," Jason said, turning to kiss his wife. "You get some more sleep."

"It’s always like this..." Megan mumbled. "I wonder when all this hard work will finally pay off."

Jason opened his mouth, but wisely chose not to respond.

’If I say anything back, I won’t be able to get out the door before 5:30.’

The next twenty minutes would be an argument that started with the alarm, transitioned to the mortgage, then to why he was still just a field producer after ten years at NBC, and finally to why he hadn’t picked up her mother from the airport the last time she visited Los Angeles.

Thankfully, after her sleepy complaint, Megan fell back into a deep sleep a few seconds later. Jason breathed a sigh of relief and stood up from the bed.

A field producer was, to put it nicely, a producer. To put it bluntly, he was a high-level gofer.

He was responsible for liaising with clients, arranging schedules, coordinating locations, and handling emergencies. But his name would never appear in the first three lines of the credits.

In Los Angeles, a field producer’s annual salary was only around 120,000 to 150,000 USD. California’s taxes were the second highest in the United States of America, just behind New York. After taxes, he took home just a little over 100,000 USD. That amount was only enough for them to afford a small, 1,300-square-foot house in an obscure corner of the San Fernando Valley.

The 30-year mortgage payment of 3,400 USD was deducted from his account every month, more punctually than his 4:45 AM alarm.

While Jason’s income wasn’t exactly dire, it was still a bit of a struggle to support a family on it.

Jason tiptoed out of the bedroom and into the living room and kitchen. He passed a row of photos of his wife, Megan, with some Hollywood actors, as well as posters for movies she had been in.

None of the movies were famous. They were made to fill out a studio’s content library or to be supplied to video rental stores. Even on the posters for these small-budget, B-list movies, a picture of Megan was a rare sight.

Jason went to the refrigerator, opened it, and took out the half-pot of coffee left over from yesterday.

As he closed the fridge, the wedding photo album hanging on it, taken ten years ago, trembled slightly.

Not wanting to wake his wife and child, Jason chugged the coffee straight down.

After quickly washing up, Jason Miller left the house in his Toyota Camry.

The San Fernando Valley was some distance from the Hotel Bel-Air, and he needed to arrive before 6:00 AM.

...

With a little over ten minutes to spare before 6:00 AM, Jason Miller parked his car, grabbed his iPad and walkie-talkie, and headed for the side entrance of the Hotel Bel-Air.

The first hint of orange dawn was just cresting the eastern ridge, making the white exterior of the Hotel Bel-Air appear exceptionally soft in the morning light.

Jason walked through the quiet corridors to the waiting area by the elevators and touched base with the team members who had already arrived.

Everyone was in position. Jason stepped aside, opened his iPad, and began to review the day’s itinerary one last time.

Between 8:30 and 9:00 AM, depart from the hotel.

9:15 AM, pass through Hollywood Boulevard.

9:45 AM, optional—helicopter trip over Griffith Park for a photo with the Hollywood sign (Booked with airline, EC130, max 8 passengers, requires confirmation from Mr. Li Wei himself).

10:30 AM, visit the Warner Bros. Burbank Studio. VIP passes have been issued, confirmed by Lisa from Warner’s Producer Relations. Possible to visit the set of HBO’s *The Last of Us*, currently filming in Stage 16.

12:30 PM, lunch at the main production team’s restaurant.

Afternoon, free time.

7:00 PM, private dinner hosted by Mr. Brian Grazer, senior producer at NBC. Location: a private residence in Bel Air. In-home private chef confirmed. (Note: Must confirm any dietary restrictions for Mr. Li Wei and his companions before 12:00 PM).

Jason checked it three times before he was finally satisfied and closed the iPad’s leather cover.

Handling Li Wei was turning out to be one of his easiest assignments yet.

In his ten years as a field producer in Hollywood, Jason had handled hundreds of celebrities, athletes, and tycoons.

The bizarre incidents he’d experienced were countless. Any single one of them would be enough to shake up the entertainment industry.

For instance, there was the reality TV star whose dog needed a late-night organic snack, forcing him to hunt for a store selling organic dog food at three in the morning.

Or the A-list star who, going through withdrawal, sent Jason out onto the street to score drugs for him.

In comparison, the only request Li Wei had made from start to finish was to stay in his own hotel.

He waited until 8:30 AM, when the elevator doors opened and Li Wei’s group began to emerge.

For once, Jin Heon wasn’t hugging a laptop, though she still clutched her phone tightly in her hand.

Li Wei and Anya walked behind Jin Heon.

Anya was wearing a white sundress with a thin, beige cardigan over it.

Li Wei was dressed in a simple, solid-colored T-shirt and long pants.

The trio—one man and two women—emerged one after another. Even Jason Miller, who had seen his fair share of handsome men and beautiful women in Hollywood, couldn’t help but think to himself—’any one of these three faces could walk into a Hollywood audition and blow 99% of the other actors and artists out of the water.’

"Mr. Miller," Li Wei said politely, nodding at him. "Good morning."

"Good morning, Mr. Li Wei, Miss Anya," Jason said with a smile as he went to greet them. "The weather is fantastic today. I’ve confirmed the entire schedule and sent it to your phone."

"Thank you," Anya said, linking her arm with Li Wei’s. "Is it possible to add one more person today?"

"Of course," Jason said, pausing for a moment. "Are you referring to the young lady who had dinner with you yesterday?"

"Yes," Anya nodded. "Her original plan for today was also to go to the Hollywood area, so we were wondering if she could join us."

Jason glanced at Li Wei, then nodded without a change in expression. "Not a problem at all. The VIP passes for Warner are issued for the whole team, so I’ll just need to let them know."

To be honest, Jason was relieved that Anya had made a request.

Anyone who’s handled VIPs knows that sometimes, no requests is the biggest request of all. When they actually ask for something that can be easily resolved, it’s a minor matter.

A few minutes later, Daria came out of the elevator, and the group filed out.

Two Cadillac Escalades and a Mercedes V260 slowly pulled out of the Hotel Bel-Air’s circular driveway, heading east along Sunset Boulevard.

The March morning sun in Los Angeles was already starting to get intense. The light filtering through the Cadillac Escalade’s dark tinted windows was softened into a gentle amber hue.

Jason sat in the front passenger seat, opened his iPad, and began to introduce the day’s route to Li Wei.

"Our first stop will be passing through Hollywood Boulevard," he said. "My personal recommendation is that you don’t need to get out of the car, or perhaps just take a quick look. After that, we have an optional helicopter ride over Griffith Park, where you can get a close-up photo with the Hollywood sign."

"A helicopter?" Anya looked up, alarmed.

"Yes," Jason nodded. "The view from the air is the best. Each of those letters is forty-five feet tall. Seeing them head-on is quite spectacular—"

"Mhm, okay," Anya said, shaking her head before he could finish. "Let’s skip the helicopter."

Jason was taken aback for a second but nodded immediately.

"What’s wrong?" Li Wei asked Anya. "Why not?"

"Major sports star, near Los Angeles, helicopter," Anya said, turning to Li Wei. "Who does that remind you of?"

"Ko— I mean, it can’t be that bad, can it?" Li Wei said with a laugh. "How many years has it been?"

"You have to be superstitious about this stuff, don’t you get it?" Anya said, exasperated. "Listen to me, we’re not taking a helicopter."

"Fine." Li Wei didn’t really mind either way. He shrugged and didn’t press the issue.

Daria was just tagging along, after all. Though she could be quick-witted, she wasn’t tactless, so she didn’t offer any opinion.

The convoy of Cadillac Escalades drove onto Hollywood Boulevard.

Their speed slowed to a crawl, the vehicles moving like giant beasts through the crowd of people.

The scene outside was one Jason had witnessed a thousand times. Both sides of the Walk of Fame were crowded with tourists holding selfie sticks and phones, squatting in small groups to take pictures in front of the star-shaped brass plaques.

A long line snaked in front of the TCL Celestial Dynasty Theatre, while a group of street performers in various superhero costumes tried to solicit business.

A man in a Spider-Man suit was trying to strike a cool pose, but the spare tire bulging from his waist seriously undermined the effect.

The other superhero cosplayers were much the same. Some of the more shameless ones would even photobomb tourists’ selfies and then demand a 20 USD fee for the picture.

Ragged-looking homeless people were passed out on the sidewalks, looking dead to the world. Others stood in corners like zombies as tourists gave them a wide berth.

"So this is Hollywood Boulevard," Li Wei remarked. "It looks... quite down-to-earth. It reminds me of the rustic local charm of the South Bronx in New York."

"This is just how Hollywood Boulevard is," Jason explained without turning his head. "It’s a place for tourists to check in. People who actually make movies don’t come here. They probably visit this street less than five times a year."

"It’s like how tourists think New York is just Times Square," Anya said. "But people who actually live in New York rarely go to Times Square. It’s impossible to find parking."

"Besides, with Mr. Li Wei being so famous now," Jason joked, "if you showed your face here, you probably wouldn’t be able to go anywhere else for the rest of the day."

The Cadillac Escalades drove past in a flash, leaving Hollywood Boulevard behind.

The convoy entered Highway 134, heading toward Burbank.

At an intersection, Li Wei saw a homeless man who seemed to be suffering from a mental illness. He was holding a sign that read "Hungry" and was being driven away by several police officers.

"I’m not leaving! I’m not leaving!" he roared. "You’re all spies, you’re here to get me!"

"Let me go!" he yelled, struggling as he was pinned to the ground. "I’m going to use surface-to-air and air-to-surface missiles to blow you all up!"

The convoy drove past without stopping, mercilessly leaving him behind as he continued to struggle against the police pinning him to the ground.