byMartin Hammer should have been prepared for anything. As the world’s foremost producer of motion pictures, he should have taken any situation from earthquake to fatherhood without a qualm or a turned eyebrow. But Hammer had not seen everything—yet.
A noise presented itself at Hammer’s office door. Not the noise of knocking or tapping, nor even the racket made by attempts to breach the portal with a heavy blunt instrument. It was more like the sound of a dentist’s drill working on wood, or perhaps one of those light burring tools, or maybe even a light scroll saw.
Then, with all the assurance in the world, a man’s hand came through the door, the fingers clenched about an imaginary doorknob. The hand swung an imaginary door aside and as it moved, the wood of the real door fell to the flo
