After a moment, he checks the counter on the camcorder to make sure the tape is still running and recording. Lyle twists around in his seat, which is very difficult to do because his legs are pinned under the steering wheel. His nose wrinkles at the smell of stale potato chips and old shoes. This is what they get for having to use Bill's old Plymouth instead of an official unmarked company car. Two or three left.
Bill squints at the display.
We may lose some resolution, but we can't risk running out of videotape. Lyle takes a deep breath. Lyle shakes his head as imperceptibly as he can, so as not to get Bill upset, and scans the crowd of protesters himself. Just a routine job, the sort of thing that's normally done by junior agents. But they were the first to go in the budget cuts, and so . . .