Bodyguard--Recruit (Book 1)

by Chris Bradford

  Seeing Connor’s trepidation, Alicia came over. “Don’t worry, I’ll partner with you.”

  “It’s you who should be worried. I don’t have much experience at this,” he admitted, not wanting to embarrass Alicia—or himself.

  “It’s all right; I’ll lead,” she assured him.

  “Well, on your feet, then!” he said, throwing caution to the wind.

  They stood opposite each other in line with the other students. Alicia instructed him to take her right hand in his left and place his right hand on her upper back while she put hers on his shoulder.

  “Now look at me,” she said. “It’s important that we stay in eye contact during the dance . . . and you need to come much closer.”

  Connor stared at her, feeling slightly awkward at being so close to his Principal.

  “Don’t look so nervous,” she said, smiling. “It’s just a dance.”

  To you it might be, thought Connor, wondering what Colonel Black would make of all this.

  Miss Ashworth restarted the music, and the Latin American track once more filled the hall. Alicia instinctively found the beat and began moving to the rhythm. Connor attempted to follow Alicia’s fluid steps, but quickly ended up looking like a malfunctioning puppet.

  Alicia laughed good-naturedly. “No, like this,” she said above the music, gently guiding him through the sequence. “You have to start on the third beat of the musical bar,” she explained, clicking her fingers to the track. “One . . . two . . . Now break forward with your left foot. Good! Rock back on your right. Step back left. Now shift your weight to that foot. Step back right. Rock forward onto your left. Step forward right. Then shift your weight onto your right foot—and repeat. It’s that simple.”

  “Simple!” exclaimed Connor, his mind whirling with the multiple directions as he stared down at his clumsy feet.

  “No, look at me,” encouraged Alicia. “Just let your body feel the music.”

  Connor continued to shuffle around, willing his mind and feet to function as one. But he couldn’t quite get the two to meet. He stepped on Alicia’s toes, and she cried out.

  “Sorry,” he said, moving away. “I think I must have two left feet.”

  “No, you haven’t,” chided Alicia kindly. “You just need a bit more practice, that’s all. Get the steps right, and then everything else will follow.”

  If only it were that easy, thought Connor, mentally repeating the moves over and over in his head.

  As the other students whirled effortlessly around the gymnasium, Miss Ashworth noticed him struggling to master the steps and came over.

  “Stay light on your feet,” she instructed.

  Connor was struck by her words. Dan, his kickboxing instructor, had often drilled the same phrase into him during training in the ring. Connor decided to switch his mind-set. And as soon as he began to think of the salsa moves as a martial arts kata, he quickly latched on to the combination and found the rhythm.

  “That’s more like it,” said Alicia, stepping along with him to the music’s groove.

  At last they began to really dance, and Alicia’s face lit up with delight. “See, I told you. You’re actually not that bad.”

  Connor smiled at her praise and was beginning to get into the swing of things when his eye caught movement on the stage. The theater drapes were twitching. As he spun around with Alicia, he tried to focus on the gap in the curtains. There appeared to be someone peeking through . . . and Connor got the distinct feeling that he and Alicia were the ones being watched.

  Suddenly Alicia switched direction in the dance. Distracted by the suspicious observer, Connor mistimed his step, and his feet got mixed up with Alicia’s. They both stumbled and went crashing to the floor, landing entangled in each other’s arms. The whole class stopped and giggled in amusement. Miss Ashworth switched off the music.

  “Are you two all right?” she asked.

  “Yes,” wheezed Alicia, “but only just!”

  “I’m so sorry,” said Connor, quickly getting up and helping her to her feet. “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

  “No, not at all,” she replied, brushing herself down and now laughing at their fall. “But you should come with a health warning!”

  “Young man, you need to concentrate more on what you’re doing,” scolded Miss Ashworth, turning back to the CD player. “Now, let’s go from the top.”

  As the music struck up again, Connor snatched a glance toward the stage. The curtains were now still. The mysterious watcher—if there had been one—had gone.

  41

  The first week at Montarose School flew by. Following further advice from Charley, Connor had begun performing “dynamic” risk assessments—changing his level of alertness depending upon the situation. In class, he could allow himself to relax more, knowing they were in a controlled environment, overseen by a vetted teacher. During breaks and class changes, when the situation was more unpredictable, he heightened his awareness—staying in Alicia’s vicinity and scanning for potential threats. By doing this, he could better manage his concentration levels and wasn’t so exhausted by the end of a day.

  In the evenings, he was allowed some downtime, since the White House was deemed a safe zone. Each night, after an hour of fitness and martial arts training in the gym, Connor delivered status updates to Guardian HQ. He called in even when there was nothing new to report, simply enjoying the chat with Charley and the chance to truly be himself. Afterward, he would check his e-mails, dutifully replying to his mother, who reassured him that all was well with her and Gran back in England.

  By the end of the week, Connor had become accustomed to the routine and was actually enjoying his protective role. He liked Alicia and thought he was becoming her friend. There had been no real incidents, he’d made no apparent mistakes, and he began to wonder if the assignment was going to be easier than he’d first thought. With all the Secret Service protection in place, the greatest threat to Alicia at school so far was dying from boredom in a history lesson.

  Having survived the Friday-morning period, Alicia and her friends headed over to the edge of the school playing field to sunbathe away the lunch break.

  “You mean to say, you still haven’t said yes!” gasped Paige.

  “Ethan hasn’t asked me properly . . . yet,” replied Alicia.

  Connor sat behind them on a picnic bench, pretending to read a book. From behind his sunglasses, he kept one eye on the open playing fields, conscious that Alicia was positioned in a highly exposed area.

  “But we’re only a week away from the dance,” Paige reminded her.

  “You should consider yourself lucky,” said Grace. “No one’s asked me yet.”

  “Or me,” admitted Kalila.

  “Boys our age are always shy about coming forward,” said Paige, pushing herself up on her elbows. “Why is that, Connor?”

  Connor glanced up from his book. “Sorry?” he replied, pretending not to have heard.

  “Boys are scared to ask girls out. Why?”

  Connor thought about his own experiences. “Probably because they think the girl will say no.”

  “He’s got a point,” agreed Grace. “There’s only one boy I’d say yes to.”

  “Who’s that?” Paige asked eagerly.

  “Oh, come on, we all know she has a crush on Darryl,” said Alicia.

  “Is it that obvious?” cried Grace, mortified by the public declaration.

  “I thought it was Jacob,” said Kalila.

  “That was last month,” Alicia said, and laughed. She stood up and dusted the grass from her skirt as Paige began to interrogate Grace. “Back in a minute. I need to go to the bathroom.”

  “I’ll join you,” said Kalila.

  Connor stayed where he was. There were some places he couldn’t follow Alicia, and because they were on the school campus, he considered
the increase in risk minimal. Still, as Alicia and Kalila strolled off together, he checked his watch and made a mental note of the time. Then he performed another subtle surveillance sweep of the playing field and surrounding buildings.

  As the two girls entered the side entrance of the science wing, Connor noticed a man emerge from behind a tree and head toward the glass doors. He was wearing a green uniform and a baseball hat, its brim pulled low to shade his eyes . . . or possibly to hide his face.

  Connor subconsciously raised his alert level from Code Yellow to Code Orange. “Who’s that?” he asked, nodding in the man’s direction.

  Grace looked up from her phone and squinted. “Um . . . must be one of the groundskeepers. Why?”

  The man followed Alicia and Kalila through the doors.

  “Just wondering,” Connor replied, alarm bells ringing inside his head. What business does a groundskeeper have inside the science building?

  He excused himself and headed over to the science wing. Hurrying, but not quite running, he cursed himself for leaving so much distance between himself and his Principal. When he reached the doors, he quietly slipped inside. The corridor leading to the girls’ restroom was deserted, apart from the suspect man, who was bent over near the restroom entrance.

  He cautiously approached the man from behind. Connor wanted to get close enough to identify him, to find out whether he might be the same person as the one behind the kitchen door.

  When Connor was a few feet away, the man looked up, startled, water dripping from his stubbled chin. His face was grimy, rough and lined by the sun. He had a large bent nose, as if it had once been broken in a fight, and a pair of hound-dog eyes that were ringed with dark shadows, indicating a lack of sleep. Was this the same face? The eyes possessed a similar unsettling intensity. But Connor couldn’t be certain. He did, however, vaguely recognize the man from the grounds-staff roster.

  “Sorry, I know I shouldn’t be here, but I needed a drink,” the groundsman said in a thick accent. “Please don’t report me. I’ve been digging all morning and was very thirsty.”

  Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he stepped away from the water fountain and quickly made his way out of the science building. Connor watched him go. He realized now that he’d probably overreacted to the man’s behavior, but told himself it was better to be safe than sorry.

  “Hanging around the girls’ restroom?” sneered Ethan, approaching from behind. “Is that what English boys do for a hobby?”

  Jimbo stood beside his friend, sniggering.

  “Not every day,” replied Connor. “Otherwise I’d always bump into you.”

  Ethan scowled at the comeback. “I’ve been watching you,” he declared, stabbing a finger at Connor. “You follow Alicia around like some faithful puppy dog. Even attending her dance classes! What’s going on between you two?”

  “Nothing,” said Connor, now realizing who the mysterious watcher might have been. “I’m just finding my feet, that’s all.”

  “Well, find them somewhere else.”

  He pointed to a poster on the wall—a silhouette of a couple dancing against a glittery purple background that announced the forthcoming school dance. “I’m taking the president’s daughter,” he said, puffing out his chest, “and I don’t want any dork getting in the way and spoiling my chances. Understand?”

  Connor shrugged off the insult. Ethan might be the school’s star athlete, but considering how arrogant he was, he didn’t deserve to be Alicia’s date.

  “I said, do you understand?” repeated Ethan, taking a step closer. “Or do I have to get Jimbo here to beat it into you?”

  Connor suddenly found himself boxed in on both sides. The two boys towered over him, the situation rapidly escalating toward a fight.

  “Listen, I don’t want any trouble,” said Connor, holding up his hands in peace.

  “Who said anything about trouble?” sneered Ethan as Jimbo closed in.

  Deciding it was time for a touch of pain-assisted learning, Connor targeted the middle of the boy’s chest with his fingertips.

  “Ow!” cried Jimbo, stopping his advance.

  Ethan glared at his friend. “What’s the problem? You’re an offensive guard in the football team. Steamroll him!”

  Almost half his size, Connor judged that the massive American football player would flatten him if he didn’t strike first. Snaking his arm with a hefty flick, Connor one-inch-pushed Jimbo in the chest. It was like trying to shove an elephant, but the self-defense technique was still powerful enough to send the boy staggering backward. Jimbo struck the wall behind him and crumpled against it, gasping for breath.

  “What on earth did you do?” exclaimed Ethan, stunned by the ease with which Connor had downed his friend.

  “I only pushed him,” declared Connor innocently.

  Ethan wound up to let loose a punch. Connor dropped into a fighting guard.

  “Hey! What’s going on?”

  Ethan stopped midswing as Alicia and Kalila emerged from the bathroom. His scowl transformed into a beaming smile, and his punching arm wrapped around Connor in a friendly hug. “Just . . . uh . . . explaining to my friend here how to throw a Hail Mary pass,” he replied.

  Alicia gave them both a doubtful look. “What’s the matter with Jimbo?”

  “I think . . . he’s suffering from an asthma attack,” replied Connor breezily.

  “Well, aren’t you going to help him up?” asked Kalila with concern.

  “Of course,” said Ethan. He patted Connor on the shoulder, rather too heartily. “Now bear in mind my advice for the school dance and you should have a great night,” he said, before walking off with Jimbo in tow, the boy wheezing like a steam engine.

  Connor doubted that very much. Having made enemies of them both, he knew the dance was going to be a nightmare. He’d already anticipated there’d be a tricky balance securing Alicia’s safety while allowing her the freedom to enjoy herself. Now somehow he’d have to find a way to protect Alicia . . . without getting himself into a fight.

  42

  “This is the spot, on August twenty-eighth, 1963, where Dr. Martin Luther King Junior, the civil rights leader, delivered his famous ‘I Have a Dream’ speech,” the tour guide explained to the group gathered on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. Behind them stood the awe-inspiring monument itself, a white-marble cenotaph with towering Greek columns built in honor of America’s sixteenth president. “The political march that day and Dr. King’s speech helped facilitate the landmark Civil Rights Act of 1964, which outlawed discrimination throughout America.”

  Connor, Alicia and Kalila sat on the steps nearby, listening to the tour guide’s talk.

  Kalila leaned close to Alicia. “I bet Dr. King never dreamed that less than fifty years later, there’d have been an African-American president.”

  “Or a Latino one,” replied Alicia, smiling at her friend. “America’s truly the land of the free. Anyone can be president—even my father!”

  “Over a quarter of a million people attended the event,” continued the tour guide, “with crowds stretching down the mall as far as the eye could see, thus making it, at that time, the largest gathering of protesters in the illustrious history of Washington, DC.”

  Connor gazed east across the impressive tree-lined expanse of the National Mall and tried to imagine such a number. There were no protests today, just flocks of tourists enjoying the sunshine beside the Reflecting Pool. In the distance, the Washington Monument speared the sky like a giant rocket ready to take off. The huge marble obelisk, the symbol of America’s capital, shimmered in the pool’s sky-blue waters and gave the illusion that the monument was twice its normal height.

  “Wonderful, isn’t it?” remarked Alicia.

  Connor nodded in agreement, although in his mind he was actually thinking this was the worst possible place to be on a Saturday m
orning. Not because the view wasn’t stunning but because Alicia was so vulnerable on the open steps. She was literally a sitting target. There was no cover if some madman took a potshot at her. No place to hide if she was attacked. Hundreds of tourists milled around and any one of them could be carrying a knife or a gun.

  Connor almost wished he’d never done his bodyguard training. It would be far easier to sit there in blissful ignorance of the countless hidden dangers surrounding them. At least then he could relax. But his assignment meant that he had to remain on constant alert, his nerves wound tight as a guitar string. Connor looked across at a slim blond-haired woman wearing sunglasses and carrying a pocket tourist guide. She too seemed to be enjoying the view. But every so often she’d glance in their direction.

  But Connor wasn’t alarmed. He recognized her as Agent Brooke, one of several women on Alicia’s PES team. Other agents, including Kyle, were dotted around the Lincoln Memorial steps and along the edge of the Reflecting Pool, all within sight line of the president’s daughter and each keeping a low profile so as not to draw attention to her presence. But Connor knew the strain the agents must be under, because he was feeling it too—the unpredictability of the situation, the uncertainty of the environment, the constantly changing dynamics of the crowd. No wonder the Secret Service had a hard time walking the thin line between the need for protection and their Principal’s need for privacy.

  “Let me take a picture of you,” Alicia suggested to Connor. “This is the tourist spot.”

  “Why don’t I take it?” offered Kalila. “Then you can both be in the photo.”

  “Good idea,” said Alicia, jumping to her feet and waving Connor over.

  Connor grinned. It would be pretty cool to have a photo of him with the president’s daughter. At the very least, it would make Amir and Marc envious. Unlocking his phone’s screen and clicking the camera app, he handed his phone to Kalila. Then he and Alicia posed on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial like every other tourist.