Bodyguard: Target

by Chris Bradford

  ‘Well, if you recall, I’m on this mission because someone wants to kill Ash.’

  ‘As if that’s going to happen with all the security his manager’s put in place.’

  ‘Don’t underestimate the lengths celebrity stalkers will go to,’ said Jason, coming up behind them. ‘I’ve read some pretty disturbing stuff during my research into possible threats against Ash. Breaking-and-entering to lie in wait for the celebrity. Fantasies of torture and mutilation. Killing of family pets. Voodoo dolls sent in the post –’

  Charley rolled her eyes. ‘You’re not going to scare me, Jason.’

  ‘You should be scared. Celebrity stalkers may seem like over-obsessed fans, but they’re often deluded, mentally ill and can be violent – even deadly.’

  ‘Well, that’s a cheery note to say goodbye on!’ said Blake, closing the Range Rover’s boot.

  ‘Have neither of you read my threat report?’ asked Jason, indignant.

  ‘Not yet,’ Charley admitted.

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t recommend reading it before bedtime. It’ll give you nightmares.’ Jason offered Charley a half-hearted wave and strolled back inside.

  ‘Man, he can be an idiot at times!’ said Blake. Once certain Jason was gone, Blake reached tentatively for Charley’s hand. ‘Listen, I’m sorry for being a little … grumpy with you lately. It’s just that … I worry about you.’

  ‘I can handle myself,’ Charley replied, thinking, Why did he wait until now to make his apology?

  ‘I know you can,’ he agreed. ‘And I admit it: I’m jealous. Ash is going to spend all that time with you and I’m not.’

  Charley squeezed his hand in response. ‘We always knew this would be difficult,’ she said. ‘We only get to see each other between missions. That’s why we should try to make the most of it when I am here.’

  ‘You’re right, of course.’ He moved closer, his expression hopeful. ‘Are we good now?’

  Blake’s sullen attitude since discovering she’d be protecting Ash Wild had been tiresome. It was hard enough preparing for a mission, let alone managing a moody boyfriend at the same time. But he had apologized … and he was cute. And it was reassuring to know she had someone back at base who truly cared for her.

  ‘We’re good,’ she said.

  Smiling, Blake wrapped his arms round her waist and drew her close. But, as he moved in to kiss her goodbye, there was a crunch of gravel behind and they both turned to see Colonel Black making his way towards the Range Rover. They broke their embrace a second or two before he spotted them.

  ‘Ready to go?’ Colonel Black asked.

  Charley nodded. The colonel clambered into the Range Rover and gunned the engine. As she jumped in beside him, she secretly blew Blake a goodbye kiss. ‘Save that for my return.’

  Blake caught it and mouthed in reply, Stay safe.

  ‘The media has become so intrusive that celebrities have little privacy any more,’ explained Kay, reclining in a designer chair, her long legs crossed beneath the oval glass table that she’d invited Colonel Black and Charley to sit round. ‘That’s why we need exclusive residences like this.’

  She waved a hand at the stylish decor and plush furnishings. White leather sofas, black walls, the largest flatscreen TV Charley had ever laid eyes on and, most impressive of all, a teardrop swimming pool that started in the living room and finished outside in a landscaped garden enclosed by high walls topped with razor wire.

  ‘Of course, it all costs money,’ Kay admitted, ‘but it’s worth it to keep Ash safe.’

  ‘The security here is most reassuring,’ confirmed the colonel. They’d entered the West London estate through a manned gate, then had their IDs verified again by Big T at the door. Along with the razor wire on the walls, Charley had noted discreet CCTV and infrared cameras strategically located around the residence. There were even panic buttons installed in every room. The villa was a literal fortress.

  ‘Has Ash received any more death threats?’ the colonel asked.

  ‘Nothing in the post since moving here,’ Kay replied. ‘So far we’ve managed to keep Ash’s new address a secret and we’re monitoring all the mail that does come in.’

  ‘That’s good news,’ said Charley.

  ‘It would be if that was the only source of threats.’ With an icy fury in her eyes, the music manager opened a super-slim laptop and turned the screen towards them. ‘Like any celebrity, Ash is a target for online abuse. He receives a constant stream of insults and threats from haters eager to criticize, belittle, character-assassinate or worse. These sort of people make me sick!’

  Colonel Black and Charley studied the sample of online posts on the screen. They varied from childish name-calling and scornful posts to harmful rumours and threats of physical violence. The messages became more and more extreme the further down the page Charley read:

  #AshWild music’s torture, someone should torture him!

  What an utter $%&*!

  I’d stab his eyes out if I could #AshWild

  Burn in hell @therealAshWild

  ‘Of course, all this abuse is accessible to Ash,’ Kay said with a sigh. ‘I can’t shield him from it.’

  ‘But we can shield him,’ stated Colonel Black. ‘It’ll be a tricky task to sift the genuine threats from the trolls. But I’ll have my team run a search of these users through the police database to establish if any of them have a criminal record or a history of violence. That should help identify potential suspects.’

  ‘Do you know anyone who might have a grudge against Ash?’ asked Charley.

  Kay tapped a polished nail on the glass table while she considered this. ‘There is one: a songwriter who’s convinced Ash stole his hit song, “Only Raining”.’

  ‘Did he?’ asked Colonel Black.

  ‘No,’ Kay replied emphatically, then threw up her hands. ‘However, where there’s a hit, there’s a writ. The guy was furious when he lost the court case, along with all his money paying the legal costs. His name is Brandon Mills. The police interviewed him over the letter bomb, but they found nothing that linked him to it.’

  Charley ran a quick search on the internet and pulled up an image on her tablet screen. ‘This him?’ she asked, pointing to a middle-aged man with dark blond hair, designer stubble and steel-blue eyes. He looked like a wannabe George Michael.

  Kay winced, then nodded.

  ‘You knew this man?’ asked the colonel sharply.

  The music manager’s eyes narrowed. ‘We lived together. Briefly.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘It didn’t work out. Nothing to do with Ash.’

  Charley downloaded the image and associated links to the threat folder in her operation file, making a note of Kay’s involvement with him.

  ‘Anyone else?’ asked the colonel. ‘One of Ash’s ex-girlfriend, perhaps?’

  Kay pursed her lips. ‘Ash has had a few girlfriends. Hanna Price was the latest, but she’s busy with her own modelling career now. And she doesn’t strike me as the revenge ty–’

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ said Ash, strolling into the room. ‘Got stuck songwriting and lost track of the time.’

  He pulled out a chair and plonked himself down next to his manager. His smouldering eyes were enough to melt any girl’s heart and he used them to full effect on Charley along with a dazzling smile. But, having seen the exact same look in one of his publicity photos, Charley had no difficulty resisting his charm. She had to admit, however, that Ash had a cer
tain star quality. When he’d entered the room, there was an instant frisson in the air, like a build-up of static electricity.

  ‘So, you must be my new bodyguard,’ said Ash, addressing Colonel Black with a salute.

  The colonel stared straight back at him. ‘No, Charley is.’

  Ash did a double-take. ‘Seriously?’ He laughed out loud and, when no one else joined in, it quickly petered out. ‘You are serious.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Charley.

  ‘No offence,’ said Ash, ‘but you’re, like, my age and a girl.’

  ‘That’s the point,’ replied Charley, trying hard not to take offence. ‘The best bodyguard is the one nobody notices, and I can blend in as one of your friends or as a fan.’

  Ash responded with a strained smile. He leant over to his manager. ‘When you said Charley, I thought you meant a guy,’ he hissed.

  ‘Does that make a difference?’ said Kay.

  ‘Of course it does! How’s she going to protect me?’

  ‘She is a trained bodyguard,’ responded his manager.

  Ash glanced doubtfully over at Charley. ‘But I already have Big T. Why do I need her?’

  Kay replied, ‘Your protection is my highest priority. I want all bases covered. And Charley will be your final invisible ring of defence.’

  ‘Invisible? It’s non-existent! If some maniac can get past Big T, they’ll be able to take out a girl. I don’t think you’re taking my death threats seriously! This has to be a joke.’

  ‘I’m deadly serious,’ replied Kay.

  ‘Then hire a real bodyguard.’

  ‘I have,’ stated Kay, her tone hardening. ‘Do you question whether I’m up to the job as your manager just because I’m a woman?’

  Ash shook his head. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Then don’t question her ability as a bodyguard.’

  Charley sat awkwardly with Colonel Black as this heated discussion took place in front of them. While Ash’s initial reaction hadn’t come as a complete surprise to Charley, it was a disappointment and not the best way to start an assignment. Still she was heartened by the manager’s stated confidence in her.

  ‘I can assure you, Ash,’ said the colonel, ‘that Charley is very much up to the job.’

  ‘Well, I’ll believe it when I see it,’ replied Ash with a strained smile. He looked at Charley. ‘Sorry for any confusion on my part. But an easy mistake to make, eh? Big military guy. Blonde sexy girl. Who’d have thought you were the bodyguard? Anyway, I’ve a band rehearsal now, so I’ve got to run. I expect I’ll bump into you on the tour then?’

  ‘You can guarantee it,’ replied Charley.

  As Ash excused himself and headed out of the living room, Kay turned to Charley. ‘Ash is worth a fortune to a lot of people. He must be protected at all costs. Now I’ve backed you up, you’d better not let me down, Charley.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Charley replied, sounding as self-assured as possible despite the huge weight of expectation on her shoulders. ‘I’ll accompany him like a second heartbeat.’

  Colour posters swamped the four walls of the cramped little bedroom. Glossy calendars – some official, some not – were pinned alongside, while cut-out magazine articles filled the remaining spaces. Not a single square centimetre of the original wallpaper was visible beneath the massive unbroken montage. Even the ceiling was blanketed in pictures, postcards and concert memorabilia.

  Every photo, every image was of Ash Wild.

  His face grinned out in perfect heart-throb style – performing at a concert, appearing on television, posing on the beach. Tabloid shots showed him going for a jog, having dinner, shopping for food, walking in the street, his whole life – professional and private – exposed by the lens of a million cameras.

  A full-size cut-out of the rock star stood in one corner of the room. Creepily lifelike, the guardian watched over the most precious items of the collection: an Ash Wild baseball cap, a signed tour programme, a limited-edition vinyl copy of Ash’s first single, a guitar plectrum thrown by the star during a gig. And, at the heart of this treasure trove of souvenirs, a photo signed by none other than Ash Wild himself.

  The bedroom was a virtual shrine to the rock star.

  And, to leave no one in doubt, on the bedroom door hung a sign saying I’M A WILDLING!

  The computer on the desk displayed a Wildling fansite – Wild: For the fans by the fans – updated seconds before with a new post enthusing about the forthcoming tour. From the desktop speakers, on endless repeat, Ash’s voice sang ‘It’s only raining on you, only raining … ’

  The single bed, the only other piece of furniture in the room, was covered with an Ash Wild duvet and pillow case. On top lay an open suitcase. Inside, clothes were folded neatly and packed in individual clear plastic travel pouches. A washbag, containing shower gel, face cream, hairbrush, deodorant, a blister pack of tablets and a tube of toothpaste, was carefully stowed. And tucked inside a money belt was a slim stack of highly sought-after concert tickets, plus the necessary travel documents and a crisp new passport.

  From downstairs came the sound of a doorbell ringing.

  ‘Hey, sweetie, your car’s here!’ called up a shrill voice.

  With a final check of the contents, the Wildling fan closed the suitcase, slipped on the money belt and rushed down to the waiting taxi.

  ‘Sandy Higgs, ABC News,’ said the reporter, introducing herself. ‘Ash, your rise to fame has been meteoric. When was the first time you realized you were famous?’

  ‘When I got my first death threat!’ Ash replied.

  A ripple of laughter filled the conference room in New York’s Soho Grand Hotel. Ash sat relaxed in front of a microphone; behind him a huge backdrop of his face announced the start of his Indestructible tour.

  ‘But, seriously, I’m not in this for the fame,’ Ash went on. ‘I’m in it for the music. And for my fans.’

  Charley stood just offstage, out of the limelight. She stifled a yawn, fighting the remnants of jet lag after the long flight from London Heathrow. It was the first official day of the assignment and she was determined to be on the ball. She’d had little time to settle in or get her bearings, aside from checking into the hotel and catching a glimpse of the Statue of Liberty as her taxi had crossed the Brooklyn Bridge into Manhattan.

  Beside her towered the monstrous frame of Big T. She’d been briefly introduced to the veteran bodyguard on her arrival, but received no more than a grunt of acknowledgement before the press conference had begun. She hadn’t tried to strike up a conversation with him, since experience had taught her when to talk and when not to talk on an assignment.

  ‘Harvey Lewis, TeenMusic Mag,’ called out another reporter. ‘Your face and album are everywhere. Your songs dominate the charts and airwaves. Are you worried about overexposure?’

  ‘I think it’s too late for that!’ Ash joked, indicating the massive publicity image behind him.

  Another round of laughter greeted his response. Charley saw that Ash was in his element. With all the attention focused on him, he shone like a true superstar.

  ‘It’s better to burn out than fade away, right?’ continued Ash. ‘No, I’m not worried about overexposure. I love touring, travelling the world, seeing new places and meeting new people. That’s the joy of being a musician. And I’ve just released an album of new songs that’ll keep my fans happy, for a while at least.’

  ‘Sara Jones, Heaven Radio. You’re known for your close interaction with your fans.
But surely that’s an issue given the recent threats made against you?’

  ‘Not really. Anyone has to get past Big T first!’ Ash gestured towards his colossal bodyguard at the edge of the stage. Big T put on a suitably hostile scowl, playing up his role for the cameras. The photographers seized the opportunity and snapped away.

  A man in a blue shirt and jeans stood up from among the reporters. ‘Stephen Hicks, freelance. Ash, is it true you received a death threat written in pig’s blood?’

  A hushed silence descended on the room. This was clearly news to the other reporters as well as Ash.

  Ash frowned. ‘No … not as far as I’m aware.’

  ‘Well, I’ve a reliable source that says you did.’ Sensing a story, the reporter pressed on. ‘How do you feel about your team hiding this letter from you?’

  ‘W-what letter?’ demanded Ash, his previous cool demeanour fracturing. He glanced sideways at Zoe for guidance. The Dauntless Records’ PR exec shook her head in reply.

  ‘Doesn’t that make you question who you can trust?’ asked the reporter.

  Ash didn’t respond, his eyes now darting nervously round the room.

  ‘Don’t you fear for your life on this tour? Are you going to cancel if you get another death threat?’

  Ash gripped the microphone firmly in both hands. ‘Listen, there’s always going to be haters, no matter what,’ he answered, a tremor entering his voice. ‘But nothing’s going to stop me from this upcoming tour!’

  ‘Not even a maniac promising “no more encores”?’

  Realizing the reporter was out for blood and seeing Ash’s troubled expression, Zoe stepped on to the stage and took over the mic.

  ‘Thank you, everyone, for your time,’ she said, smiling brightly. ‘Press conference is now over. The tour commences this Friday at Madison Square Garden.’