Bodyguard: Target

by Chris Bradford

  ‘So, where do we go from here?’ asked Ash, oblivious to his stalker clone.

  ‘Well, there’s always the vault!’ Charley half-joked, as she took out her mobile and saw the multiple missed calls from Big T. Guessing he was worried about Ash’s whereabouts, she immediately rang him back for an emergency pick-up.

  ‘You two clowns are about as useful as a chocolate fire-guard!’ bellowed Big T, the tendons in his thick neck bulging so much that he looked like he might burst a blood vessel.

  Charley stood motionless as the veteran bodyguard vented his fury.

  ‘I put you in charge of the single most important person on this tour and you balls it up!’ he barked, wagging a gnarled finger at Vince and Rick. ‘One of you princesses sprains an ankle, while the other can’t run a mile without having a heart attack! The very least I expect from my security team is to be fit, effective and competent. Qualities neither of you seem to possess.’

  The two security guards stared shamefaced at the carpet as their boss laid into them.

  Big T pointed his finger at Charley. ‘If it wasn’t for this young lady here, Ash would likely be in hospital now or worse. You two excuses for bodyguards are on night shift for the next week! Now get out of my sight!’

  Vince and Rick scurried out of Big T’s hotel room, their tails between their legs, simply grateful not to have been sacked on the spot.

  ‘And what are you looking so smug about?’ snapped Big T, turning on Charley.

  She stiffened and swallowed nervously.

  ‘I called you five times! Why the hell didn’t you answer?’

  ‘I-I was busy protecting Ash,’ she explained, stumbling over her words. ‘I didn’t see the missed calls … until I got to the bank.’

  ‘You stopped at a bloody cafe for a drink! You had more than enough opportunity to report in before the situation got out of hand. Next time you’re solo, call in immediately. You’re not some Katniss Everdeen. You may be trained as a bodyguard but you’re still just a girl! And an inexperienced one at that.’

  Chastened by his stern words, Charley bowed her head and fell silent. She had hoped for some praise for her actions, but deep down she knew that Big T was right. She’d ignored one of the basic principles of close protection: constant communication. She should have reported their location and status.

  Big T continued to glare at her, the vein above his left temple throbbing. Then his fierce expression eased a little and he let out a heavy sigh. ‘That said, you made the best of a bad situation. Holing up in a bank was smart thinking. And at the end of it all Ash is unharmed, if a little shaken.’

  Charley allowed herself to breathe again.

  ‘The press, though, are going to have a field day that Ash was out in public without apparent security.’ Big T ran a hand over his wrinkled dome. ‘And Ms Gibson will have my guts for garters over it!’

  ‘I’m sorry, Big T. I just didn’t expect so many fans to turn up so quickly.’

  ‘Always expect the unexpected,’ stated Big T, echoing Colonel Black’s own words of advice during her training. ‘In future, heed the patron saint of bodyguards: Murphy’s Law.’

  Charley frowned. She noticed the same words tattooed on his neck. ‘Murphy’s Law?’

  ‘Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong,’ Big T explained. ‘Now get some rest before tonight’s concert. I’ve a nasty feeling that Murphy might make another appearance.’

  Charley headed to her room, then stopped at the door. ‘Talking of Murphy’s Law, there’s one thing bothering me still.’

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Big T.

  ‘How did Gonzo know Ash would exit through the loading bay?’

  Big T shrugged. ‘Luck, probably. He hangs out in all the sewers.’

  Charley shook her head. ‘No. He was lying in wait. He knew.’

  Big T furrowed his brow. ‘How, Sherlock? We swept Ash’s room, remember, and it was all clear.’

  Charley thought for a moment. ‘Either someone told him or … I missed a bug during the surveillance sweep.’

  Going over to the large desk in his room, Big T picked up the bug detector. ‘Only one way to find out.’

  Ash was down in the hotel lobby, chilling with the rest of the band in the VIP lounge, so his suite was empty. Big T let himself in with a spare key card. Charley closed the door behind them and they began a second security sweep of the room.

  Big T ran the detector over the TV, phone, plug sockets, pictures, lights and every nook and crevice of the suite. But the LED indicator stayed resolutely green.

  He glanced up at the ceiling. ‘Did you check the smoke detector?’

  ‘No,’ Charley admitted. ‘I don’t think so.’

  He held the device up to the white plastic casing. The LED indicator didn’t even flicker.

  Big T looked at Charley. ‘Maybe we do have a snitch among the team.’

  Then Charley’s eyes were drawn to the pile of flowers and gifts on the central table. ‘These weren’t here when we did the security sweep the first time.’

  Big T handed her the detector. She swept the device over the various bouquets, boxes of chocolates and cuddly toys. As the sensor passed a teddy bear clutching a heart, it buzzed in her hand and the indicator shot into the red. Big T picked up the suspect bear and examined it. He tugged on the black bead of its left eye. The eyeball popped from its socket to expose a camera lens attached to a transmitter. In its ear he discovered the tiny bud of a microphone.

  ‘You sneaky son of a bitch, Gonzo!’ exclaimed Big T, before ripping the bear’s ear off.

  The glass-fronted Pittsburgh Consol Center, usually the host venue for ice-hockey matches and basketball games, had been transformed into a fifteen-thousand-seater concert hall. Ash’s unique guitar-shaped stage had been installed the day before and the immense speaker stacks and complex lighting rig rapidly constructed overnight. Fans who’d arrived early were already filtering into the arena and there was a buzz of anticipation in the air.

  Charley hung backstage. Ash was secure in his dressing room, preparing himself for the gig. Big T had instructed Charley not to tell him about the teddy-bear spycam they’d found. ‘It doesn’t represent a threat, merely an irritation,’ he’d explained. After her conversation with Ash at the cafe, though, Charley wondered if it was right to withhold that information from the target himself. She found Big T by the coffee machine in the artists’ lounge and questioned this decision.

  ‘There’s no point worrying Ash unnecessarily,’ said Big T, pouring himself a double espresso. ‘He needs to focus on performing. It’s our job to worry on his behalf.’

  ‘But I’ve only just started building his trust. I don’t want to break it.’

  Big T took a sip of coffee and grimaced at its bitter taste. ‘Hey, imagine if the President of the United States was told about every threat to his life. The poor guy would be a gibbering wreck by the end of the week. Ash is on a need-to-know basis. For his own good.’

  ‘What if our assumption is wrong?’ pressed Charley. ‘What if the teddy bear wasn’t planted by Gonzo?’

  ‘Who else could it be? Motive and circumstance point to Gonzo. Granted, the girl who gave Ash the bear might be an infatuated fan wanting to spy on her idol, but those devices cost a fair whack. We’re not talking pocket money here.’

  ‘How about the maniac who’s been sending Ash the death threats?’ suggested Charley. ‘He could have bribed, persuaded or even threatened the girl to do it.’

  ‘You assume t
he maniac’s a guy,’ said Big T, raising a world-weary eyebrow. ‘Unless we see that girl again, we won’t know one way or the other. Whoever’s to blame, our response is the same. We tighten security around Ash. Which reminds me, I need to check in with the venue manager about the corporate boxes. Murphy’s Law and all that.’

  He drained his espresso and headed out of the lounge. Charley followed Big T into the corridor. One of the security team was stationed outside Ash’s dressing-room door. With her Principal secure, Charley took a walk backstage to familiarize herself with the new venue. She noted the fire exits and quickest routes to each. Passing various road crew and sound technicians, her eyes flicked to their photo passes, checking everyone had one. As she approached the main stage, Charley’s attention was caught by a shadowy figure dropping down from one of the lighting rig’s wire-rope ladders next to the backstage curtains. This behaviour seemed odd and out of place compared to the rest of the crew and she immediately went on the alert. Heading over to where the person had disappeared, she pulled back the drape to discover Jessie crouching in the darkness behind the drum riser.

  Jessie flinched and looked shocked. ‘You startled me!’ she exclaimed, resting a hand on her heart.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked Charley.

  She responded with a guilty smile. ‘I can’t resist peeking out on the stage before a concert. It’s fabulous! This is exactly what Ash sees each night.’ Jessie stepped aside and invited her to climb the ladder. ‘Go on, take a look yourself.’

  Clambering up a few rungs, Charley peered over the top of the riser. The stage rolled out before her, its catwalk guitar neck protruding deep into the audience. With the venue lights on, she could see thousands upon thousands of fans gathering in the stalls, their excited chatter echoing round the vast arena. She glanced up at the mega-video screens running pre-concert footage, then at the lighting rig high above where she spied the tiny figure of a spotlight operator moving among the struts.

  ‘Cool, isn’t it?’ said Jessie.

  Charley nodded and dropped back down. ‘I don’t know how Ash has the courage to step out and perform in front of a huge crowd like that.’

  ‘It’s because he’s a god,’ replied Jessie reverentially. She crept through the curtain. ‘I’ll catch you later. The concert’s going to start soon.’

  ‘Don’t forget your bag,’ said Charley, noticing a small backpack on the floor, partly hidden by the curtain’s black fabric.

  ‘That’s not mine. But thanks anyway.’

  Jessie disappeared round the corner.

  Charley bent down to pick it up. Then stopped herself. Something about it made her think twice.

  She spotted a guitar technician nearby. ‘Is this yours?’ she asked, pointing to the suspect bag. The long-haired technician shook his head and went back to fine-tuning the row of electric guitars. Charley asked another crew member, but it wasn’t his either.

  Charley reminded herself of the rule of the Four Cs: confirm, clear, cordon, control.

  She had to confirm her suspicions first.

  A bearded roadie, whom Charley vaguely recognized from rehearsals, came down the ladder. She asked if he knew who the backpack belonged to. He grunted a no and carried on. Charley asked several more people, but no one laid claim.

  If you can’t find the owner, then the item must be considered a threat, Bugsy had said.

  Charley bent down and gave the bag a sniff. There was the faintest aroma of almonds. Charley decided it was time to alert Big T. She was about to call him on her radio, when Bugsy’s voice sounded in her head again: Radio waves are often used to trigger remote-control bombs!

  Charley immediately switched off her mobile and comms unit, then dashed away to find Big T.

  ‘We should clear the area, at the very least,’ Charley insisted as she stood with Big T and the tour manager at a wary distance from the suspect backpack.

  ‘How can you be certain it’s a bomb?’ asked Terry, peering at it in the dim light of backstage.

  ‘I can’t,’ replied Charley. ‘But so far no one’s claimed it and I smelt almonds which could mean plastic explosives.’

  Terry spoke into his radio. ‘Attention, all crew. Has anyone lost a backpack?’

  Charley instinctively flinched. But the bag didn’t explode. Well, at least that’s been cleared up, she thought. The bomb isn’t triggered by radio waves.

  Big T turned to the tour manager. ‘Anyone respond?’

  Terry shook his head. ‘What do we do now?’

  ‘As Charley said, clear the area,’ replied Big T. ‘Get Ash off the premises.’

  ‘But the concert!’ Terry exclaimed. ‘It’s due to start any minute now.’

  ‘Not with Ash, it isn’t,’ said Big T, directing two security guards to immediately move people out of the vicinity. Shocked at the news of a bomb, the technicians and road crew dropped what they were doing and headed to the exit on the direction of the guards.

  ‘But we can’t just cancel the gig over a lost backpack!’ Terry argued, as Big T sent word to evacuate Ash at once.

  ‘With the death threats made against Ash,’ argued the bodyguard, ‘we must assume the worst-case scenario.’

  ‘Why can’t we just look inside the darn bag?’ said Terry, walking over to it.

  ‘NO!’ said Charley, grabbing his arm. ‘It could be booby-trapped.’

  Terry held up his hands in frustration. ‘It’s just a bag!’

  ‘A bag that could be a bomb,’ said Big T. ‘We need to call the authorities.’

  ‘And how long’s that going to take?’ Terry shrugged off Charley’s hand and marched over to the backpack.

  ‘Don’t!’ warned Big T, moving rapidly away from the suspect bomb.

  Terry bent down to open the bag. Big T pushed Charley behind a transport crate, then dived for cover himself. There was a long deafening silence.

  Then Terry appeared, holding a can of soda, an open packet of mixed nuts and a sandwich box in his hand. ‘Some bomb,’ he said, glaring at Charley and Big T crouched on the ground. ‘For heaven’s sake, Big T, keep that girl of yours on a leash! She’s going to be the death of this tour.’

  The manager strode off in a fury and started barking orders to get the concert back on schedule.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Charley, feeling like she’d let Big T down again.

  ‘Nothing to be sorry about,’ he replied, lumbering back to his feet. ‘You alerted me. I take responsibility thereafter. Besides, it’s better to be safe than blown to bits! Even if the bomb does turn out to be a mouldy cheese sandwich.’ He grunted a laugh.

  Charley was grateful for Big T’s good humour, but she knew she’d screwed up again. ‘You were right to call me inexperienced. On this assignment, I feel like I’m always calling wolf.’

  ‘And one day there might be a wolf,’ said Big T. ‘As a bodyguard, you have to suspect everything and everyone. Guilty until proven innocent is my motto.’

  ‘I thought it was: Only the paranoid survive.’

  ‘Depends on which arm I look at,’ replied Big T, showing her the opposite forearm with a tattoo of a pair of weighted scales and the words GUILTY UNTIL PROVEN INNOCENT inscribed beneath it. ‘Now, don’t lose faith in yourself. Ash has a gig to do and you need to be on the ball.’

  With the emergency over, the crew and technicians hurriedly returned to their duties. Everyone was under pressure to make up for lost time.

  ‘Don’t forget,’ said Big T as he headed to Ash’s dressing room. �
�Murphy’s Law applies at all times.’

  Charley nodded. She was now a full convert to Murphy and his Law. Anything that could go wrong for her on this assignment seemed to be doing exactly that! She took up her position at the side of the stage as instructed by Big T, only too happy to comply since it allowed her to keep a low profile. Her name had to be dirt among the crew after a second false alert.

  Jessie ran up to her. ‘Did you hear there was a suspected bomb threat?’ she gasped.

  Charley nodded and said nothing.

  ‘I never imagined a tour could be so dangerous,’ remarked Jessie, her tone suggesting excitement rather than fear at the idea.

  The house lights suddenly went dark and the video screens began a countdown. Fifteen thousand fans yelled along with it: ‘FIVE … FOUR … THREE … TWO … ONE!’

  A huge explosion shuddered through the arena …

  But Charley didn’t flinch. She knew this explosion was all part of the show. Fireworks lit up the stage in a waterfall of red and gold sparks and a pounding heartbeat throbbed from the speakers at a gut-thumping volume. Images of a winged boy flashed across the video screens, his silhouette leaping from frame to frame as a blazing fire took hold and raced after him. The fierce crackle of burning grew louder and louder as the winged boy was surrounded, then consumed by flames.

  Out of the heart of the raging fire, a single word pulsed in time to the dying beat of the music.

  INDESTRUCTIBLE.

  The word shone like a beacon, then morphed into: IMPOSSIBLE?

  Before transforming one final time … I’M POSSIBLE!

  A thunderclap burst from the speakers and Ash shot up from a toaster lift in the floor. He landed with the grace of an eagle on the stage. Behind him on the video screens, a flaming phoenix burned bright.