Fugitive

by Chris Bradford

  ‘Are you sure we shouldn’t call the police?’ said Amir, noticing the downcast look on his face.

  Connor shook his head. ‘You saw the colonel’s orders. We can’t involve the authorities.’

  ‘But what about Steve? And the others?’

  ‘I guess … we bury Steve,’ said Connor glumly, ‘and pray for the others.’

  Connor stood amid the devastation that was his bedroom. The place had been ransacked, just like the rest of the facility. His clothes lay scattered, his bed upended, his desk emptied and his personal effects tossed on the floor or missing. The attackers, whoever they were, had done a thorough job. Connor couldn’t work out if they were looking for something in particular or simply carrying out wanton destruction.

  He got down on his hands and knees and began to hunt around. Eventually he found what he was looking for: a scratched plastic key fob. But this wasn’t any old key fob. It contained the faded photo of a tall tanned soldier with dark brown hair and piercing green-blue eyes the same as Connor’s: his father. Previously the fob had held a photo of himself, aged eight years old. His father had died with it clasped in his hand. Now the fob was Connor’s talisman. He gripped it tightly in his palm for comfort and strength, then slipped it into his pocket.

  During his hunt Connor had also come across the dog-eared copy of the SAS Survival Handbook that Colonel Black had given him prior to his African assignment. While the colonel wasn’t by nature a warm or emotionally open man, he often showed his affection and care towards Connor by more practical means, the manual being just one example, and it had proved essential to his survival during that unexpectedly hazardous operation in Burundi. While Connor didn’t foresee any use for it in China, the handbook did contain one essential item. Flicking through its pages, Connor was relieved to discover, still tucked inside, a dark blue American passport. Presented to him on his first-ever assignment in recognition for services protecting President Mendez’s daughter, it granted him US citizenship. He’d been using it as a bookmark, but now Connor thought a second passport could come in very handy.

  Unzipping his Go-bag, Connor added the passport to his other travel documents. Their plan was to travel light, so all he needed was a fresh set of clothes. As he sorted through the pile on the floor, he unearthed a framed picture of Charley. Blonde, beautiful and with eyes as cobalt blue as a cloudless sky, she’d had the photo taken the day before leaving for her spinal therapy. It had been a bright spring morning, full of hope and new life – just like Charley. Connor recalled her excitement and trepidation at the prospect of being more independently mobile – possibly walking or even surfing again. As a former junior surf champion, that was her ultimate dream. No promises, she’d said. And he’d reminded her of her own words to him: if you think you can, or think you can’t, you’re probably right. The frame’s glass had been cracked, but she smiled defiantly through it – as she did through most of life’s challenges.

  Connor prayed that Charley was all right, that she hadn’t been targeted in an attack like everyone else. But why would she be? Charley wasn’t on a mission. She hadn’t actively been part of Buddyguard for nearly two months since beginning her therapy. Why would the attackers pursue her? Or even deem her a threat?

  Nonetheless Connor couldn’t help but worry. If he knew anything about their mystery enemy it was that they were methodical and ruthless. He needed to get in contact with Charley, confirm that she was safe and warn her of the danger. She might even be worrying about him now that his phone was out of action. But lacking a guaranteed secure line, there was no way he could call her without alerting the enemy to her location … that’s if they didn’t know it already.

  Shanghai, China … That’s where Charley’s medical facility was situated. Surely Colonel Black’s coordinates couldn’t be mere coincidence. Maybe the colonel had already reached her, hence the choice of rendezvous point. At once Connor felt reassured by the thought and was even more impatient to leave.

  He glanced out of the window. From his room, he could see the old school chapel with its small tree-bound cemetery at the rear. A pile of freshly dug earth and a makeshift cross marked the shallow grave of Steve Nash. Connor wondered if they’d done the right thing, burying their instructor. They might have destroyed crucial clues as to who his killers were. Should they have left him where he was or put his body in the kitchen’s freezer instead? But he and Amir didn’t know how long they’d be gone, or whether they’d even return. Out of respect and necessity, the burial had seemed the best decision.

  ‘I’ve salvaged what I could,’ said Amir, entering the room with his own Go-bag brimming. ‘Since we’re travelling with only hand luggage, I’ve selected items we can carry through airport security without drawing attention.’ He passed Connor items from his bag. ‘Spare stab-proof T-shirt … new bulletproof jacket, given your old one had taken a hit … night-vision sunglasses … contact lens camera … fresh batteries for your XT tactical torch …’ He glanced up with a tight uncertain smile. ‘I didn’t think we could get away with red-gel pepper spray, even disguised as a deodorant can … so, besides the extendable baton, our only other self-defence weapon is an iStun.’

  Amir handed Connor a standard-looking smartphone, the key difference being the two metal studs at the top of the device, which delivered a three-million-volt shock. After Connor’s recent experience of being tasered, he was wary of taking the phone off Amir.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Amir, misreading his reluctance. ‘We should be able to get them past security – their internals are essentially the same as a normal working phone, just a larger battery. Of course we can’t use them to communicate with since they could be compromised. But I struck lucky with these babies.’ Amir presented Connor with a slim black wristband watch. ‘Only arrived yesterday and they were overlooked during the search.’

  The time appeared on the display as soon as the watch was strapped to Connor’s arm. ‘At least we won’t be late for our rendezvous,’ he said.

  ‘It’s a new-generation thermic smartband,’ Amir explained. ‘Powered by your body’s own heat, the watch supplies full biometric read-outs, has an encrypted end-to-end text messenger and a locator beacon that will allow us to communicate with one another securely, track each other’s movements and share key data on our medical status. Could be useful if we get separated.’

  Connor held up the iStun. ‘But what about a smartphone that won’t fry our ears off?’

  ‘I’ll buy us new disposable ones at the airport,’ said Amir. He glanced at the read-out on his own smartband. ‘Our flight’s in a little under five hours. We’d best get moving.’

  Downstairs, they passed through reception and Connor entered the transport office. Much of the contents had been rifled through, but he found the keys they needed. Hurrying outside to the car park, Connor unlocked Jody’s Range Rover.

  Amir snatched the keys off him. ‘You haven’t got a licence!’

  Connor shot his friend a look. ‘Nor have you!’

  They’d both been trained in defensive driving but due to their age weren’t legally allowed on UK roads.

  Grinning, Amir jumped into the driver’s seat. ‘I know, but I drive faster.’

  Ling’s eyes flickered open but she saw nothing. Her world was swallowed in darkness. She could hear the rasping breaths of people pressed close against her, their heavy limbs pinning her down. Her head was thick and woozy and she felt like she might throw up at any moment. She reached out a hand, slowly feeling her way across a prone body. Her muscles were aching and unresponsive as if drained of every ounce of energy. After an immense effort her fingertips touched cold rough metal. A wall? No … the side of a container. A bright flash of memory flickered in her sluggish mind:

  She, Jason and the other recruits being herded from the back of a cattle truck into a large shipping container … Their captors wielding electric cattle prods to ensure their compliance … Then the metal doors slamming shut, plunging them into tomb-like darkness �
�� Gunner, Jody and the other instructors had kicked and shoulder-barged at the doors, shouting out for help, until Richie had noticed an unnerving hiss and an acrid stench tainting the air … Then, one by one, they had each passed out and flopped to the floor in a pile of bodies …

  As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Ling could make out the vague shapes of her friends. Next to her lay Jason, his muscular bulk and jutting jaw familiar and reassuring to her.

  ‘J-Jason,’ she croaked, her voice no more than a cracked whisper. Whatever gas had been pumped into the container had seared her throat too.

  Jason didn’t respond, but she could feel his chest moving up and down. He was breathing at least.

  ‘What’s your cargo?’ said a gruff official-sounding voice.

  Ling jerked her head round, seeking out the person who’d spoken.

  ‘Livestock,’ replied another man, his tone low and frosty.

  The voices were coming from outside the shipping container.

  ‘What sort of livestock?’

  ‘Sheep.’

  Ling tried to cry out for help, but her throat was dry as dust. She crawled over the comatose body of Jason and banged weakly on the side of the container with her fist.

  ‘Are you sure they’re all right?’ asked the gruff voice.

  ‘They’ll settle down on the journey. They’ve been sedated.’

  Fighting her feebleness, she struck the metal container again – a dull thung sounding out. Silence followed and Ling panicked that their one hope of rescue had gone. She tried to call for help, this time managing a bleating croak.

  ‘Sounds like one of them’s in pain,’ said the gruff voice.

  ‘It’ll live,’ came the reply.

  Hearing the sound of footsteps fading, Ling became desperate. She pounded on the container’s side with all her remaining strength before collapsing with exhaustion. The sedative gas was still in the air. She could taste its bitterness and her exertions had made her breathe in more of it. She felt herself slipping away again … seconds passed … each one feeling like an eternity. The men must have heard her. They couldn’t ignore the noise.

  Then the gruff voice ordered, ‘Open up the container.’

  Ling fought against passing out. She had to ensure they were rescued.

  ‘Is that really necessary?’ The other man sighed. ‘Clearance should’ve already been granted.’

  ‘Don’t make me ask you again.’

  In her delirious state, Ling listened as the two men tramped to the far end of the container. There was a heavy rattle of a padlock and she smiled weakly to herself. They were going to be saved!

  ‘Arthur! What are you doing?’ called out a new voice, breathless and panting.

  ‘Inspecting the cargo, sir.’

  ‘No need for that,’ came the sharp reply. ‘All the documents are in order. I attended to them myself.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘No buts. Just sign the customs clearance and I’ll handle it from here.’

  Ling slumped in despair as she heard the padlock snap shut and the man she presumed was Arthur walk away, grumbling to himself. No! This can’t be happening, she thought.

  ‘I trust the duty fee’s been paid?’ said the new voice, oily and conniving.

  ‘In full.’

  ‘Excellent! Then everything’s in order. Thank you for your business, sir. I do hope your cargo reaches its destination without any further hitches.’

  ‘So do I,’ replied the other man. ‘For their sake.’

  Heavy footsteps plodded away and with them any last hope of rescue. Ling lay across Jason, clinging as desperately to him as she clung to consciousness. She heard the faint ring of a mobile phone. One of the men still remained outside. Ling struggled to follow what he was saying, her mind growing ever more fuzzy and only hearing one side of the conversation.

  ‘Buddyguard headquarters have been destroyed, along with any evidence … No … Colonel Black was not on-site. We must assume he’s still in China … No sign of the flash drive either … I’ve rounded up hostages. They’ll make good bargaining chips … What about Connor?’ Ling’s ears pricked up at the mention of Connor’s name. The man now sounded annoyed. ‘He survived the ambush?’ The man swore an oath. ‘You should have left it to me. Where is he now …? Shanghai! You wish me to intercept …? I understand.’

  The man ended the call and his footsteps faded away, leaving Ling to the darkness.

  ‘Excuse me, young man, is this your bag?’

  Connor glanced round at the airport security officer and nodded. He’d been momentarily distracted by a Chinese man in the queue who’d appeared to be staring at him. But the person had moved to a different line and was no longer looking his way.

  ‘Can you open it for me?’ said the security officer. Her black hair was pulled so tightly into a bun that her expression seemed to be one of perpetual severity: her eyes slightly too wide, her cheekbones sharp and her lips stretched so taut that her words came out clipped and stiff.

  Connor unzipped his Go-bag. As the officer began to rifle through the contents, Connor felt his heart rate rise. Usually, he’d have put his self-defence gear and weapons in hold luggage to avoid any unnecessary questioning. But they were under pressure of time and couldn’t risk being delayed at the other end waiting for baggage.

  The officer pulled out one of his T-shirts. Interwoven with a graphene fibre that made it both stab-proof and capable of withstanding a round from a standard handgun, Connor knew that it was indistinguishable from a normal thick cotton top. Still, in his eyes, the T-shirt was screaming suspect! Setting it to one side without further inspection, the officer took out the XT tactical torch, tested that it worked, then dug deeper into his bag.

  Connor began to sweat. What was she looking for? Had the X-ray scanner picked something up? He was certain he’d taken out his father’s old survival knife and the red-gel pepper spray. Was the liquid body-armour panel an issue? Connor shot an anxious glance in Amir’s direction, his friend having just passed through the body scanner behind him.

  ‘Found it!’ said the officer in a triumphant tone. Then she added sternly, ‘This item exceeds the hundred-mil limit.’

  She produced a can of Coke that Connor had bought at Paddington Station earlier that morning and forgotten all about. She tossed it in the bin. Breathing a sigh of relief, Connor began to gather his things.

  ‘Not so fast,’ said the security officer, her eyes alighting upon the iStun. She picked up the smartphone and frowned. ‘I haven’t seen this model before.’

  Connor’s eyes widened as she put her fingers on the two metal studs. All she needed to do now was flick up the volume switch and she’d get quite a shock. ‘Ermm … those are –’

  ‘Dual aerials for improved signal,’ Amir interrupted with an eager smile. He waved his matching iStun in the air. ‘I’ve got one too. Downloads twice as fast. Forget 4G – this is 8G!’

  ‘Hmm,’ said the security officer, examining the smartphone in her hand. Her expression softened. ‘I’ll have to get one myself.’ She passed the phone back to Connor. ‘You have a good flight, young man.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Connor mumbled, hurriedly repacking his Go-bag.

  ‘Well, I think that went pretty smoothly!’ Amir said, walking up to look at the departures board.

  ‘For you maybe,’ replied Connor, his heart still thumping.

  ‘Right, I’m off to buy us new phones,’ said Amir. ‘I’ll meet you back here in twenty minutes.’

  As his friend hurried to the electronics store, Connor headed for the newsagent. He bought them some snacks for the flight and a can of Coke to replace the one that had been confiscated. Then he spotted a payphone in a quiet corner of the departure lounge. That line won’t be compromised, he reasoned. Dropping in some change, he dialled home. His mum and gran would become worried if he didn’t check in regularly and he didn’t want them attempting to contact his ‘school’. The phone rang once … twice … three times …


  By the fifth time, Connor had started to grow anxious. Had the enemy got to his family too? The thought filled him with dread. Then the call was picked up on the eighth ring.

  ‘Hello?’ croaked a familiar voice.

  ‘Hi, Gran – it’s Connor.’

  Her voice brightened instantly. ‘Connor! Are you back?’

  ‘Yes, sort of … but I’m off again.’

  ‘Already?’ His gran’s tone instantly turned reproachful. After his assignment in Burundi, Connor had promised his gran that would be his last mission for Buddyguard, and that he’d put in a request to be stationed at HQ for future operations. But then Russia had come up, followed by Mexico. Like his father, Connor craved action and felt the irresistible urge for always one more mission. But this time was different …

  ‘It isn’t an assignment,’ Connor reassured her, although he questioned whether the trip might be even more dangerous than a typical operation.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said his gran. ‘Am I to assume that you’ve spoken with Colonel Black?’

  ‘I … haven’t had a chance,’ he replied honestly. ‘Besides, I don’t think there’ll be any more missions for a while.’ With Buddyguard HQ out of action and the instructors and recruits abducted, Connor wondered if there would ever be any more assignments. In the back of his mind, he also worried what would happen to the care package that provided for his mum and gran. Would that end too?

  ‘Oh, why’s that?’ asked his gran.

  ‘I’ll explain another time. More importantly, how are you doing?’

  ‘Oh, I’m as fit as a fiddle and as right as rain. Sally’s doing a great job of taking care of us.’

  ‘And Mum?’

  There was a pause on the line.