Connor squirmed with embarrassment when he realized his mum had pulled out the family album. ‘Mum! That’s not cool.’
‘But it’s a mother’s prerogative to embarrass her teenage son,’ she said, sharing a mischievous wink with Charley. ‘In fact, I was thinking of telling Charley about the time you put your underpants on your head and –’
‘No!’ cut in Connor, mortified.
Charley suppressed a giggle and pointed to another photo of him dressed as Superman. ‘You were so cute as a little boy. What happened to you?’ she teased.
‘I decided to keep my alter ego hidden,’ replied Connor, retrieving the family album from her and returning it to its rightful place on the shelf. He gave Charley an imploring look. ‘Please don’t tell anyone back at school.’
‘Too late.’ She held up her smartphone. ‘I’ve shared it online.’
Connor’s jaw dropped in dismay. ‘You’re not serious, are you?’
Charley and his mum burst into laughter.
‘Would I do something like that?’ Charley replied with an impish curl of her lips. ‘Although I might save a copy, just in case I need to keep you in line!’
Hoping to move swiftly on from the cringeworthy photos, Connor poured out the tea and handed everyone a cup.
‘Shall we give Connor his birthday present now?’ his gran suggested as he sat down beside his mum on the sofa.
Nodding, his mum produced a parcel from behind a cushion.
Connor unwrapped the gift to reveal a black knitted jumper.
‘Thanks … it’s lovely,’ he said, trying to sound enthusiastic.
‘To keep you warm in the Brecons,’ explained his gran. ‘I resisted the urge to knit a snowman on the front. I thought that wouldn’t be very hip for school.’
‘Quite right,’ agreed Connor.
‘Why not try it on?’ encouraged his mum.
Connor unfolded the jumper and that’s when he discovered the other gifts: a medal embossed with an American eagle and a survival knife.
‘These were my dad’s!’ he exclaimed breathlessly. Connor swallowed hard as he found himself overcome with emotion. Following his father’s death, his mum had kept such things in a memory box, along with photos and other personal items that defined his father.
‘Well, they’re yours now,’ declared his mum with a bitter-sweet smile. ‘I’ve checked with your school and there’s no problem taking the knife back with you. In fact, your head teacher, Mr Black, positively encouraged it.’ She raised an eyebrow to express her surprise. ‘I don’t know if I ever told you, but that medal was awarded posthumously to your father for saving a US ambassador’s life.’
Connor nodded. ‘Yeah, he’s now the president of the United States,’ he said without thinking.
‘How do you know that?’ exclaimed his mum. ‘I don’t think I was even told the ambassador’s name.’
Connor immediately tried to backtrack. He only knew this fact because, on his first assignment to protect the US president’s daughter, he’d met the man himself, who had told him about his father’s heroic sacrifice. ‘I … must have read it in a newspaper.’
‘Would you like some more tea, Mrs Reeves?’ asked Charley, intervening before his mum could interrogate him further. Connor realized that if she discovered about his secret life as a bodyguard it would bring an end to everything, however much she was in need of proper care. And although he didn’t like deceiving his mum, in this case, the ends justified the lie.
‘Erm … yes please,’ replied his mum, holding out her cup with a tremulous hand.
While the others drank their tea and Charley led the conversation away from US presidents, Connor, avoiding his mum’s quizzical gaze, examined his father’s survival knife. The handle was made of rosewood, well oiled and smooth to the touch. When he slid the blade out of its leather sheath, he could see that it was razor sharp and in perfect condition. Holding the knife in one hand and the medal in the other, memories of his father came flooding back, in particular those of their camping trips together – cutting down branches and making a bivouac shelter, using a flint-and-steel to start a campfire, skinning a rabbit and cooking it over the open flames, lying beneath the night sky and learning how to navigate by the stars …
‘Would you help me clear away, Charley?’ said his gran quietly.
‘Sure,’ replied Charley, moving the tea tray on to her lap.
When the two of them had left the living room, Connor’s mum edged closer on the sofa and put her arm round him. Connor let himself be drawn into her comfort, allowing the grief for his dead father to flow out.
Eventually, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, Connor looked up. ‘Thanks, Mum,’ he said, hugging her. ‘This is the best present possible.’
‘I’m glad you like them,’ she said, kissing him on the forehead. Then lowering her voice and glancing towards the kitchen, she asked, ‘So is this the girl who’s been distracting you from your school work?’
Connor felt his cheeks flush. ‘She’s just a friend,’ he insisted.
‘Well, she’s lovely.’ His mum tousled his hair affectionately. ‘And you’re such a good boy. Always looking out for others.’ Her expression became solemn again. ‘Now please don’t get me wrong when I say this, but do you really need to burden yourself further?’
‘I’m not sure I understand,’ said Connor.
His mum sighed softly and her gaze drifted to the kitchen and Charley in her wheelchair. ‘You’ve got enough on your plate with me and Gran. Should you really be taking on Charley’s needs as well?’
In the kitchen, Connor saw his gran fumble with a teacup and Charley catch it in mid-air, her reflexes as sharp as ever.
Connor smiled to himself. ‘Charley doesn’t need me to look after her,’ he assured his mum. ‘She can more than handle herself, in any situation.’
‘Well, that I can believe,’ said his mum, giving him a final inquisitive look but taking it no further. ‘I was only thinking of you. Forget I ever mentioned it. If the truth be told, I should take my inspiration from Charley’s attitude to life’s daily challenges …’
Connor became aware that his mum’s tremors were getting worse. But it wasn’t her MS this time. He could see she was on the verge of tears. At that very moment Charley and his gran re-entered the living room with a large chocolate birthday cake decorated with fifteen candles. His mum immediately rallied and joined in singing ‘Happy Birthday’ as the cake was placed before him on the table.
‘Don’t forget to make a wish,’ urged Charley when he leant forward to blow out the candles.
Closing his eyes, Connor had only one wish in the world.
‘Is this where you found the diamond?’ demanded General Pascal, surveying the hidden valley. Thick vegetation cloaked the steep sides and a primeval mist hung ghost-like in the dawn air, seemingly undisturbed for millennia. A wide shallow river snaked its way over rocks and through gullies, twisting downhill towards a waterfall that joined the Ruvubu River in the distance. To the west was a craggy peak atop which stood a single acacia tree.
No Mercy recognized the peak from his former life, a life erased since his abduction and forced conscription into the ANL, Armée Nationale de la Liberté. The peak was called Dead Man’s Hill. An ancient sacrificial site. No one from the villages ventured near for fear of evil spirits and man-eating leopards. It was little wonder this valley had lain undisturbed for so long – until now. No Mercy kicked at the mud and stones with his bare feet. Who would have imagined there were diamonds here? They all looked like worthless rocks to him.
General Pascal turned impatiently to a thin gaunt-faced man at his side. Tongue-tied, the prisoner stared up at him with round fearful eyes.
‘Answer the general!’ ordered Blaze, striking the man so hard across the jaw that the prisoner dropped to his knees, spitting blood.
A tooth fell from the poor man’s mouth and he reached with a trembling hand to pick it back up. Blaze stepped on the man’s fing
ers, crushing them against the rocks.
‘Another for my collection,’ Blaze remarked, taking the tooth for himself. The general’s right-hand man had a reputation for cruelty. Never seen without his mirrored aviator sunglasses or the fearsome machete that hung from his hip, he wore an army-green T-shirt, black combat trousers and matching boots. He kept his head shaved and round his neck hung a beaded necklace, which on closer inspection was comprised of human teeth.
Beaten into submission, the prisoner pointed to a sandy bank on the bend of the river. ‘Right here,’ he spluttered through a mouthful of blood. ‘I found the diamond right here.’
General Pascal pulled a brand-new Glock 17 from his hip holster and pressed the barrel against the man’s temple. ‘You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?’
The man shook his head, his whole body trembling in terror. ‘No, General! I swear!’
‘Good,’ said General Pascal, smiling at him as he squeezed the trigger.
The gunshot echoed round the valley, startling birds from treetops and sending monkeys into a shrieking panic. The man flopped lifeless into the river, his blood mixing with the water and turning it pale pink. Pink as a rare diamond.
A child soldier, wearing combat fatigues and a black bandana with DREDD emblazoned across the brow, prodded the bleeding corpse with a toe.
‘Why you kill him?’ he questioned the general, more bemused than shocked.
General Pascal sneered at the boy as if the answer was obvious. ‘He tried to steal my diamonds. This land belongs to me now.’ He planted a foot on the dead man’s back and declared, ‘We’ll start digging here.’
No Mercy jerked the barrel of his gleaming AK47 at the group of prisoners they’d rounded up from a distant village. Without needing to be told twice, the men picked up their shovels and sieves and set to work panning for diamonds. No Mercy smirked at their dog-like obedience.
‘I don’t want anyone else knowing where this diamond field is,’ announced the general. He pointed to a number of potential access points around the secluded valley. ‘Blaze, set up guards there, there and there. Kill anyone who attempts to enter or leave this valley.’
Connor stifled a yawn as he tapped away on the keyboard in the operations room at Buddyguard HQ. Equipped with state-of-the-art computers, satellite phones and HD flatscreen displays streaming live news feeds and the latest world security updates, the operations room was the hub of Alpha team’s activities. Every piece of intelligence, every threat assessment and every mission profile was stored here. All security decisions and operational orders were issued from this room.
Connor was at the end of his shift and completing the daily occurrence log. Dull but essential work. Each shift leader had to record everything that occurred during an assignment, whether routine or out of the ordinary. That meant every phone call, every communication, every incident, every change in plan. Any occurrence no matter how seemingly insignificant – from the driver’s name of a delivery company, to the scheduled maintenance of an air-conditioning unit, to the details of a vehicle parked outside a Principal’s house. Such mundane information, as Bugsy their surveillance tutor had repeatedly stressed, could become crucial later in an operation – when the driver of the delivery company became a suspect, or a bugging device was detected in a vent, or the same vehicle was spotted in another location.
But, as important as his work was, Connor simply couldn’t get excited about it. After a week stationed at HQ supporting Amir on his first mission, Connor was yearning for the challenge of an assignment himself. Nothing compared to the ‘buzz’ and heightened perception that came from protecting a Principal in the field. Colours seemed brighter, sounds sharper and sensations stronger. He could now understand what his father meant when he’d referred to the ‘combat high’ that soldiers experienced during battle. Connor experienced a similar ‘protection high’.
Finishing the log entry, Connor leant back in his chair and stretched his limbs. He felt his father’s knife pressing against his hip, as if spurring him to go on another mission. He’d originally become a bodyguard not just to provide care for his family but to follow in his father’s footsteps and discover more about the man he’d barely known – an SAS operative in the Special Projects Team, responsible for counter-terrorism and VIP close protection, a man who’d not only saved a future president’s life but also that of Colonel Black. And now, after two successful missions, Connor felt as if he was walking side-by-side with his father. He’d come to appreciate why his father had dedicated himself to protecting others – that sense of pride and purpose in keeping someone safe. But it was only on an assignment that he felt so close to him. Back at HQ, his father seemed to withdraw into the picture Connor kept of him on his key fob.
Yet, despite the lack of thrills that came with being stuck at HQ, Connor couldn’t deny there were some benefits. He got the chance to hang out with Charley and the rest of Alpha team. He could keep up his kickboxing training, critical for his forthcoming match with Ling. He even had the time to read and watch some TV. That said, he and the others wouldn’t be getting any free time over the coming week or so. Alpha team had been tasked with running two assignments simultaneously – Operation Hawk-Eye, which Amir was already on, and Operation Lionheart, which Marc was due to commence in just under twenty-four hours.
Connor glanced over to the briefing room where Marc, Jason, Ling and Charley were finalizing the op-orders. Marc had been assigned to protect a French ambassador’s family on safari in Africa. It sounded like a dream assignment to Connor. Yet Marc didn’t appear too thrilled at the prospect. A sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead and his complexion was rather pale. Suddenly Marc made a retching sound, clamped a hand to his mouth and ran from the room.
Jason looked round at the others in bewilderment. ‘I know Marc gets the jitters before a mission, but I’ve never seen him that bad.’
Connor rose from his seat, intending to see if Marc was all right, but at that moment his computer monitor flashed and an alert sounded, notifying him of an incoming video call. Connor clicked Accept and Amir’s face popped up on the screen.
‘You’re not due to report in for another hour,’ said Connor. ‘Everything OK?’
But he could tell from Amir’s expression that things were far from right.
‘Is anyone else with you?’ Amir asked.
Connor looked across to the briefing room, then shook his head. ‘They’re all dealing with Marc at the moment. Seems like he’s having a panic attack.’
‘He’s not the only one,’ replied Amir, his voice strained.
Connor leant closer to the screen, his concern growing. ‘What’s happened?’
Amir took a deep breath. ‘I’m not like you, Connor … I’m no kickboxing champion. I don’t have a fighter’s natural reflexes.’
Connor could see his friend was trembling. ‘Just tell me what’s going on.’
‘We were in a crowd … there was a man. I thought he had a grenade … I froze. I didn’t do anything to protect my Principal, not even shout a warning …’ Amir lapsed into silence, an expression of deep shame on his face.
‘Is the Principal OK?’ asked Connor.
Amir nodded, but still didn’t raise his eyes to the camera. ‘Yes, fine. The grenade turned out to be an egg!’ He shrugged with embarrassment. ‘But what if it hadn’t been –’
‘Amir, calm down,’ interrupted Connor. ‘It sounds to me like first-operation nerves. You’re bound not to react instantaneously, especially when it’s the first real threat you’ve encountered. The main thing is your Principal is alive and unharmed.’
‘Sort of,’ admitted Amir. ‘The egg ruined his clothes.’ He sighed heavily and stared glumly down at his lap. ‘I don’t think I’m cut out for this buddyguard work. I’m just a slum boy who got lucky. I’m a fake!’
‘Don’t you dare say that,’ replied Connor. ‘Listen, Amir, if you can survive a slum upbringing, get yourself out and provide for your family back in India, then you
’re more than capable of protecting someone.’
Amir had once confided in him about his past. He was the sixth son of a migrant worker from a slum on the outskirts of Delhi. He’d been working as a rag picker, earning a few rupees a month to help stave off his family’s hunger, when Colonel Black had discovered him through an unusual ‘hole-in-the-wall’ experiment. An Indian IT company had installed a computer in a concrete wall facing the slum. Without any training or help, Amir and some other slum children had taught themselves how to use the computer. Within a day, Amir was accessing the internet and creating folders. After a week he was downloading apps, music files and games. By the second month he was writing his own simple programs. With no formal education, Amir had proven himself a natural with computers. He came to Colonel Black’s attention when one day he hacked into the IT company’s server – a server that was under the colonel’s security remit at the time. Recognizing his natural talent for problem-solving, Colonel Black sponsored Amir through school and recruited him as a potential buddyguard.
‘Remember what the colonel said, the mind is the best weapon a bodyguard can possess,’ continued Connor. ‘And you’ve got a phenomenal mind. So stay focused and in Code Yellow,’ he advised, referring to the default alert status for a bodyguard. ‘Next time you’ll spot the threat earlier and be able to avoid turning your Principal into an omelette!’
Amir managed a half-hearted laugh. ‘Thanks, Connor … I’m glad I’ve got you for back-up.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ reassured Connor.
Charley came up behind him as Amir signed off. ‘Any problems?’
Connor turned round and shook his head. ‘No, Amir’s doing great.’
‘Good,’ replied Charley, ‘because Colonel Black needs to see you urgently.’
Bodyguard: Ambush (Book 3) Page 4