Bodyguard: Ambush (Book 3)

by Chris Bradford

  ‘I’m Joseph Gunner,’ said the man, entering the room and extending his hand in greeting. ‘But you can just call me Gunner. I’m your park ranger.’

  ‘Hi, I’m Connor.’

  ‘You’re British!’ he remarked, somewhat surprised and, judging by the extra squeeze in his handshake, pleased at the discovery.

  Connor nodded. ‘Where are you from? You don’t sound or look like you’re from Burundi.’

  ‘South Africa, born and bred,’ he replied with a hint of pride. ‘Used to work in Kruger National Park until I was offered this opportunity.’ He cast his eye over the gear spread across the bed. ‘You’re more prepared than most tourists. What are you, a boy scout?’

  ‘Sort of,’ admitted Connor, beginning to repack.

  The ranger pointed to the knife. ‘Do you mind?’ he asked, picking it up.

  Connor shook his head. ‘It was my father’s.’

  Gunner examined it. ‘Well, he’s a man who knows his knives. Solid wooden handle. Full tang.’ Eyeing the blade, he carefully ran a finger along its edge before grunting in satisfaction. ‘There’s a saying in bushcraft: You’re only as sharp as your knife. Glad to see you’ve kept this one well honed.’

  Resheathing the blade, he handed it back to Connor, who felt oddly gratified that his father’s heirloom was held in such high regard.

  ‘Always important to carry a good knife in the bush,’ Gunner explained, tapping an impressively large hunter’s knife on his hip. The ranger picked up the SAS handbook lying on the bed and leafed through the pages. ‘You interested in survival skills then?’

  Connor nodded. ‘More than you might believe.’

  Gunner smiled. ‘Well, you’ve certainly come to the right place to test them out.’

  No Mercy stood guard on an outcrop of rock overlooking the hidden valley. Below, men worked like ants, digging at the earth with shovels and their bare hands. Like layers of peeling skin, the green vegetation was stripped back to expose rocks and mud and hopefully diamonds. Other press-ganged workers panned the sediment of the dammed river for the precious stones. They toiled in grim silence, their clothes mud-stained and drenched in sweat.

  Keeping a watchful eye over their labours, General Pascal’s army of child soldiers stood with their guns lazily trained on the men who were all old enough to be their fathers. Not that any of them thought they needed fathers now they were warriors of the ANL. No Mercy dimly recalled he’d once had a father, but the general had shown him the weakness of such men. His father had failed to protect his family – slaughtered at the hands of a rival rebel group. And now they were all gone No Mercy only had himself to fend for and he wouldn’t be as feeble as his father. The general had taught him the power of the gun. And led him on to the righteous path of glory.

  No Mercy heard a whoop and saw one man stand up, his arm raised high.

  General Pascal, reclining in a plastic deckchair beneath the shade of a palm tree and sipping from a water bottle, beckoned the worker over. The man handed the general his find. Closing one eye, General Pascal held the rock up to the sparkling sunlight and inspected the stone. Even from where No Mercy stood, he could see the reflected gleam and the grin spread across the general’s pockmarked face.

  Another diamond had been found.

  General Pascal waved the worker away, no longer interested, and the man trudged to the makeshift workers’ camp, little more than some pieces of tarpaulin strung between the trees. For his valuable find, he’d been rewarded with an hour’s extra rest and a double ration of food.

  No Mercy, impelled by the call of nature, left his lookout point and found a suitable clump of bushes. Resting his AK47 against a tree, he pulled down his trousers and squatted. As he wiped himself with a leaf, he heard a rustle in the bushes. No Mercy stayed very quiet. This was leopard country, after all.

  Silently pulling up his trousers, he listened to the noise drawing ever closer. Then he spied movement and the olive-green uniform of a park ranger materialized out of the bush. The ranger, shouldering a backpack and carrying a rifle, approached the outcrop. The sight of the open-cast mine in the valley below stopped him in his tracks.

  Cautiously the ranger backed away from the edge. From his hip he pulled out a two-way radio. Only as he went to switch it on did he spot No Mercy crouching in the bush. For a moment, they both stared at one another, neither knowing who was hunter and who was prey.

  The ranger offered a tentative smile and put a finger to his lips. No Mercy nodded in obedience.

  Reassured, the ranger whispered into the radio’s mic, ‘Echo 1 to Echo 2, over.’

  The radio crackled. No Mercy stood, revealing his combat fatigues and the AK47 in his grip. The ranger’s expression went from shock to horror as No Mercy depressed the trigger. Bullets ripped into the ranger’s body and he fell to the ground, dead.

  The radio, still clasped in the ranger’s hand, burst into life. ‘Echo 2 to Echo 1. I hear gunfire. Are you OK? Over.’

  No Mercy stood beside the twitching body of the ranger, watching the blood flow over the edge of the outcrop. He felt no emotion having killed the man. No guilt. No thrill. Nothing. Just an enveloping numbness. Above the dull ringing in his ears, caused by the thunderous roar of the AK47, he heard something crashing through the undergrowth. He spun to see another ranger appear. Without a second’s thought, he shot this man too.

  The ranger collapsed in a heap. But he wasn’t dead – not yet. He made wet choking sounds as he gasped for breath. No Mercy approached, gun in hand, barrel still emitting a wisp of smoke.

  ‘P-please … have m-mercy,’ begged the ranger, holding up a trembling hand in surrender, his eyes full of fear.

  ‘That’s not how I got my name,’ No Mercy replied, planting the barrel on the man’s forehead.

  ‘Hold your fire!’ ordered General Pascal, appearing with a unit of soldiers.

  The boy backed down, not caring whether the man lived or died. He’d done his duty and kept the valley guarded.

  General Pascal knelt beside the dying man. ‘I’m sorry, my friend. My soldier is trigger-happy. There has been a grave misunderstanding.’

  The ranger nodded, his fingers slick with blood where they clasped at his chest wound.

  The general unclipped the man’s radio from his hip. ‘Tell me, where are the other rangers so I can contact them for medical help?’

  The ranger shook his head feebly. ‘No more in this … sector,’ he wheezed.

  ‘No! Then what are you doing here?’

  ‘Looking for … poachers.’

  ‘There are no poachers here,’ assured General Pascal, then his expression hardened. ‘What are you really looking for?’

  The ranger’s glassy eyes squinted in puzzlement before widening in sheer agony as the general drove the radio’s aerial into the open wound. He let out a tortured scream.

  ‘Who sent you?’ demanded the general, twisting the radio.

  ‘The president …’ gasped the ranger, ‘at the safari lodge.’

  ‘Really?’ said the general, brightening at the news. Discarding the blood-smeared radio, he rose to his feet and clamped a hand on No Mercy’s shoulder. ‘Excellent work, my young warrior.’ He took off his red beret and fitted it on the boy’s head. ‘Consider yourself promoted to captain.’

  No Mercy felt a burst of pride.

  ‘Now take this ranger to the river.’

  No Mercy’s brow furrowed in confusion. ‘You want me to let him go?’

  ‘In a manner of speaking. Yes. The crocodiles are hungry!’

  ‘See anything?’ asked Henri eagerly.

  Connor lowered his binoculars. After prepping his Go-bag for the safari drive the next day and sending a message to Charley to confirm their safe arrival, he’d set off on a security sweep of the lodge. He needed to know the building’s layout and where his Principals and the other guests resided. He also had to familiarize himself with the surrounding grounds. Pinpoint where the entrance and exit points were. What acc
ess roads the park had. Establish routes out in case they needed to make a quick escape. Identify any areas vulnerable to attack or infiltration. And determine what security measures, if any, were in place.

  Henri had joined him on this task, thinking Connor was looking for lions and other big game. Amber had still been unpacking and said she’d join them later at the swimming pool.

  ‘Not yet,’ replied Connor, passing Henri the binoculars to have a look for himself.

  So far what Connor had seen hadn’t given him any reassurance. The lodge was the perfect setting for a holiday but a nightmare in terms of close protection. While their location on the ridge offered unbroken views of the valley and its wildlife, it also meant they were open and exposed. A potential enemy could approach from any direction. And the advantage gained from being able to spot someone a mile off was lost due to the cover provided by the long grasses and clumps of bush carpeting the landscape.

  The lodge itself possessed no perimeter alarm system. Nor did it have CCTV. The bedrooms weren’t even equipped with fire alarms. And the luxury of the glass-fronted suites was a major liability when it came to providing a safe barrier for his Principals in their rooms – a single gunshot would shatter the entire wall. Connor had inspected the door locks on his own suite and discovered they were flimsy. One hard kick and an intruder could break in with little problem.

  The only fixed security measure Connor could identify was the electric fence – a substandard three-wire barrier that encircled the lodge – or at least partly did. He’d already spotted two sections that had fallen flat, stretching the wires to breaking point. He would have to inform Gunner of this and hope they were fixed quickly.

  There were park rangers around, monitoring for intrusion by wild animals. But his key concern was the presidential guard. This should have been their primary ring of defence. Yet the unit of soldiers patrolling the grounds appeared relaxed to the point of negligence. Some were chatting and smoking in small groups, others strolled wearily from one patch of shade to the next, while at least two guards were fast asleep at their posts. Maybe it was the heat, or the lack of obvious threat in such a remote location, but the presidential guard didn’t appear to be guarding anything or anyone.

  ‘They’re barely in Code White,’ Connor muttered to himself.

  ‘Code what?’ asked Henri, still scanning the bush for game.

  ‘Code White. It refers to a person’s level of awareness.’ He indicated a soldier near the electric fence, picking his teeth with a twig. ‘See him? He’s totally switched off. If someone attacked now, he’d go into shock before being able to react.’

  Lowering the binoculars, Henri stared at Connor with a mixture of alarm and delight. ‘Are we going to be attacked?’

  ‘No, very unlikely,’ replied Connor. ‘But, as a bodyguard, you can’t allow yourself to walk around like a zombie. You have to be alert at all times – Code Yellow, we call it. When a possible threat is spotted you enter Code Orange – a focused state of mind for making crucial decisions, such as wait, run or fight. And if the threat becomes real, then you hit Code Red – basically “action stations”. But the main thing is you’re in control at all times.’

  Nodding earnestly, Henri began to scan the horizon with renewed intent. ‘So if I see something I should tell you.’

  ‘Yes, but I think you can relax,’ said Connor, taking back his binoculars. ‘The likelihood of an armed assault is low. The main threats are going to be from an accidental injury or wild animals.’

  ‘Like those monkeys?’ suggested Henri, pointing behind Connor to a cluster of giant boulders that marked the top of the ridge.

  Turning, Connor saw a troop of large dog-faced monkeys atop a huge rock. ‘I think they’re baboons,’ he said, before spotting Amber clinging on to a boulder a few metres below the animals. ‘What’s your sister up to?’

  The outcrop of rocks was clearly beyond the safety of the electric fence’s perimeter and he immediately set off towards her. Protecting two Principals at once was always going to be a challenge. But his task wouldn’t be made any easier if one of them was a wayward thrill-seeker. Crawling under the wire, Connor hurried over, Henri following behind.

  ‘What are you doing beyond the fence?’ Connor demanded as Amber effortlessly traversed the rock face. Her hair, red as the African soil, swung free in a long ponytail as she leant back to assess her route.

  ‘Bouldering,’ she replied, nimbly switching from one handhold to another.

  ‘Next time, can you tell me if you’re going to wander off?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It could be dangerous.’ Connor glanced up at the baboons. They were now making cough-like barks while the younger ones scampered from rock to rock excitedly.

  ‘They’re only baboons,’ she said, hanging from a pocket in the rock by the tips of her fingers.

  For such a slender girl, Connor was stunned at her strength. He didn’t reckon even the super-tough Ling could manage such a feat.

  ‘You look like a monkey!’ cried Henri, jumping up and down, scratching his armpits and whooping.

  ‘And you’re just as annoying as one,’ she muttered. ‘Can’t you go lion hunting or something?’

  As Amber worked her way across to the next boulder, one of the male baboons grunted and bared his large yellow teeth.

  ‘I don’t think that one’s too happy about where you’re climbing,’ Connor remarked.

  ‘Why should I worry?’ replied Amber. ‘I’ve got you to look out for me.’

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to do.’

  ‘Connor’s right. You need to be careful, Amber.’ Gunner had suddenly appeared behind them. Despite his anti-surveillance training, Connor hadn’t even heard the ranger’s footsteps. This was the second time Gunner had crept up without Connor being aware of his presence.

  ‘Baboons can be highly aggressive if their territory is threatened,’ explained the ranger.

  Glancing over her shoulder, Amber smiled an apology. ‘I just needed some exercise after the long flight.’

  ‘Understandable … but I wouldn’t go for that handhold, if I were you,’ advised Gunner.

  Amber frowned. ‘Why not? Are you a climber?’

  ‘No,’ said Gunner, picking up a long stick and prodding the crack next to Amber’s right hand.

  A brown scorpion scuttled out. Amber yelped and dropped to the ground.

  ‘Tempting as it is to go exploring, always bear in mind this is Africa,’ said Gunner, leading them away from the baboons. ‘Wild country with wild animals. Just a few steps from the cosy confines of your suite, there’s a whole host of hidden dangers.’

  He lifted up a nearby rock with his boot. A snake slithered out, hissing loudly. Connor swore out loud in shock and leapt aside as the snake disappeared into the long grass.

  Amber barely suppressed a smirk. ‘Hey, you’re white as a sheet. And I thought you were supposed to be a tough guy!’

  ‘I don’t like snakes, that’s all,’ Connor replied, his mouth dry with fear. He’d had a phobia ever since an adder had crawled into his sleeping bag on a camping trip with his father and bitten him. He still had nightmares about it.

  ‘Don’t fret, Connor. It’s just a hissing sand snake. Not poisonous,’ Gunner explained.

  Connor nervously eyed the grass around his feet. ‘Looked pretty deadly to me.’

  Gunner shook his head. ‘Nah, the ones you really have to watch out for are black mambas. Easy to identify by their coffin-shaped head and black mouth. Not only the fastest snake in the world but also one of the most aggressive and poisonous. A black mamba is capable of killing an adult human in as little as twenty minutes. That’s why its bite has been called the kiss of death.’

  ‘Boys have said that about my sister too!’ sniggered Henri.

  Amber scowled at him.

  ‘Joking aside, little man, the black mamba is the most dangerous snake in Africa,’ Gunner cautioned. ‘Believe me, you do not want to meet one of those in t
he bush.’

  Enclosed within a ring of dry reed walls, the Boma possessed a magical, almost timeless air. Bleached skulls of antelope and wildebeest marked the entrance. The hard-packed red earth appeared flattened by the tread of generation upon generation of Africans. And at the heart of the enclosure was a blazing bonfire that crackled and spat orange sparks like fireflies into the glittering starlit night.

  Spellbound by the scene, Amber, Henri and Connor sat at one of the simple wooden tables that had been arranged in a semi-circle round the ceremonial fire. The only sound in the night, aside from the pop and crack of burning logs, was the ceaseless drone of cicadas. As the insects sang on, waiters appeared with a variety of local delicacies from red-bean stew to sweet potatoes to ugali, a traditional dish made out of maize. These proved to be merely side dishes to a feast of impala, kudu and other exotic bush meats. President Bagaza invited everyone to begin and, as the drinks flowed among the adults, so did the conversation.

  ‘Are you following any of this?’ asked Amber in English.

  ‘Some of it,’ Connor replied. He pointed to his smartphone on the table. ‘Translation app.’

  ‘And I thought you were being spared the pain!’ She laughed and peered at the device, impressed. Leaning closer to him, she lowered her voice. ‘I can’t wait to go on safari tomorrow and get away from the adults and all this dull diplomatic talk. But let’s see if we can – how do you say in English? – set the cat among the pigeons!’

  With an impish curl to the corner of her lips, Amber had turned to the Minister for Trade and Tourism, who was discussing the expansion plans for the park with her father. ‘Tell me, what happened to the people who lived in the park before?’ she interrupted in French.

  Her father stiffened at the brazen question. Minister Feruzi smiled graciously, although his eyes turned flinty in the flickering firelight. ‘They’ve been given lovely new homes on the park’s border, with a school and freshwater wells. Much aid has been invested in the local communities, who will of course benefit directly from the tourism this lodge will attract – this is typical food, Cerise – besides pottery, basket-weaving is a very popular craft among Burundian artisans –’