‘But why children?’
‘Because children are easier to condition and brainwash,’ replied Charley. ‘Also, child soldiers don’t eat as much food as an adult, don’t need paying and have an underdeveloped sense of danger, so are easier to send into the line of fire.’
Connor was struck by some of the parallels to their own situation. But he hadn’t been forced to become a bodyguard. And he’d been trained to save lives, not kill and murder.
‘That’s why General Pascal was nicknamed the Black Mamba,’ continued Charley, ‘for being the most dangerous and poisonous “snake” in Africa. He is a ruthless and evil man. Or I should say, was. All reports indicate the general died in the Congo two years ago. However, there’s no hard proof. That’s why I’m recommending to Colonel Black, based on the concerns of the ministers you overheard, that we up the threat status of Operation Lionheart to Category Two.’
The significance was not lost on Connor. In operational terms, this meant the threat was considered real and could conceivably happen.
‘Keep a close watch over the Cubs, Connor … and stay safe. You’re in wild country.’
Connor slapped at a mosquito on his neck. ‘Don’t I know it,’ he muttered, pulling his hand away to see a smear of his own blood.
The full moon, bright in the coal-black sky, silhouetted the skeletal acacia tree atop Dead Man’s Hill, and cast a ghostly sheen on the valley below. Like discarded trash, clusters of men and boys were curled up beneath the scant shelter of ripped tarpaulins, each and every one of them too exhausted to care that their beds consisted of little more than rocks and dirt. In the darkness at the edge of the makeshift camp, a handful of rebel soldiers kept watch – not for danger but for any worker attempting to escape.
A little further upstream, General Pascal paced outside the entrance to his tent, sipping from a bottle of hard liquor, a satellite phone clamped to his ear. Blaze sat nearby, sharpening his machete while listening to gangsta rap on a pair of oversized headphones. Beneath the spluttering light of a kerosene lamp, No Mercy played cards with Dredd and two other boy soldiers, Hornet and Scarface, the rickety makeshift table threatening to collapse as the dog-eared cards were slammed down with gambling zeal.
‘I win,’ declared Hornet, reaching forward to claim the cash.
Dredd clamped a hand over the winnings. ‘No, you cheated!’
‘You want to argue with me?’ said Hornet, standing up to his full height and flexing his formidable muscles.
With a scowl, Dredd pulled back his hand and began dealing afresh as Hornet sat down and counted his prize money.
‘Let them come,’ said General Pascal into his phone. There was a pause as he listened. ‘Don’t fret. We’ve the firepower, and more is on the way. Besides, it will be all over by tomorrow.’
Ending the call, the general turned to Blaze, who lifted one ear of his headphones away, music blasting out.
‘A unit of government soldiers has been sent to search this area,’ explained the general. ‘So from dawn I want scouting patrols in all sectors. Understood?’
Blaze nodded and glanced over at No Mercy and the others. ‘You hear that, boys?’
They all saluted in acknowledgement, then resumed their game. But they’d barely gone a round when a bloodcurdling scream echoed through the valley, followed by shouts of panic.
General Pascal discarded his whisky bottle and grabbed his gun. Abandoning their card game, No Mercy and the others raced after the general and Blaze to the source of the cries. They found the enslaved workers huddled together, their eyes wide and fearful as they stared into the pitch-black interior of the jungle.
‘What happened?’ demanded General Pascal, sweeping the undergrowth with his Glock pistol.
‘The idiots just started screaming,’ replied one boy soldier with a shrug.
Blaze backhanded the boy. ‘You were supposed to be keeping watch!’
As the boy nursed his split lip, a rake-thin worker stammered, ‘It-it … took him.’
‘Who?’ demanded General Pascal.
‘Jonas,’ replied the worker.
‘No, not the man,’ spat the general in disgust. ‘The attacker. Did you see who it was?’
The worker shook his head, but another proclaimed, ‘It was an evil spirit. A skin walker!’
A spasm of fear rippled like a wave through both workers and soldiers alike.
‘This valley is cursed,’ wailed a voice.
Others started moaning softly to themselves as the panic began to spread.
‘It was no evil spirit,’ corrected an elderly man, his voice low and reverential. ‘It was a leopard. The largest I’ve ever seen.’
He pointed a gnarled finger to some rocks and then a tree. Shimmering in the moonlight, a trail of slick blood was the only evidence of the prisoner’s disappearance.
‘A man-eater!’ General Pascal breathed in awe.
All eyes went to the jungle, the supernatural fear of spirits hardening into an instinctive terror of the wild. A big cat with a taste for human flesh prowling their valley meant no one was safe.
‘This is a bad omen,’ muttered Dredd.
‘No! This is a good omen,’ corrected General Pascal with a smile as white as bleached bone. ‘The leopard is by far the most cunning of killers.’
Crouching down, the general dipped his index finger into the blood of the leopard’s victim, then daubed the sign of the cross in red on his forehead.
‘Blood has been let. But not from one of our soldiers, for we are the chosen ones,’ he declared, now painting upon the brows of No Mercy, Dredd, Hornet and his other foot soldiers. ‘For we are the hunters, not the hunted.’
‘Dusk is one of the best times to spot predators,’ Gunner explained to Amber, Henri and Connor as he drove with the safari convoy towards a ridge in the distance.
Although sunset was still a couple of hours off, the lateafternoon light was already transforming the savannah into a bronzed mythical landscape. The red-rich earth seemed to glow with warmth and the Ruvubu River flowed like molten gold through the sweeping expanse of the national park. As the convoy bumped and weaved its way across the rolling landscape, Buju, strapped into his bonnet seat, drew his young passengers’ attention to many of the wondrous sights surrounding them: a parade of elephants lumbering towards a watering-hole, their enormous ears flapping like great sails; impalas and antelopes leaping into the air as if dancing for joy; towers of giraffes striding regally between clumps of acacia trees; and a mighty herd of black buffalo, their hooves dredging up clouds of red dust as they thundered away from the approaching Land Rovers.
Although the mood at the start of the safari had been a little more subdued than the previous occasions, the discovery of the dead body still on everyone’s minds, the Eden-like wonders of the park soon pushed aside any sombre thoughts. In awe at the sheer diversity of wildlife, Amber eagerly snapped away with her camera while Henri searched the savannah for lions on the hunt, desperate to see a real kill in action. Even Connor had his smartphone out, filming some of the more impressive animals to show the rest of Alpha team, back in cold snowy Wales, what they were missing.
‘Look! A cheetah!’ said Gunner, slowing the Land Rover and bringing the convoy to a halt.
Buju was pointing into the near distance where a distinctive black-spotted form was slinking through the long grasses towards a herd of antelope. Totally oblivious to the predator stalking them, the antelopes continued to graze contentedly in the golden sunlight. Suddenly the cheetah burst from its hiding-place in an explosion of speed. The antelopes scattered in panic. Weaving and zigzagging, its tail whipping this way and that, the cheetah bore down on its chosen prey – a young buck. The antelope switched direction again and again, trying to shake off its pursuer, but despite its valiant efforts the cheetah was faster and more agile. It knocked down the buck with a swipe of its claws, then pounced on its throat. The antelope struggled in its vice-like grip, but was soon suffocated.
‘That was awesome!’ Henri exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear.
Amber glanced over her shoulder at her brother in the back seat beside Connor. ‘Satisfied now?’
Henri nodded excitedly. ‘That was about the best thing I’ve seen in my whole life. I can’t wait for a lion kill.’
Amber sighed. ‘Haven’t you seen enough killing and dead bodies for one holiday?’
‘Are you kidding?’ replied Henri, using Connor’s binoculars to watch the cat devour its kill.
She gave him a despairing look before returning to face the front.
‘It’s just part of the circle of life, Amber,’ said Gunner. ‘Life and death go hand in hand in Africa.’ He paused, staring off into the distance, before continuing: ‘More often than not, a cheetah will fail in its attack. It may be the fastest land animal in the world, but it tires quickly.’
‘How fast can a cheetah run?’ asked Connor.
‘Up to seventy miles an hour in around three seconds. That’s quicker than most sports cars.’
Connor was astonished. With the ‘show’ over, the convoy set off again.
Keeping one hand on the wheel, Gunner leant over to Amber. ‘I think the sunset will be more to your liking. The viewpoint we’re going to is a photographer’s dream.’
Cresting a hill, he indicated the small plateau they were heading for. As the convoy dropped down into a dried-out riverbed as wide as a four-lane motorway, its treelined banks forming steep slopes on either side, Buju held up his hand for them to stop again. He dismounted from the bonnet seat and walked over to a patch of sandy ground. Crouching, he inspected the earth.
‘What’s Buju spotted now?’ whispered Amber.
‘I’m not sure,’ replied Gunner, switching off the engine.
Behind, the other five Land Rovers – transporting Laurent and Cerise, the president and his guard, and the ministers and their wives – switched off their engines too and waited. After a minute or so, Buju beckoned Gunner to join him. Clambering out of the driver’s seat, he went over and began studying the ground with the tracker.
The vehicle now stationary, the muggy heat of the late afternoon pressed in on Connor and the others. Batting away the ever-present flies, Connor looked up into the cloudless sky and saw a vulture hovering overhead. For a moment he imagined himself the prey and felt a chill run down his spine.
‘What do you think they’ve found?’ asked Amber.
‘Lion tracks?’ suggested Henri optimistically.
‘Maybe leopard,’ said Connor, scanning the surroundings as Henri’s eyes widened at the thought.
The rest of the convoy was strung out along the broad riverbed, the rear vehicle a good distance back, still on the bank. Laurent and Cerise were listening intently to their ranger, who was pointing out a striking red-and-yellow bird in the branch of a tree. The driver in the president’s vehicle was craning his neck, wondering what the hold-up was, while the Burundian ministers and their wives in the other 4x4s appeared hot and bored.
For some reason Connor’s sixth sense began twitching. All around seemed unnaturally still. Maybe the presence of the vulture had spooked him. Or maybe it was because they were in the sweltering hollow of a riverbed. But he couldn’t hear any birdsong; even the insects had stopped chirping. Connor knew from what Gunner had told him that when the bush went quiet, it was a sure sign that a predator was about.
He scanned the clumps of tall grasses, dense scrub and nearby trees for movement or anything unusual, but his eyes weren’t trained to spot the telltale signs of hidden wildlife, a skill that would be second nature to Buju or Gunner. Then a glint of reflected light at the base of a bush caught his eye. Retrieving his binoculars from Henri, Connor focused the lens on the undergrowth and his breath stopped dead in his throat. A pair of eyes, cold and calculating, stared right back at him.
Connor saw intelligence in those eyes. And in that instant he knew they were all in grave danger.
‘What have you seen?’ asked Henri excitedly.
All of a sudden a lone impala bolted from behind a clump of tall grasses. At the same time a short sharp crack punctured the still silence. Pivoting in his seat, Connor spotted the president’s driver slumped over his wheel. For a moment Connor thought he was just resting, then he noticed the splatter of fresh blood on the Land Rover’s windscreen. A second later the president’s 4x4 rattled as if being pelted by hail.
‘GET DOWN!’ yelled Connor, shoving Henri into the footwell of their vehicle and throwing his Go-bag on top of him, its body-armour panel acting as a shield.
The ferocious roar of heavy gunfire filled the air and Amber screamed, frozen where she was like a startled deer. Realizing she had ‘brain fade’, Connor threw himself into the driver’s seat and forcibly pushed Amber’s head down just as their windscreen shattered under a strafing of bullets, glass raining down on them.
‘What’s happening?’ cried Amber, her whole body trembling as Connor tried to shield her.
‘It’s an ambush,’ said Connor.
He risked raising his head for a moment to take stock of the situation. From the banks on either side, the black barrels of a dozen AK47s protruded from the bushes, their muzzles flaring with gunfire. President Bagaza was cowering in his vehicle, his presidential guard all but decimated. His personal bodyguard lay across him, a bullet through the head, while two other guards hung limp out of the doors, their blood dripping into the sand. The unit of soldiers in the back-up vehicle were firing indiscriminately at their hidden adversary, pulling the trigger with panic rather than accuracy. Only their driver seemed to have his wits about him as he restarted his engine, floored the accelerator and raced to rescue the president.
As more bullets peppered their own vehicle, Connor recalled Jody’s number one rule in an ambush situation: always keep moving.
Buju and Gunner were nowhere to be seen, so it was down to him to get them out of the kill zone. Twisting the keys in the ignition, Connor heard the engine turn over but fail to start. He tried again. It spluttered then died. Connor cursed but waited a moment, afraid of flooding the engine. Hearing a shrill whoosh, he braced himself as a rocket-propelled grenade screeched overhead. A second later, the finance minister’s Land Rover exploded in a ball of flames. Their own vehicle rocked with the force of the blast.
‘Mama! Papa!’ screamed Amber, rising up from the footwell.
Connor pushed her back down. ‘It wasn’t their car,’ he shouted, trying the ignition once more.
The stench of burning diesel now filled the air and a column of black smoke billowed into the sky. Third time lucky, the engine kicked into life.
‘Stay down,’ Connor instructed Amber and Henri as he sat up and grabbed the steering wheel. He went to put the Land Rover into gear and found the door handle instead. Only then did it dawn on him that the vehicle was a left-hand drive. In Britain it was the other way round. Battling the mental confusion of using his right hand on the gear stick, he crunched the Land Rover into first gear and floored the accelerator. The tyres kicked up dirt, then gained traction and shot forward. Laurent and Cerise’s Land Rover was already ahead of them, the driver hunkered down low as he sought to escape the lethal ambush.
Connor followed close behind, forcing the Land Rover into second gear and keeping to the driver’s tyre tracks. With the steep banks corralling them in, they had no choice but to head upstream. The worst of the firefight was still concentrated on the president’s vehicle and his remaining guard. But, just as Connor dared hope they might make their escape, the front tyres of the Barbiers’ Land Rover were shot out. The driver lost control, hitting the bank, and the vehicle flipped over. It crashed directly into their path. Connor wrenched the steering wheel hard left. They swerved, barely missing the upturned Land Rover and almost overturning themselves. In the back, Henri squealed as he was flung from one side of the footwell to the other.
‘Do you actually know how to drive?’ shouted Amber, clinging on for dear life, unable to see the chaos unfoldin
g.
Connor nodded. ‘Sure, passed my test last week.’
But that knowledge didn’t seem to reassure her. He was about to slam on the brakes and return for her parents when a gunman in faded army fatigues rushed out from behind a tree, an AK47 targeted on their vehicle.
Connor realized it would be a death sentence if he stopped. Ducking behind the dashboard, he accelerated hard. The gunman stood his ground, emptying his magazine into the charging Land Rover. Over the roar of the engine, Connor could hear the impact of bullets pinging off the steel bullbar at the front. As the 4x4 picked up speed, the gap between them and the gunman rapidly closed and for one horrible moment Connor thought the man wasn’t going to move. Then, with death almost upon him, he leapt aside. But too late. Connor heard a heavy thunk as the Land Rover’s bullbar caught his trailing leg. In the side mirror, he saw the man writhing on the ground, alive but out of action. He also glimpsed the Barbiers’ vehicle, smoke rising from the engine compartment. There was no sign of life from its occupants.
Connor kept his foot flat to the floor, telling himself that his priority was Amber and Henri. Not their parents. He hated having to make such a ruthless decision, but he knew if he turned back now they’d all be slaughtered.
Rounding a bend and leaving the carnage behind, Connor spotted a route up the bank and headed for it. He was concentrating so hard on driving that he failed to notice the deep trench running from one bank to the other. Only at the last second did he slam on the brakes and the Land Rover came skidding to a halt just short of the ditch.
His heart thudding in his chest, Connor desperately searched for another way out. But with its steep treelined banks the riverbed made the perfect choke-point for an ambush. Once the trap had been sprung, there was no escape.
Bodyguard: Ambush (Book 3) Page 11