Bodyguard: Ambush (Book 3)

by Chris Bradford

  ‘Are we going to make it back home?’ he asked, the simple question striking at the heart of their predicament.

  Connor looked him squarely in the eye and, with as much confidence as he could muster, replied, ‘It’s my job to protect you and your sister. I promise to get you both home safely.’

  Henri became thoughtful for a moment. ‘So, will you ask my sister out when we get back?’

  Connor almost stumbled and fell into the water. ‘Ermm … I think you’ve got the wrong idea. We were just washing off the ants.’

  Henri gave him a sideways look that said whatever, then continued: ‘She likes you. I can tell.’

  Connor glanced over his shoulder. Amber was a few metres back, concentrating on keeping her balance over the rocky streambed.

  ‘It would be great if you were her boyfriend,’ enthused Henri. ‘Then we could hang out more. We could go to football matches together –’

  Connor ruffled Henri’s hair. ‘Enough of your matchmaking. Let’s escape this jungle first, eh?’

  As they were negotiating round a small waterfall, they heard a distant voice cry out, ‘Siafu! Siafu!’

  ‘Did you hear that?’ said Amber, exchanging a fearful look with Connor.

  Connor nodded. He recalled Gunner’s words: It doesn’t matter whether you’re a lion or a gazelle in this life; when the sun comes up, you’d better be running.

  They started running.

  Clambering over the rocks and splashing through the shallows, they fled downstream. While it was entirely possible the voice didn’t belong to a rebel militia, Connor wasn’t willing to take that gamble.

  ‘Go! Go!’ he urged, knowing they had to put significant distance between themselves and their pursuers if they were to have any chance of escaping capture.

  But the water was slowing their progress. And tiring them too. Henri tripped and fell face first into the stream. Connor dragged him to standing, pushing him ahead and alongside his sister. As the jungle thinned out and the waterway broadened, they took to the bank and headed across firm ground. Despite the spiny bushes clawing at their clothes, they were able to quicken their pace. But Connor realized they’d now be leaving clear tracks for the gunmen to follow.

  Behind, they heard another shout. Closer this time.

  Henri’s breathing was tight and ragged and he was struggling to keep up. When they finally reached the edge of the jungle, he was wheezing so badly that Connor thought he might collapse. Henri fumbled for his inhaler and took two desperate puffs.

  ‘He can’t keep this up much longer,’ panted Amber, leaning her brother against a tree to rest.

  Looking out across the broad expanse of the savannah, Connor knew they had no hope of outrunning the gunmen. Certainly not with Henri’s asthma. Ahead of them were miles of rolling hills and high grasses, interspersed with clumps of acacia trees, tangles of thorn bushes and solitary baobabs rising up like sentinels from the red earth. In this terrain they’d be easy prey for any predator – particularly a group of well-armed militia.

  ‘Perhaps we should just surrender?’ Amber suggested. ‘I mean, why would they want to hurt us? Three kids. We’re not a threat to anyone.’

  ‘The ambush we witnessed made us a threat,’ replied Connor. He glanced down at his father’s knife and instantly dismissed any notion of making a stand against the gunmen.

  Yet while they couldn’t run, they could hide.

  ‘The baobab,’ said Connor, pointing to one of the immense trees that dominated the savannah.

  ‘What about it?’ asked Amber.

  ‘People rarely look up,’ explained Connor.

  Immediately comprehending his plan, Amber urged Henri to his feet. Rushing over to the nearest baobab, a ten-metre-tall gnarled specimen, Amber volunteered to climb the trunk first. The bark was knotty and offered lots of handholds, and her bouldering skills enabled her to pick out the fastest route. She ascended the trunk with the ease of a monkey. Once in the refuge of the lower boughs, several metres above the ground, she hung herself over the edge.

  ‘Your turn, Henri,’ she said, beckoning him to join her.

  Her brother took one look and shook his head. ‘I … can’t … do it,’ he gasped. ‘I’m too … tired.’

  ‘Of course you can. With our help,’ said Connor, cupping his hands to give him a boost. ‘Now hurry, they can’t be far off.’

  Snatching a last puff from his inhaler, Henri took hold of a groove in the bark and, with immense effort, began to haul himself up. While Amber guided her brother with the climb, Connor encouraged him from below. Exhausted and wheezing, Henri slowly inched his way up the trunk. Connor willed him to go faster, fully expecting to see the gunmen bearing down on them at any moment. But the treeline remained clear … for the time being at least. What he did spot, however, caused him to turn and sprint back to the jungle.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Amber cried after him as she pulled her brother up the last metre.

  Connor didn’t have time to explain. At the jungle edge, he used his knife to cut a leafy branch from a low-hanging tree. Then, retracing his steps to the baobab, he swept the dirt behind, obliterating all trace of their tracks. When he reached the base of the baobab, he flung the branch as far as he could, before launching himself at the tree trunk. Clawing his way up, he was almost to the top when his foot slipped off a knot in the bark. He felt himself falling.

  ‘I’ve got you!’ said Amber, her hand clamping on to his wrist.

  With gritted teeth and her muscles straining, she dragged him into the refuge of the boughs just as the gunmen burst from the jungle.

  Peering from their hiding-place, Connor was stunned to see the small lithe figure of Buju guiding the rebel soldiers on to the savannah. The tracker had seemed such a gentle and kind-hearted man. Now it was evident that his quiet nature had been serving a duplicitous purpose. It also explained why the tracker had stopped the convoy in the middle of the riverbed. And why he had suddenly disappeared when the attack commenced. Buju was the one who’d betrayed the president, his entourage and the Barbier family.

  The tracker was the traitor.

  Connor watched as Buju quickly spotted the hewn branch on the tree, then knelt to examine the freshly swept earth – its colour ever so slightly different from the surrounding soil. With a sinking feeling in his gut, Connor realized they never had a chance in hell of eluding such a skilled tracker. His only surprise was they’d not been found sooner.

  Five soldiers – three men and two boys, all armed with rifles – stood beside Buju as he studied the ground. Connor recognized one of the boy soldiers by the black bandana on his head. He’d been the one firing with wild abandon into their Land Rover when they’d been forced to turn back at the trench. The other boy, in an oversized camo-jacket and red beret, toted a brand-new AK47 – and by the way he carried the weapon it looked like he knew how to use it.

  ‘Which way now?’ asked a tall soldier in mirrored shades, his voice travelling clearly in the still, hot air of the savannah.

  Buju began walking slowly towards the baobab, following the traces of the swept track. Connor’s heart was in his mouth, and his hand went to his knife in readiness. Amber and Henri clung on beside him, the boy’s laboured breathing whistling in his ear. As the soldiers drew ever nearer, the three of them sank further into the hollow of the boughs, in a futile last attempt to stay hidden.

  Buju knelt to examine the earth once more.

  ‘It’s hard to tell,’ he replied. ‘They’ve wiped their tracks.’

  The rebel in the mirrored shades swore, kicking at the dirt with a heavy black boot.

  ‘Spread out!’ he ordered his soldiers. ‘They can’t be far away.’

  ‘Wait!’ said Buju, holding up his hand. ‘You’ll disturb any signs they might have left.’

  Standing, he scanned the terrain, his gaze passing over the long grasses, the baobab tree, the tangle of bushes … then flicking back again to the baobab. Connor felt like a mouse caught in the
deadly sights of a hawk.

  It was all over. There was nowhere to run. No chance of fighting. No hope of hiding.

  ‘What is it, Buju?’ asked the rebel.

  Buju’s gaze immediately dropped to the discarded branch, several metres from the base of the baobab.

  ‘Have you seen something?’ demanded the rebel, his mirrored glasses glinting in the sun as he looked sharply around. ‘Where are they?’

  ‘This way,’ said Buju, walking purposefully on.

  Connor peered from the bough as Buju proceeded to lead the soldiers away from their baobab tree and into an acacia thicket. Connor was utterly baffled, until he saw the gleam of a large machete, its tip pressed against the small of the tracker’s back.

  ‘Buju looked straight at us!’ exclaimed Amber under her breath. ‘He knew we were hiding here.’

  Connor nodded solemnly. ‘That’s why he went the other way.’

  ‘He’s on our side?’ questioned Henri, no longer wheezing so badly.

  ‘Apparently so. By the looks of it, he’s being forced to track us.’

  Cautiously sitting up, Connor peered in the direction the rebels had gone. Amid the tall grasses on the next rise, he spotted the distinctive red beret of the boy soldier. They were still heading away from them. But how long Buju could keep up the pretence of following a false trail was anyone’s guess. And Connor didn’t think the rebel with mirrored sunglasses was likely to be taken for a fool.

  ‘Let’s move while we can,’ he said. In the distance he could see the ridge upon which the lodge was located. Gloriously lit by the morning sun, it offered the promise of a safe haven. But between them and the ridge stretched the open savannah populated by herds of grazing zebra, kudu and antelope, along with the unseen threat of lion, leopard and cheetah lurking in the undergrowth.

  This assignment should be a walk in the park for you, Charley had said.

  Some walk this is turning out to be, thought Connor as he took a bearing on the ridge with his compass watch.

  Swinging his legs off the bough and on to the trunk, he clambered down from the baobab, followed by Henri and Amber. Once on the ground they lost sight of their destination, but, relying on the compass, they set off due south.

  ‘How long do you think it will take us now?’ asked Amber with an anxious glance at her asthmatic brother.

  ‘Depends how fast we can walk,’ Connor replied as they headed up a rise, winding between clumps of bushes and trees. ‘Four, maybe five hours.’

  Above their heads yellow weaver birds swooped, catching tiny insects disturbed from the grass by their feet. The bush hummed with life and the sun, blazing in the powder-blue sky, was already sending ripples of heat up from the ground. Connor wiped the sweat from his brow as they continued to climb.

  ‘Do we have any water?’ asked Henri, his voice tight and hoarse.

  ‘Sure,’ said Connor, having filled the bottle back at the cave. Stopping, he unscrewed the cap, inserted the Lifestraw and passed the bottle to Henri. ‘Only take a few sips,’ he advised. ‘It might be some time before we reach the river and can refill.’

  Henri grimaced at the taste of the warm chemically treated water. ‘What I’d do for an ice-cold can of Coke,’ he sighed.

  As he sucked on the straw, Amber said quietly, ‘It’s good that Buju’s still alive.’

  Connor nodded, his eyes scanning the scrub for any sign of predators. The knowledge Gunner had imparted about the African wildlife made him more aware than ever of the constant danger surrounding them.

  ‘Probably means our parents are OK too,’ continued Amber, phrasing it more as a question than a statement.

  ‘Yes, it seems likely,’ agreed Connor, taking the water bottle back from Henri. As long as Laurent and Cerise served a purpose for the rebels, then Connor reasoned they might still be alive – if only as hostages to demand a ransom from the French government. It was a slender hope but a credible one.

  As they approached the top of the rise, a gunshot echoed across the plain.

  ‘Down!’ cried Connor, pushing both Henri and Amber to the ground.

  There was more gunfire – but at a distance. Retrieving the binoculars from his pack, Connor knelt up and searched for the source of the shots. But he didn’t need binoculars to realize what was happening.

  Buju fled through the bush, crouching down low as bullets tore up the undergrowth around him. The threat of his own torture and death had impelled him to track the children. But he hadn’t been able to betray them. Not when he knew the horrendous fate that awaited them.

  Of course he’d spotted the three youngsters in the baobab tree. To a tracker, it was the most obvious place to hide. And the red hair of the French brother and sister was like a beacon in the bush. But, when he’d seen them tucked in the hollow of the lower boughs, it wasn’t their faces he saw but the faces of his own children. He realized that whatever the risks to his own life he couldn’t be responsible for their capture. No parent on earth would wish their offspring to suffer at the hands of these cruel rebel soldiers.

  After leading the gunmen away from their quarry, he’d kept up the pretence of following a live trail. But it wasn’t long before Blaze began to suspect something. That’s when he’d made the stupid mistake of fabricating a sign – to convince the rebel they were still on the right track. Asking some of the soldiers to cast ahead, he’d snapped a plant stem when he thought no one was looking. Then a minute later announced its discovery and the direction in which the children were supposedly fleeing.

  But the boy soldier No Mercy had spotted his deception and declared him a liar.

  That was the moment he ran for his life.

  ‘Don’t let that snake get away!’ Blaze snarled over the ferocious blasts of AK47s.

  Like a bolting rabbit, Buju zigzagged through bushes. If he could reach the cover of the jungle, he might have a chance of losing them among the trees. But blood flowed freely from the gash across his back where Blaze had slashed at him when he’d fled. He could feel it dripping off him, leaving a bright red trail in his wake.

  The soldiers raced after him, their guns blazing.

  A bullet clipped his shoulder, knocking him to the ground. Buju got up, staggering, before another shot pierced his thigh. He stumbled on, the treeline almost within reach, until he felt a rock-hard strike to his back as a round punctured his right lung. He was crawling now, the jungle only metres from him …

  Suddenly all was calm, the heavy thunder of gunfire fading and the sounds of the savannah returning. He could hear the saw-like buzz of cicadas in the grass. The warbling of weaver birds in the trees. The braying of zebra and somewhere in the distance the mighty roar of a lion. Buju saw his lifeblood seeping into the red earth and grasped the rich soil between his fingers for one last time, savouring its warmth and comfort.

  Then the tracker was wrenched from his dying peace as Blaze planted a foot on his back, seized the curls of his hair and jerked his head back.

  Pressing the edge of his machete against Buju’s throat, he demanded, ‘Which way did the children really go?’

  Buju gasped in pain. ‘They’re miles … away … by now.’

  ‘You lie. I know we were on the right track.’

  ‘You’ll never find them … without me,’ wheezed Buju.

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ said Blaze and drew the blade sharply across Buju’s throat.

  Blood sprayed into the red earth and the tracker fell still. Flicking the gore off his machete, then wiping it on the dead tracker’s shirt, Blaze stood and surveyed the savannah.

  ‘Double-back to the baobab tree,’ he told his gang of misfit soldiers. ‘That’s where we lost their trail.’

  As No Mercy obeyed Blaze’s order, he thought he caught a gleam of reflected sunlight on the rise. A second glint convinced him that he hadn’t been mistaken.

  Sickened at the sight of Buju’s slaughter, Connor lowered his binoculars. He’d seen the boy soldier with the red beret point in their direction
and wondered how on earth they’d been spotted so quickly. Buju no longer knew where they were so he couldn’t have betrayed them. Then, as he stuffed the binoculars back in his Go-bag, Connor cursed his stupidity – he’d been looking due east so the sunlight would have reflected off the lenses.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Amber, still lying prone in the dirt beside her brother.

  ‘Buju’s just been killed,’ he explained.

  ‘My God, no!’ The blood visibly drained from her face as the hope she’d held for her parents’ survival died along with Buju.

  Connor dragged the two of them to their feet. ‘The gunmen are coming this way. We need to move fast!’

  Staying low, they kept to the cover of the bushes as much as they could. Without Buju to guide the rebels, Connor hoped the soldiers would be slower to track them. So long as the three of them stayed out of sight, they might still have a slim chance of evading their pursuers.

  Cresting the rise, the savannah once again opened out before them, mounds of granite boulders breaking up the terrain between strips of dense undergrowth and islands of flat-top trees. In the distance the land flattened out into a grassy plain where the Ruvubu River wound like a glistening python, dividing the valley in two. Until now Connor hadn’t given any consideration as to how they’d cross that wide stretch of waterway … if they even got that far.

  He risked a quick glance back and spotted the red beret racing through the long grass and bushes towards them.

  ‘Keep going,’ Connor urged, directing Amber and Henri downslope.

  Running as fast as Henri’s asthma would allow, they followed an animal trail across the savannah and into a dense thicket. Emerging at the other side, Amber came to an abrupt halt, Henri and Connor almost running into the back of her before they also froze.

  A few metres ahead of them a zebra was being ripped apart in a feeding frenzy by a pack of spotted hyenas. Their powerful jaws snapping, their fur stained with blood, they squabbled over the kill, cackling and giggling like lunatics from an asylum.