Winner Kills All

by RJ Bailey

  Although, that’s nostalgia talking. Childhood is rarely warm and safe. Mine certainly wasn’t. Jess’s . . .

  I watch a worm of pulsing light crawl around the periphery of my retina. Inside it are tiny blue and silver fragments of cubic zirconium. The events at the casino have left me prone to the visual disturbances of migraines, although not the headaches. No doctor can tell me why that should be. So now I just live with the light show they provide. It fades after ten minutes.

  I should get out of the car and ring Freddie’s bell, but I am hesitating. I have been hesitating for almost an hour.

  Many weeks have passed since I was released by the police in Romania without charge. Self-defence, they decided. Especially when it transpired that I had killed Oktane, the well-known international assassin.

  Or one of them.

  I denied having anything to do with the TED device that detonated and blew out the circular sea door. Why the throat mic? they asked.

  Well, it was a voice-activation device for the explosives. Like Siri or Alexa. Except, my electronic helper was called Freddie – saying her name, coupled with Vesuvius, triggered the explosion. But I didn’t tell the police about that. Play dumb, my lawyer said. There was no playing in it. Numb and dumb, that was me. I told them it was just part of the body-armour kit, designed to communicate with partners. But I had no partners. I had acted alone. Charge me or discharge me. They chose the latter.

  After they had let me go, I went back with Tom. He nursed me as best he could. I wasn’t an easy patient. Over time, some sort of equilibrium was re-established between us. Not like the old days. It could never be like that. But someone to hold me when I cried, that was often more than enough for me.

  But he is gone now. Back to France. He cut some sort of deal with Leka. He wouldn’t tell me what. But it was like he had a penance to serve or he was an indentured servant. My guess is he’s bodyguarding Elona and her kids. That would be ironic. Tom gets my old job, while I . . . I what? How do you describe what I have become, what I am about to do?

  Best not give it a name.

  I spoke to Freddie on the phone several times while I was up north. She is disappointed in me. She has two good legs now. She wants to move ahead with Winter & Wylde, the all-female PPO agency. I told her I have much to do before then. And I don’t have much time to do it. Although, at that point I didn’t know just how little.

  She told me that Adam had separated from his wife Kath. She had been having an affair with his boss, apparently. He quit the paper and is writing a book set in Albania. No, not about the war and that actor, Anthony someone. About two freelance bodyguards. Inspired by actual events, he says.

  And what about me? I have work to do, too. On the seat next to me is a folder containing photographs of six people. I don’t really need the pictures. Their faces are burned into my cerebral cortex, branded there by hot irons. Lungs, heart, liver, kidneys . . .

  But my mental images can’t be processed through facial-recognition technology. If these people are out there in cyberspace, I can find them. That’s why I need the photographs.

  If what Bojan said was true, these six have pieces of my Jess in them. Pieces they didn’t deserve. Parts they acquired illegally.

  And now, they’ll have to pay.

  And there is at least one doctor involved. Someone had to harvest those body parts. So, he or she or they will have to be struck off. Permanently. It is getting to be quite the to-do list.

  Of course, I only have Bojan’s word for what happened to Jess, and his word wasn’t worth much. Almost everything he told me was all smoke and mirrors. It might be I am mistaken. Jess might be alive.

  I relish that word. Alive.

  And if she is, then tracking down those people on the film might lead me to her. It is worth the effort, no matter what the outcome.

  And there is still this question: how did Bojan beat me to the punch? How did he get to Jess at her school first? So, at some point, I’ll be talking to Matt. A drug dealer with a Frankenstein hand couldn’t be that hard to track down. And if the answers aren’t there, I will pay a house call on Dieter. And maybe I’d say hi to Aja again. I suspect the answer to Bojan’s success lies somewhere in that trio.

  And then there is Leka. He had told Tom about The Void. Had he been instrumental in setting me up to go to Constanta and find what Bojan had done? After all, Leka and Bojan could easily have known each other. Especially if Bojan really was an Oktane. Or if Bojan went back after we left Calais and struck a sick deal with him. Had I been suckered into the whole encounter in Constanta?

  There are lots of questions to be asking. I suspect the answer to the last one, though, is a resounding yes.

  Truth will out eventually. Even if you have to drag it into the light kicking and screaming.

  But first I will find them, these six people from The Void, and use them to find out exactly what happened to my daughter.

  ‘Why didn’t you come and get me, Mummy?’

  I am, my love. I am. This time for real.

  I look across to Freddie once more. I suspect I won’t be seeing her for a while and it hurts. But she doesn’t understand what I have to do. How could she? How could anyone?

  I came here tonight with big news. But I don’t know how she will take it. I run my hand over the bump of my belly the way I do dozens of times a day now, as if I can’t quite believe there is something growing in there. Someone, I correct myself.

  I haven’t told Freddie yet. Hell, I haven’t even told the father. But the little he or she inside me won’t change anything. I have a baby growing in me, it’s true. But I still have another child, out there in the world.

  I drop the unsmoked cigarette out of the window, raise the glass up, start the car and move off, glad it has begun at last.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  There is a rather spectacular derelict casino on the seafront at Constanta. But it’s not like the one in this book. It just looks a bit like it. Ovid was exiled to the town, though, and there is a statue of him there. He hated the place. The quotes at the opening of Parts 1–4 are from Ovid.

  Actor Anthony Quayle really was in Albania for SOE during the Second World War. We have been there too, and it isn’t full of people-trafficking gangsters. We put them there. The stories about organ harvesting at the Yellow House persist, even though solid evidence is hard to pin down.

  We would like to thank the Four Seasons and Coco Shambala on Bali and the Belmond Napasi on Koh Samui for advice and hospitality. All the members of staff and various characters depicted here are fictitious and bear no resemblance to any actual persons. Bella Ryan and Jessica Masterson did our ‘location scouting’ elsewhere in Asia.

  Also, thank you to our editors Jo Dickinson and Rebecca Farrell, and to Sue Stephens, Justine Gold, Richard Vlietstra, Jess Barratt, Dawn Burnett and all at Simon & Schuster for supporting the series.

  Once again, our gratitude goes to Lisa Baldwin, the PPO who kick-started Sam Wylde into action. A piece we did for The Times on the reality behind PPOs is included as an appendix.

  There are, of course, unanswered questions at the end of Winner Kills All – about how Bojan got Jess and whether Bojan and Leka were in cahoots. And, of course, about who is the father of Sam’s child. They will be addressed in Sam Wylde IV.

  THE REAL SAM WYLDES

  How much of Sam Wylde’s background/training is based on the reality of the bodyguarding business? Are there really that many female Personal Protection Officers? At a book event in 2017, an editor at The Times asked both these questions. We had explained what the series was about and she had assumed that Sam’s role was completely fictitious. When we insisted that Sam is inspired by actual PPOs – although she does tend to go off-piste more than your average PPO – and that, as a female, she can command higher fees than males, the editor asked us to research and write a piece to prove it. This is the resulting article, which was published in T2 of The Times in 2017.

  *

  Our i
nstructions were simple. Fly to Dublin. Catch a bus to a shopping mall on the outskirts of the city. Go to a particular coffee shop. We would meet there.

  ‘How will I recognise you?’ we asked.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ came the reply from my contact. ‘I’ll spot you.’

  I am about to enter the world of the Circuit, the slang term used for the international brotherhood and, increasingly, sisterhood of what is variously known as Close Protection, Personal Protection or Executive Protection Officers (CPO/PPO/EPO). Or, in everyday vernacular, bodyguards, a term that most on the Circuit dislike, believing it has misleading associations (many involving Kevin Costner).

  Our journey to the coffee shop began a few months previously, with an arresting advert on the Gumtree website. ‘We are looking for an experienced female CPO/PPO/driver OR an experienced driver with a knowledge of security for our clients in Westminster. You will be driving the new Rolls-Royce Ghost and MUST have previous experience driving luxury cars . . . 2-3 months during the summer may be spent in Monte Carlo with possible short trips in the winter months to St Moritz.’

  As novelists always on the lookout for an interesting protagonist, we were intrigued. Apart from it sounding like quite a gig, why did it specify a female? ‘Cultural reasons’ was the explanation when we asked. And did many women bodyguards exist? Yes they did – it turned out I had stumbled upon an aspect of the security industry that was in the midst of a boom.

  It didn’t take long to discover evidence of many female bodyguards. The Duchess of Cambridge has been pictured with her female Protection Officer. David Cameron regularly took his along for a jog. A woman made up part of Tony Blair’s post-PM protection – although unfortunately this came to light only when she left her Glock pistol in the lavatory of a Starbucks – and there is at least one female in Theresa May’s security team.

  These individuals, of course, are firearms-trained members of the Met’s elite Protection Command. However, I was also interested in the ‘executive’ protection business, those PPOs used by Rihanna, J.K. Rowling or Beyoncé, as well as high-net-worth individuals who are worried about kidnap, especially of their children. It is a commercial PPO called Lisa Baldwin, who is willing to talk on the record, who we have flown to Dublin to meet.

  As soon as we walk into the coffee shop, she clocks us (having positioned herself so she had sight lines of both entrances) and raises a hand in greeting. Our first impression as we sit – and she shifts slightly to preserve her view of the room – is: she’s so small.

  We were expecting someone who could compete with the usual brick outhouses with earphones that you see acting as bodyguards to the stars – but although Baldwin, thirty-three, is fit and gym-toned, she is certainly no heavyweight.

  ‘That ex-military look can sometimes be a disadvantage, for a woman anyway,’ she says. ‘I remember the first job interview I had, when I was twenty, I was up against another candidate who looked like G.I. Jane, all muscles and shaved head. And I got the job. They were more interested in whether I had protective driving skills, which I had, and a firearms cert, which I also had. In fact, they didn’t want me to carry a firearm, but to show I had training in that field.’

  Like most PPOs who have to learn to handle a gun, Baldwin had to do it in Slovenia because handguns are illegal in the UK. Has she ever had to be armed, given that training? ‘No, I’ve mostly worked in Ireland and Great Britain. Some people like going to high-risk areas where they will be carrying weapons as a matter of course, but those tend to be ex-military, ex-SAS, who make a fortune running convoys in Afghanistan, say. That’s not for me.

  ‘Nine times out of ten, the people I work for want someone who can blend in. They don’t want obvious security, like the kind used by Madonna or Britney Spears. Those bodyguards, the big guys, actually draw attention to the clients and put them at more stress and risk. In a playground, I just look like a friend or a nanny, especially if I dress down, which I prefer to the black trouser suit. With the bulkier guys, people will think, “Why have those kids got a bodyguard?” And I’d like to see those big guys run. They are fine if you are just keeping fans back, but I am dealing with things like kidnap threats and might have to get out of a situation very quickly. Pure muscle isn’t enough.’

  How does a normal person without an army or police background find themselves on the Circuit?

  ‘To be honest, I was looking for a job that wasn’t in an office,’ says Baldwin. ‘I’d realised I wasn’t going to make money from my swimming. And someone suggested I try an International Bodyguard Association course. The timing was good. When I started thirteen years ago, there were very few female PPOs. Then suddenly they were being requested all over the place, especially for Muslim families who might not want the women mixing too closely with men. And then there are the bathrooms – if you have a male bodyguard and a female client, that’s going to be an issue.’

  Neil Davis, a former army officer, confirms this. He runs Horizon, a Glasgow-based security company that offers training in close protection, field medicine and Krav Maga, an Israeli self-defence system favoured by PPOs. ‘There is a very high demand for female PPOs right now,’ he says. ‘Especially as there still aren’t that many on the Circuit. Clients who might not want their children looked after by a man often specify a woman. These days, the good female PPOs can work all year round while men struggle to find jobs, especially as there has been an influx from Eastern Europe competing for work. Such is the demand for women, they get paid more than the men at the moment.’

  A PPO with the Met’s Protection Command can earn up to £100,000 a year with overtime; out in the commercial world it might be ‘a healthy five-figure sum’, according to Davis. ‘The women have to have the right package, though,’ he adds. ‘Proper training, the ability to speak an extra language or two, maybe a scuba-diving or skiing qualification, so they can always go out with the kids. That all helps.’

  Why would you use a female CPO when the client is male, as with Cameron or Blair?

  ‘They have certain advantages,’ says Davis. ‘If I was putting together a security team of eight, I’d like at least two, maybe three, women in the mix. Do that and the group dynamic instantly changes. Women lower the testosterone level.’ He gives an example: ‘If it kicks off in bar and some drunk is causing problems for your client, if a man steps up to confront him then the situation can escalate. If a woman does it, the aggression levels drop because, no matter how drunk they are, most men are conditioned to know it is wrong to hit a woman. A female PPO tends to be better at conflict resolution rather than making the situation worse.’

  Davis also thinks that a ‘civilian’ such as Baldwin sometimes has advantages over the usual ex-military or police recruits. ‘The people who come from a military background, you sometimes have to retrain them to dial it down. They often come with the wrong attitude. The army teaches you to be aggressive and that’s not always the best response for the client when things get noisy. Those from other walks of life tend to have better interpersonal skills.’

  At the moment, Horizon has two civilians on a CPO course, one a male deputy head teacher and the other a twenty-three-year-old woman with a degree in criminal investigation. Scottish-born, Horizon-trained Kerry Riddock, twenty-eight, however, is one of those who came to the Circuit from the military. ‘I joined the army at sixteen, did eight years as a communication specialist and, when I came out, everything else seemed boring,’ she says. ‘If you are ex-army I think you see the world differently. Whenever I am shopping or out with friends, the first thing I do is check where the nearest exit is. You are always security conscious. You never lose that. And close protection is one job where you can make use of those skills.’

  Would she recommend it as a career choice? ‘If you are single, yes. It’s terrible on relationships, especially if your partner is a civilian who doesn’t understand. And there’s also a lot of waiting about. You have to be ‘on’ 24/7, but things tend to happen at the last minute and then it�
�s all go, go, go. The army prepares you for that, though.’

  Baldwin agrees: ‘It’s better if you are unattached, because the hours . . . you have no life at all. You can be working from crack of dawn to late at night. If you have a client who likes nightclubs, God knows when you’ll get to bed. It does mean you have no time to spend the money you are making, though; it’s a great way to save up. I know some people who would earn enough for a year just by working the summer season when many Middle Eastern families come over to London.’

  What about relationships with clients: is it ever just like The Bodyguard?

  ‘It’s great if the client will talk to you, discuss things, take advice,’ says Baldwin, ‘but you don’t want to get too close. It’s business. I mean, romantic attachments do happen, but it’s not as common as Hollywood would have you believe.’

  The downside of working for the very rich or very famous is that they can make for very demanding bosses. Baldwin and Riddock have stories – but neither will name names. ‘One of our girls got a dream job with a big R&B star,’ says Baldwin, ‘but they were such a nightmare to work for, she walked away. And I heard some terrible things about a footballer a PPO friend of mine worked for.’

  Riddock, meanwhile, worked for six months as part of a large security team for a wealthy family where the two children had a male and a female bodyguard each. ‘I looked after a boy of four who was heir to the business and was treated like a prince,’ says Riddock. ‘What he said went. Yet I was responsible for his safety and security. At one point he decided he didn’t want his seat belt on, so I refused to move the vehicle until he was strapped in. I was the one who was told off by the mother for not doing as I was told.’ Riddock says she didn’t renew her contract, but wouldn’t go into any more detail.

  In fact, most PPOs are scathing about bodyguards who guard ’n’ tell and end up exposing their celebrity clients’ sex lives or the standard of their parenting. ‘Discretion is an essential part of the job,’ says Baldwin. And anyway, gossiping about clients is a good way to make sure you don’t work in the industry again. ‘After all, who is going to employ a bodyguard with a big mouth?’