Bodyguard: Ambush (Book 3) (11 page)

‘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 the 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
–’

Connor tapped at his earpiece. The
translation app seemed to be struggling with the multiple conversations happening around
the Boma. The microphone kept honing in on different people. He fiddled with the
settings on the app, switching the mic’s sensitivity from omnidirectional to
‘shotgun’, enabling him to isolate a single conversation. As he adjusted his
smartphone’s position on the table to
listen to Amber’s increasingly heated debate with
Minister Feruzi, Connor caught a line of untranslated language through his earpiece. His
phone flashed a message and the app automatically switched from French to Kurundi.

‘… do you believe Black Mamba’s
back?’

Connor glanced up and saw Minister Rawasa
whispering to the grey-haired Minister Mossi on the opposite side of the Boma.

‘Of course not,’ snorted
Minister Mossi. ‘I have it on good authority he died in the Congo.’

‘But what if he didn’t?
He’s the devil incarnate. More poisonous to our countrymen than a real black
mamba! His return could trigger another civil war –’

‘I tell you, he is dead.’

‘I’ve heard it said, no one can
kill the Black Mamba –’

Out of the darkness a thunderous beat of
drums burst forth, drowning out any further conversation. A line of men clad in white,
red and green robes marched into the Boma, balancing large drums on their heads.
Chanting, they set their instruments down in a semi-circle round one central player.
Then, to the heavy tribal rhythm, the lead drummer came forward and leapt impossibly
high into the air. Whooping and waving his sticks, the man danced as if possessed.

The earth-shuddering beat of multiple drums
thrummed in Connor’s gut. He’d never experienced such a wall of sound.
Another drummer entered the arena and took over the dance. He backflipped into the air,
landing with perfect precision and timing. The performance was utterly
awe-inspiring as each drummer took their turn in the centre.
Then, lifting their drums back on to their heads, the procession disappeared into the
night, the pounding of drums fading like a receding thunderstorm.

President Bagaza stood and clapped the
performers, everyone else following his lead. When the applause had faded, he said,
‘Those were the Royal Drummers of Burundi. What distinguishes their music from
other African music is that the movement of the dancers dictates the rhythm of the
drummers, rather than the other way round. This is another example, Ambassador Barbier,
of what makes Burundi unique among African nations. And we
will
beat to a
different drum.’ He raised his glass in a toast: ‘May Burundi
prosper!’

‘May Burundi prosper!’ repeated
everyone, raising their glasses.

With the performance over, the conversations
returned to the previous topics.

‘So can we go and see this new village
you built?’ Amber asked Minister Feruzi.

The minister frowned as if irritated, then
smiled. ‘Of course,’ he replied, ‘but it’ll have to be on
another visit.’

‘Why?’

‘I think you’ve interrogated the
minister enough, Amber,’ her father interrupted, laying a pacifying hand over hers
as he noticed Minister Feruzi’s frown return.

Amber pulled her hand away. ‘But I
want to meet the people that this park displaced.’

‘Amber, I realize you’re
idealistic,’ said her father under
his
breath. ‘But you can’t conserve nature without a certain amount of
sacrifice.’

‘But –’

‘Enough,’ warned her father.
‘I think it’s time you went back to your room.’

Amber’s jaw tightened but she held her
tongue. Rising from her seat, she strode out of the Boma.

‘Can I stay a bit longer?’ asked
Henri.

‘Of course,’ replied his mother
with a smile as Connor got to his feet.

‘I’ll just make sure Amber gets
back to her room safely,’ he explained.

Leaving Henri with his parents, Connor
stepped from the flickering orange glow of the Boma into the almost pitch-black of the
night. Only a trail of candles lit the path back to the lodge.

Halfway along, he caught up with Amber. She
stopped and stared at him. ‘Why are you following me?’

‘I’m escorting you back to your
room,’ replied Connor.

Amber fixed him with a look that said
otherwise. ‘I realize you’re here to protect us, but I can look after
myself, thank you. And
I’m
not scared of snakes.’

Connor felt that remark bite. ‘Listen,
I’ve trained for over a year in unarmed combat, defensive driving,
anti-surveillance, body cover drills –’

‘Body cover?’

‘Yes, using my body to shield you in
an attack.’

‘Is that your intention with
me?’ she said, crossing her arms and tilting her head slightly.

‘Yes …
no!’ protested Connor, flushing slightly as he realized her double meaning.
‘Look, I’m just trying to do my job.’