Bodyguard: Target (10 page)

The screaming never ceased. A constant
white noise of high-pitched delirium, it assaulted Ash’s hotel room day and
night. He unthinkingly wandered too close to a window and the screaming intensified
as his name was chanted to the skies.
ASH WILD! ASH WILD!
It was so loud at
one point that the glass actually vibrated in its frame.

Glancing down at the hordes of fans on
the street below, Ash gave a dutiful wave. This whipped the fans into an even
greater frenzy and the street turned into a seething mass of hysterical girls. Some
had been camped there for days, desperate
for a glimpse of their idol following the
online leak of his hotel location in London. During his initial rush of fame Ash had
found their presence flattering, even reassuring. Now the permanent border guard of
fans wherever he went had become claustrophobic. He felt like a goldfish trapped in
a bowl, a thousand eyes watching his every movement.

Ash went back to pacing the
room. The
lounge area was exactly twenty-five strides long and fourteen wide. The dimensions
hadn’t changed during his entire time holed up
in his
luxury suite and he knew they never would. Slumping on to a plush velvet sofa, Ash
picked up his acoustic guitar and began to strum.

‘
You lift me up
,’
he sang softly to himself, ‘
because
…’

The lyric hung in the air, unfinished.
He sought inspiration, but none came. Sighing, he tried again, repeating the phrase
over and over, each time hoping to find the elusive line that would lead to the next
part of the melody.

But after countless attempts he gave up.
His creativity was stifled in this hotel room. He’d been cooped up far too
long – at least he hoped that was the reason. Deep down he feared his
muse had
abandoned him altogether following the shock of the letter bomb.

How could anyone send him a lethal
parcel like that? What had he done for anyone to hate him so much? His worst crime
in his life so far had been to cheat on Hanna. But ex-girlfriends don’t send
letter bombs simply for kissing another girl … not unless they’re
totally mental!

Letting the guitar
slide to the floor,
Ash reached for the remote and surrendered himself to daytime TV. Halfway through a
repeat episode of
The Big Bang Theory
, there was a knock at the door. Ash
switched the TV off. The door opened and Big T’s face with its heavy jowls and
wide boxer nose appeared.

‘Ms Gibson’s
’ere,’ he grunted in his hard Cockney accent. He stepped aside to allow
Ash’s manager into the room. Then, nodding politely to them both, he closed
the door and resumed his guard duty outside in the hallway.

Kay Gibson greeted
Ash with her arms wide. ‘How’s my superstar?’

She strode over to him, the high heels
of her Jimmy Choos leaving deep impressions in the carpet. At almost six foot with
chopped dyed-red hair, ruby lips and a cosmetically
youthful face, Kay Gibson was a
daunting bombshell of a woman. Record company executives admired her striking looks
as much as they feared her brutal negotiation tactics and sharp business acumen.
Within the music industry, she was known as the Red Devil or the Ruby Angel,
depending on which side of the table one sat, for Kay was deeply loyal and
protective of her artists and
always struck the best deal for them.

‘Glad to see you’re not
wasting your free time,’ she remarked, eyeing the TV remote in his hand.

Ash sighed. ‘I need to get out of
here.’

‘Soon.’

‘That’s what you always say.
I’ve been living in this hotel room for almost two months!’

Kay gazed round at the fine furnishings,
four-poster bed and original artwork lining the
walls. ‘You don’t have
any complaints about the room, do you?’

‘No, it’s just that
I’d like to be in my own place again,’ he explained, pulling himself
into a sitting position. ‘I can’t write here.’

Kay raised a manicured eyebrow in alarm.
‘That’s not good. But I’ve told you – it isn’t easy
acquiring new property in London. Especially one that’s exclusive and secure
enough to meet your needs, but …’ Her green eyes
twinkled with promise. ‘I’m pleased to say I’ve found you one
at last.’

Ash stared at her in disbelief.
‘Really? So when do I move in?’

‘With any luck, by the
weekend.’

Ash leapt off the sofa, whooping with
delight.

‘But we need to tighten your
security arrangements,’ she warned. ‘We don’t want your new
address being revealed. Just because that letter bomb turned out to be a fake
doesn’t mean we shouldn’t take any threat seriously.’

The mention of the bomb punctured
Ash’s buoyant mood. ‘Have the police found out who sent it yet?’
he asked.

Kay shook her head. ‘They’ve
still no leads. The only fingerprints on the packaging were yours and Big T’s.
The police conclude
it was a well-planned hoax.’

‘Is their investigation over
then?’

Kay nodded. ‘I’m afraid so.
With no postmark or any other clues, they say there’s nothing they can
do.’

‘But it wasn’t exactly
standard hate mail, was it?’

Kay put a motherly arm round him.
‘It’s a one-off. Think of it as a status symbol. It means you’re
officially famous now.’

‘Wow, that’s
reassuring,’ muttered Ash.

‘Don’t get down about it.
All the great artists receive death threats and acquire their own stalkers. Madonna.
Lennon. Beyoncé –’

‘But wasn’t John Lennon
killed by his stalker?’ interrupted Ash.

Kay looked pained.
‘Bad example. But you don’t have to worry – you’ve got Big T
as your bodyguard. And considering what’s happened I’ve employed
him
full-time now. He’s worth his weight in gold. Not literally, of course; that
would cost us a small fortune.’ She laughed at her own joke, then became
serious again. ‘But if that had been a real bomb Big T would have saved your
life.’

Ash fell silent, his brush with death a
chilling thought.

‘I’ve something
that’ll put a smile back on your face,’ said his manager,
fishing into
the pocket of her tailored suit. ‘The master of your new single!’

She produced a memory stick. Grinning,
Ash took it from her and plugged it into the portable recording studio set up in the
corner of the room. He’d been waiting for his producer to put the final
touches to the recording. Switching on the monitors, he loaded the file labelled
Indestructible
into his computer’s media player. A driving beat
in the vein of Michael Jackson’s ‘Billie Jean’ pulsed from the
speakers. A throbbing bass line amplified the groove, then a guitar riff kicked in
as Ash launched into the opening verse.

‘This song is going to make you a
megastar like no other!’ declared Kay, tapping her foot to the beat.

As the song hit the chorus, Ash’s
mobile phone beeped. He glanced at the screen and frowned.

‘What’s the matter?’
asked Kay.

Ash showed her the text he’d
received:

‘Who’s
it from?’ she asked, equally perplexed.

‘Don’t know,’ he
replied. ‘No Caller ID.’

Curiosity getting the better of him, Ash
reversed the media file and hit play. The song sounded
warped and alien, the words
as distorted and unsettling as a satanic chant. But the message was clear enough:
‘
Asssshhhhh willlll dieeeee … Asssshhhhh willlll dieeeee …
Asssshhhhh willlll dieeeee …
’

Clouds streaked across the grey-blue sky,
their shadows chasing them over the peaks and troughs of the mountainous terrain
that surrounded Buddyguard HQ. Shafts of sunlight speared the summits
before
sweeping across valleys of lush green fields speckled white with sheep. The blustery
air was crisp, cool and clean to breathe – unlike the smog-tainted atmosphere
of the Californian coast.

After almost three months, Charley was
starting to appreciate the stark beauty of the Brecon Beacons. From her bench in the
old school’s summer house, she could see the sweeping
expanse of craggy
mountains and even glimpse the impressive wedge of Pen y Fan in the far distance.
However, awe-inspiring as the view was, she could never call it home. The place was
just too darn cold, even with summer approaching.

Pulling her jumper round her shoulders,
Charley settled back to studying her notes. The wooden summer house with its roof
overrun by creeper
vines was her secret haven – a retreat from the hectic
hothouse of
bodyguard training. As she read up on Bugsy’s
anti-surveillance tactics, she was vaguely aware of the fervent yells and cries of
the other recruits playing soccer. There was a loud cheer and she guessed one of the
boys had scored a goal.

A ball rolled past the summer house,
followed a moment later by the
lithe figure of Blake jogging after it. He kicked the
ball back to his teammates before noticing Charley.

‘Hey,’ said Blake, poking
his head in.

‘Hey yourself,’ she replied,
glancing up as if she hadn’t seen him until then. Although they’d been
spending more and more time together, she was keen not to appear needy or desperate
for his company.

‘What are you doing
in
here?’ he asked.

‘Reading.’

Blake spied the tablet in her hands.
‘Charley, it’s Sunday! Our
only
day off.’

Charley shrugged. ‘What else do
you suggest I do? Everyone else is playing soccer.’

A twinge of guilt flashed across
Blake’s face. ‘Sorry, but I didn’t think football would interest
you.’

‘It doesn’t,’ she
replied.
But it would have been nice
to be asked
, she thought.

Blake hesitated at the door, clearly
questioning whether to stay or not. Then he called to the others, ‘Play on
without me. I’m taking a break.’

He sat next to her on the bench.
‘So, what does interest you?’ he asked.

Charley stared
resolutely at her notes. ‘Surfing.’

‘I didn’t know you
surfed,’ said Blake, surprised.

Charley looked
sideways at him.
‘There’re a lot of things you don’t know about me.’

Blake flinched at the harshness in her
tone. Charley didn’t know why she was being so rough on him. After all, he was
the one who took her side and was pretty much her only friend among the
recruits.

‘I’m sorry,’ she
mumbled. ‘I’m a bit fed up, that’s all.’

‘About what?’

Charley sighed. ‘We’ve
completed three months of training. I’m working as hard as everyone else, if
not harder, yet I still don’t feel like a full member of the team.’

‘Of course you are,’ said
Blake.

Charley raised a dubious eyebrow.
‘You all treat me as some sort of secretary rather than a serious
recruit.’

‘I certainly don’t,’
Blake replied, his tone earnest. He slid closer, his
leg now touching hers. ‘I
mean, I appreciate you sharing your notes and all, but I respect you and your
abilities.’

‘Thanks. I’m not sure the
others do.’

‘Listen,’ said Blake.
‘It isn’t easy being the only girl among a bunch of meatheads, but
don’t let them get to you.’ He glanced towards the open door, then back
at her. ‘I like you,’ he admitted with a disarming
smile. ‘A lot.
And I hate to see you upset and lonely. Not when there’s no need to
be.’

He leant nearer. Charley could see the
intention in his eyes. Briefly she considered resisting. But Blake being nice
to her meant a lot in the circumstances. And as he put an arm
round her shoulders she could feel her defences weakening. She wanted to be
accepted, to be liked.

Charley
closed her eyes and parted her
lips … but pulled away at the last second.

‘What’s the matter?’
Blake asked.

Charley looked at the door.
‘Didn’t you hear something?’

Blake listened. Everything was quiet
outside. He shook his head. Smiling, he went back in for the kiss.

This time Charley didn’t pull
away.

Just as their lips touched, an object
clattered
on to the wooden floor at their feet. It exploded and the summer house
billowed with smoke. Within seconds the two of them were enveloped in an
impenetrable cloud. Coughing and spluttering, they staggered out into the fresh
air.

Jason and the other recruits stood
outside, killing themselves with laughter.

‘What the hell was
that
?’ Blake exclaimed, tears streaming from
his red eyes.

Jason laughed. ‘Bugsy’s
smoke bomb!’

‘It looked like things were
getting a little hot in there,’ sniggered David.

‘
What is it with
you?
’ Charley cried, striding up to Jason, her pent-up fury with him
spilling over.

‘Calm down, Charley. It was just a
joke,’ he replied, holding up his hands and backing away. ‘The Four
Cs!’

Charley glared
at him, frowning in
confusion.

‘We
confirmed
the threat:
Blake.’ Jason grinned at his spluttering friend. ‘We
cleared
the danger zone. Now I’m
afraid we’ll have to
cordon
off this summer house and
control
you two in
future!’

Charley’s face reddened. With the
boys’ laughter ringing in her ears and smoke still billowing from the summer
house, she stormed off
to her room.