Hostage (7 page)

He pointed to an open door on their left.
‘That’s my room, by the way.’

Connor glimpsed an unmade bed with clothes
strewn everywhere and a small desk upon which sat a gutted laptop. ‘What happened
to your computer?’ he asked.

‘Nothing. Just updating the hard drive
and installing a new multi-core processor,’ Amir replied, as if such a task was as
easy as replacing a light bulb.

He stopped by a door marked with a number
seven.

‘This is your room,’ he
announced, inviting Connor to go in first.

The bedroom was small and basic, comprising of
a desk, chair, lamp, single bed, washbasin and an old wooden wardrobe. Connor dumped his
bags on the bed. ‘I thought Jody said the school had been modernized.’

Amir laughed. ‘It’s what you
don’t
see that’s impressive.’ He flicked open a panel on
the desk to reveal an internet port. ‘The whole place is wired with fibre-optic
broadband. It’s a closed system so no one can access it externally.’ He
pointed to the window. ‘The glass has shock detectors in case someone tries to
break in. Outside, there’s covert CCTV, thermal-imaging cameras and pressure pads
at every entry and exit. And beyond that there are perimeter alarms surrounding the
school grounds.’

Connor looked out across the open fields,
deserted apart from a flock of windswept sheep. ‘Why the high-tech security? This
isn’t exactly a thriving metropolis.’

‘There’s no point protecting
others if we can’t protect ourselves,’ replied Amir. ‘That’s one
of the basic rules of bodyguarding. Also, only a handful of people know about
Buddyguard’s existence – that’s one reason why we’re so effective –
and Colonel Black wants to keep it that way.’

Stuck in the middle of Wales, Connor
wondered if the colonel wasn’t being a little paranoid. ‘Then we should
watch out for those terrorist sheep!’

Amir responded with a dry chuckle.
‘Just wait till you start training. You’ll be stunned at what lengths the
enemy will go to.’ He glanced at Connor’s backpack. ‘Have you brought
a laptop?’

Connor shook his head. He only had an old
battered PC at home.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll sort
one out for you tomorrow.’ A mobile phone pinged in Amir’s back pocket.
‘That means dinner’s served. You must be starving after the
journey.’

Making their way downstairs, they headed
through to the dining hall. Fifteen or so boys and girls were gathered at one end,
sitting at circular tables, chatting and eating. To their left was an open serving area,
steaming with freshly cooked food. Passing Connor a tray, Amir grabbed a large plate and
helped himself. Connor’s mouth watered at the impressive spread of pasta, chicken,
curry, rice and even steak.

‘This is
nothing
like school
dinners,’ he remarked, shovelling a mound of chips to go with his rib-eye and
mushrooms.

‘The colonel believes an army marches
on its stomach,’ Amir replied, taking a pineapple juice from the chiller.
‘And, trust me, you’ll need the energy!’

With plates piled high, Amir led Connor over
to a table nearest the window, where four other recruits sat.

‘You remember Jason?’ said Amir,
arching an eyebrow at Connor.

A broad-chested lad turned round. With dark
tousled hair and an anvil jaw, Connor couldn’t forget his face … or his fists.

‘G’day!’ said Jason, an
Aussie twang now noticeable in his speech. He offered one of his hammer-like fists in
greeting. Connor took it and was subjected to a bone-crushing handshake.

I’m off to a great start here!
thought Connor, trying not to wince. ‘You’re Australian then?’

‘He sure is! But don’t hold that
against him,’ teased the Chinese girl perched next to Jason and half his size.
She’d lost her emo make-up and was now dressed in jeans, pumps and a red
sleeveless T-shirt. ‘I’m Ling. How’s the leg?’ she asked with an
impish twinkle in her half-moon eyes.

‘Fine,’ said Connor, releasing
himself from Jason’s iron grip. ‘How’s the arm?’

Ling smirked. ‘Not as bad as
you’d have ended up, if Jody hadn’t saved you.’

‘Saved
me
?’ Connor
responded, remembering the situation differently, but Amir cut in.

‘I wouldn’t argue with Ling. She
always
wins her fights.’ He sat down beside the boy with bleached
blond hair. ‘This is Marc; he’s from France.’

Marc had replaced the gang fashion with a
more stylish Ralph Lauren shirt and white jeans. Dark shadows circled his eyes, the
after-effect of his bruising encounter with the skateboard.

‘
Bonsoir
,’ he greeted,
then with only the trace of a French accent asked, ‘How was the
journey?’

‘Long!’ remarked Connor. As he
took his place next to Amir, his eyes were drawn to the girl sitting opposite him.
Perhaps a year older than the others, with tanned skin, sun-kissed blonde hair and a
radiant smile, she looked like she’d just stepped off a Caribbean beach. She wore
a black halterneck top with a winged-shield badge in
gold
.

‘I hear you beat Jason,’ she said
in a soft American accent like honey. ‘That’s a first.’

‘I held back,’ Jason growled in
protest. ‘Didn’t want to hurt the newbie.’

The girl gave a noncommittal nod. ‘Of
course you did!’ she smirked.

In an effort to smooth over his rocky start
with Jason, Connor interjected, ‘Well, to be fair … he did telegraph that first
punch.’

‘Exactly,’ agreed Jason, a
little too quickly.

The girl glanced at Connor, her sky-blue
eyes appraising him. Seeing straight through his white lie, the corner of her mouth
curled up into a knowing smile. ‘I’m Charlotte. But everyone calls me
Charley.’

Connor smiled back, hoping the flush in his
cheeks wasn’t noticeable. He was usually fine around girls. But, for some reason,
this one made him feel a touch self-conscious. Opting for a safe opening question, he
asked, ‘Where in the States are you from?’

‘California,’ she replied.
‘Buddyguard gathers recruits from around the world.’ She pointed to the
other tables. ‘For example, José is from Mexico, Elsa from Germany, David from
Uganda, Luciana from Brazil.’

Connor glanced around the hall, the tables
only half-full. ‘Are these
all
the buddyguards?’

Charley shook her head. ‘Most are on
assignment. But no more than twenty of us are usually here at any one time.’

‘So where’s the skater boy who
attacked me?’

‘Richie’s in Ireland,’ Amir
replied, through a mouthful of rice.

‘
Bonne chose aussi
,’
mumbled Marc, massaging the bridge of his nose.

‘Sorry, what was that?’ said
Connor, wishing he’d paid more attention in his French lessons.

‘Good thing too,’ Marc repeated.
‘I might have forgiven him by the time he gets back.’

‘So that means, Connor, you’ll
be joining us in Alpha team,’ Charley announced. ‘By the way, the colonel
wants us all in the briefing room at 0800 hours. After fitness training.’

Marc let out a heavy sigh. ‘I hate six
a.m. cross-country runs.’

Connor raised his eyebrows at this remark.
He didn’t mind running, but he agreed with Marc – not
before
breakfast.

‘And I’ve still a threat report
to complete!’ Amir complained, stabbing his chicken with a fork.

‘Best get on with it then,’
suggested Charley, offering little sympathy.

‘I warn you, Connor,’ said Marc,
picking up his tray to go, ‘Buddyguard is
no
holiday camp.’

The others stood to leave too. Apart from
Charley. She rolled back her wheelchair before heading for the door.

Taken by surprise, Connor couldn’t
help but stare.

Amir noticed his eyes following
Charley’s exit and whispered, ‘She was injured on an assignment.’

‘How?’

‘I don’t know the details. And
Charley prefers not to talk about it.’

That evening Connor didn’t feel like
unpacking. He lay on his bed, listening to the wind whistling outside. His thoughts
turned to Charley and the shock of seeing her confined to a wheelchair. The reality of
what he’d agreed to hit home. Being a bodyguard was no game. The risks were real.
Dangerously real
.

‘Do you understand what I’ve
tasked you with?’ questioned Malik, sitting cross-legged beneath the shade of an
olive tree in his courtyard garden on the outskirts of Sana’a. Laid out on a cloth
before the leader was a large bowl of
saltah
stew, a plate of
aseed
dried fish with cheese, boiled rice,
malooga
flatbread and a pot of black
tea.

Hazim nodded. ‘I’m honoured to
be entrusted so.’

Malik smiled the thin grin of a snake.
‘You’ve been chosen, Hazim, because of your rather unique position. No one
among the Brotherhood can get as close to the President’s daughter as you. But
nothing can be left to chance. Our planning must be meticulous and our methods
discreet.’

‘I understand.’

‘You must tell no one of your true
purpose. Especially your family.’

‘I won’t,’ assured Hazim,
‘although
you’re
family, Uncle.’

Malik barked a desert-dry laugh. ‘And
that’s why I trust you, Hazim. You’re like a son to me.’

Hazim beamed with pride. ‘You’ve
always shown me
favour, Uncle. It was you who encouraged my studies at
the mosque in the first place. And that’s why I won’t let you
down.’

‘I trust not,’ said Malik, all
traces of humour vanishing from his face. ‘The role you play will be vital. And
you’ll be provided with all the surveillance resources and back-up you need. Bahir
is to be responsible for communications and technology, and Kedar for managing our
defensive requirements. Now, do you have any questions?’

Malik paused to take a sip of black tea from
a small china cup, giving Hazim the opportunity to speak.

‘You say money’s no
object,’ began Hazim, ‘yet how can the Brotherhood fund an operation like
this?’

‘You need not concern yourself with
that,’ said Malik, his tone hardening. ‘It doesn’t matter what it
costs when the prize is so great.’

Selecting a piece of flatbread from the
plate, Malik scooped up a helping of
saltah
and shovelled the meat stew into
his mouth. He chewed slowly as he studied Hazim. ‘All that’s important is
you’re willing to do what’s necessary for the purpose of achieving our
goal.’

His coal-black eyes bored into Hazim’s
as he searched for the slightest evidence of doubt, any flicker of cowardice.

Hazim held Malik’s stare.
‘I’m well aware of the dangers, Uncle. And I’m resolved to my
calling.’

Malik grinned in satisfaction, licking the
stew from his yellow-stained teeth. ‘Excellent.’

‘Bodyguards are the modern-day samurai
warriors,’ declared Colonel Black, clicking up an image of a Japanese swordsman on
the overhead projector. ‘Like these ancient warriors, the bodyguard’s duty
is to protect their Principal above all else.’

Connor sat with Alpha team in the briefing
room, a windowless chamber at the heart of the school building. Kitted out with HD
flatscreen projectors, state-of-the-art computers and ergonomic high-backed lecture
chairs, it was unlike any classroom Connor had ever been in.

‘These warriors followed the code of
bushido
– a set of virtues that shaped the samurai’s training and
attitude to life. Today, a professional bodyguard adheres to the same principles of
Loyalty, Honour and Courage.’

‘You’re making us sound like
heroes!’ jested Marc.

‘You are,’ replied the colonel,
his gaze briefly falling on Charley sitting in her chair at the front. ‘But
you’ll be unsung heroes. Connor, you must forget the Hollywood image of the
muscle-bound bouncer in a suit barging a path for some starlet through a screaming
crowd. Or a
secret service 007-type in dark shades, talking into his
sleeve, hand inside his jacket ready to draw a gun at the slightest threat. The best
bodyguards are the ones that
nobody
notices.’