Bodyguard: Ambush (Book 3) (7 page)

‘Remember what the colonel said, the
mind is the best weapon a bodyguard can possess,’ continued Connor. ‘And
you’ve got a phenomenal mind. So stay focused and in Code Yellow,’ he
advised, referring to the default alert status for a bodyguard. ‘Next time
you’ll spot the threat earlier and be able to avoid turning your Principal into an
omelette!’

Amir managed a half-hearted laugh.
‘Thanks, Connor … I’m glad I’ve got you for back-up.’

‘You’ll be fine,’
reassured Connor.

Charley came up behind him as Amir signed
off. ‘Any problems?’

Connor turned round and shook his head.
‘No, Amir’s doing great.’

‘Good,’ replied Charley,
‘because Colonel Black needs to see you urgently.’

‘Change of plan, Connor,’ said
Colonel Black, seated in his antique red leather chair behind the mahogany desk in his
office. On the wall, a widescreen monitor displayed the news of a terrorist attack in
China; another was showing the continued riots in Thailand. ‘You’re to be BG
on Operation Lionheart.’

‘What about Marc?’ said Connor,
confused by the sudden reassignment.

‘He has acute appendicitis,’
explained Charley, rolling up beside him. ‘He believed it was just stomach ache
and had been trying to tough it out. Jody’s rushed him to hospital before his
appendix bursts.’

Connor recalled how his friend had been
clutching his side after the advanced driving test the week before. ‘Will he be
all right?’

‘He’ll be fine,’ stated
the colonel. ‘But you’re to stand in for him. You leave tomorrow.’

‘But …’ Connor’s feelings
were conflicted. He was obviously thrilled at the prospect; yet at the forefront of his
mind were Amir and his agreement with his
gran. ‘I’m supposed to be Amir’s support.’

Colonel Black waved away his concerns.
‘Charley will cover for you. Besides, it’s only for ten days.’

‘What about Jason? Or
Richie?’

The colonel shook his head. ‘They
don’t have the necessary vaccinations for travel in Africa. Yellow fever and
Hepatitis A need to be administered at least two weeks in advance. Thankfully, after
your last assignment you’re already immunized.’

Connor appreciated the decision was out of
his hands. Thinking about it, he supposed a short mission was acceptable. His gran
wouldn’t even know he was gone and he’d be back in time for the second phase
of Amir’s assignment. With his conscience almost clear, Connor began to feel the
familiar pre-mission rush of anticipation.

‘Charley, brief him on the
assignment,’ Colonel Black instructed.

She spun towards the wall monitors and
clicked a remote. The news feeds disappeared and were replaced by a picture of a smiling
family of four. ‘As you already know, Operation Lionheart is tasked with
protecting this French ambassador’s family on safari in Africa.’

‘You do realize I don’t speak
French?’ Connor asked.

‘Not to worry,’ Charley replied.
‘The Barbier family all speak English as a second language. And Bugsy will supply
you with a new smartphone with a real-time translation
app. He has requested, though, that you try to keep
this
phone intact on this mission.’

Connor shrugged. ‘I’ll do my
best.’ On his last assignment, his phone had been destroyed by a bullet, though it
had saved his life.

‘The two Principals you’ll be
buddyguard for are Amber and Henri,’ continued Charley.

A close-up of a flame-haired girl with green
eyes appeared on-screen. Next to her, on the other monitor, was an image of a red-headed
boy in a blue-and-white football top.

‘Amber is sixteen years old, a keen
climber and with a passion for photography. Her brother, Henri, is nine. As you can see
from the photo, he’s into soccer – a supporter of Paris Saint Germain – but he
suffers badly from asthma so he can’t play the game himself.’

‘Does Amber have any medical
conditions?’ Connor asked, making mental notes as Charley ran through the
brief.

Charley shook her head. ‘She once
broke her foot after a climbing accident, but there weren’t any long-term issues
according to her medical files.’

With another click of the remote, detailed
profiles of both parents were displayed. On the first screen appeared a man in his
fifties with cropped grey hair and glasses; on the second, a glamorous middle-aged woman
with high cheekbones and auburn hair.

‘Laurent, the father, is a
long-serving French diplomat with responsibility for managing aid programmes in Central
Africa. As would be expected of an ambassador, he is well-mannered, well-connected and
sociable. He’s also
astute and
intelligent, with a master’s in politics and economics. From what we can gather,
he has no known enemies. His only shortcoming was keeping a mistress, although that
appears to be in the past.’

Charley indicated the mother. ‘Cerise
is a former fashion editor and now a cultural attaché for the French foreign office. A
caring mother and apparently forgiving wife, she now accompanies her husband on all
diplomatic and foreign trips. By all accounts, she has good relations with family,
friends and business colleagues. Nothing unusual – beyond a love of jewellery and an
expensive taste in clothing – has been flagged during our profiling of her.’

‘So, if the Barbiers don’t have
any obvious enemies, what’s the threat?’ asked Connor.

Colonel Black leant forward on his desk,
steepling his fingers. ‘No
specific
threats have been identified for the
family. Hence, it’s a Category Three operation and the reason why only one
buddyguard has been assigned to two Principals in this instance. Primarily it’s
the location that raises security issues.’

He nodded to Charley, who brought up a map
of Central Africa on-screen.

‘Laurent Barbier and his family are
visiting Burundi by invitation of President Bagaza,’ Charley explained, pointing
to a small heart-shaped country landlocked between the Democratic Republic of Congo,
Rwanda and Tanzania. ‘The purpose of their trip is to experience the
country’s soon-to-be-opened national park, one that France has heavily invested
in.’

She enlarged the map
to focus on an expanse of uninhabited land in the nation’s north-east. Hemmed in
by high mountains on either side and split down the centre by a silver seam of a river,
the area was identified as Ruvubu National Park.

‘You see, Burundi is currently the
fourth poorest country in the world,’ she continued. ‘After years of civil
war crippling their economy, the government is largely dependent on foreign aid. But,
with peace finally descending some years back, this country is attempting to rebuild
itself. Besides exploiting its natural resources, tourism is seen as a potential major
source of income. Yet, while the security situation has improved in recent years, the
country remains subject to political instability and the threat of violence. It’s
a young, somewhat fragile peace.’

The colonel took over. ‘There’s
a delicate power-sharing arrangement in place between Burundi’s majority Hutu and
minority Tutsi communities. The two sides are still struggling to reconcile after
decades of conflict. President Bagaza has been sworn in for a second term, which is
positive. But he does have his enemies: mainly leaders of former resistance groups,
including the FPB – the Front Patriotique Burundais – and the UCL – the Union des
Combattants de la Liberté. So, though unlikely, there’s always a chance that
things could kick off again. That’s why the ambassador himself made the request
for our services, to ensure his family are one hundred per cent safe.’

Charley handed Connor a mini USB flash
drive. ‘The op-order has more detail and background on Burundi’s civil
war, along with an overview of the current
state of the country. Don’t get your hopes up. It makes for grim reading. The
infrastructure is virtually non-existent. There’s little electricity and the roads
are primarily dirt tracks. For what it’s worth, I’ve included the official
number for the police under emergency contacts, although it’s unlikely anyone will
answer your call. So you’ll have to rely on your smartphone to contact us if there
are any problems – and your only emergency evacuation option will be a private
plane.’

Pocketing the mini drive, Connor remarked,
‘Doesn’t sound like much of a holiday destination.’

Charley smiled. ‘Don’t worry –
I’ve seen pictures of the safari lodge. Luxury is an understatement. Just as an
example, the bedroom suites are glass-fronted with their own sun decks and plunge pools!
It looks like
millions
have been spent on this tourist project. And, with the
president’s own security forces on hand, this assignment should be a walk in the
park for you.’

‘Still, don’t drop your guard,
Connor,’ said Colonel Black. Reaching into his desk drawer, he pulled out a
battered pocketbook. ‘Here, something for you to read on the plane.’

He tossed it to Connor. The green-and-orange
cover sported the title:
SAS Survival Handbook
.

‘Expecting problems?’ asked
Connor, glancing up at the colonel.

Colonel Black shook his head. ‘No, but
it’s always best to be prepared for the worst. Especially in Africa.’

A crude bamboo barrier forced the ageing Land
Rover to a sudden halt, its tyres kicking up plumes of dust from the single-track road
that cut through the bush. Two men in threadbare army fatigues, any official insignia
long since faded or else purposefully removed, stood guard behind the barricade, their
assault rifles trained on the vehicle’s sole occupant.

The tallest of the men, a gangly Rwandan
with deep-set eyes, approached the driver’s side. He made a sign to wind down the
window. Whether a legitimate border guard or not, the driver complied with the
instruction.

‘A little off the tourist trail,
aren’t you?’ said the guard, leaning in and eyeing the interior of the 4x4
with greedy interest.

‘The main road was blocked,’
replied the driver.

The guard snorted sceptically.
‘Passport,’ he demanded, thrusting out a hand.

The driver reached into his rucksack and
produced a navy-blue passport. The guard snatched it from his grasp and flicked it open
to the ID page. A photo of a lean-faced
man
with a pale complexion, ice-grey eyes and a dour expression stared back at him. There
were no distinguishing features but the photo more or less matched the driver’s
appearance. ‘Stan Taylor. Canadian?’

Mr Grey nodded, the fake passport just one
of his many false identities.

Leafing through the pages, the guard
discovered a crisp ten-dollar bill tucked into the back. He glanced up. ‘Bribing
an official is a crime in our country.’

‘What bribe?’ replied Mr Grey
evenly. ‘I just gave you my passport as asked for.’

The guard closed the document, palming the
ten dollars into his own pocket but not returning the passport. ‘Come with
me,’ he ordered.

Mr Grey knew the routine. Ten dollars was
hardly enough for the two or more guards stationed at this remote border crossing. They
would try to squeeze him for more money. Accepted practice. Which was why he
hadn’t offered anything larger.

Taking his rucksack and car keys, Mr Grey
followed the guard into a small wooden building with a corrugated tin roof. Inside it
stank of stale sweat and cigarette smoke. After the glare of the African sun, his eyes
took a moment to adjust to the dim interior – the only sources of light were the open
doorway and a square hole for a window in the back wall. There was a bucket in one
corner, a rusted machete leaning against the near wall and an unlit kerosene lamp
hanging from a rotting beam. The only pieces of furniture in the room were a battered
wooden desk and a
chair in which reclined a
pot-bellied official, his feet propped up and a cigarette lolling from his pudgy
lips.

The border guard dropped Mr Grey’s
passport on to the desk. The official barely glanced at it.

‘The purpose of your visit to Rwanda
is?’ he asked, the cigarette bobbing up and down, discarding ash on to the dirt
floor.