Bodyguard: Target (8 page)

The scissors cut round Ash’s head
with absolute precision, each snip shearing away another piece to free the
idol’s photograph from the magazine article. The blades sliced between the
gaps
of his perfectly coiffured brown hair, round the diamond-studded left ear and
along the sleek curve of his jawline to the dimpled chin. His dark hazel eyes
smouldered and his up-turned mouth revealed flawless teeth that gleamed like a
toothpaste commercial, while the surrounding skin appeared tanned, smooth and
blemish-free.

Photoshopped or not, Ash was blessed
with the
face of a Greek god – the perfect teen heartthrob. No wonder his
posters graced the walls of a billion girls’ bedrooms around the world.

With a final snip, the blades cut across
the rock star’s throat and the magazine dropped away.

The scissors were set aside and the
cut-out carefully laid on the table, making sure not to crease it. Then some glue
was applied to the back
and Ash’s disembodied head pasted on to a large sheet
of pink paper. More glue was dabbed
randomly across the collage
before glitter dust and stars were sprinkled liberally over the young icon.

In the dim light of the bedside lamp
– the curtains of the room still drawn despite being mid-afternoon – the
image now sparkled and glistened like a diamond. The love letter to the
famous rock
star was beginning to take shape. It just needed one final embellishment.

Putting away the glue and glitter, a
small bowl and paintbrush were now placed on the table. The contents of the bowl
were slowly stirred with the narrow tip of the brush until the red viscous liquid
evened out. It had been a grim and sticky job to collect the blood. The piglet had
squealed
so loudly when the butcher’s knife had sliced its carotid artery.
Then its life’s blood had spurted out in bursts with each beat of its dying
heart, making it difficult to direct the stream into the bowl. And there’d
been so much blood for such a small creature. It had overflowed the bowl’s rim
and spilled on to the floor. The resulting mess had been a nightmare to clean
up.

But the piglet hadn’t died in
vain.

Wiping the excess blood from the brush
tip against the bowl’s edge, a latex-gloved hand held the letter down. With
childlike concentration, three words were scrawled across Ash’s perfect
face:

‘A crowd is one of the most risky
environments you and your Principal will face on a regular basis,’ Colonel
Black said, his weathered hands gripping the lectern in Buddyguard’s
state-of-the-art
briefing room that doubled as a classroom. On the main wall hung a
giant widescreen display on to which the colonel wirelessly cast a video of a throng
of people pushing against a barrier. ‘In these situations you’ll need to
constantly scan the area and assess any possible threats.’

Charley listened intently as she sat in
one of the sleek high-backed lecture chairs, the furniture
so new that the
protective plastic film had yet to be removed from the chrome fittings. Although the
outer shell remained a nineteenth-century school building, internally Buddyguard HQ
was being revamped with the most advanced electronic hardware and equipment
available. Charley and the rest of the team were also equipped with the latest
tablet computers on which to take
class notes and do their homework.

‘So, when vetting a crowd, first
try to establish brief eye contact with any suspects.’ The colonel thumbed the
remote in his hand and the bullet points to his lecture
flashed up one by one on the overhead display. ‘What are their eyes saying?
Are they appearing shifty? Nervous? Upset? Are they fixated on your Principal or
perhaps another
target?’

Charley rapidly keyed the main points on
her tablet, aware she was the only one taking detailed notes. But that didn’t
bother her. Since her chat with Jody a fortnight ago, Charley had committed herself
to becoming the best bodyguard in the team. She’d spent night after night
rereading the first-aid manual before her team’s reassessment. And this time
she hadn’t
suffered a logjam of information. In fact Jody had passed her with
flying colours.

Charley also exercised longer in the gym
than the others, her efforts already paying off as she began to overtake the boys on
their early-morning runs, her long legs and light build allowing her to bound over
the rugged landscape, leaving the more hefty recruits behind. And, taking
Jody’s
advice to fight smarter, not harder, she’d persuaded Steve to
give her extra martial arts training during the lunch periods, concentrating on
techniques suited to her build and abilities so her combat skills would match the
boys’.

This wasn’t done to earn the
boys’ respect but to prove that a girl could do the job just as well –
and that
this
girl could do it better. She
owed it to her parents to be the
best. And she owed it to Kerry not to give up.

‘Next, look at people’s
hands,’ said Colonel Black, raising his own and revealing the remote.
‘What are they
holding? Is one of their hands clasped
around something? Or are their hands in their pockets? Or behind their
back?’

He pointed to David’s rucksack at
his feet. ‘Ask yourself:
what’s in the bag they’re carrying? What
about the contents of their pockets? And, finally, their clothes: are they wearing
anything unusual? A bulky coat on a hot day? A hat or dark glasses to conceal their
identity? All these questions should go through your head subconsciously as you
assess each individual in the crowd. With practice, the process should take a matter
of seconds
per person.’

Blake leant across to Charley and
whispered, ‘Can I borrow your notes after the lesson?’

Charley could tell from his roguish grin
he was turning on the charm, but she didn’t really mind. Blake was the only
member of the team willing to fight her corner and she had no intention of isolating
herself further. ‘Sure,’ she said.

‘Thanks, you’re a
lifesaver,’
he replied with a wink.

‘Pay attention, you two!’
said the colonel, snapping his fingers. ‘You mustn’t forget a crowd is a
dynamic situation. Once you’ve decided an individual isn’t a threat,
don’t
dismiss them entirely. The attacker could be a professional
assassin or simply very good at hiding their intentions.’

Triggering the remote, he launched an
old grainy video
clip of a group of men leaving a hotel and crossing the pavement to
a waiting limo.

‘The attempted assassination of
the former US President Ronald Reagan demonstrates this clearly.’ Colonel
Black pointed to a suited man walking towards the camera. ‘See
here! This secret service agent looks directly at the attacker who’s
off-screen. The agent doesn’t consider him a threat, so
ignores him and turns
inwards to where Ronald Reagan is about to enter his vehicle. He now has his back to
the attacker.’

On the video footage several gunshots
went off and people dived to the ground in panic. President Reagan was bundled into
the limo as one brave secret service agent spread his arms and shielded him from the
deadly hail of bullets. A round caught the
agent in the gut and sent him tumbling to
the tarmac, but by then Reagan was speeding safely away and the attacker
neutralized.

When the video clip finished, silence
filled the room. For the first time the young bodyguards were confronted with the
brutal reality of what it meant to stand in the line of fire to protect another.

Charley raised a tentative hand.
‘Did the
agent who was shot
die
?’

Colonel Black shook his head. ‘No,
he made a full recovery. But no one need have been hurt if that first agent had done
his job properly and not turned his back on the crowd. Don’t make that mistake
yourself.’

He switched off the overhead display.
‘Now let’s put these skills into practice. José, you’re a
famous film star.’

‘Naturally,’ he
replied,
getting to his feet with a swagger.

‘Yeah, a stand-in for Speedy
Gonzalez!’ quipped Jason.

‘Ha ha, that’s very funny
for someone who looks like Skippy the Kangaroo!’ José shot back.

Colonel Black silenced the pair with a
sharp look before
continuing his briefing. ‘Unfortunately,
José, your last film offended a few people and you’re the target for a
potential attack. Jason, you’ll be his bodyguard. Blake, David and Charley,
you’ll form the Personal Escort Section.’ He opened a door leading
through to an adjacent classroom. ‘Now go and meet your fans!’

Leaping from their seats, the PES team
hurriedly positioned themselves into a protective arrowhead formation round their
Principal, as taught by the colonel in a previous
lesson. Then they entered the room
to be greeted by a small crowd of the other five recruits and instructors
impersonating excited fans.

‘Hey, José, can I have your
autograph?’ asked one lad.

‘Absolutely, my friend,’
grinned José, play-acting his superstar role to the max. ‘Any more
takers?’

The mini-crowd surged forward and
surrounded him. Charley and the rest
of the team struggled to keep them at a safe
distance as José signed more autographs and posed for selfies. All the while
Charley’s eyes darted from each person’s face to their hands to their
clothes. She hunted for signs of a would-be attacker.

Of course, there might not be one.
During their training, they’d enacted numerous different scenarios. Sometimes
there was an
attack. Other times nothing happened. Just as in real life.

But on this occasion Charley noticed
their surveillance tutor Bugsy hanging at the back of the crowd. He was making no
effort to meet José the film star, and this unnatural behaviour set him apart
from the others.

Suddenly they heard
wild shouting. Jason and the rest of the PES team spun towards the disruption.
The
room’s widescreen display had been switched on and was blaring out a newsreel
of a riot. With the buddyguard recruits distracted, Bugsy pushed through the crowd
and swung a bottle at José’s head.

No one on the team reacted to the attack
… apart from Charley.

Having kept one eye on her suspect, she
was ready for the surprise assault. She leapt to José’s defence,
shoving
him aside and shielding him with her body, only for the bottle to strike her
instead. It smashed to pieces over her head and she staggered under the impact.

Everyone in the room froze.

‘Was that a
real
bottle?’ asked Jason, more in awe at the idea than any concern for
Charley.

‘No. It’s just sugar
glass,’ replied Bugsy in a matter-of-fact tone.

‘Well,
it hurt like one!’
cried Charley. She took her hands away. There was no blood, but she could feel a
mighty bruise forming. ‘Couldn’t you have used a plastic one?’

‘Wouldn’t be realistic
enough,’ Bugsy explained. ‘You have to be able to take a hit as a
bodyguard – and still function.’ He eyed the other members of the team.
‘Which is the reason I’m wondering why the rest
of you haven’t
evacuated your Principal yet!’

Snapped from their daze, Jason and the
others grabbed José and rushed him out. Charley, still reeling from the blow,
stumbled after them back into the briefing room.

With the exercise
over, José stopped acting the film star as Blake helped Charley to a chair.
‘Thanks for taking the hit for me,’ said José.

‘My pleasure,’
Charley
groaned, cradling her head in her hands.

‘That looked like it really
hurt!’ remarked Blake as he knelt down beside her.

Charley gave another groan in reply.

Jason grinned. ‘She should have
blocked it properly.’

‘Well, I didn’t see
you
react,’ the colonel pointed out. ‘And you were
José’s bodyguard!’

The smug grin fell from Jason’s
face as he
was shamed into silence.

The colonel nodded at Charley. ‘At
least someone was paying attention in my class. You might be hurting, Charley, but
you’ve learnt a valuable lesson – always expect the
unexpected.’