Hostage (Bodyguard #1)(14)
‘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.’