Hostage (Bodyguard #1)(18)
Bahir snorted in disdain. ‘Useless. All radio signals are disrupted.’ He gave an oily smile. ‘I’ve employed subtle jamming too. No distortion or erratic tones – that would be too easy to detect. Instead any listener will just hear silence, although everything will seem superficially normal with their equipment.’
‘That’s pretty impressive,’ said Hazim.
‘Of course it is,’ said Bahir, returning to his work with a grin.
Hazim coughed politely for Bahir’s attention. ‘Malik’s also concerned about thermal-imaging scanners. What should I tell him?’
Without looking up, Bahir pointed to the ceiling and walls. ‘A combination of aluminium layers and Plexiglas in the construction will foil any attempts to scan this room for body heat – even if there was a full-blown fire, they couldn’t detect it.’
‘Right,’ said Hazim. ‘And what about our communications?’
Putting down the soldering iron, Bahir took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, clearly irritated at being interrupted yet again. ‘The reach of the jammers is about nine metres, so we’ll still be able to operate outside this zone. For internet access, I’ve piggy-backed the neighbouring property’s telephone line and installed a re-router.’
‘Isn’t that risky?’ gasped Hazim. ‘Won’t it reveal our location?’
Bahir gave him a hard stare as if insulted by the mere suggestion. ‘Not at all. The connection is bounced between a dozen random servers worldwide, plus it’s protected by a few tricks of my own. There’ll be no way they can trace the signal back here.’
‘And you’re absolutely certain this room is soundproof?’ Hazim asked.
‘On my life. Now let me get on with my work,’ replied Bahir, replacing his glasses and picking up the soldering iron. ‘For all intents and purposes, this room is invisible to the eyes and ears of the US government. In essence, it does not exist.’
Marc had been right. After a couple of weeks, Connor’s brain was turning to mush. He had never envisaged the need to know so much to become a bodyguard. There had been lectures on the law – Common, Civil and Criminal. How to produce a threat assessment. The basics of operational planning. Conflict management. Etiquette at formal functions. And even how to get safely in and out of a car: the technique being to sit backside first, instead of stepping in with one foot. Then if the car sped away in an emergency you simply lifted your legs – rather than being dumped unceremoniously on the pavement as the vehicle shot off without you.
And this was just the start. He still had ten weeks of basic training ahead. On top of that, they were expected to attend normal lessons too! Maths, history, English and all the other subjects Connor had hoped to escape by joining Buddyguard. But Colonel Black took all aspects of his recruits’ training seriously. ‘In all but the most extreme circumstances, a professional bodyguard uses brain over brawn,’ he explained. ‘And that means being educated and informed.’
After another marathon day of non-stop lessons and fitness training, Connor collapsed on the sofa in Alpha team’s common room. ‘When will we get some time off?’ he asked.
Ling, helping herself to a Diet Coke from the fridge, merely laughed. ‘You mean, for good behaviour? We might have a trip to Cardiff every so often. But don’t get your hopes up. This course is full on.’
She pointed to the next week’s timetable pinned on the noticeboard.
‘Read it and weep!’
Dragging himself from the sofa, Connor passed Amir, who was busily tapping away on his keyboard. ‘Don’t you ever stop working?’
‘This isn’t work, it’s programming,’ explained Amir, his eyes fixated on the screen. ‘I’m creating a bodyguard app.’
‘What will it do?’ asked Connor, trying to get a look.
Amir tapped the side of his nose with a finger to indicate a secret. ‘I’ll tell you when it works.’
‘Sounds intriguing.’
‘Don’t get too excited,’ smirked Ling. ‘Amir’s last app fried his phone!’
Amir shot her evils. ‘The phone just couldn’t handle the sheer awesomeness of my programming, that’s all.’
‘Whatever,’ said Ling, sipping her can of Coke and strolling out.
Connor scanned the timetable. He groaned when he saw double maths was the opener for Monday morning. His eyes skipped over the standard subjects to the bodyguard lessons – which, if the truth be known, fascinated him. Even if they were demanding and pushing him to his limit, he realized this was the sort of training his father must have done.
Foot drills. World affairs. Hostage survival. Route planning. Embus Debus. Vehicle searches. Unarmed combat –
A relieved smile broke across Connor’s face. At least he’d be one step ahead of the others in that class.
Connor entered the sports hall with Charley and the rest of Alpha team. A group of kids hung around the basketball court. When they spotted Charley, they strolled over.
‘Aren’t you that surfer girl?’ asked a young lad with wavy brown hair. ‘Charley Hunter?’
Charley nodded.
‘Wow!’ he said, eyes widening in star-struck glee. He turned to his friends. ‘I told you so. This girl was the Quiksilver Junior Surfing Champion. She conquered the Banzai Pipeline in Hawaii.’