Hostage (Bodyguard #1)(2)

‘Sir? SIR!’ he shouted, waving away the smoke to find the ambassador. ‘Are you OK?’

Dazed but conscious, the ambassador nodded his head.

‘We have to get out now!’ the bodyguard explained, reaching back and undoing the man’s seat belt. He tapped the driver on the shoulder. ‘You take the second Principal.’

But the driver didn’t respond. He was dead, having smashed his head against the windscreen on impact.

Cursing, the bodyguard tried to push open the front passenger door. But, even with his full body weight against it, he couldn’t budge it. The force of the explosion had twisted the Humvee’s heavily armoured construction and the door was jammed shut. They were trapped like sardines in a can.

Grabbing his gun from the footwell, he now prayed the bulletproof glass was one-way, as he’d requested.

‘Cover your face!’ the bodyguard ordered the ambassador.

Aiming the MP5 at the far corner of the windscreen, the bodyguard fired off several rounds and the glass exploded outwards. He kicked the screen free, the smoke cleared and he crawled through the opening.

Outside a full-on firefight was occurring. Ear-splitting blasts of grenades and the thunder of heavy machine guns mixed with the concussive explosion of mortars. The air was thick with black smoke and the whizz of speeding bullets.

Turning back, he helped the ambassador clamber from the Humvee and pulled him into the cover of its chassis.

‘Hayley!’ the ambassador implored, indicating his aide hanging limp in the back seat.

But the bodyguard had already clocked her condition. The young woman had taken the full force of the RPG. He shook his head regretfully. ‘She’s dead.’

Sheltering the ambassador from gunfire, he signalled for the back-up team. The rear Humvee driver spotted them and steered in their direction as a white sedan came tearing down the road from behind. Before any evasive action was possible, the rogue car was alongside. A second later it exploded. The Humvee was annihilated in the blast, taking with it the entire crew and any hope of rescue.

The bodyguard needed no further proof this was a carefully coordinated attack. A simultaneous assault of IEDs, RPGs and suicide bombers meant the rebels had known the ambassador’s itinerary and were going all-out to assassinate him.

With the operation so jeopardized, the bodyguard decided he had to break protocol if he was to save his Principal’s life. Besides, it was only a matter of time before another rocket hit their disabled Humvee.

‘We’re sitting ducks out here,’ said the bodyguard. ‘Are you able to run?’

‘Won the four-hundred metre dash at UCLA,’ replied the ambassador.

‘Then stay close and do exactly as I say. We’re heading for the underpass.’

He let loose a spray of covering fire. Then, using his body as a shield, he grabbed the ambassador and led him across open ground. As they dashed for safety, the supersonic crack of rebel bullets flew past their heads.

Behind them, an RPG hit their Humvee. The two of them were thrown to the ground by the explosion. Adrenalin pumped to the max, the bodyguard dragged the ambassador back to his feet.

Diving for cover behind a battered BMW, he stopped to assess their situation. The last surviving Humvee was battling to suppress enemy fire. The few Iraqi civilians who hadn’t reached the underpass cowered behind their cars. The bodyguard knew most would be innocent civilians, but he kept his gun primed: it would take only one rebel to kill the ambassador.

Peering round the bonnet, he sighted a black SUV with tinted windows roll down a nearby on-ramp. Its passenger window was open, a gun barrel poking out in their direction.

Suddenly the BMW erupted with the pepper of bullets and its windscreen shattered. The bodyguard dropped on top of the ambassador, shielding him from the deadly shots. The car took the worst of the assault as round after round rattled its bodywork. Then the barrage ceased as the surviving Humvee’s machine-gunner turned his sights on the rebels’ SUV, forcing them to change target.

‘We can’t get pinned down here,’ the bodyguard grunted, rolling off the ambassador.

Staying low, they weaved between the cars towards the underpass, a hail of bullets following close on their tail. As soon as they were beneath its shelter, the bodyguard hunted for a car that wasn’t blocked in by the obviously prearranged accident. He spotted a silver Mercedes-Benz near the front of the pile-up.

The blast of a machine gun and terrified screams echoed through the underpass.

‘They’re following us!’ exclaimed the ambassador, glancing over his shoulder in alarm.

Pushing his Principal ahead, the bodyguard returned fire, ensuring he was between the ambassador and the gunmen at all times.

Zigzagging through the cars, they were almost at the Mercedes when the ambassador came to a dead stop.

‘Keep going!’ urged the bodyguard.

Then he too saw the man standing before them.

Dressed in jeans and T-shirt, his face hidden behind a red-and-white headscarf, the rebel held an AK47 assault rifle aimed directly at the ambassador.

He fired.

Instinctively the bodyguard leapt in front of the ambassador, knocking him aside. The ambassador could only watch as his saviour was thrown back by the blaze of bullets, then crashed to the floor – lifeless.

The bodyguard had made the ultimate sacrifice to save him.

But it would all be in vain. The rebel strode over and planted the smoking barrel of the AK47 in the ambassador’s face.