Bodyguard--Recruit (Book 1)

by Chris Bradford

  “A crazed fan?” suggested Connor.

  “Very likely. Now, say this crazed fan poses a risk of stabbing to your Principal. How can we prevent this?”

  “Body armor,” volunteered Amir.

  “Effective, but for your Principal to wear body armor all the time is unrealistic and impractical.”

  “Put a surveillance team on the suspected fan,” Ling suggested. “That way you can track their movements and keep the Principal at a safe distance.”

  “Good. But what if the surveillance team loses the fan?”

  “Then the guardian keeps an eye out and provides protection to the Principal,” said Jason.

  “Exactly. And that’s why you need to remain constantly aware—in a Code Yellow mind-set. You have to be continually assessing people who come close enough to harm you or your Principal. Is the person in the crowd reaching for a knife or a gun? Or an innocent smartphone? Have you seen them before? Do they appear unusually nervous? These are the sorts of questions you need to ask yourself.”

  The colonel paused to take another sip of his coffee.

  “Here’s a different scenario: your Principal is on a skiing vacation, and there’s a demonstration outside her hotel. What action would you take to ensure her safety?”

  Connor thought for a moment. “Stay inside until the demonstration moves on.”

  “That’s one option,” conceded the colonel, “but your Principal has to meet friends in the next thirty minutes.”

  Unsure what to suggest, Connor looked to the others for help.

  “You could use the PES team to form a protective cordon,” said Amir.

  “Not ideal,” replied the colonel. “Any contact with the demonstration greatly increases the risk to your Principal.”

  Jason put his hand up. “I’d leave by a rear exit.”

  “Good,” Colonel Black agreed. “But your Principal still ends up in the hospital.”

  “Why?”

  “She slips on the icy step of that rarely used exit.”

  Jason threw up his hands. “How could I predict that?”

  “You should be on the lookout for all dangers,” replied the colonel. “This is what I like to call ‘salting the step.’ When it comes to analyzing the threats against your Principal, leave no stone unturned.”

  Colonel Black gestured toward Charley.

  “As Alpha team’s operations leader—and the most experienced guardian among you—Charley will help you predict and prevent any threats against your Principal,” he explained. “But it will be up to you alone to protect them. And over the coming weeks you’ll learn the necessary skills to do just that—unarmed combat, anti-surveillance, body-cover drills and anti-ambush exercises, to name but a few.” He directed his attention at Connor. “Alpha team has already completed the introductory lessons, so you’ve got a lot of catching up to do. But your martial arts experience should help.”

  Draining his coffee mug, the colonel switched off the projector and gathered his papers together. “I’ll see everyone after break for our next session.”

  Alpha team rose in respect as the colonel departed the briefing room.

  Connor shut down his laptop with relief. “Phew . . . There’s a lot to take in,” he remarked.

  “You’ve barely scratched the surface,” replied Marc. “Your brain will be fried by the end of the month.”

  “That’s if he’s got a brain,” cracked Jason.

  “Leave him alone,” said Ling. “Just because yours still needs to evolve.”

  Jason made a grab for her. Ling sidestepped him and danced down the corridor. As the others headed toward Alpha team’s common room, Connor hung back. Walking over to Charley, he bent down to pick up her bag.

  “I can do that,” she said, neatly flipping it onto the back of her wheelchair.

  “Sorry—of course you can,” replied Connor, feeling awkward at his presumption. He followed her into the corridor.

  “Something on your mind?” she asked.

  Not knowing how to broach the subject directly, Connor said, “What made you decide to become a guardian?”

  Charley laughed. “Colonel Black.”

  Connor gave her a puzzled look.

  “You’ve experienced his recruitment methods,” she explained. “He’s not a man who expects no for an answer.”

  “But you still had a choice.”

  Charley nodded. “And I jumped at the chance.”

  “But why?”

  Charley sighed. “A friend of mine was kidnapped. She was never seen again. I’ve always thought that if I’d known how to protect her, I could have saved her.”

  “But what do your parents think about you doing this?”

  “They died in a plane crash three years ago.”

  Connor felt his heart go out to her. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “It’s all right,” she replied, her voice flat and unemotional. “I’ve sort of come to terms with it now.”

  But Connor recognized the brave face she put on as the same one he used when someone asked about his dad. She couldn’t conceal the deeper grain of sadness in her eyes. “I understand how you feel. I’ve lost my father too.”

  Charley stopped and turned to him. Although she said nothing, her tender look of compassion said it all. And as though he’d glimpsed a shooting star, Connor felt a deep connection pass between them.

  Breaking away from each other’s gaze, they continued through the entrance hall in silence. As they neared the bay window, a shaft of sunlight glinted off the badge on Charley’s blouse. In an attempt to change the topic, Connor asked, “Tell me, why’s your shield gold?”

  Charley glanced down at the badge. “These are awarded for outstanding bravery in the line of duty.”

  Intrigued, Connor asked, “What did you do?”

  Charley rolled to a stop by the window and looked out at the mountains in the distance.

  “As guardians, we hope for the best but plan for the worst,” she said softly. “Sometimes, the worst happens.”

  She chewed her lower lip pensively and went silent on him.

  Wishing he’d kept his mouth shut, Connor decided not to push the subject any further. Charley seemed to appreciate this. She forced a smile, and her face brightened. “But don’t worry, Connor. As ops leader, I’ll make certain that never happens to you.”

  12

  Descending the darkened staircase to the basement level, Hazim walked along a short corridor, lit only by a bare bulb, and looked inside an empty, windowless white-walled cell. In the room opposite, Bahir glanced up from a circuit board he was soldering.

  “Malik’s asked me to check on the progress of the holding cell,” explained Hazim. “He wants to know if it’ll be one hundred percent secure.”

  “When I’m finished,” Bahir said, the glowing tip of the soldering iron reflecting in his metal-rimmed glasses, “a spider won’t be able to get in or out.”

  He pointed to the narrow door Hazim had just peered through. “That’s the only access, and it has a reinforced lock.”

  “What about electronic communications?”

  Bahir indicated a smartphone on his desk. “See for yourself: no signal whatsoever.”

  Hazim glanced at the display—the aerial icon flashed Searching.

  “I’ve installed a wide range of electronic jammers,” Bahir quietly boasted, nodding toward his spaghetti junction of wires and boxes on the table. “All operating on different bandwidths. Each jammer has a backup in case of failure. The system will block against every cellular network—even the newer phones that hop between different frequencies.”

  Hazim nodded, as if understanding the complex array of technical equipment before him. “What about bugs and transmitters?”

  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 aluminum 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 meters, so we’ll still be able to operate outside this zone. For Internet access, I’ve piggybacked the neighboring property’s telephone line and installed a rerouter.”

  “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.”

  13

  Marc had been right. After a couple of weeks, Connor’s brain was turning to mush. He had never imagined he would 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: 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 classes—math, history, English and all the other subjects Connor had hoped to escape by joining Guardian. 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 nonstop classes 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 behavior? 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 schedule pinned on the bulletin board. “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,” Ling said, smirking. “Amir’s last app fried his phone.”

  Amir raised his nose at her. “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 schedule. He groaned when he saw he had a double period of math first thing Monday morning. His eyes skipped over the standard subjects to the bodyguard lessons—which, truth be told, 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 had.

  Foot drills. World affairs. Hostage survival. Route planning. Embus and debus training. 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.

  14

  Connor entered the gym 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 starstruck glee. He turned to his friends. “I told you so. This girl was the Quik-silver Junior Surfing Champion. She conquered the Banzai Pipeline in Hawaii.”

  The kids began to crowd around her wheelchair. One of the girls produced a pen and asked for an autograph. Worried that Charley was going to be mobbed, Connor stepped forward.

  “Hey, watch it!” snarled a boy dressed in combats and a death-metal T-shirt, his way blocked by Connor.

  “Sorry, mate, but you need to give her some space.”

  “I just wanted to get her autograph,” mumbled the boy, moodily stuffing his hands in his pockets.

  Suddenly Connor caught sight of a blade. “KNIFE!” he shouted as the boy thrust for Charley.

  Relying on his jujitsu training, Connor grabbed the boy’s wrist. He was almost too late, the tip of the blade sweeping a hair’s breadth from Charley’s throat. The other kids scattered in panic as the two of them fought for control over the lethal weapon. Connor twisted the boy’s arm using the kote-gaeshi technique to drive him to the floor. The boy still refused to let go of the knife. Jason dived on top, pinning the attacker to the ground, while Ling and Amir rushed Charley toward the exit.

  A man clapped for them to stop.

  “Excellent reactions,” commended Steve, their unarmed combat instructor. Ex–British Special Forces, he was a six-foot-two man-mountain with skin as dark as ebony and the muscles of a gladiator. He’d also been the other phony police officer involved in Connor’s recruitment. “That training exercise demonstrates how difficult it is to foresee an attack. But you handled it well. The Principal was saved.”

  He glanced at the red ink line marking Connor’s left forearm where the rubber knife had caught him.

  “You, on the other hand, are seriously injured.”

  Connor grimaced, disappointed with himself for not managing to cleanly disarm the attacker from Delta team.

  “Knife attacks are possibly the most dangerous of all close-quarter combat situations. That’s why the best way to tackle a threat is not to tackle it at all,” Steve explained as he collected the training weapon. “Avoidance and escape should always be your first priority as a bodyguard. This is not cowardice. Remember, it’s far better to make a good run than a bad stand.”

  He beckoned for Alpha and Delta teams to gather around.

  “However, there will be times when escape is impossible and you must take the threat head-on to defend yourself and your Principal. If you’re forced to fight, end it fast. It should be over within five to ten seconds. A punch to the face. A knife-hand strike to the throat. A kick to the groin. Whatever it takes.”

  Steve slammed a meaty fist into the palm of his hand for emphasis. The class all nodded obediently. They’d spent the first hour of the lesson doing pad work. Drilling jabs, crosses, front kicks and roundhouses over and over to c
ommit them to muscle memory—so that the techniques became instinctive rather than reactive. For Connor, this was already the case. So, while many of the other recruits struggled to master the moves, he relished getting his teeth back into his martial arts training.

  “But remember the whole purpose of any defensive action is to escape with your Principal,” continued their instructor. “You’re hitting to buy time. Even in the middle of a conflict you should be looking for the way out.”

  He pointed to the green emergency exit sign by way of example.

  “But you can’t go around punching and kicking every potential threat. First, the person could be innocent with no intention of harming your Principal. Second, you’ll end up in court for assault. That’s why it’s useful to have several nonlethal techniques in your armory. Ling and Connor, because you’re both black belts, I need you to demonstrate.”

  They stepped forward. Steve instructed Ling to hold her arm out straight. Then he positioned her middle finger on the bone of Connor’s sternum just above his solar plexus.

  “Connor, walk toward Ling.”

  Since Ling was small and willowy, Connor saw no problem in getting past her. But as soon as he stepped forward, there was a sharp pain in his chest.

  “Come on!” chided Steve. “You’re a strong lad. It shouldn’t be too difficult.”

  Connor pushed harder, but the pain only increased. And Ling wasn’t even straining as she held him back.

  His combat instructor seemed to enjoy the astonished look on his face.

  “That’s how you keep someone at bay with just a finger.”

  15

  “The single-finger technique’s effective only if the person is a mere annoyance to your Principal,” explained Steve. “But if they’re determined and becoming a serious threat, you may need to be more insistent and use a different PAL technique.”