Bodyguard (Bodyguard 5)

by Chris Bradford

  Ahead Connor spied an old homeless man shivering on a bench, a bottle in a brown paper bag clasped in his ungloved hands. Feliks and Anastasia barely gave the wretch a glance, but Connor kept his attention fixed on him, watching for the slightest warning he might attack or be anything other than he seemed.

  As they drew closer, Connor had his finger primed on the Dazzler button, ready to stun the homeless man with its light – and, if necessary, use the hidden baton. But the man kept his head bowed, a hand raised to his eyes as he protested irritably against the bright glare of Connor’s torch.

  ‘Timur’s on his way. Three minutes out,’ Jason informed Connor.

  The sound of muffled footsteps from behind made Connor stop and turn. But there was no one there, the bench empty, a trail of footprints disappearing into the bushes … Was the man now following them too, or had he simply gone to relieve himself?

  ‘What’s got you so jumpy?’ asked Jason, keeping his voice low, aware they couldn’t alert Anastasia to their true role.

  In a whisper, Connor explained what he’d seen back at the club – and his fears about the apparent homeless man.

  Jason immediately withdrew his own torch, gripping it as a weapon rather than for light alone. ‘I spotted the agent, but not the other one,’ he said. ‘You sure it wasn’t just a student sneaking a cigarette?’

  ‘We can’t take that risk,’ said Connor under his breath. ‘Now you take point while I cover Feliks.’

  Increasing their pace, Connor came up behind his Principal and subtly urged him along the path.

  ‘Can you slow down!’ protested Anastasia, her high-heeled leather boots driving pinholes in the snow.

  ‘Sorry, getting cold,’ explained Jason, who for once did as instructed and took point. He led the way through the pitch-black park, his torch sweeping like a lighthouse ahead of them. Snow fell in waves, reflecting the light and making visibility poor.

  ‘You Aussies need to toughen up!’ teased Anastasia.

  ‘And you Russians need better weather!’ Jason replied grimly, his focus on the path ahead.

  Every few paces Connor swung the torchbeam behind them. Once or twice he caught the flash of a ghostly figure in the bushes. The homeless man? The FSB agent? Some other threat? Whoever was tailing them was keeping a discreet distance. But if there was more than one, then others could have run ahead. Perhaps the plan was to cut them off at the entrance …

  Connor hurried Feliks towards the main gate, the immense stone pillars looming against the Moscow skyline and offering the promise of safety.

  ‘Hey, what’s the rush?’ complained Feliks, panting slightly with the rapid pace.

  ‘Car’s waiting,’ Connor replied, hoping that it was.

  As they approached the pillars, Anastasia lost her footing in the snow. She slipped and Connor caught her by the arm.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, stopping to lean on him and test her ankle. ‘I thought we decided not to go ice-skating!’ she joked.

  ‘Your ankle all right?’ he asked, his eyes scanning the snow-filled darkness behind. He didn’t want to delay any more than he had to.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But –’

  Connor spotted movement. He took her by the hand and, ignoring her protests to slow down, dragged her out of the park with Feliks. Exiting the gate and passing a dilapidated merry-go-round, he spied the stocky figure of Timur dutifully waiting at the kerbside. He breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘Problem?’ asked the bodyguard, opening the rear door for Feliks as they approached.

  Feliks answered with a scowl, then muttered quietly to him. Connor caught the bodyguard’s attention, signalling the situation was potentially far more hostile than a refusal of entry.

  ‘Let’s go,’ said Timur, ushering Feliks into the back seat.

  As a breathless Anastasia clambered in after him – followed by Jason – Connor made a final sweep with his torch. But Gorky Park refused to give up its secrets.

  Connor and Jason were having a leisurely breakfast the following morning with Feliks and his father when Dmitry dashed into the conservatory, a newspaper clasped in his hand. The adviser’s pale and anguished face told the whole story before he’d even laid the paper on the table in front of Viktor. Connor caught the headline at the top, his contact lens translating the Russian: Malkov Lawyer Shot Dead in Street.

  As the billionaire read the article, his expression passed through varying stages of shock, grief and finally anger.

  ‘A mugging?’ Viktor exclaimed, tossing the paper back on the table. A picture of the dead lawyer took up most of the front page. His body lay in a pile of bloodied snow, a bullet through the right eye, according to the photo caption. ‘How the hell have the police come to that conclusion?’

  Dmitry shrugged. ‘They say Sergey’s wallet and phone were stolen, and his briefcase broken into.’

  ‘I don’t believe it.’ Viktor sighed, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘Sergey only called me last night to say he’d secured the city permits for the rally. He was supposed to come over this morning and hand-deliver them. His death is too much of a coincidence.’

  ‘You think it was murder?’ asked Dmitry.

  ‘Worse, it was an assassination!’ Viktor slammed his fist so hard on the table that their plates rattled.

  Connor and Jason remained silent. The potential threat level to the billionaire and his son had just rocketed. But Feliks buttered a piece of toast and continued to eat his breakfast as if this sort of thing happened every day.

  Viktor replaced his glasses and stared at his adviser. ‘This was definitely a premeditated attack. A message job.’

  Connor exchanged a puzzled look with Jason. A message job?

  ‘What makes you say that?’ asked Dmitry, a note of horror entering his voice.

  Viktor stabbed his finger at the picture of the lawyer. ‘Among the Bratva, a shot through the eye is a message to say, We’re watching you. This so-called mugging was a hit by the Bratva to warn me off. They knew Sergey was carrying those permits. This is a blatant attempt to sabotage my rally.’

  The billionaire politician downed his black coffee, thrust back his chair, then stood with his fists planted on the table. ‘But I won’t be threatened into silence,’ he declared furiously. ‘Dmitry, I want copies of City Hall’s permit papers by the end of the week. We’re going ahead with this rally … if only to honour my good friend Sergey.’

  ‘But what if the next message is more personal?’ asked Dmitry, tugging at his beard and looking decidedly uneasy.

  Viktor strode over and laid an arm round his adviser’s shoulders. ‘This is exactly the sort of intimidation and corruption we’re fighting against, my friend.’

  ‘But we don’t know who we’re fighting against,’ argued Dmitry. ‘No one has the faintest idea as to the identity of the Pakhan. It could be the President, for all we know.’

  ‘The Bratva is the Bratva, whoever is heading it. And it’s their links with the government that are the heart of the corruption. Besides –’ a sly smile slid across Viktor’s lips – ‘the Bratva don’t know who they’re fighting against either. Listen, if we don’t make a stand, no one will, and this country will be lost for another generation. So let’s give those in power a message of our own.’

  Forcing his own smile, Dmitry nodded. ‘I’ll get those permits,’ he promised, and headed out of the door.

  Viktor beckoned his personal bodyguard over. ‘Lazar, this is just the start of my enemy’s campaign to undermine and destroy me. You and your men –’ he glanced over at Connor and Jason to ensure they were listening to his directive too – ‘need to be on full alert. Take no chances. Treat everyone and everything as a potential threat.’

  By now Feliks had stopped eating and was watching his father intently.

  ‘So it’s begun?’ he asked flatly.

  Viktor looked over at his son, his jaw set. ‘Yes, it has.’

  Feliks gave a resigned nod of his head a
nd returned to his breakfast.

  ‘Don’t worry, my son – these two boys will protect you with their lives.’ Viktor’s steely gaze turned on Connor and Jason. ‘Won’t you?’

  ‘This is more like it,’ said Jason as he knelt beside Connor and Feliks on the tatami mat in the school gymnasium. ‘A proper lesson.’

  Dressed in the white cotton jacket, obi and trousers of a judoka, Connor was equally at home. With a junior black belt in jujitsu, he was familiar with many judo techniques and was itching to get back on the mat and practise his martial art skills. Feliks looked less happy at the prospect of the school’s obligatory judo lesson. But the President of Russia was an eighth dan black belt and actively encouraged the sport as part of the national curriculum.

  Stas and Vadik knelt at the far end of the row, black belts tied tightly round their stocky waists. They shot a glance down the line at Connor and Jason, sneering at their novice white belts. Connor smiled inwardly. Little did they know.

  As the class waited for their teacher, a girl with rounded cheeks and hair in a tight black bun whispered, ‘Ana, you joining us for ice-skating this weekend?’

  Anastasia glanced up the line and nodded. ‘Sounds good, Elena. Can Feliks and his cousins come too?’

  Elena shrugged, seemingly indifferent to Feliks, then her eyes lit on Connor and she grinned. ‘Sure, why not?’

  ‘See you Sunday then,’ said Anastasia, before turning to Feliks. ‘Good with you?’

  Tongue-tied by the unexpected invite, Feliks managed a small nod. Jason grinned, obviously keen to spend more time with Anastasia. But Connor wasn’t so eager to go ice-skating, not after the mystery stalker in Gorky Park and the brutal murder of Viktor’s lawyer on the same night.

  Connor still couldn’t believe the Bratva were so ruthless that they’d kill someone just to deliver a message. If that was the case, then the threat level to Feliks was critical and a couple of school bullies were the least of their problems. No wonder Colonel Black had warned them Russia was the most dangerous place to be a bodyguard. Operation Snowstorm wasn’t a matter of if an attack might occur, but when.

  And it seemed that Feliks was fully aware of the danger he was in – perhaps another reason for his dark moods, besides his mother’s suicide. Now Connor felt the same unnerving shadow over himself. It was clear that Viktor Malkov had hired Connor and Jason not as bodyguards but as human shields. And, although they’d both nodded when he asked them to sacrifice themselves for his son, Connor hoped it wouldn’t come to that. But it felt like any outdoor trips were the equivalent of putting his head above the parapet during a siege.

  ‘What happened to Boris?’ asked Anastasia in an astonished whisper.

  Connor looked up as Boris limped in on crutches and plonked himself on a bench. The side of his face was badly bruised and his leg was in a plaster cast.

  Elena replied down the line, ‘I heard he slipped on some ice after the party.’

  ‘Nasty fall by the looks of it,’ said Feliks, a faint smirk on his lips.

  Connor noted the distinct pleasure in Feliks’s tone … perhaps too much pleasure. But his Principal’s lack of pity was understandable after Friday night’s face-off when Boris had barred his entry to the party. The injured Boris glanced their way, then quickly averted his gaze, his former arrogance replaced by what looked to Connor like a flicker of … fear?

  ‘Rei, Sensei!’ bellowed Stas as their judo teacher, a large barrel-chested man with limbs like steel girders and a bush of wire wool for a beard, entered the gymnasium and took up position on the mat.

  The students bowed as one and the lesson began. After a warm-up, their sensei led them in a session of ukemi. Break-falling across the mat, Connor was in his element, flinging himself over and rolling neatly out of each fall. This was followed by demonstrations of key throwing and grappling techniques. Although a little rusty, Connor quickly came to grips with them again – enjoying the simple effectiveness of the outer leg reap osoto-gari; relishing the speed and power of the hip throw o-goshi; mastering the easy dominance of the scarf hold kesa-gatame; and logging for future use the joint-breaking potential of the arm bar juji-gatame.

  Although Jason had never trained in judo or jujitsu, he had boxing and Mixed Martial Arts experience, which meant he excelled in grappling. And, judging by his progress, he was also a quick learner.

  Then it was time for randori, free-sparring. This was the students’ opportunity to put all they’d learnt during the lesson into practice. First Connor partnered with Feliks, an orange belt. But Feliks lacked confidence. He could do the basic techniques well enough, but they seemed to jerk out of him rather than flow.

  ‘You’re too stiff,’ said Connor, going easy on him.

  ‘But I don’t like to fall,’ he replied, tensing as Connor moved in for a leg reap.

  ‘Relax your body. Go with it. That’s the purpose of the ukemi training.’

  Connor got the sense that Feliks’s usual training partners practised hard and fast, with no consideration for their opponent’s ability level. So, when he swept Feliks’s leg from under him, he gently threw him to the mat. Once Feliks realized he wasn’t going to be brutally dropped, he loosened up and his randori improved.

  After a couple of rounds, Connor found himself paired with Anastasia. Like him, she wore a white belt. Not wanting to damage her confidence either, he played down his skills. They gripped each other’s collar and sleeve and began the mock combat.

  Anastasia was impressively light on her feet, moving like a dancer. Connor went for a couple of foot sweeps, but she evaded them with remarkable ease. Shifting round the mat, Connor made himself open for an attack. Anastasia saw it and moved with startling speed. She spun into him, drove her hip against his and lifted him high off the ground. Then, with a complete lack of mercy, she pounded him into the mat.

  A perfect o-goshi.

  Connor wheezed, the wind knocked out of him. ‘Impressive!’ he gasped. ‘I thought … you were on a music scholarship.’

  Anastasia dazzled him with that smile of hers. ‘Russian girls are full of surprises.’

  Taking her proffered hand, Connor got to his feet. This time he wouldn’t be so forgiving with her. He faked an inner leg reap, then went for harai-goshi, a sweeping hip throw. But Anastasia countered with ura-nage, grabbing hold of his hips and throwing him directly over her shoulder. Having sacrificed herself, she struck the mat at the same time, flipped her body over and pinned Connor to the mat with kesa-gatame. She held Connor close in the clinch, her ice-blue eyes locking with his.

  ‘You like being pinned down by me?’ she teased. Under her intoxicating gaze, Connor could see why Jason was so enamoured. It was easy to fall under her spell.

  Connor struggled in her grip and tried to dislodge her. But she was deceptively strong for her size. His estimation of Anastasia went up yet again. But Connor wasn’t to be beaten. Bridging his body, he rolled her over and trapped her in his own scarf hold.

  ‘You like being pinned down by me?’ he joked.

  Anastasia laughed before tapping out to signal her submission. Connor released his grip, but in the struggle her jacket and T-shirt had been pulled aside and he caught a glimpse of waxy white skin at the base of her neck. Usually hidden by her long hair and clothing, the ripple of scarring appeared to spread down her back. Anastasia saw him staring and quickly tugged her T-shirt back into place.

  ‘Don’t worry – I’ve got scars too,’ he said, trying to make light of it. He pulled his gi to one side to reveal the four long pale score marks on his left shoulder. ‘A safari that went badly wrong,’ he explained.

  Her eyes downcast and suddenly sad, Anastasia offered him a sympathetic smile and seemed about to tell him her story when the sensei called, ‘Yamae!’ bringing the randori to an end. Without another word, she hurried back into line.

  Seeing her sensitivity to her scarring, Connor decided he wouldn’t bring it up again. Besides, if they were to compare scars, he’d have a whole lot
more explaining to do. Not many teenage boys had a set of leopard claw marks, a knife wound and a bullet hole in the thigh before the age of sixteen.

  ‘We’ll finish with a round of shiai,’ announced the sensei, his voice booming like an artillery gun. ‘First up, Stas, and –’ his steely gaze ran down the line of kneeling students – ‘Feliks.’

  Feliks groaned and reluctantly got to his feet. ‘He always does this,’ he muttered, directing a scowl at the judo teacher.

  Connor patted him on the back, wishing him luck. Unlike randori in which the principle was to learn, shiai was a full-on competition with the sole aim to win. And against a beast like Stas it was a contest Feliks would undoubtedly lose.

  ‘Keep your centre of gravity low and use his own body weight against him,’ Jason whispered as Feliks trudged past. But Jason could have been talking Greek for all their Principal understood of his advice.

  Feliks and Stas faced one another in the centre of the mat like a David and Goliath re-match. On their sensei’s command they both bowed. Then he barked ‘Haijime!’ and the fight began.

  Not even giving Feliks a chance to blink, Stas lunged forward, gripped the front of his jacket and yanked him off balance. Feliks’s face registered a look of shock as he was jerked forward. Then Stas planted his right foot into Feliks’s stomach and rolled backwards. Connor recognized tomoe-nage as soon as Stas committed to the sacrifice throw. Feliks, who hadn’t even managed to get hold of his opponent’s jacket, was tossed over Stas’s head like a crash-test dummy flung from a car. With a bone-shattering impact Feliks slammed into the mat, all the air expelled from his lungs in a great whoosh.

  Connor winced for him. Now he understood why his Principal wasn’t keen on judo training. The rule of this dojo seemed to be one of no mercy – and one encouraged by the sensei. The sacrifice throw was worthy of a straight ippon, an outright win. But their teacher let the fight play out.

  Following through on his backward roll, Stas mounted the winded Feliks, seized control of his right arm and wrapped both legs across his chest. Pinned to the mat, Feliks was utterly defenceless. Then Stas straightened out the arm, leant back and applied pressure to Feliks’s elbow joint.