Bodyguard (Bodyguard 5)

by Chris Bradford

  Connor watched with increasing concern. Juji-gatame was the most powerful armlock in judo. It took hardly any force to dislocate, or even break, the elbow.

  Feliks gasped in pain and tapped the mat twice with his free hand. But Stas ignored the submission. Apparently, so did the sensei.

  Feliks’s eyes bulged. His already pale face turned white, his arm on the verge of snapping.

  ‘Hey! He’s tapped out!’ Connor shouted as he realized Stas had no intention of releasing the lock.

  ‘Sensei, stop the fight!’ Jason protested, getting to his feet.

  As Feliks’s hand slapped the mat like a dying fish, the teacher called ‘Yamae’ with what sounded like reluctance. Connor stared in disbelief at him. Did Feliks’s persecution extend to the teaching staff? Surely not.

  The sensei awarded the fight to Stas. After bowing out, Feliks limped back into line, clutching his hyper-extended elbow.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Anastasia asked. Feliks nodded, but wouldn’t meet her eye. Connor saw he was trying to hold back the tears.

  Their teacher didn’t appear to care one way or the other about his student’s welfare and moved straight on to the next shiai match.

  ‘Vadik and … what’s your name?’ The sensei pointed at Jason. ‘You appear to have had some training before.’

  ‘A little,’ Jason replied cagily.

  Connor frowned. He got the distinct impression this was another pre-arranged match. It couldn’t be coincidence that Vadik had been paired with Jason. ‘Make mincemeat of him,’ he urged his partner.

  Jason cracked his knuckles. ‘Diced or sliced?’

  He took up position opposite Vadik and bowed. Both looked like they wanted to tear each other apart.

  ‘Hajime!’ called the sensei.

  Vadik charged. Jason neatly side-stepped him, making the boy look like a lumbering rhino. Infuriated, Vadik snatched for Jason’s gi and got hold of his collar. They tussled, both fighting for dominance. Vadik yanked Jason hard to one side, throwing him off balance. Jason countered by diving at Vadik’s leading leg for an MMA-style takedown. The attack failed, but only after Vadik illegally kneed Jason in the head.

  The sensei acted blind to this and Connor seriously began to question his eyesight, if not his judgement. It seemed the reach of the FSB extended to the teaching staff too.

  As Jason reeled from the blow, Vadik tried an o-goshi hip throw. But Jason managed to keep his centre of gravity low and prevent the technique being executed. Vadik took a step back and Jason, spotting an opportunity, went for an inner leg sweep. His foot connected, bone hitting bone … but Vadik’s legs were rooted like tree trunks and he didn’t go down.

  Then, as Vadik surged forward for an outer reap, Jason surprised him by not resisting. Instead he retreated, allowing Vadik’s own momentum to over-balance himself. Combining this with a hard tug on Vadik’s sleeve and a sharp rotation of his own body, Jason threw a surprised Vadik over his outstretched leg and pile-drove him into the mat.

  Connor whooped in celebration. It was a match-winning tai-otoshi.

  But the sensei didn’t call it, even though it was a clear ippon to everyone in the class. The problem was Vadik had managed to keep hold of Jason’s gi and pull him to the ground too, making the technique look messy. With sheer brute strength, Vadik rolled Jason on to his back, mounted him and trapped his throat in a cross-strangle. Vadik wrenched on the jacket’s lapels and pressed down hard, causing Jason to splutter and choke.

  Despite being strangled, Jason wouldn’t tap out.

  Instead he palm-struck Vadik straight in the nose. An illegal move in judo. But no more so than a knee strike. The boy grunted as a spurt of blood splattered his white gi. Vadik let go, clasping his nose, then raised a fist to retaliate –

  ‘YAMAE!’ shouted the sensei. He pulled the two boys apart. ‘This is not a cage fight,’ he growled.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Jason, holding up his hands. ‘It was an accident. I panicked.’

  The sensei narrowed his eyes. ‘An accident?’ he said doubtfully. ‘If that was an accident, then I’m the President of the United States. You should have tapped out if you were in trouble.’

  ‘Didn’t seem to work for the previous match,’ shot back Jason, boldly holding the teacher’s gaze.

  Dumbstruck by Jason’s cheek, the sensei’s face reddened like a geyser about to explode … but the school bell rang, signalling the end of the lesson and cutting off the teacher’s tongue-lashing before it had even begun.

  ‘You were lucky,’ said Connor as they headed for the changing rooms.

  Jason replied with a conquering grin. ‘Vadik was lucky.’

  Feliks kept pace with Jason, his earlier injury seemingly forgotten. ‘I’ve never seen anyone beat Vadik in a shiai match, or any fight for that matter!’ he said with genuine awe. Feliks seemed to be walking a little taller. ‘Stas and Vadik will think twice now before taking me on.’

  However, as they approached the changing rooms, the two bullies were blocking the doorway, Vadik with tissue paper plugging his bleeding nose.

  Stas glared at Feliks. ‘We know you’re to blame for Boris’s accident,’ he snarled.

  Feliks responded with a blank look. ‘What?’

  ‘Boris won’t talk about it, but we know it was no accident.’

  Connor frowned, as perplexed as Feliks apparently was. ‘We weren’t even at the party, thanks to Boris! So how can you blame Feliks?’

  ‘Ask Feliks,’ said Stas.

  Jason stepped right into Stas’s face. ‘Listen, just cos your idiot friend slipped and made a pancake of his face, don’t go accusing Feliks. He was with us all the time, so had nothing to do with Boris’s little accident. Now step aside unless you want a bloody nose too.’

  Stas stood his ground and puffed out his chest, daring Jason to make good on his threat. Then they both noticed the teacher was looking on.

  Standing aside, Stas pointed a finger at Feliks. ‘Next time I will break your arm!’

  Roman Gurov leant forward in his chair, rubbed his chin and studied the chessboard intently. His next move was crucial. It could alter the balance of power on the board – either to his opponent’s advantage, or to his own.

  After several minutes’ consideration, he reached for the bishop, then thought better of it. The bold attack would capture a significant piece – a knight – but he’d be sacrificing his own bishop two turns later. The gain didn’t add up against the loss. Instead he decided to advance his rook three squares forward, in order to squeeze his opponent’s king into the corner.

  ‘Interesting move,’ commented his opponent, his tone guarded, revealing neither dismay nor satisfaction at Roman’s choice.

  A polished silver samovar sat steaming on the coffee table between them, along with a china teapot, two gilded tea glasses, a bowl of honey, slices of lemon and a selection of savoury cakes. His opponent poured a small draught of concentrated tea into a glass, then topped it up with boiling water from the samovar. The single slice of lemon he added for flavouring drifted like a pale half-moon in the black tea.

  Savouring a long sip from his glass, he asked, ‘How did your other move work out?’

  Roman eased back in his chair, shifting on the seat as if the soft red leather had hardened and was causing him discomfort. ‘The assassin proved as good as his word,’ he said.

  ‘And did the Black King get the message?’

  ‘Message delivered, understood and ignored,’ replied Roman, his tone bitter and hard as if he’d just swallowed a lump of lead. ‘He plans to push ahead with the rally.’

  His opponent took another draught of strong tea. ‘Not good.’

  ‘No, not good,’ agreed Roman.

  ‘So, your opening gambit has failed. Perhaps a bolder move is required?’

  Roman raised an eyebrow. ‘We’ve executed his lawyer. Last year we drowned his wife – though we made it look like suicide – how much bolder must one be before he’ll get the message?’

/>   His opponent set aside his tea glass, reaching forward to rest his index finger on the small head of one of his white pawns.

  ‘The pawn is the weakest and most vulnerable playing piece on the board,’ he said, sliding it forward one space. The surprise move put Roman’s rook into a dangerous predicament and he silently cursed himself for overlooking it.

  ‘Yet a single pawn can decide the outcome of the game,’ said his opponent with a spider’s smile. ‘In your case, capture the pawn and the king will yield.’

  ‘This is the start of Moscow’s winter festival,’ explained Elena cheerfully as they strolled past a spotlit stage overlooking the frozen lake in Izmaylovsky Park. ‘It’s great fun. We have traditional folk dances, live concerts, a farmer’s market, an ice rink and even a funfair.’

  She nodded ahead to where a huge Ferris wheel dominated the tree-fringed skyline. Connor’s eyes swept round the snow-covered park, feigning interest while keeping a sharp lookout for potential threats. He knew the FSB agent had to be somewhere, the black Toyota Corolla having parked at the same time as their silver Mercedes. As always, Timur had dismissed the threat with his singular grunt. His concrete bulk now followed several paces behind their little group, no passer-by daring to cross his path.

  Elena stuck close to Connor as she guided her three friends, along with Jason, Feliks and Anastasia, in the direction of the ice rink. Feliks seemed to be favouring Jason after his performance in the shiai match, so Connor reluctantly took point while Jason held primary position on their Principal’s right-hand side. Jason made no comment, but a smug grin plastered his face. Yet as long as Feliks was being properly protected, Connor felt they were doing their job.

  Despite being one of the largest parks in the city, the whole place buzzed with Muscovites enjoying the winter festivities. There were people everywhere, wrapped in heavy coats, their feet encased in boots and their faces partly obscured by scarves, hats or hoods. This made identifying potential suspects far harder, since many wore similar clothing and any distinguishing features were hidden.

  Glancing in the direction of the funfair, Connor noticed a man standing near a candyfloss stall. His face was concealed in the shadow of a fur-lined black hood and Connor wouldn’t have spotted him at all had the man not been as motionless as a dead fish in a pond, while everyone else moved round him.

  Connor felt an involuntary shudder run down his spine. The man’s gaze appeared fixed in their direction –

  Elena looped her arm through his. ‘We can hop on a troika, if you like,’ she said, pointing to a wooden sleigh pulled by three dapple-grey horses. ‘Snuggle under a blanket, if you’re getting cold.’ She gave Connor a coy smile.

  ‘Err … perhaps later?’ Connor replied. Apart from the fact he had Charley as a girlfriend, he didn’t want to be separated from his Principal. Especially not with a potential threat in the vicinity.

  ‘I’ll hold you to that,’ said Elena as he glanced back towards the candyfloss stall.

  But he’d barely turned his head when a harsh CLACK-CLACK-CLACK ripped through the air. Recognizing the sound of automatic gunfire, he spun round, shouted ‘GUN!’ and launched himself at Feliks. Jason reacted too. Both of them threw Feliks to the ground, shielding him with their bulletproof-clothed bodies. Connor braced himself for the bruising rounds about to hit them.

  But none did. And the gunfire ceased.

  Connor looked round for their attacker, his search starting at the candyfloss stall. But the prime suspect had vanished. Like a ghost.

  Scanning the park, he realized no one else had reacted to the gunfire. In fact, Anastasia, Elena and the other girls were staring at the three of them on the ground in shocked amusement. Several paces behind, Timur’s rock-hard face had broken into a smirk, his professional contempt for Connor’s reaction summed up in a roll of his eyes.

  ‘Connor … it’s just a shooting gallery,’ said Elena gently, as more gunfire rang out.

  He and Jason turned towards a fairground stall, spilling over with stuffed toys, where a young man was firing an adapted Kalashnikov assault rifle at a paper target – obliterating it in the process.

  Connor closed his eyes in dismay. Only in Russia would there be an AK-47 shooting gallery! His blunder was not just embarrassing but risked exposing his and Jason’s true role in guarding Feliks.

  ‘Let me up!’ said Feliks impatiently, still pinned to the snow beneath them.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Connor, his cheeks flushing with humiliation as the girls began to snigger. He stood and helped Feliks back to his feet.

  ‘You two are a little jumpy,’ remarked Anastasia.

  ‘Err … just not used to gunfire in Britain, that’s all,’ said Connor, trying his best to shrug it off.

  ‘Well, you’re certainly protective of your cousin,’ she said.

  Jason patted Feliks on the back and put on a smile. ‘That’s what family’s all about, isn’t it?’

  ‘Come on, let’s go skating before Connor decides to dive on one of us!’ laughed Sofia, one of Elena’s friends, a tall girl with blonde plaits.

  ‘Let’s try the shooting gallery first,’ suggested Elena, striding off towards the stall. ‘I want to win one of those cute Minion toys.’

  As they tagged along behind, Jason muttered, ‘Well, that was embarrassing!’

  ‘Better embarrassed than dead,’ Connor replied defensively.

  ‘Maybe for you,’ said Jason, glancing in Anastasia’s direction. ‘Next time confirm the threat before you shout gun.’

  ‘Hey, you reacted too!’ said Connor.

  ‘Only because you did first.’

  Connor glared at him. He couldn’t believe that he was getting all the blame. Then again, he had made the call. And he was first command on the ground, which meant he had to bite the bullet for his mistake.

  The AK47 thundered in Elena’s grip, the recoil so great she was almost knocked off her feet.

  Despite the noise and power of the weapon, she failed to even graze the target. In fact her aim was so off that the stall vendor was forced to press himself against the gallery wall to avoid being shot himself by the rubber pellets. Even the stuffed Minions lining the shelves looked scared for their lives.

  ‘Hey, Ana, your turn,’ said Elena, a wide grin on her face despite not winning anything.

  Anastasia gave the assault rifle an uneasy look and shook her head. ‘No, it’s all right. I don’t like guns.’

  ‘How about the boys then? One of you needs to win us a prize.’

  Much to Connor’s surprise, Feliks stepped up to the challenge. He’d barely uttered a word since their arrival and, apart from Anastasia, the girls had ignored him. But now they flocked round him as he shouldered the rifle and took careful aim at the target. Connor could tell by the way he handled the weapon that he’d had experience with guns before.

  Feliks needed to obliterate three red bullseyes to win any prize.

  With a controlled burst of the AK47, Feliks hit the target but his shots were a good six inches to the left.

  The girls groaned in disappointment.

  ‘Hey, the sights are off!’ Feliks complained, glaring at the vendor.

  ‘Maybe it’s your eye that’s off,’ the vendor sneered.

  Scowling at him, Feliks returned his attention to the gun. Connor took the opportunity to glance round the funfair, keeping his eyes peeled for the man in the fur-lined black hood. Perhaps he’s the FSB agent? Perhaps he’s no one? But the suspect had been watching their group. Whoever it was, he was no longer making himself so obvious. The problem was complicated by the fact that a large number of men in black jackets were wandering around the park. Connor counted at least four nearby. The suspect could be any one of them. But Timur stood like a sentinel near Feliks and none of them made an approach.

  A deafening blast of gunfire cut through the fairground noise as Feliks squeezed the AK47’s trigger. This time he found his mark, clipping the first bullseye. It then took six long bursts to completely cl
ear the red. After a quick glance at Anastasia to be sure she was watching him, he moved on to the next target. His first shot was much closer to this bullseye but still off-centre. After another five volleys of gunfire he managed to take out the entire second bullseye. As Feliks lined up on the final target, the vendor crossed his arms and began chewing hard on the toothpick jammed between his lips.

  ‘You can do it,’ whispered Anastasia. Everyone round him held their breath.

  Feliks pulled the trigger. The AK47 gave a dry click. Out of ammo.

  ‘Oh, unlucky,’ said the vendor with a vampire’s grin.

  Fuming, Feliks dumped the rifle on the counter. ‘This stall is fixed!’

  ‘Everyone hates a sore loser,’ said the vendor.

  ‘Let me have a go,’ said Jason, picking up the gun.

  After Jason had handed over a five-hundred rouble note, the vendor loaded a new magazine clip into the weapon. Jason studied Feliks’s shooting pattern, checked the sights, then aimed the rifle purposefully off-target. His first rubber bullet clipped the edge of the bullseye. Then with surgical precision Jason worked his way across the red, keeping his bursts short and sharp, conserving ammo. Once clear, he moved on to the next target. Connor was amazed at how much of Gunner’s firearms training Jason had absorbed. He obliterated the second bullseye with sniper-like skill. As he destroyed the final target, the girls clapped and whooped. The stall vendor bit down so hard on the toothpick in annoyance that it snapped in half.

  ‘I thought you English boys weren’t used to guns,’ said Elena, sidling up to Jason.

  Jason winked at her. ‘I’m an Aussie. We’re good at everything!’

  As if being forced to prise out his own tooth, the vendor reluctantly handed over a large banana-yellow Minion.

  ‘Ta-da!’ said Jason, presenting the toy with a flourish to Anastasia. Connor noticed Elena’s nose wrinkle in envy, while Feliks glared at Jason. He’d clearly wanted to impress Anastasia himself. But Jason didn’t seem to notice, too busy bathing in the glory of his win and Anastasia’s smile.