Bodyguard (Bodyguard 5)

by Chris Bradford

  The irony wasn’t lost on Connor. Once again the assassin had saved his life!

  Anastasia was waiting for them at the top of the garden. She took Feliks’s arm and helped to support him as he recovered his breath.

  ‘I see three of you made it,’ remarked Mr Grey, slamming a fresh magazine into his rifle. ‘But you took your time.’

  Connor looked daggers at the assassin. Before Connor could reply, Mr Grey strode off towards the dacha. They hurried after him and discovered Viktor crouched inside the main entrance protected by two armed security guards. When Feliks limped into sight, Viktor ran out and embraced his son.

  ‘I thought I’d lost you,’ he said, displaying more affection for the boy than Connor had ever seen before.

  ‘No time for happy reunions,’ Mr Grey interrupted. He looked to one of the guards, the chain-smoker who’d ignored Connor the previous day. ‘Where’s Yuri?’

  ‘Getting the vehicle prepped, as ordered,’ replied the guard.

  Mr Grey glanced round. ‘Well, he should’ve been here by now.’

  With a curt wave of his hand, Mr Grey instructed them all to follow him. Rifles primed, the two security guards kept a sharp eye on their surroundings as they skirted round the dacha and made their way towards the garage block. Feliks stayed with his father, so Connor stuck close to Anastasia.

  Turning to Connor, Viktor asked in a hushed tone, ‘No Jason?’

  Unable to find words, Connor just shook his head.

  ‘I’m so sor–’

  Mr Grey silenced Viktor with a glare. They had to cross twenty metres of open ground to reach the garage block. Mr Grey signalled the chain-smoking guard to go ahead. The guard sprinted the short distance and entered the garage through a side door. A few seconds later, the main garage door automatically opened, revealing the grille of a white four-wheel drive Toyota Land Cruiser.

  The guard appeared. ‘No Yuri, but all clear!’ he said, beckoning them over.

  Mr Grey led the way. However, as the garage door fully opened, it completed an electrical circuit and triggered a hidden bomb. The fireball incinerated the guard and obliterated the Land Cruiser. The blast that followed vaporized the snow and knocked everyone off their feet.

  Connor lay sprawled on the ground as debris rained down. A buzzing filled his ears like the static of an old TV and he coughed and wheezed as the bomb-blasted air filled his lungs. Through the haze of smoke and flames, he spotted at least ten men in white ski jackets marching towards them.

  Mr Grey was on his knees, dragging Viktor back to the cover of the dacha. The other guard was dead, a jagged piece of the Toyota’s metal bodywork protruding from his chest.

  On willpower alone, Connor crawled over to Anastasia. Her face was smeared with ash and a thin stream of blood ran from her nose, but she was breathing. Connor shook her and shouted her name, his own voice sounding dull and distant in his head. She responded with a few blinks, then raised her head weakly. Between them, they managed to stand and stagger the short distance back to the dacha.

  Mr Grey was now half-carrying Viktor towards the front door. The billionaire was calling for his son. But either the assassin didn’t hear or didn’t care about the boy’s fate. He simply kept going.

  Connor turned and saw the boy laid out on the ground. To all appearances, dead. Then he noticed a twitch of the fingers and a slight rise of the chest.

  ‘I’m OK!’ said Anastasia, her shout sounding more like a whisper. ‘Get Feliks.’

  Making sure Anastasia reached the front door first, Connor then went back for his Principal. A quick inspection of Feliks revealed no major injuries; the boy was just in deep shock.

  He glanced up. The gunmen were closing in, but seemed in no rush to finish off their quarry.

  Calling upon all his remaining strength, Connor hauled Feliks on to his shoulders and lurched towards the dacha’s main entrance. No shots were fired at them and Connor was amazed to make it alive. As soon as they were inside, Mr Grey slammed the door and bolted it shut.

  ‘What the hell’s going on?’ said Connor, after depositing Feliks into the arms of his father. His ears still rang, but his hearing was gradually returning. ‘Bombs, ambushes, assault teams … It’s a flipping war zone!’

  ‘When things go bad in Russia, they usually go bad in a big way,’ said Mr Grey, dragging over a heavy wooden cabinet to block the front door.

  Connor lent his muscle to the task. ‘But who are the men attacking us?’

  ‘Krysha,’ Mr Grey replied. When he caught the bemused look on Connor’s face, he added, ‘Bratva enforcers, recruited from the most violent ex-convicts and murderers in Russia.’

  ‘Sounds like your sort of friends,’ said Connor dryly.

  Mr Grey stared at him, the joke falling flat. ‘I don’t have friends.’

  Connor glanced over at Viktor Malkov, the billionaire clasping his son to his chest, his bloodied face a mix of thunder and fear. ‘Isn’t Viktor a friend?’

  ‘He’s an associate,’ Mr Grey replied, his tone cool and business-like, ‘and a highly valuable asset to Equilibrium.’

  ‘What’s this Equilibrium?’ demanded Connor, recalling the name from his African assignment.

  The assassin drew his Ruger SR9c semi-automatic pistol from its holster and Connor flinched away, immediately regretting the question.

  Mr Grey smirked at Connor’s knee-jerk reaction. ‘If we survive this, Connor Reeves, maybe I’ll introduce you to them.’

  The assassin checked the pistol’s cartridge, half-empty, and turned to the billionaire. ‘Do you have any more guns or ammo?’

  Viktor gave an absent nod. ‘In my study.’

  As Mr Grey headed across the entrance hall, Viktor reached out and seized the assassin’s arm. ‘So, what’s the plan now?’ he demanded, sounding both desperate and angry. ‘The grounds are overrun. The guards all dead. And our only escape vehicle has just been destroyed!’

  Mr Grey looked down at Viktor’s hand with something approaching distaste and the billionaire quickly released his grip. ‘I’ve already called for back-up,’ he replied.

  ‘And how long will that take?’

  Mr Grey shrugged. ‘Two hours, maybe a little more. We just need to hold out until then.’

  The assassin’s blasé attitude to their predicament only enraged the billionaire more. ‘We’ve barely survived the last half-hour!’ he cried. ‘What makes you think we can last out another two hours?’

  Mr Grey replied in a matter-of-fact tone as stone-cold as his stare. ‘Because we must.’

  The assassin opened the door to the study, and Viktor snapped, ‘I thought Equilibrium promised to protect me from all this!’

  Mr Grey glanced back over his shoulder. ‘Well, you’re not dead yet, are you?’ he said acidly, before disappearing into the study.

  Connor felt the entrance hall breathe again. At times he didn’t know who was more dangerous – the krysha outside or the assassin Mr Grey. Connor went over to Anastasia, who was leaning against the wall for support.

  ‘You all right?’ he asked.

  She responded with a faint smile. ‘I’m all in one piece, if that’s what you’re asking.’

  Connor was amazed at her resilience. Most people would have been an emotional wreck or in total shock after being shot at, pursued by gunmen and almost blown up. In fact Feliks was a perfect example of just that as he rested his head numbly against his father, his eyes glazed over in the thousand-yard stare of a battle-weary soldier.

  ‘Do you really think we’ll survive long enough for back-up to arrive?’ asked Anastasia, dabbing at the blood dripping from her nose with the back of her hand.

  Connor found her a box of tissues from the hall’s restroom, at the same time catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He barely recognized himself. His hair was matted and grey with dust, his face streaked with dirt and blood, his lower lip split and his cheek bruised and swollen like a prizefighter’s. Judging by his appearance alone, he didn’t much
rate their chances of survival. But he replied, ‘If Mr Grey says so. He’s experienced in these sorts of situation. And I’ll do everything in my power to protect you.’

  Anastasia replied with a bittersweet smile, ‘That’s what Jason promised me too.’ Then her eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean by experienced?’

  Before Connor could reply, Mr Grey returned with a hunting rifle, a second pistol in a paddle holster and a box of bullets. He threw Viktor the hunting rifle. ‘Locked and loaded, but don’t waste any rounds. We’re short on ammo.’

  Discounting Feliks due to his state of deep shock, Mr Grey presented Connor with the handgun – a SIG Sauer P226. ‘I presume you know how to use one of these?’ he asked.

  Connor nodded. Gunner had made sure that he and Jason were familiar with the most common semi-automatic pistols. Sliding the SIG from its holster, he checked the magazine, chamber and safety before weighing the weapon in his hand. The SIG P226 was a lot heavier than a Glock 17 due to its stainless-steel frame and Connor knew he’d have to account for this when aiming.

  Mr Grey eyed Connor. ‘You ever shoot someone?’

  Connor shook his head, clipping the holster to his belt.

  He smiled coldly. ‘The first time’s the hardest. After that, it’s child’s play.’

  Connor felt an iron knot tighten in the pit of his stomach. He’d trained to protect people. Not kill them. This was a line he hadn’t wanted to cross. But he understood the situation now might demand it. If faced with a choice between a krysha and saving Anastasia, Feliks or himself, he couldn’t afford to hesitate in pulling the trigger.

  ‘We need to make this dacha as secure as a castle,’ Mr Grey instructed, heading for the kitchen. ‘Lock and block all the doors. Close the windows. Pile the furniture into barricades. And do it quickly!’ He snapped his fingers in front of Feliks’s face, bringing the boy out of his daze. ‘Did you hear me?’ Feliks gave a vague nod. ‘Then move!’

  As they set to work battening down the hatches, Anastasia called out from the front living room, ‘Why aren’t they attacking?’

  Having checked the rear patio doors were locked, Connor joined her in the living room and peered through the window. It seemed the ten krysha had fanned out round the dacha. They now stood like sentinels, watching the house.

  ‘There’s your answer,’ said Mr Grey, coming up behind and pointing to the bottles in their hands.

  Each of the krysha carried a Molotov cocktail. Upon a command they lit the rags and a gunman began shooting out the dacha’s windows … then the firebombs rained down.

  The living-room window imploded in a cascade of glittering glass. Connor shielded Anastasia from the lethal shards as a Molotov cocktail was hurled through. The bottle smashed on to the wooden floor, splattering blazing liquid everywhere. As the furniture went up like a bundle of dry sticks, a roar of flame filled their ears and the air turned toxic with the stink of acrid fumes.

  Battling against the wall of heat, his skin searing, Connor bundled Anastasia out of the room. Already out in the hallway, Mr Grey slammed the door shut behind them in an attempt to stop the fire spreading. But his jacket sleeve was dripping with flaming petrol and his arm was ablaze. Tearing off his jacket, he stamped on it until the fire was extinguished, wisps of smoke rising from the scorched fabric.

  Viktor, his rifle over his shoulder, sprinted down the hall towards them. Right behind him was Feliks, panic etched on his pale face.

  ‘The games room and drawing room are on fire!’ said Viktor.

  ‘The bedrooms too,’ gasped Feliks, coughing from the smoke seeping round the door frames.

  The wooden dacha was fast turning into a deadly bonfire. And they were in the middle of it.

  ‘We’ve got to get out!’ Anastasia cried, dashing to the front door and clawing at the cabinet. But she couldn’t move it on her own. ‘Help me!’ she pleaded. ‘Connor!’

  Mr Grey put a hand on Connor’s shoulder, holding him back, his bony fingers like talons. ‘No, that’s exactly what they want,’ he said. ‘If we run out, they’ll shoot us down like dogs.’

  ‘What other choice do we have?’ said Connor, shaking off his grip.

  ‘He’s right. We’ll be burnt alive if we stay here!’ Viktor argued as the crackle of flames grew more intense. ‘We have to surrender.’

  ‘There is no surrender,’ said Mr Grey. Anastasia was now kicking at the cabinet in her desperation to escape. Connor went over and tried to calm her. ‘But there’s another way,’ said the assassin. ‘Follow me.’

  Heading into the kitchen – the one room currently spared an arson attack – he opened a drawer, pulled out several tea towels and soaked them in the sink.

  ‘Wrap these round your faces to stop the smoke,’ he instructed, handing out the sodden cloths.

  Connor tied his tightly across his nose and mouth, then helped Anastasia with hers.

  Mr Grey opened a small door in the kitchen wall. ‘In here,’ he ordered.

  ‘But that only leads to the wine cellar,’ said Viktor, his voice muffled by the cloth.

  ‘Exactly. Now move!’

  ‘But we’ll suffocate down there,’ protested Viktor.

  Mr Grey stared at him, unmoved by the billionaire’s argument. ‘You’ll burn here and die out there. Best take your chances below.’

  Viktor shook his head in dismay but did as ordered, taking his son with him. Connor urged Anastasia towards the small dark opening.

  ‘No! No! No!’ she cried, shaking her head, her face a mask of terror.

  The kitchen window imploded and another Molotov cocktail was flung in. Connor grabbed Anastasia and bundled her down the stairs. Viktor and Feliks were already at the bottom, Connor and Anastasia halfway down, when Mr Grey shut the door on them.

  ‘He’s locked us in!’ Connor yelled, rushing back up the stairs and banging on the cellar door. ‘The double-crossing snake has locked us in!’

  ‘I’m sure it’s part of his plan,’ said Viktor, although he didn’t look too convinced.

  Connor turned on him. ‘You’re putting your trust in an assassin?’

  ‘I’ve known Mr Grey for over ten years,’ he replied. ‘He’s never let me down yet.’

  ‘There’s always a first time,’ said Connor, furiously yanking on the handle. But the door wouldn’t budge.

  ‘Mr Grey’s an assassin?’ queried Anastasia, her voice small as she cowered in the corner, her knees hugged to her chest.

  Connor could feel the handle growing hot in his grasp. He backed away from the door and descended the stairs. ‘Mr Grey’s a cold-blooded ruthless killer. He doesn’t care about us. He doesn’t care about anyone. He’s locked us down here so he can make a clean escape!’

  ‘Assassin? Bodyguard? It depends upon which end of the bullet you’re on,’ Viktor muttered. ‘You can believe what you like about Mr Grey, but he’s been employed to keep me alive.’

  Connor glared at the billionaire. ‘Then why’s he left you to burn to death in this cellar?’

  Viktor answered with a baffled shrug. ‘I don’t know. But he’ll have his reasons.’

  Connor began looking round for another exit. The bare bulbs in the ceiling cast a stark white light on the brick walls, wooden casks and rows upon rows of wine bottles. Dust lay thick on the concrete floor and mice scuttled through the shadows, desperate to escape the fire too.

  ‘He said there was another way,’ Feliks said, panicked. ‘Isn’t there another door or a tunnel?’

  ‘There’s no other way,’ replied his father. ‘The cellar’s a dead end.’

  The hope drained from Feliks’s face. ‘You mean … we’re trapped here?’

  Viktor wrapped an arm round his son and pulled him close.

  ‘What about an access hatch or window?’ asked Connor, peering into the shadows at the far reaches of the cellar.

  The billionaire shook his head. ‘The cellar’s a closed system. It’s been designed to keep a constant temperature and level of humidity to preserve t
he wine.’

  ‘Well, the temperature’s only going up in here!’ said Connor, now searching for anything he could prise open the door with – a crowbar, a hammer, even a screwdriver. But there were only more brick walls, bottles of wine and plastic crates.

  ‘Papa, I’m feeling a bit dizzy,’ said Feliks, swaying on his feet.

  ‘Sit down,’ said Viktor, guiding him over to a crate. ‘You’re just light-headed because the fire’s sucking up the oxygen.’

  Connor felt it too. His heart rate had increased and his breathing was laboured. The wet tea towels would absorb the worst of the smoke, but couldn’t prevent them from inhaling carbon monoxide and other poisonous gases.

  He went over to check on Anastasia. She was still curled up in the corner, her gaze fixed on the cellar door, eyes wide as moons, and her face just as pale. ‘You OK?’ he asked.

  She didn’t respond.

  Delayed shock, Connor thought … or so he hoped. He sat down and put an arm round her shoulders to comfort her. As his sleeve brushed past her hair, it exposed her neck and the fine tapestry of white scars at its nape. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll be fine –’ he began.

  Then the lights went out.

  In the darkness, Connor could feel Anastasia trembling all over. On the other side of the cellar Feliks was moaning softly, his father trying to console him. Above them, the noise of the fire sounded like some wild beast rampaging from room to room. Connor thought he heard the stutter of gunfire, but it could equally have been the snap-crack of blazing wood.

  A headache was starting to take hold and Connor realized that time was fast running out for them. The best they could hope for now was to fall unconscious before the flames consumed them.

  As they huddled in the dark, almost suffocated by the cloying heat, Connor felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw a text message from Colonel Black.