Bodyguard: Ransom (Book 2)

by Chris Bradford

  ‘Are you … all right?’ Connor gasped as he watched the mugger skate away, his loot in tow.

  She nodded, then stuttered, ‘M-my bag …’

  But the high-speed thief didn’t get far.

  Ling, who’d witnessed the attack from a distance, snatched a board from a passing surfer and swung it hard at the escaping thief. The edge slammed with full force into the man’s gut. A pained exhalation burst from his lungs and he lost his grip on the bag. Nosediving into the concrete, the skater careered across the path and into a nearby tree trunk.

  But no sooner had Ling dealt with this attacker than a second skater charged in Chloe’s direction.

  ‘Watch out!’ Connor bawled at the top of his lungs. But Chloe just stood there, wide-eyed, like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

  The skater, a dome-headed black man with wrap-around shades, sped towards her with the force of a battering ram. With only seconds to react, Ling discarded the surfboard and launched herself into his path. Small as she was, she collided hard enough to knock him off course. They both struck the concrete sea wall and toppled over the side. Pile-driving into the sand below and crushing a child’s sandcastle, Ling and the skater fought to disentangle themselves.

  Meanwhile, Connor rushed over with Emily to her sister in readiness to protect them both if he had to.

  ‘Stay close to me,’ he ordered the girls, as Ling and the skater battled it out on the beach.

  Wrestling in his grip, Ling flipped her head back, catching the skater under the chin. His teeth rattled in his skull and he roared in fury. Shoving a large hand into Ling’s face, he pushed her away, rolled on top and used his weight to crush her. Ling was pinned but Connor couldn’t go to her rescue. If he did, he’d be leaving both their Principals unprotected.

  He needn’t have worried, though. As the man attempted to subdue her, Ling reached down and pinched a nerve point in the middle of his inner thigh. He yelped like a kicked dog and leapt off Ling as if he’d been electrocuted.

  ‘Leave me alone, you wild cat!’ he shouted, shocked by her combat abilities.

  As Ling flipped to her feet and advanced on him, he snatched in desperation at a handful of sand and threw it into Ling’s face. Too close to avoid the attack, Ling staggered away, half-blinded. By the time she’d wiped the grit from her eyes, the skater had stumbled along the beach and up the steps to the boulevard.

  Stunned beachgoers stared at the four teenagers, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Connor called to Ling.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, still spitting sand. ‘Are the twins safe?’

  Still buzzing with adrenalin, Connor scanned the area for further threats. Just because they’d fended off this attack didn’t mean the danger was over.

  ‘Yes, it seems all clear.’

  The lifeguard was sprinting over, calling the police on his walkie-talkie. A group of beach bums were applauding Ling’s fighting skills as she made her way up the steps. The blond surfer near Chloe was kneeling beside his board, checking it for damage.

  But the two skaters had vanished.

  So too had the white pickup truck.

  ‘That was no random mugging,’ said Connor, nursing his lip with a bag of ice from the hotel’s minibar. Having called Mr Sterling’s chauffeur, they’d escorted the girls back to their home, a gated mansion on Point Piper. Then the two of them had been dropped off at their hotel in Circular Quay.

  ‘Thieves often work in pairs,’ Ling observed as she settled back on her bed and flicked through the TV channels.

  ‘Don’t you think it’s a little suspicious that both the girls were attacked?’

  Ling shrugged. ‘Not really. They were carrying expensive designer handbags. That made them a target. Hey, cool, a Bruce Lee movie!’ She tossed aside the remote.

  Connor set down his bag of ice. ‘How can you be so relaxed about all of this?’

  ‘We stopped them. Job done,’ said Ling, folding her arms behind her head and focusing on the TV screen. ‘Now stop worrying and watch the film.’

  ‘I disagree. There’s everything to be worried about. It can’t be coincidence. The attack had to be planned. What about those men in the pickup truck? Perhaps my instinct was right. Maybe they were carrying out surveillance on us?’

  Ling glanced over. ‘For what purpose?’

  ‘To test our skills.’

  Ling sat up and muted the TV. ‘Are you suggesting that Mr Sterling would have his own daughters mugged?’

  Connor nodded. ‘Either that, or someone else has a personal grudge against the girls. If it’s the latter, then we have a real problem on our hands.’

  There was a knock at the door. Connor got up, checked the peephole, then unlocked the latch.

  Colonel Black strode in and switched off the TV. ‘I’ve just come off the phone with Mr Sterling.’

  Connor braced himself for the fallout. Although they’d protected the girls, he knew he’d been slow to react. That stupid dropbear prank of Jason’s had distracted him at the crucial moment. If he’d been switched on and in Code Yellow, he would have noticed the skater’s approach, questioned his diversion from the cycle track and taken action to remove Emily from the danger zone before the attack. Only Ling’s speedy intervention had stopped the skater escaping with her bag.

  ‘So what did he say?’ Ling prompted.

  Colonel Black offered one of his rare smiles. ‘He was delighted with your reactions today.’

  Relieved, Connor slammed a fist into his palm. ‘I told you!’

  The colonel’s brow knotted with puzzlement. ‘What are you talking about?’

  Connor explained his suspicions regarding the mugging being a set-up job.

  Colonel Black glanced out of the hotel window at the opera house and rubbed his chin. ‘You’ve no firm proof. And, judging by my conversation with Mr Sterling, I’d be surprised. So we must assume a hostile party is involved. Could you identify the men?’

  ‘The two skaters, yes. Mine had a distinctive lion tattoo on his arm,’ replied Connor.

  ‘And I won’t easily forget how bad my guy’s breath smelt!’ said Ling, waving a hand in front of her pinched nose.

  ‘But the men in the truck, no,’ Connor admitted. ‘Their bandanas and shades covered most of their faces.’

  ‘Then this is our wake-up call,’ said Colonel Black, fixing them with his flint-grey eyes. ‘Operation Gemini has to be watertight. In the Seychelles, you’ll be surrounded by sunscreen and bikinis, but you must remain focused on the job. Remember, you are not on holiday.’

  Mr WiFi whistled in admiration as he examined the Orchid’s specifications online. ‘This is one fine yacht: fifty metres of pure French style and craftsmanship.’

  He scrolled down the page, his small rounded eyes sucking in the information.

  ‘Four decks, six guest cabins, a range of four thousand nautical miles, cruising speed of twenty-four knots.’ He glanced over the rim of his glasses at the mighty bulk of Spearhead. ‘That’s fast for its size! Carbon-reinforced hull and superstructure, jacuzzi, sauna, gymnasium, speedboat, jet skis –’

  ‘Just give me the weaknesses,’ ordered the pirate, who sat cross-legged beside the computer whizz in Oracle’s makeshift operations room. No more than a whitewashed concrete box, the airless room had a red tiled floor, two barred windows and a bare electric light bulb that hung from the cracked ceiling like a withered fruit. The bulb flickered, a slave to the fluctuating output of the compound’s generator, and its pale yellow light dimmed over the two plotting men.

  Mr WiFi sucked his teeth thoughtfully. ‘Well, her top speed is twenty-eight knots. That means your boats will be hard pushed to outrun her. So you’ll need to sneak up in the blind spot of their radar –’ he indicated the rear of the vessel on the laptop screen – ‘to have any hope of getting the jump on them.’

  ‘Leave the battle tactics to me,’ grunted Spearhead. ‘What’s the height to the deck?’

 
Checking the boat’s dimensions, Mr WiFi frowned. ‘The freeboard is quite high for a yacht, over five metres. That might cause some probl–’

  ‘Pah!’ Spearhead dismissed, swatting at a mosquito on his neck. ‘I’ve scaled far higher. No problem.’

  ‘Still, I’d advise taking the Orchid from the stern,’ said Mr WiFi, angling the screen for the pirate to get a better view of the yacht. ‘See where the hull slopes over the tender garage. That’s her weakest point.’

  Spearhead nodded, his marble-smooth brow shining in the glow of the buzzing light bulb. ‘How many crew?’

  ‘Ten,’ replied Mr WiFi, pulling up an internal layout of the boat. ‘Their quarters are located in the bow on the lower deck. The bridge is on the upper deck. This plan doesn’t show a citadel, but I’m guessing the best location for a safe room will be either the crew’s quarters here –’ he pointed to an area in the bow – ‘or the master cabin on the main deck. The yacht’s equipped with a satellite Global Maritime Distress and Safety System, DSC radio and EPIRB, so you’ll have to ensure all these are disabled as soon as you board.’

  Spearhead snorted. ‘Shame we can’t sabotage them beforehand. So, what about defences?’

  Mr WiFi laughed. ‘It’s a pleasure boat, Spearhead. No razor wire or water cannon. You won’t be impressing us with your war stories this time.’

  ‘Where’s the challenge then?’ he said with a sly grin, his teeth appearing like a crescent moon in the twilight.

  Mr WiFi peered over his glasses and replied, ‘There isn’t any. Compared to a cargo ship, the Orchid’s a sitting duck.’

  As Connor and Ling stepped from the gangplank on to the main deck of the super-yacht, a portly gentleman in a crisp white short-sleeved shirt with gold insignia, navy-blue trousers and a peaked white cap greeted them.

  ‘Welcome aboard the Orchid. I’m Captain Thomas Locke,’ he said, tipping his cap respectfully at Ling. ‘This here is my chief officer, Danny Fielding.’

  A large bearded sailor with a tanned face, wrinkled by sun and saltwater, saluted in greeting. ‘A pleasure to meet you,’ he said in a deep gravelly tone.

  The captain gestured towards the third man who completed the welcoming party on deck. ‘And this is Brad Harding, our ship security officer.’

  Tall with a sharp crew cut, Brad appeared every inch the textbook security officer. He possessed a well-honed physique that threatened to split the seams of his white polo-shirt. With his anvil-like jaw, he looked as if he could chew through steel. When he offered a calloused hand to shake, Connor all too easily felt the iron strength in the man’s grip.

  ‘I’ve never worked with nippers before,’ said Brad, his Australian twang prominent as he beamed a lopsided smile, ‘but I expect we’ll get on famously.’

  Connor and Ling smiled back, a little in awe of the sheer physical presence of the man. ‘I’m sure we will,’ said Ling.

  ‘You’ll be reporting to Brad while on board,’ Captain Locke explained. ‘He’s fully briefed me as to your “purpose” on my ship.’ His tone hardened slightly. ‘But as captain I have ultimate authority over all matters of safety and security. If you see something suspicious or there is a security breach of any sort, you’re to report it immediately to either Brad or myself. I do not want you operating on your own. Do you understand?’

  Connor exchanged a glance with Ling, both aware they’d need to report any such incidents to Colonel Black and Alpha team too.

  ‘Yes, Captain,’ he replied, the correct form of address seeming to allay Captain Locke’s concern.

  ‘Good. Then I expect Mr Sterling’s vacation to go smoothly,’ he said with a satisfied nod. ‘The rest of the crew, who you’ll meet tomorrow, aren’t aware of your credentials. They’ve been told you’re special guests of Mr Sterling. I think this is best to maintain your cover and your security function.’

  ‘That’s how we prefer to operate,’ said Ling.

  Captain Locke tipped his cap again. ‘Then I’ll leave you in Brad’s capable hands.’

  The captain and his chief officer strode off towards a flight of steps leading to the bridge.

  ‘I guess you must have had a long flight,’ said Brad, nodding at their crumpled clothes and washed-out faces.

  ‘Twenty-seven hours and three flight changes, to be exact,’ replied Ling wearily. Dark shadows ringed her eyes, not surprising given the fact she’d chain-watched movies and only catnapped. Connor had barely slept either, the mysterious double mugging still preying on his mind.

  ‘Well, I’ll just give you a brief tour of the yacht before showing you to your quarters.’

  Picking up their bags, Connor and Ling followed Brad across the expansive aft deck. He opened a set of bay doors and they exchanged the balmy warmth of the tropics for the cool interior of a large salon.

  ‘This is the main living area,’ explained Brad as Connor and Ling stared open-mouthed at the luxurious decor. White leather couches with lemon-zest scatter cushions took centre stage round a low-slung coffee table. At the far end, a white oak dining table was complemented by a mirrored cocktail bar. Floor-to-ceiling windows on either side let in reams of natural light, while offering unbroken views of the Indian Ocean to port and, to starboard, the leisurely comings and goings of the island’s main harbour.

  ‘That’s some view!’ gushed Ling, peering through the window at the mist-shrouded peaks of Mahé’s mountains, their lush forested slopes seeming to tumble into the glassy waters of the bay.

  ‘But isn’t this lounge a little exposed?’ Connor observed, his bodyguard brain noting the security flaw.

  Brad arched a wiry eyebrow at him. ‘Not bad observation skills, nipper, considering your jet lag. But these are smart windows. Mr Sterling has a thing for them. Flick of a switch and they become obscure.’

  Reaching over to a wall panel, Brad pressed a button and the windows instantly turned white.

  ‘Cool,’ said Ling.

  Brad ushered Connor and Ling into a large hallway with a curving staircase, one flight leading up, another heading down.

  ‘On this main deck, we also have a galley, study, cabin for Mr Sterling’s personal bodyguard and, up front –’ Brad opened a sleek wooden door – ‘Mr Sterling’s personal master suite.’

  He stepped aside to allow them a peek into a spacious leather-upholstered bedroom. A wide panoramic window offered a captain’s-eye view of the ocean from the comfort of a kingsize bed. As Connor and Ling tried to take in the sheer opulence of the room, Brad continued his tour talk, ‘On the upper deck is the sky lounge, a VIP guest room, the captain’s cabin and the bridge. Above that is the sun deck with another bar, sunloungers and a jacuzzi.’

  ‘It’s like a five-star hotel!’ Ling gasped, unable to believe her eyes or ears.

  ‘For Mr Sterling and his guests, it certainly is,’ Brad replied, winking at her. ‘But it’s a little more cramped in the crew’s quarters.’

  ‘And that’s where we’re staying?’ asked Connor.

  Brad laughed. ‘No, you lucky gits! For security reasons I’ve kept you close to the girls.’ He directed them down the curving staircase to the lower deck. ‘Emily and Chloe’s rooms are just down the corridor from you. These are your cabins.’

  He opened a pair of adjacent doors, revealing two well-appointed rooms with low futon-style beds. One was decorated in shades of olive green, the other kitted out in a rich chocolate-brown decor.

  ‘Now unpack, freshen up and get some shut-eye,’ instructed Brad. ‘We’ll start your MARSEC training in the morning.’

  ‘MARSEC?’ queried Connor.

  ‘Maritime Security. Meet me on the upper deck at 0700 hours.’

  He gave them a cheery nod of his head, then bounded back up the staircase.

  ‘Bagsy this room,’ said Ling, tossing her pack on to the neatly pressed olive linen of her chosen bed. She explored the en suite shower room, a gleaming cubicle of mirror and glass, then on inspecting the designer built-in wardrobes, was delighted to discover
a concealed TV screen behind one panel. Throwing herself on the bed, she gazed out of the large porthole window. Through the glass, the topaz tropical waters rippled in the golden sunlight and the fronds of palm trees could be seen swaying along a pure white beach.

  ‘This is paradise,’ she cooed, glancing over her shoulder at Connor. ‘I know what the colonel said, but how can this assignment be anything but a holiday?’

  ‘When it comes to maritime security matters, this isn’t just the same as land that’s blue,’ said Brad, indicating the turquoise sea lapping around them. ‘You need to acquire specialist skills and adopt a completely different mindset.’

  Connor and Ling listened as they ate their breakfast in the sky lounge. The chef, a jolly man with a reassuringly large belly, had prepared them a delicious platter of watermelon, pineapple, kiwi and strawberries, along with honeyed Greek yogurt, granola and freshly squeezed orange juice.

  The morning sun, shimmering in a cloudless sky, was wonderfully warming on Connor’s back and he felt more at ease than he had for a long while. Perhaps it was the combination of a good night’s sleep, the idyllic surroundings and Brad’s easy confidence that reassured him the operation would go smoothly.

  Ling appeared even more laid-back and at one with the yachting lifestyle. Kitted out in her shades, a bikini top and shorts, she looked ready for a day of sunbathing on the beach. But any sense of holiday spirit was soon quashed by the training itinerary laid out by Brad on the table.

  ‘We’ve only a week before Mr Sterling’s arrival. So we’ve a lot to cover in very little time,’ he explained, pointing to the first day of the schedule. ‘You need to be able to handle the powerboat, read radar, understand charts, learn open-water survival techniques, be familiar with the ship security plan, operate the VHF radio –’

  ‘We know how to do that already,’ said Ling, popping a fresh strawberry into her mouth.

  ‘Stellar!’ he grinned. ‘Then you can show me later, Lightning Ling.’