Bodyguard: Ransom (Book 2)

by Chris Bradford

  ‘There’s a cutting torch aboard the other boat,’ he said. ‘Get it.’

  Spearhead turned to Big Mouth who was now randomly pressing buttons on the bridge console and watching the lights flash. ‘Stop that! Take four men and search this yacht. Bring any hostages to me. If we can’t cut through, we’ll need an incentive to make them open the door.’

  Connor’s fingers twitched as he slowly came to. The back of his head throbbed where it had struck the bottom step. His left arm felt heavy as lead, as if he’d been punched in one spot repeatedly. And he was struggling to breathe; his chest felt compressed, his ribs bruised. But he was alive.

  His eyes flickered open. The soft glow of the overhead spots appeared harsh and glaring to him, intensifying his pounding headache. Connor glanced down at his constricted chest. There was no blood. But there was a ragged black hole in his polo-shirt where the bullet had penetrated. How he’d survived he had no idea. The hi-tech fabric was only intended to stop rounds from a handgun, not a 7.62mm high-velocity shot from an assault rifle.

  As Connor sat up, wincing with pain, there was a tinkle of glass in his breast pocket. He pulled out the remains of his smartphone, the bullet still embedded in the screen. He almost laughed in disbelief. He’d been saved not only by the pocket’s double layer of bulletproof fabric but by the phone absorbing the rest of the impact. Shattered beyond repair, the neoprene case was the only thing holding it together.

  Setting the now-useless phone aside, Connor inspected his arm. A thin stream of blood ran down from a gash where the first bullet had nicked him, but the fabric had been strong enough to deflect the round and protect him from more serious injury. He cautiously flexed his arm, checking he could still move it.

  ‘Halkan imoow.’

  Connor looked up, the fog in his head instantly clearing as his senses were brought into sharp relief by the booming voice. The pirates. He could hear the soft pad of their bare feet on the deck above.

  Connor scrambled away from the stairs. But no one descended to look for him. Risking a glance up, Connor crept back to the foot of the staircase. A pirate was standing over Cali, speaking rapidly in his mother tongue. Cali replied. The pirate nodded, seemingly satisfied.

  ‘I soo raac,’ he said, striding up the stairs to the upper deck and beckoning Cali to follow.

  As Connor watched Cali obediently go with the man, he clenched his fists in silent fury. This supposed stowaway had delivered the Orchid straight into the pirates’ clutches. But at least he knew the girls and the rest of the crew were safe within the citadel. Then Connor remembered what Brad had said: The citadel is only effective if everyone makes it inside.

  That included himself, Connor realized with dread.

  Another pirate entered the upper corridor, dragging two gas canisters towards the galley. Connor pulled back from the staircase, praying he hadn’t been spotted. Then he heard more feet in the corridor.

  This time they were heading his way.

  ‘I can’t do this again,’ said Emily, her breathing becoming shallow and rapid. Her eyes flicked round the confines of the cabin as if the walls were closing in on her. ‘I-I … can’t survive again –’

  ‘Will you shut up!’ snapped Amanda, biting at one of her perfectly manicured nails. ‘You’re making us all nervous. At least you’ve had experience of this. You know what to expect.’

  ‘How can you say that?’ Chloe cried, drawing her trembling sister into her arms.

  Emily’s eyes regained focus and fixed Amanda with a cold, empty stare. ‘I’ll tell you what you can expect, Amanda. Constant gnawing fear. Never knowing what tomorrow, or even the next hour, might bring. Your hopes raised, then dashed. Again and again. Until your spirit is crushed. No comfort. You’ll cry your eyes dry. You certainly won’t get to wash your hair –’

  ‘Be quiet, you jinx!’

  ‘Jinx?’ questioned Chloe, frowning.

  Amanda nodded. ‘You have to admit your sister attracts bad luck. Taken hostage twice in two years.’

  Chloe narrowed her eyes at Amanda. ‘Funny you came on the scene about the same time,’ she shot back. ‘Perhaps you’re the jinx!’

  ‘Stop that sort of talk right now,’ interrupted Captain Locke. ‘We’re all on edge. The key to surviving this is sticking together.’ He looked from the girls to Amanda and back. There was a begrudging acknowledgement from the three of them. ‘We’re safe as long as we’re in here. The pirates can’t touch us. And rescue will be on its way.’

  He glanced out of the porthole. But the horizon remained empty of hope.

  ‘What’s that noise?’ asked Sophie, her eyes puffy from crying.

  A harsh spitting sound, like water hitting hot oil, could be heard coming from the stairwell. Captain Locke and the chief officer exchanged an uneasy glance.

  ‘I’ll investigate,’ said the captain.

  Cautiously ascending the staircase, he approached the steel bulkhead. At first glance all looked secure. Then he spotted the orange drip of molten steel trickling from the door frame.

  He called down for his engineer. Geoff bounded up the steps and stopped dead by his side when he saw the white-hot line worming its way millimetre by millimetre along the frame.

  ‘That’s not good,’ he muttered.

  ‘How long have we got?’ asked the captain.

  Geoff rubbed a hand across his haggard face and sighed. ‘Five hours, maybe less.’

  There was nowhere to hide in any of the bedrooms. The built-in closets were the first place the pirates would look. Connor thought about locking himself in the shower room in his cabin, but the doors were flimsy. One hard kick and the pirates would be on to him.

  As he hunted for a suitable refuge, Connor spotted his Go-bag in the corner of his bedroom. He snatched it up, the liquid body-armour panel being his only defence against AK47 rounds. He just wished the bag itself wasn’t luminous yellow – it made him a blindingly obvious target.

  The voices of the pirates were getting closer. He could hear them ransacking the girls’ bedrooms just down the corridor, laughing and shouting as they did so.

  Checking the corridor was clear, Connor raced along to the tender garage. Hurriedly he opened the bulkhead door, slipped inside, and closed it behind him.

  The garage was almost peaceful, the noise of the marauding pirates dampened by the door. Connor looked around in desperation for a place to hide. The locker room … the shower cubicle … the tender …

  He supposed he could launch the tender – or even the jet ski – and make his escape. However, he doubted whether the tender or jet ski, as fast as they were, could outrun a turbo-charged skiff. And, even if he could escape, their fuel tanks would more than likely run dry before he reached help or dry land. But more importantly, as a buddyguard, the idea of leaving his Principals at the mercy of the pirates was unthinkable.

  Behind him, he heard the bulkhead’s lock rattle and saw the handle turning.

  Panicking, Connor opened up one of the storage lockers. It was full of wetsuits. He was about to climb in and conceal himself when he noticed the small hatch in the deck. Of course, the bilge!

  Connor twisted and yanked at the small recessed clasp. The hatch lifted to reveal a dark unwelcoming hole. He could hear the slop of water and caught a whiff of acrid fumes. But with no time to reconsider, Connor stuffed his bag into the black hole, then clambered in after. He pulled the hatch down over his head, clipping it into place – sealing the hatch and all light out.

  Connor listened to the pirates as they tramped into the garage. The men were jabbering away, loud and fierce. Locker doors were banging open and the tender rocked noisily on its mounting as someone leapt into the cockpit. A pirate passed directly overhead, the hatch cover creaking under his weight. Connor held his breath, not only against the noxious fumes in the bilge but from the fear of being discovered.

  The shower was switched on, the running water sounding like rain. One of the pirates said something and the others laughed. Then the sl
ap of feet retreated across the deck and the voices faded away; Connor, however, didn’t hear the bulkhead door being closed.

  He waited a moment longer, heard no one, and let out a deep sigh of relief … before gagging on the foul air. A caustic mix of diesel, urine and worse assaulted his nostrils and Connor was forced to breathe through his mouth, which made it just bearable.

  Water, warm and slimy, slopped around his bare knees and something firm bumped against his thigh.

  Finding the absolute darkness unnerving, Connor remembered his sunglasses in the pocket of his shorts. Sliding them on, he flicked on the night-vision mode and the bilge was revealed in a pale ghostly light. Barely more than a two-by-three-metre steel box, the compartment pressed in on him like a polluted coffin. With the low ceiling forcing him to hunch over, Connor felt a sudden and overwhelming urge to escape its cloying confines. But he didn’t have the option of leaving his refuge – not yet anyway. Above him, the shower water was still running and a man was singing to himself. Connor could scarcely believe it. One of the pirates was taking a shower!

  Gazing down at the filthy bilge water surrounding him, Connor realized he’d be very much in need of one himself. But that was the least of his concerns. He was trapped in the bilge, in a yacht hundreds of miles from the nearest help; pirates were swarming all over the boat and his Principals were in real danger of being taken hostage, or worse. A crippling sense of despair washed over him as he realized he’d utterly failed in his duty as a buddyguard. And it was his fault that the yacht had been hijacked. If he’d just stayed on watch, he might have spotted the pirate skiffs earlier and given the Orchid a chance of outrunning them. Then the Orchid wouldn’t have got the distress alert that had lured them into the trap and they wouldn’t be in this mess.

  Brad wouldn’t be dead.

  Suddenly grief welled up in Connor and he was overcome with tears. Although he’d seen an agent killed during his first assignment, he’d never witnessed a death at such close quarters, and certainly not of a friend murdered in cold blood. Connor wondered if that was how his father had died, cut down in a hail of bullets while protecting the US ambassador. Swift, brutal and agonizing.

  Connor recalled the words the priest had said at his father’s funeral: Do not mourn the man who died, rather be thankful that such a man lived.

  Connor tried once more to gain comfort from this. As he wiped away his tears with the back of his hand, his feet slipped from under him and he reached out for support. His hand found a steel strut and he managed to steady himself. Glad to have avoided a dunking in the foul water, Connor looked round the bilge. He noticed a crumpled bottle of water and a litter of empty plastic wrappers on a ledge that ran the length of the compartment. This was Cali’s bolt-hole, of course. Cali the stowaway: the one responsible for signalling the pirates; the one really to blame for their predicament.

  Connor felt his despair and grief disappear beneath a rising tide of anger, bringing focus and clarity to his thoughts.

  He had to keep a grip on himself if he was going to survive. Everyone else is safe in the citadel, he reminded himself. They had access to food, water and the radio. Rescue would be on its way.

  For him, it was simply a matter of staying hidden and holding out.

  ‘Emergency over,’ announced Amir, leaning back in his chair. ‘The Orchid’s distress signal has been cancelled.’

  ‘What … again?’ Charley questioned, zooming over to his console.

  Amir shrugged. ‘The EPIRB unit’s stopped transmitting.’

  ‘Could it have just lost contact with the satellite?’ Marc asked.

  ‘No, I’ve checked that,’ said Amir. ‘There’ve been two satellite sweeps and no signal.’

  ‘Then we need an official confirmation,’ said Colonel Black, picking up the phone and dialling the Seychelles coastguard.

  ‘Good morning, this is Colonel Black. You spoke with my colleague earlier regarding the motor yacht Orchid. What’s the status on the vessel’s most recent distress call?’ The colonel listened intently. ‘Thank you,’ he said, a pensive expression on his face, and put down the phone.

  ‘The coastguard received a satellite call from the Orchid confirming cancellation. The other yacht is out of danger too. So they’ve called off the search-and-rescue team.’

  ‘But this is the Orchid’s second distress call,’ said Charley. ‘This doesn’t feel right to me.’

  Bugsy coughed into his fist for attention. ‘It’s not uncommon for an EPIRB to trigger a false alert,’ he explained, chewing rapidly on a stick of gum. ‘The sensor can get wet or the unit knocked from its bracket. Maybe that’s what happened when they were helping the other boat.’

  Charley looked to the colonel. ‘Was there any mention of the casualty?’

  ‘What casualty?’ asked Ling, walking through the door with Jody and dumping her bags, the flight labels still attached.

  ‘The Orchid’s been attacked by pirates,’ said Jason, going over to greet her. ‘One of the crew was shot during their escape.’

  ‘WHAT?’ exclaimed Ling, her eyes widening in disbelief. ‘I leave Connor for one day and this is what happens. I miss out on all the action.’

  ‘This is not the sort of action we want,’ stated Colonel Black. He turned back to Charley. ‘No, there wasn’t any reference to the casualty. But, unless there’s been a serious change in his condition, there’d be no real need. However, I agree, two distress calls in a morning is troubling. Bugsy, call the Orchid’s satellite phone and speak direct to Captain Locke. Marc, get in touch with Luciana – see if she’s had any communication since her arrival in the Maldives. Amir, contact Connor. Let’s obtain positive confirmation ourselves before standing down.’

  The colonel addressed Ling. ‘Before you left the Orchid, was there any indication of problems with the yacht’s comms systems?’

  Ling shook her head. ‘Not as far as I know.’

  Alpha team waited in tense silence as Bugsy dialled the satellite phone, Marc called Luciana’s mobile and Amir launched his SOS app.

  After his third attempt at connection, Bugsy announced, ‘The line’s engaged, Colonel.’

  Colonel Black frowned. ‘That’s potentially good news. It means they’re communicating at least.’

  ‘Not with Luciana,’ said Marc. ‘She’s heard nothing.’

  ‘Tell her to remain on standby. Any response from Connor?’

  Amir shook his head. ‘I’ve pinged him twice. Even sent a remote activation, but the SOS app isn’t responding.’

  ‘Perhaps he forgot to charge his phone,’ suggested Richie.

  ‘You’re not helping,’ said Charley, giving him a hard stare. ‘We should inform the Seychelles coastguard.’

  Colonel Black shook his head. ‘Not yet. They won’t relaunch a search-and-rescue just based on our concerns. Keep trying to contact the Orchid every fifteen minutes. If we don’t get a response within the next hour, then we raise the alert.’

  Connor wondered how on earth Cali had spent a week hidden in the bilge. His eyes were already starting to sting, the skin on his legs itched and a headache was building. He’d pulled himself up on to the ledge. It was just wide enough for him to perch and keep his feet out of the water, but the steel beam was cold and hard, the rivets protruding into his backside.

  Having retrieved his Go-bag, grateful that Amir had designed it to be waterproof as well as buoyant, he took stock of his limited resources. Aside from Cali’s half-empty bottle of water, he had four energy bars and a packet of glucose tablets. Cali’s own little larder was bare, explaining the boy’s need to raid the Orchid’s galley. If the hijacking went on for any length of time, Connor realized he would be forced to do the same.

  He rummaged through the Go-bag, careful not to drop anything, and found the med-kit. Taking out an antiseptic wipe, he cleaned the wound on his arm then covered it with a self-adhesive dressing. He took a couple of tablets to numb the pain. Then, with great difficulty on the narrow ledge, he changed
his damaged polo-shirt for a new T-shirt and a long-sleeved jumper. The double layer wasn’t ideal considering the bilge’s airless and clammy atmosphere, but the discomfort was worth it for the increased bulletproof protection.

  As he sorted through the rest of the Go-bag’s contents, Connor thought about triggering the SART in the pack’s side. Then he recalled the transponder had only a five-mile range and an eight-hour lifespan. If he was going to use it, he had to be sure it would be effective. The SART was now his only means of raising an alert. With his smartphone destroyed, he couldn’t send an SOS message to Buddyguard HQ. And, until he could reach a radio, he was cut off from any back-up support.

  The most useful item in his possession, beside the night-vision glasses, was the Dazzler torch. At least he would have light. And a defensive weapon. He switched it on, the compartment flooding with its bright beam.

  His situation didn’t look any more promising in the torchlight. Somehow the bilge seemed smaller and more confining. The realization he was trapped in a steel box hit home. And every minute he stayed hidden in Cali’s old refuge he ran the risk of being discovered. Even if the pirates didn’t yet know about this hideaway, Cali would surely tell them. Unless, by some miraculous chance, the pirates had forgotten about him in the confusion of the attack. But that wasn’t a gamble Connor was willing to take.

  As his beam swept the bilge, he spotted a service hatch just above the waterline. Dropping from his perch, Connor bent down to inspect. The lock was stiff, but by throwing all his weight behind it Connor managed to open it. On the other side was another bilge compartment, bigger than his and judging by how far it went back, this one appeared to be located beneath the yacht’s twin engines. Connor swung his torchbeam round, revealing a hatch in the ceiling. Perhaps there was a way to evade the pirates after all.