Bodyguard: Ransom (Book 2)

by Bradford, Chris

  ‘They look like the Valley Sisters,’ cracked Richie with an approving grin, referring to the famous teenage TV pop duo.

  ‘Got all their albums, have you?’ teased Ling.

  ‘No! Of course not. I have musical taste … unlike you. I mean, Black Sabbath. Talk about morbid.’

  Ling narrowed her eyes at him. ‘You haven’t lived until you’ve listened to Paranoid.’

  Tuning out his teammates’ bickering, Connor carefully studied the photograph. The twins had matching straw-blonde hair, sea-green eyes and well-defined cheekbones. They could very easily pass as pop stars – and equally as one another. It would be hard to tell them apart.

  Pointing to the girl on the right, Charley continued with the Principal profile. ‘Chloe is the eldest by twelve minutes. Aged fifteen, she’s outgoing, sociable and intelligent; though, word has it, she can be a bit of a princess.’ Charley shrugged her shoulders as if to imply that came with being the daughter of a billionaire. ‘Emily, on the other hand, is quieter and more introvert. She favours reading, nature and walking in contrast to Chloe’s love of netball, sunbathing and partying. But that isn’t surprising. Last year she was the victim of a kidnapping.’

  ‘Sounds like they hired us too late,’ quipped Amir, looking round at the others to join in his joke.

  However, a stern glance from the colonel’s flint-grey eyes swiftly ended Amir’s attempt at humour. ‘Tragically, that’s often the case. Hindsight brings wisdom.’

  On the screen, Charley flicked to a composite image of various newspaper clippings. The headlines bullet-pointed the distressing progress of the kidnap: STERLING GIRL MISSING … HAVE YOU SEEN EMILY? … MEDIA MOGUL’S MULTIMILLION DOLLAR RANSOM DEMAND … HOSTAGE GIRL NEGOTIATIONS STALL … IS EMILY DEAD? … STERLING SISTER RELEASED.

  ‘Emily was snatched while on a family vacation in the Côte d’Azur,’ Charley explained. ‘The Corsican Mafia was the suspected organization behind the kidnapping, although this wasn’t proven. She was held in the Algerian desert for several months, before eventually being released following lengthy negotiations over the ransom payment.’

  Ling held up a hand to ask a question. ‘If the father’s so wealthy, what took so long?’

  Colonel Black replied, ‘Ransom negotiations are rarely straightforward. There’s a great deal of bluff and counter-bluff, rejected offers and impossible demands. The most important thing is that the hostage was released, unharmed.’

  ‘So, how’s Emily doing now?’ asked Connor.

  ‘Surprisingly well,’ Charley revealed, pulling a medical report from her file. ‘Physically she is fit and healthy, no lasting after-effects. Her psychological report indicates the occasional mood swing, withdrawal and a fear of the dark and confined spaces. Emily’s been prescribed medication to help her cope with the anxiety attacks – but it can have side effects of drowsiness, confusion and impaired thinking. However, that’s all to be expected considering her ordeal. Alpha team’s task is to ensure that such a tragedy doesn’t happen again.’

  Clicking her remote, Charley pulled up a map of the Indian Ocean. ‘We’re to provide low-profile protection for the Sterling sisters during their forthcoming holiday in the Seychelles and the Maldives.’ She indicated the two tiny clusters of tropical islands amid the vast blue swathe of ocean separating Africa and India. ‘The operation will last a month and be based on Mr Sterling’s yacht.’

  A sleek fifty-metre, multidecked super-yacht filled the display.

  ‘Wow!’ exclaimed Amir, his coffee-brown eyes widening in amazement. ‘That’s some boat.’

  ‘That’s no boat; it’s a floating palace,’ Marc corrected, as he squinted at the yacht’s top deck. ‘It’s even got a jacuzzi.’

  Jason shot Connor an envious glance. ‘You’ve landed a cushy assignment,’ he said. ‘Must be your reward for saving the President’s daughter.’

  ‘You think so?’ replied Connor, recalling the difficulties he’d faced protecting just one Principal. ‘I reckon twins mean twice the trouble.’

  ‘You have to be careful with female Principals, don’t you, Connor?’ said Charley, glancing meaningfully in his direction.

  Her comment went over the heads of the others, but Connor knew Charley was referring to the time she’d caught him and Alicia kissing. As a buddyguard that was a line never to be crossed – although strictly speaking he’d no longer been protecting Alicia at that intimate moment. But Charley clearly wasn’t going to let him forget it.

  ‘And for that reason,’ Charley continued, ignoring the team’s bemused expressions, ‘Colonel Black has decided there’ll be two buddyguards on this operation.’

  The room went quiet as this new information sank in. No one had anticipated the need for a second operative. Yet, with two Principals to look after, a dual protection unit was logical for effective security.

  All eyes turned to the colonel. Jason straightened himself in expectation. Marc, in inverse proportion to his eagerness, leant casually back in his chair. Ling tensely bit her lower lip, while Amir was so on the edge of his seat that he was in danger of falling off. Richie simply chewed on a fingernail, aware that he was out of the running having only just returned from an assignment. As much as Connor respected the others on his team, he hoped that the colonel would select Amir. He knew his friend was desperate to go on his first assignment and earn his winged badge.

  Colonel Black only held them in suspense for a few seconds. ‘Ling, you’ll be buddyguard 2 i/c.’

  ‘Yes!’ said Ling, clenching her fist in delight.

  Jason bumped fists with Ling in respect. ‘Congratulations, captain, best get your bikini ready.’

  ‘Oh, and I thought I could borrow yours,’ she said, winking at him playfully.

  Meanwhile, Amir quietly deflated like a punctured balloon.

  Connor offered his friend an encouraging smile. ‘Don’t worry, there’s always next time,’ he whispered.

  Amir gave a half-hearted nod by way of reply.

  But as the colonel’s exact words registered with Ling her delight turned to a frown. ‘2 i/c? Second-in-charge?’

  The colonel raised an eyebrow. ‘You’ve a problem with that?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Ling, offering an amiable smile at Connor. ‘It’s just that this being my third mission, I thought –’

  ‘You’ll both have equal responsibilities when it comes to protecting your Principals,’ cut in the colonel. ‘But there must always be a clear chain of command on the ground. Now, Amir, brief the team on the threat situation … Amir?’

  Amir looked up. Rousing himself from his disheartened daze, he headed over to the lectern and busied himself connecting his tablet PC to the projector, taking a little longer than necessary in an attempt to hide his disappointment. Clearing his throat, he began to read direct from his notes, barely glancing up.

  ‘I’ll start with the Principals’ father: Maddox Sterling. Fifty years old, he’s the founder and chairman of Fourth Estate Corporation, Australia’s largest media company.’

  A suave silver-haired man in a well-cut suit appeared on the screen.

  ‘The corporation’s interests include newspaper and magazine publishing, internet, Pay TV, and film and television production. Fourth Estate essentially owns and controls Australia’s national media.’

  Amir clicked through a series of images showing various newspapers, movie posters and television channels.

  ‘Because of this, Mr Sterling has many powerful allies in both government and industry. Equally he has made many enemies – either as a result of his aggressive business tactics, or due to his newspapers’ controversial style of investigative journalism. For example –’ a slide of a slim dark-haired lady popped up – ‘the former government opposition leader Kelly Brocker was forced to resign last year following revelations about her private life.’

  Amir switched to an image of a tanned middle-aged man with auburn hair.

  ‘This is Joseph Ward, the former CEO of Ward Enterpris
es, who was jailed for ten years for corporate fraud. The financial scandal was exposed by Insider, a current affairs programme on one of Mr Sterling’s TV networks. As a result, Mr Ward, a business rival of Mr Sterling, was declared bankrupt and the media arm of his company was absorbed by none other than Fourth Estate.’ Amir raised his eyebrows at the significance of this coincidence. ‘At the time of his arrest, Mr Ward publicly vowed revenge on Mr Sterling. Although presently Mr Ward remains in jail.

  ‘Then the most recent case is the exposure of a high-level Australian politician, Harry Gibb, who has been accused of financial mis-dealings over the country’s mining rights.’

  A front page from the Australian Daily flashed up, the headline declaring ‘GREEDY GIBB MUST GO!’ This statement was supported by an unflattering photo of a portly gentleman with thinning hair and a ruddy complexion, caught at the moment he was stuffing a large burger into his mouth.

  ‘While none of these people are a direct threat to our two Principals,’ explained Amir, ‘any enemy of the father must be considered a potential enemy of the daughters. So I’ve included full background intel on each of them in your operation folders.’

  ‘What about their mother?’ asked Ling. ‘What’s her story?’

  ‘Sadly,’ said Amir, ‘the mother died in a car crash when the girls were only eight years old.’

  Connor felt his throat tighten at the news. Having lost his father around the same age, he felt an immediate empathy with the girls.

  ‘Recently, however, their father became engaged.’ Amir pressed the remote a few times to bring up a picture of the new fiancée: a glamorous and unexpectedly youthful woman in a figure-hugging red dress. ‘Amanda Ryder is a twenty-nine-year-old swimsuit model, who is a regular on the Sydney socialite circuit. As a future member of the family, she’ll be joining you on the yacht.’

  ‘Should make for an entertaining holiday,’ said Marc, with a sly grin at Connor. ‘At least the views will be good.’

  Connor stifled a snigger at his friend’s remark.

  ‘Get your minds out of the gutter and focus on the mission!’ snapped Colonel Black.

  His stern tone wiped the smiles off both their faces in an instant.

  Amir quickly resumed his report. ‘In terms of threat level, Ms Ryder appears to have more admirers than enemies. It’s really Mr Sterling’s immense wealth – estimated at one and a half billion dollars – that makes him and his family a vulnerable target. Emily’s kidnapping has already proved that the daughters are a tempting prize for any criminal organization. And, while the Corsican Mafia shouldn’t be on the radar in the Indian Ocean, a secondary kidnapping attempt by extreme terrorists like the Seven Sabres of Somalia or an international crime syndicate, such as the Russian Bratva or the Chinese Triads, is a definite risk to consider.’

  ‘Any other potential threats?’ asked Connor, very much aware that the colonel’s frosty glare was still on him and Marc.

  Amir nodded. ‘Like any tourist resort, robbery and theft are common in the Seychelles and the Maldives, especially around the harbours. Such crime tends to be opportunistic, so you’ll have to stay alert. There’s also the chance of harassment: the Sterling sisters are well recognized by the paparazzi, even more so since the kidnapping. But, surprisingly, Mr Sterling’s request for privacy has been honoured. So far.’

  Amir paused in his threat report and finally looked up.

  ‘Of course, there is one obvious danger when sailing the Indian Ocean.’ He brought up a photo of the skull-and-crossbones. ‘Pirates.’

  ‘You mean, like Captain Jack Sparrow?’ said Jason, trying hard to suppress a grin.

  ‘No, he means real pirates,’ replied Colonel Black. ‘Somali pirates, to be exact. And they’re no joke. Forget your image of Johnny Depp with an eye patch and a parrot on his shoulder. Today’s modern pirates use high-powered motorboats and are armed to the teeth with AK47s and RPGs – rocket-propelled grenade launchers.’

  To prove the colonel’s point, Amir played a jerky video clip of a narrow white-and-blue skiff cutting through the waves at high speed. Crouched on board were seven young African men wielding automatic rifles. The crack of gunfire could be heard above the furious roar of the skiff’s outboard motor. A pirate in the bow held a rocket launcher trained on an unseen target. Connor and the others watched in stunned silence as the RPG scorched through the sky towards the cameraman. The picture juddered as the cameraman ducked in panic, but somehow he still managed to track the RPG’s trajectory as it rocketed past the bridge of the ship.

  The clip abruptly ended.

  No one said a word, their image of the roguish yet lovable pirate from Hollywood movies shattered by this violent reality.

  ‘Fortunately, a warship was within range and came to the cargo ship’s rescue,’ the colonel revealed to everyone’s relief. ‘But all too often these pirates do succeed in hijacking a vessel and holding it – and its crew – for ransom.’

  A graphics chart appeared on the screen with columns of coloured blocks rapidly increasing in height like an ever-steepening staircase before plummeting in the last period.

  ‘As you can see,’ said Amir, pointing to the screen, ‘the annual number of pirate attacks has soared in the last six years, from fifty-five to almost three hundred at its peak. Ransom demands have also risen. Five years ago the asking price was three hundred thousand dollars. Now it’s as much as twenty million dollars and beyond.’

  Richie whistled through his teeth. ‘We’re obviously in the wrong job.’

  ‘The problem is,’ said Amir, ‘success breeds success. Pirate gangs have become more organized and turned piracy into a full-blown business. Already this year there have been forty-two attempted hijackings and six ships taken hostage. A decrease on last year, but still worrying.’

  ‘If that’s the case,’ questioned Ling, ‘why are we sailing in this area at all?’

  ‘A fair point,’ agreed the colonel. ‘But, while the dangers are apparent, the risks are relatively low, as Amir will now explain.’

  Amir brought up Charley’s map of the Indian Ocean again. ‘Although attacks have occurred up to a thousand nautical miles from the Somalian coast, the majority are concentrated along the International Recommended Transit Corridor in the Gulf of Aden.’ He pointed to a wide passage of water separating Somalia in the south from Yemen to the north. Then, indicating a stretch of ocean far to the south-east, he continued, ‘The planned route for Mr Sterling’s yacht won’t go anywhere near the danger zone.’

  ‘But wasn’t an elderly British couple taken hostage near the Seychelles some years back?’ asked Connor, vaguely recalling the media coverage of their ordeal.

  ‘You mean the Chandlers,’ answered Colonel Black. ‘They were very unlucky … wrong place, wrong time. Since then there have been marked improvements in security. For example, NATO’s counter-piracy mission, Operation Ocean Shield, and the setting up of a Regional Anti-Piracy Coordination Centre in the Seychelles itself. These measures have curbed pirate activities significantly. Furthermore, it’s relatively rare for the pirates to target a private yacht. The Somalis see the big money in the commercial vessels as they have ransom insurance.’

  Amir nodded in agreement with the colonel. ‘It’s true. Out of twenty thousand ships that pass through the Transit Corridor each year, only three hundred are ever attacked – and less than a quarter of those are captured. Of this number, just a handful have ever been private yachts. I worked out the actual odds.’ Amir scanned through his notes. ‘You’ve less than a one in ten thousand chance of being hijacked.’

  ‘Care to bet on it?’ challenged Ling.

  Amir gave a shrug. ‘Why not?’

  ‘How can we trust you?’

  Harry Gibb sat alone in the booth of the darkened restaurant. The disembodied voice was ominously threatening and he daren’t look in the adjacent booth for fear of the consequences.

  ‘My enemy’s enemy is my friend,’ he stated with conviction. ‘I want this as m
uch as you.’

  ‘And you’re willing to do whatever it takes?’

  ‘Yes, yes. I want Sterling’s life ruined. Just like he’s destroying mine!’ Harry ground his teeth and clenched a fist in fury at the thought of his collapsing career.

  ‘Then we must hit him where it hurts: his family.’

  Harry felt a chill run through him. He stared at his fist and slowly unclenched it. ‘R-really?’ he questioned, his voice quavering slightly. This was something he hadn’t considered. ‘You’re not expecting me to do anything, are you? I’m not that sort of person.’

  ‘Oh, Harry. It isn’t as if you’re an angel. I’m sure you’ve trampled over many innocent people on your way up the political ladder.’

  ‘Yes … but this is different.’

  The voice gave a hollow laugh. ‘No, Harry, this is no different. Politics is just as ruthless as revenge. It’s just with politics you inflict harm before someone has done you an injury. With revenge, at least it’s after the act – a lot more honourable.’

  ‘I’m not sure I’m a hundred per cent comfortable with this,’ Harry admitted, feeling the situation slipping out of his control. He only wanted to wreck Sterling’s credibility and distract him from the campaign against him.

  ‘Too late, Harry, you’re up to your neck now. And I can assure you, Mr Sterling has no qualms about crushing you. But don’t you worry – my men will do the dirty work. The question is: do you have the means to make it happen?’

  ‘Y … yes,’ Harry replied, reaching into his jacket pocket and taking out a thick brown envelope, stuffed with five hundred crisp $100 notes.

  A waiter eerily emerged from the shadows – or at least the man carried a waiter’s tray. With a prominent tattoo and gorilla-like hands more suited to brutal work than simply serving food, the shadowy figure wasn’t an obvious choice for a high-class establishment. Harry laid the envelope on the tray and the ‘waiter’ departed without a word.