Henri looked suitably impressed as he fired off several imaginary shots.
Amber pushed aside her brother’s finger gun in annoyance. ‘Papa says Africa is dangerous and that’s why we need a bodyguard. But we’re not to tell anyone who you really are. Why is that? Surely it would be better if people knew we were being protected.’
Connor shook his head. ‘Buddyguard works on the principle that the best bodyguard is the one nobody notices.’
‘So, are you the best?’ asked Amber.
Her piercing green eyes seemed to challenge him, and Connor, still unsure why she was giving him a hard time, was careful how he answered. ‘Well, I’ll certainly do my best to –’
‘This is your captain speaking,’ a voice crackled on the intercom, interrupting their conversation. ‘We’re now flying over the national park. If you look to your right you’ll see the Ruvubu River, after which this park is named. And to your left, our destination and your residence for the next week, Ruvubu Lodge. We’ll be landing in a few minutes. The runway is a little bumpy, so please fasten your seat belts.’
As everyone strapped themselves in, Connor peered out of the window. Below, the jungle had thinned out into grassy savannah bounded by hills and craggy peaks. He couldn’t see the lodge from his side, but the river was clearly visible, a wide meandering stretch of ruddy waterway that divided the park in two.
‘Regardez! Regardez!’ Henri cried, pointing excitedly at the ground. ‘Des éléphants!’
Connor followed his line of sight and spotted a parade of elephants, with two babies in tow, ambling towards the river. A herd of impala – too numerous to count – grazed in the golden afternoon sun, and zebra and giraffe dotted the landscape. There was no sign of human habitation as far as the eye could see. No towns. No villages. No roads, aside from a few dirt tracks that threaded through the bush like dried-out veins.
Taking all this in, Connor realized that they truly were landing in the heart of Africa.
As Connor disembarked from the plane on to the makeshift runway – no more than a dusty strip of cleared land – he felt as if he’d stepped into a blazing furnace. The sudden temperature rise from the air-conditioned cocoon of the Cessna to the intense heat of Africa was almost overwhelming. The sun was so dazzling in the burnished sky that he was forced to squint, and the earth was such a deep red it looked sunburnt. Breathing in the oven-hot air, Connor was hit by the heavy scent of dried grass and wild animals, a rich earthy smell that was distinctly African.
Shading his eyes, Connor scanned the surrounding area for potential threats. Any nearby wildlife had been frightened off by the noise of the plane. It was just open savannah with a scattering of large flat-top trees. A mile to the north the land rose into a ridge, upon which was Ruvubu Lodge, commanding panoramic views of the entire plain.
Two brand-new 4x4 Land Rovers were waiting to escort the ambassador’s family and their luggage up the hillside to the lodge. Climbing aboard the rear vehicle with Amber and Henri, Connor was glad of the breeze as they sped along the dirt track. So too it seemed was Amber, who paused in fanning herself with her sunhat.
‘Est-ce qu’il fait toujours aussi chaud?’ she asked the driver.
Connor hurriedly switched on his smartphone, launched Bugsy’s translation app and secretly fitted his wireless earpiece. French was Burundi’s second official language after Kirundi, the country’s native tongue. And, if he was going to effectively protect Amber and Henri, he needed to understand what was being said at all times.
‘Excusez-moi, madame?’ replied the driver as they bumped and lurched their way up the potholed track.
Amber repeated her question. After a couple of seconds’ delay, Connor heard through his earpiece: ‘Is it always this hot?’
‘Only during the daytime,’ the driver replied with a broad grin.
‘Well, that’s a relief!’ Amber laughed, amused by the man’s answer.
A few minutes later, their Land Rover pulled up in front of the lodge’s grand timber-framed entrance. Several porters rushed to take their bags as they clambered out.
‘Bienvenue, Ambassadeur Barbier. Quel plaisir de vous revoir. Comment s’est passé votre voyage?’
After a pause, Connor heard in his ear: ‘Welcome, Ambassador Barbier. It is so good to see you again. How was your journey?’
Connor was taken aback at the smartphone’s almost instantaneous translation. Although the programmed voice was a little robotic, with a bit of concentration he could follow the conversation virtually in real time. It was as if he held a Star Trek Universal Translator in his hand.
‘Very good, thank you,’ replied Laurent in French, shaking President Bagaza’s hand as they entered the welcome shade of the stylish reception area, all dark wood and leather armchairs. On the wall behind the reception desk hung the stuffed head of an immense African buffalo, its curved horns polished to a bright sheen, its glass-bead eyes blindly tracking the arrival of the new guests.
A line of smiling men and women, dressed in colourful robes, stood waiting as a welcoming committee.
‘It’s a pleasure to return to your beautiful country,’ continued Laurent. ‘Please allow me to introduce my wife, Cerise.’
‘Enchanté,’ said the president, kissing the back of her hand.
‘Likewise,’ Cerise replied with a graceful nod.
Connor had formally met both the parents in the airport and chatted with them before boarding the internal flight. They had been extremely pleasant as well as understanding of the last-minute change in buddyguard, much to Connor’s relief. Laurent had reiterated that he wasn’t expecting any problems; he just wanted to guarantee his family’s safety during the formal visit. Cerise had seemed a little perplexed at the need for such unorthodox security measures but was reassured to know that her children would have ‘level-headed’ company while the two of them were engaged in their diplomatic duties.
‘And these are my children, Amber and Henri,’ said Laurent.
The president beamed a sunshine of a smile. ‘Wonderful. I do hope you’ll enjoy your stay, children,’ he said, his voice deep and smooth as molasses. ‘Ask for anything you want from the staff. You’ll be pleased to know that this safari lodge has its own swimming pool –’
‘Will we see lions?’ interrupted Henri, barely able to contain his excitement.
‘Why, of course! The lion is the symbol of our nation,’ replied the president proudly. His gaze fell upon Connor. ‘And who might this fine gentleman be?’
‘Connor Reeves,’ replied the ambassador. ‘A friend of my daughter.’
The president shook Connor’s hand. He was a big man with a domed head and trimmed moustache. His smile was infectious and his handshake firm and heartfelt. Connor instantly warmed to him.
‘You’re most welcome to my country, Connor.’ The president’s eyes flicked between him and Amber before he turned to Laurent and quietly remarked, ‘Ah, être jeune et amoureux!’
Connor noticed Amber’s brow wrinkle and Henri giggle. A moment later the translation came through on his earpiece. ‘Ah, to be young and in love!’
Connor decided to play it cool and not correct him. It was to his advantage that the president had got the wrong impression, for it would allow him to remain close to Amber without arousing any suspicion as to his true role.
One by one, they were introduced to the welcoming party.
First of all there was Michel Feruzi, the Minister for Trade and Tourism, whose ample bulk rivalled a hippo in size. Despite being born and bred in Burundi, the heat appeared to affect him too, for he continually mopped his moist brow with a handkerchief. His wife was also on the large side, but she carried herself with remarkable grace and style, her vibrant purple robes only seeming to enhance her imposing presence.
Next was Uzair Mossi, the Finance Minister, an older man whose tight-knit hair was peppered grey but whose eyes still sparkled with youth. His surprisingly young wife, a tall willowy woman with eyes as black as onyx a
nd long braids down her back, stood in stark contrast to Mrs Feruzi.
Finally they were introduced to Adrien Rawasa and his wife. The Minister for Energy and Mines was a softly spoken man with a light handshake and an expensive taste in cologne, a fine French musk perfuming the air around him. His wife, Constance, was more forthcoming, embracing the children and presenting Cerise with a gift of a handwoven basket and a beaded necklace.
‘Now, Ambassador Barbier, please allow me to give you and your family a tour of the lodge,’ said President Bagaza. ‘I want to show you how magnificent this project is. You’re our first guests here!’
President Bagaza led the way into a lavishly appointed lounge and bar area. Timber-framed and thatch-roofed, the expansive room was furnished with plush sofas, leather-backed armchairs and a red velvet chaise longue beside a stone fireplace. Floor-to-ceiling glass doors opened out on to a sun deck. In one corner was a wooden tribal mask and in another a handcrafted ivory chessboard. Stretching the entire length of the rear wall was a polished mahogany bar, behind which stood a smartly attired barman putting the final touches to a round of welcoming drinks. And laid out in the centre of the parquet floor was a zebra-skin rug, which Connor noticed Amber sidestep while everyone else strode across with barely a second thought.
‘This is a five-star luxury lodge,’ stated President Bagaza with a proud sweep of his arm at the furnishings. ‘But I can’t lay claim to its construction. That was overseen by Minister Feruzi here.’
The president indicated for the Minister for Trade and Tourism to take over.
The minister coughed into his fleshy fist before beginning his spiel. ‘The lodge features eight glass-fronted, air-conditioned suites, each with private plunge pool and spectacular views over the Ruvubu Valley. In addition to this lounge, there’s a library, a gymnasium and a smoking room, for those less inclined to exercise.’
He patted his ample stomach and a ripple of laughter spread among the gathered party. A second later, once the translation app had caught up, Connor joined in. As the minister continued with his speech, two waiters handed out glasses of iced mint lemonade.
‘Along with this cocktail bar, the lodge is blessed with a fully stocked wine cellar and the dining room offers the finest in cordon bleu cooking from a world-class chef. Trust me on this – I’ve sampled it myself.’
There was another ripple of polite laughter.
‘And, rest assured, the service for guests will be uninterrupted throughout your stay. The lodge has its own electricity generator and I can guarantee no problems with your phones since a mobile mast has been installed. The lodge even has wireless internet access!’
‘We might just move in here permanently,’ commented Minister Mossi in a half-whisper to his young wife.
‘Guests will be spoilt by the highest standards of comfort,’ went on Minister Feruzi, ‘and combined with superb game-viewing opportunities, overseen by only the most experienced rangers, this resort promises to deliver the safari experience of a lifetime!’
Minister Feruzi gave an affected bow to indicate his speech was over and was rewarded with gracious applause.
‘I must say it’s very impressive,’ remarked Laurent, eyeing the sumptuous luxury surrounding them. ‘Has all of France’s aid gone into developing this lodge?’
The minister gave a hearty laugh, his jowls wobbling slightly. ‘No, I can assure you it hasn’t, we –’
‘Wow, are these real?’ exclaimed Henri, drifting away from the main group as he tired of the speech. He was pointing to a wall display of a leopard-skin shield and two crossed spears with broad-bladed iron tips.
‘Not only real,’ answered Minister Mossi, joining him by the display, ‘but once used by the local chief of a Hutu tribe to kill a lion.’
Henri stared in wonder at the fearsome weapons.
‘Do you want to hold one?’ asked the minister.
The ambassador’s son nodded eagerly.
‘Do you kill everything here?’ asked Amber, looking up in dismay at the stuffed head of an antelope on the opposite wall.
Her father shot her a warning look. But Minister Mossi just smiled as Henri brandished the spear. ‘This is Africa. In the past, killing a lion was a symbol of manhood. But now –’ he shrugged, taking the spear back from Henri – ‘attitudes have changed.’
‘They most certainly have, Amber. And for the better,’ assured President Bagaza. ‘This project is all about conservation. The park has been revitalized, thanks to France’s aid. We’ve reintroduced lion, elephant, rhino and many other species – all of which you’ll spot on the game drives we have planned for you. But why not see for yourself now?’
The president ushered Amber and the rest of the party through a set of bay doors on to the open-air veranda. There they were greeted by a spectacular view across the Ruvubu Valley. The African bush was spread out like a gilded blanket in the mid-afternoon sun. A natural waterhole nestled at the base of the slope in which a hippo wallowed. At the water’s edge, several long-horned oryx drank their fill beside a group of fawn-coloured gazelles. A kingfisher flitted among them, catching insects and dragonflies. Approaching the waterhole from the south was an elephant and her calf, and beyond was an abundance of zebra, wildebeest and buffalo. The scene was like a privileged peek into the Garden of Eden.
Amber was left speechless.
‘This is no longer a “paper park”, Ambassador,’ declared the president. ‘The land has been returned to the wild. No human habitation at all.’
‘And, with your country’s continued support, we intend to establish this as a prime tourist destination,’ asserted Minister Feruzi, ‘as well as deliver the discussed conservation and development objectives, of course.’
‘This is truly magnificent,’ agreed the ambassador, shaking hands with the president and all the ministers. ‘The French government will be most pleased with the progress that’s been made. Burundi will certainly take its place on the map for this.’
The breathtaking beauty of the location had made Connor almost forget why he was there in the first place. Rather than admiring the view, he should have been assessing it from a security perspective. In such a remote and unfamiliar location he needed to be vigilant for all danger, whether from man or beast.
‘Can’t the animals just wander in?’ Connor enquired, unable to spot any obvious protective measures in place.
Minister Feruzi shook his bowling ball of a head. In fluent English he replied, ‘The lodge is surrounded by an unobtrusive electric fence. It does not spoil the view, but it is effective enough to keep any dangerous animals at bay.’ He switched back to French. ‘So you won’t be needing that spear, Henri,’ he said with a wink at the boy.
Trying to make out the fence line, Connor spied movement in a clump of bushes. A soldier in combat fatigues appeared, an assault rifle over his shoulder.
‘Who’s that over there?’ asked Connor, his alert level shooting up as he instinctively moved closer to Amber and Henri.
‘One of the presidential guard,’ replied Minister Mossi. ‘No need to be alarmed. They’ll be patrolling the area around the lodge, day and night. You’ll barely notice them.’
President Bagaza offered his guests a reassuring smile. ‘I’m so used to their presence that I no longer even see them! Now please take your time to unpack and freshen up. This evening we’re celebrating your esteemed arrival with a Boma dinner.’
Connor laid out the contents of his Go-bag on the king-size bed of his suite. In the rush to prepare for his mission, he hadn’t had the chance to double-check his gear. On the flight over, he’d read in the SAS Survival Handbook that one’s kit could make the difference between success and failure – even life and death.
Usually Amir would set him up with all the necessary equipment he might need for a particular operation. But Connor hadn’t even had the opportunity to contact his friend, let alone inform him he would no longer be providing support. He just hoped that Amir had overcome his initial bout
of nerves. Charley was acting as base contact for both of them now. Nevertheless, Connor couldn’t help feeling he was letting his friend down by not being there for him.
It had fallen to Bugsy to supply Connor with his gear and, by the looks of it, his surveillance instructor had done a thorough job. He was equipped with a comprehensive first-aid kit, including emergency antibiotics, syringes and sterile needles – vital in a country with almost non-existent medical facilities. There were spare malaria tablets, sun lotion and DEET insect repellent. He had his sunglasses from his previous assignment – essential for daytime, but equally useful at night due to the layer of nano-photonic film that converted infra-red light to visible, enabling him to see in the dark. He also had a Maglite with spare batteries, a portable solar charger for his smartphone and a pair of high-powered compact binoculars. Among his clothes, Bugsy had supplied a stab-proof short-sleeved shirt, cargo trousers and a baseball cap with integrated neck shade. But the standard-issue bulletproof jacket would simply be too hot to wear in this climate. He’d have to rely on the Go-bag’s internal body-armour panel for protection against any gun attack.
The most intriguing item of kit was a slim blue tube with a drinking nozzle at one end. A ‘Lifestraw’ Bugsy had called it. The device instantly turned muddy puddles into clean drinking water simply by sucking through the tube. With a distinct lack of sanitation in Burundi, the last thing Connor needed as a bodyguard was to come down with diarrhoea. Small enough to fit in his pocket, the Lifestraw, Bugsy had assured him, removed 99.9 per cent of waterborne bacteria and could filter a thousand litres, enough for one person for an entire year.
‘Unusual kit for a holiday,’ said a gravelly accented voice in English.
Connor spun to see a stocky man in a khaki shirt and knee-length shorts standing at his open doorway. He wore desert boots and a wide-brimmed safari hat. His suntanned face was rugged, furnished with a goatee beard, and deeply lined from a life spent outdoors.
Bodyguard: Ambush (Book 3) Page 6
