Gunmen rushed out to surround the Land Rover. But Connor refused to surrender without a fight. With the engine revved to the max, he threw the gearstick into reverse – almost getting fifth by accident – and sped away from the trench. It was a desperate decision to head back into the kill zone. But it was his only option.
The gunmen opened fire and bullets thudded into the retreating Land Rover.
‘You’re going the wrong way!’ yelled Amber, her face pale, blood trickling from a cut to her cheek.
‘Just taking a little detour,’ he explained. ‘Hold on, you two!’
Taking his foot off the pedal, he spun the steering wheel hard right and yanked on the handbrake. The Land Rover went into a spin. But Connor’s planned J-turn quickly turned into a disaster. Driving on dirt rather than tarmac, the 4x4’s tyres weren’t as slick and the vehicle only pivoted halfway before stopping abruptly. The Land Rover keeled over like a ship capsizing in a storm as Connor and his two Principals clung to anything they could grab. For one terrifying moment the vehicle threatened to flip on to its side. Then it lost momentum and righted itself, landing on all four wheels with a bone-jarring crunch.
Shaken but unhurt, Connor released the handbrake and spun the wheel the opposite way. As he fought to turn the Land Rover fully round in the unforgiving sand, the gunmen bore down on them. More rounds peppered the bodywork, shattering the wing mirror and shredding one of the headrests. As they drew closer, Connor got his first good look at their attackers and was shocked to see some were boys his age. One lad in a black bandana, hefting an oversized assault rifle, was firing with wild abandon into their vehicle as if he was playing a video game.
The glazed, deadened look in the boy’s eyes was even more disturbing, spurring Connor to get the hell out of there. With a crunch of gears, they shot off along the riverbed and back round the bend. As they raced past the Barbiers’ upturned Land Rover, Amber poked her head up and desperately searched for her parents. The vehicle was now on fire, tendrils of flame and smoke licking the undercarriage. The roof was half-crushed, blocking their view of the rear compartment. When Connor caught a glimpse of a bloodied lifeless arm hanging from the driver’s window, he held out little hope for Laurent or Cerise. Their park ranger was sprawled a few metres from the wreckage. He’d survived the crash, but not the bullets through his chest.
Connor drove on and Amber slumped back into the footwell. Ahead he saw that President Bagaza had been evacuated to the back-up vehicle, the only functioning Land Rover left apart from their own. But he and his guards were under heavy fire. And, with little cover to protect them, they were being slaughtered. Bodies lay everywhere, the dry riverbed now flowing freely with their blood.
Connor dared not stop. His only goal was the dirt road the convoy had come in on. Passing the blazing twisted shell of Minister Mossi’s Land Rover, he tried not to look at the burning bodies inside. The other Burundian ministers, who’d been at the rear of the convoy, weren’t anywhere to be seen and Connor prayed they’d somehow escaped this bloodbath. All of a sudden the ground in front of their Land Rover erupted as a rocket-propelled grenade shot past and detonated. Rocks and debris rained down, red dust obliterating all visibility. Driving blind, Connor instinctively swerved, narrowly avoiding the smoking crater before bursting out the other side. Then they were tearing up the bank and leaving the sound of gunfire behind.
However, just as Connor thought they were in the clear, two flat-bed jeeps appeared, blocking their escape.
‘Brace yourselves!’ Connor shouted to Amber and Henri, both now mute with terror.
Dropping into second gear, Connor accelerated hard up the slope. The gunmen in the jeeps began firing at them. Connor kept going. The Land Rover struck the roadblock, smashing into the front wings of both vehicles. The men on the backs of the jeeps were flung off. The Land Rover’s bullbar crumpled but did its job of saving the engine from being crippled. Connor pushed on through, metal scraping on metal as the two jeeps were shoved aside. With a final roar of the engine, the Land Rover burst free and tore off down the road.
‘What happened back there? Who was shooting at us? Why were they shooting at us?’ babbled Amber, propped up in the passenger seat, the wind whistling through the broken windscreen and whipping at her red hair.
‘I don’t know,’ said Connor, focusing on the dirt road ahead. ‘All I know is we have to put some distance between us and them. Are you hurt?’
Amber put a hand to her face. ‘I don’t think so … it’s just a little cut.’
‘Good. Henri, how about you?’
Her brother didn’t answer.
‘Henri?’ Connor repeated louder. ‘Speak to us.’ He glanced into the rear-view mirror but couldn’t see him. He prayed the boy hadn’t been shot.
Amber clambered round in her seat and looked down into the footwell. ‘Henri, are you all right?’
She turned to Connor. ‘He’s not responding.’
‘Can you see any blood?’
Amber shook her head. ‘No, he looks fine.’
‘He’s probably in shock,’ explained Connor.
Amber reached through to her brother and gently shook him. ‘Henri, are you OK?’ She shook him again. ‘He’s nodding.’
Connor breathed a sigh of relief. It was a miracle all three of them had escaped without injury. Then he noticed a patch of blood staining the left-hand side of his T-shirt. He felt no pain, but the adrenalin was probably masking that.
‘Our first priority is getting back to the lodge,’ he announced, deciding not to examine his wound any further. Serious or not, they couldn’t risk stopping so close to the ambush site. ‘That’ll be the most secure location. At least until Buddyguard can arrange a flight out of here.’
‘But we can’t just … leave,’ stuttered Amber, her voice cracking with emotion. ‘M-my parents …’
Connor kept his eyes on the road, unable to meet her pleading look. ‘If they’ve escaped, that’s where they’ll go too,’ he replied.
‘If?’
‘Pass me my phone,’ he instructed, wanting to avoid the topic, at least until they were out of immediate danger. He indicated the back seat where he’d dropped it in the rush to protect her. Amber numbly reached behind and it was this action that saved her life. A bullet ripped through her headrest, missing her neck by a fraction. More lethal rounds zinged past.
‘They’re following us!’ she yelled, sliding down low in her seat.
In the rear-view mirror, Connor saw a jeep hurtling along the road, a dust cloud billowing up in its wake. Connor increased speed, urging the Land Rover to go faster. The whole chassis shook as the dirt road punished the 4x4’s suspension. He wrestled with the steering wheel, his bones jarring as they hit pothole after pothole.
Another bullet ricocheted off the dashboard and a glance behind told him what he feared most. The gunmen were gaining on them. And they were still miles from the lodge. Realizing the odds of outrunning their pursuers were close to zero, Connor made the decision to head off-road.
‘Where on earth are you going?’ said Amber, baffled by his seemingly crazy actions.
‘The jungle,’ he replied, nodding towards the trees bordering the savannah. ‘We’ll try to lose them in there.’
Connor weaved between the bushes at high speed, taking advantage of their cover. As they bounced and rocked over the rugged terrain, he almost collided head-on with a boulder, then narrowly avoided a clump of trees. He simply ran straight over any small thorn bushes, their branches screeching and scraping at the undercarriage.
‘Watch out!’ cried Amber.
A herd of impala bolted in fright, leaping across their path. Connor swerved madly to avoid hitting them. Behind, the sound of gunfire drew ever closer but he didn’t dare look back again for fear of crashing. Cresting a slope, the Land Rover cleared the ground and came down with an almighty thump. Part of the exhaust system fell off and the engine began roaring like a lion. Caught in a deadly game of hide-and-seek with his
pursuers, Connor drove on for all he was worth towards the sanctuary of the jungle. The undergrowth thickened around them and for a moment he believed he’d shaken them off. Then a blast of bullets pulverized a nearby tree trunk, bark and splinters flying into their path.
Connor swung the Land Rover hard right, following what appeared to be animal trails deeper into the jungle. Sunlight flickered through the canopy overhead and the encroaching undergrowth slapped at the vehicle’s sides. They quickly lost sight of their pursuers. Then without warning the ground dropped away and the Land Rover tipped forward. It hurtled out of control down a sheer slope, bouncing off rocks and careering through bushes. Connor, Amber and Henri were flung around the cabin, powerless to stop their breakneck descent. A massive tree loomed up in front of them and the Land Rover came to a violent shuddering halt, the bonnet crumpling like cardboard as they struck the trunk head-on.
Groaning in pain, Connor pressed the palm of his hand to where he’d hit his forehead on the steering wheel. Blood was seeping from a gash above his left eye. He was dazed but alive. Amber was slumped next to him, her head lolling on the door frame.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked, laying a hand on her shoulder.
Amber let out a soft moan. ‘I think so,’ she managed to reply. To add to the cut on her cheek, she now had a split lip, countless grazes and a dark bruise along her thigh.
‘Anything broken?’
‘Yes … my camera.’ She held up the shattered remains. ‘But I’ll survive.’
Clambering out of the vehicle, Connor’s legs gave way beneath him and he had to drag himself back to standing. He peered into the rear compartment. Henri was curled up in the foetal position at the bottom of the footwell.
‘How about you, Henri?’ Connor asked, gradually feeling his strength and senses returning.
Henri gave him a thumbs up. Connor smiled. From what he could see, his position in the footwell had protected him from the worst of the crash, although he was going to sport some pretty impressive bruises. Connor held out his hand and pulled Henri from the wreckage, before going round to help Amber out through her window.
Surveying the scene, Connor discovered that he’d driven into a hidden ravine. The Land Rover was a write-off, the crash having broken the front axle and torn off the nearside wheel. The only way they’d be getting to the lodge now was on foot.
Reaching inside the vehicle, Connor retrieved his Go-bag. He also found his binoculars jammed against the door. But, worryingly, there was no sign of his phone. He leant in further through the window to look under the seats when suddenly the jungle erupted with the sound of gunfire. Connor dived behind the nearest tree, dragging Amber and Henri with him. The gunmen were now at the top of the ravine, shooting blindly into the bushes. With no time to grab anything else, Connor propelled Amber and Henri forward and the three of them fled for their lives.
‘It’s hard to dodge a spear that comes from behind!’ growled President Bagaza.
He knelt in the bloodstained sand, his hands bound but his head held high. The unexpected appearance of Black Mamba, still alive, had shocked him and his surviving guards. But he was determined not to show any weakness in front of his lifelong adversary.
General Pascal sneered and prodded the president’s belly with the tip of his boot. ‘You’ve gone soft while in office, Bagaza.’
‘You’re still the coward you always were, Pascal. Killing innocent women and children. And when you can’t kill them –’ the president glanced over at No Mercy – ‘you use them to fight your own battles.’
General Pascal laughed. ‘As if you haven’t committed enough of your own crimes! Your hands are as dirty as mine.’
‘At least I’ve tried to wash them of my sins. I’ve brought this country back from the brink,’ argued the president fiercely. ‘Are you determined to plunge us back into civil war just to line your own pockets with diamonds?’
‘Why not? You appear to have done well enough from the last war. Now it’s my turn. I’ve decided to run for president.’
President Bagaza couldn’t hide his astonishment. ‘But … no one will vote for you! Not the Black Mamba.’
‘Are you so certain?’ The general turned to his rebel soldiers. ‘Who thinks I should be president?’
Every one to a man and child raised their hands.
‘How about my old friend here?’ he said, patting President Bagaza amiably on the shoulder.
All the hands dropped.
General Pascal offered his opponent a conciliatory smile. ‘Election over. You lose.’
He drew his Glock 17 pistol and shot President Bagaza straight through the eye. The president flopped backwards into the dirt. Holstering his gun, the general stepped over the lifeless body of his enemy, then strolled up the bank.
‘What about the prisoners?’ asked Blaze, waving the barrel of his AK47 at the row of terrified guards.
General Pascal considered them for a moment, then said, ‘Give them a choice of long or short sleeves.’
The guards exchanged horrified looks as Blaze produced his machete. Two gunmen seized the first guard in line and the rebel fighter indicated the elbow or wrist as to where he’d hack the man’s limb off. As the guard began begging for mercy, a jeep skidded to a stop at the top of the riverbank. A soldier jumped out and saluted the general. ‘We caught up with the first vehicle but lost the children.’
‘How could you lose three children in a Land Rover?’ demanded General Pascal, his tone exasperated.
‘They drove into a ravine,’ explained the soldier.
General Pascal gave a snort of amusement. ‘Are they dead?’
The soldier shook his head. ‘They disappeared into the jungle.’
The smile evaporated from the general’s face. ‘My orders were explicit. No one must be allowed to escape. No one can raise the alarm.’
The general turned to Blaze.
‘Hunt them down!’
‘I think we’ve lost them,’ said Connor, slowing their pace through the bushes.
‘I think we’re lost,’ replied Amber with an uncertain glance at the encroaching jungle.
Scanning the disorientating tangle of thick vegetation, Connor was forced to agree. His only objective had been to escape the gunmen, so he’d paid little attention to the direction they’d run in. A potentially critical error of judgement. He should have been thinking like a bodyguard, assessing the situation at every point and noting their escape route. Now they were completely lost in unfamiliar and dangerous territory with no back-up.
Henri stumbled over a branch and Connor caught his arm to stop him falling. Wheezing heavily from their mad dash through the jungle, the boy’s face was pale and sweaty and his lips had a worrying blue tinge.
‘Where’s your inhaler?’ asked Amber as Connor guided her brother over to a fallen tree and helped him to sit down.
‘Poc … ket,’ he rasped.
Amber fished it out for him. Henri grabbed it as if he was drowning, immediately taking two puffs. A minute went by and he was still clawing for breath. Panic welling in his eyes, he inhaled another two doses.
‘Calm down, Henri. Slow steady breaths,’ soothed Amber, gently stroking his arm. ‘We’re safe now. You can relax.’
Gradually Henri’s wheezing eased and his lips regained their colour. Closing his eyes, he leant forward, his head in his hands.
‘Will he be all right?’ asked Connor, aware that a severe asthma attack could be fatal.
Amber nodded. ‘He just needs some time to recover.’ Her gaze fell to Connor’s chest and her pale green eyes widened in alarm. ‘You’re bleeding!’
Connor glanced down. The patch of blood on his T-shirt had blossomed. Gingerly lifting up his T-shirt, he peeled away the sodden cloth from his skin. A bullet had clipped his side, leaving a long gash. His T-shirt, while stab-proof, offered no protection from a 7.62mm high-velocity bullet, and blood seeped steadily from the wound. As soon as he examined the injury, his brain registered the damage an
d pain rushed in.
Grimacing, Connor put down his Go-bag and extracted the first-aid kit.
‘Let me do that,’ said Amber, taking the kit from him and insisting that he sit down.
Tired and hurting, Connor did as she instructed. Using an antiseptic wipe, Amber cleaned away the blood.
‘Ouch, that stings!’ he said, wincing.
‘Don’t be a baby,’ she chastised, inspecting the wound. ‘It’s not as bad as it looks. I think the bullet only grazed you.’
She took out a gauze pad, placed it over the gash and applied pressure. ‘Hold that there.’
Connor kept the pad in place as she found some dressing tape and a bandage. ‘How come you know what to do?’ he asked.
‘I’m a junior rock-climbing instructor. First aid is part of the training.’ She wrapped the tape round his midriff several times, securing the gauze pad and stemming the bleeding. ‘That should do it.’
Connor found a spare shirt in his Go-bag and put it on. Amber then turned her attention to the cut above his left eye.
‘So, what do you think happened back there? Why were they trying to kill us?’
‘They were trying to kill President Bagaza,’ replied Connor. ‘We just happened to be in the way.’
‘Who’d do such a thing? He seems like such a nice man.’
Connor shrugged. ‘Any number of rebel groups in Burundi. My operational brief listed at least four active militia units who oppose him. But I’m guessing it’s the ANL, led by a man known as Black Mamba.’
‘Who?’ said Amber, discarding a bloodstained wipe and covering his cut with a plaster.
‘You really don’t want to know. But he’s notorious for using child soldiers. And some of the attackers today were kids our age.’
Amber’s mouth fell open in shock. ‘Kids?’
Connor gave a grim nod. ‘My turn to fix you,’ he said, finding another antiseptic wipe from the first-aid kit.
‘I can’t believe kids were shooting at us with machine guns! Do you think –’ Her lower lip began to tremble and her eyes flicked briefly to Henri before she managed to whisper, ‘Do you think they killed our parents?’
Bodyguard: Ambush (Book 3) Page 12
