Bodyguard: Ambush (Book 3)

by Chris Bradford

  Connor rubbed his dirt-stained face between his hands and sighed wearily. ‘I realize you want to do everything you can to save your brother. I’m as desperate as you to get him back safe and sound. But I can’t have you risking your life in a suicide mission. I honestly think our best plan is to return to the lodge and call for back-up.’

  ‘And how long will that take? A day? Two days? Maybe more in this godforsaken country. We don’t have that time to waste. Every minute counts. Who knows what they’re doing to my brother? Henri’s life could be in the balance.’

  ‘And so is yours,’ stated Connor, feeling himself torn between rescuing Henri and keeping Amber out of danger. His head told him one thing; his heart, the other. In the end, reason won out. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t let you go. It’s too much of a risk.’

  Amber looked at him, her eyes blazing. ‘I lost Henri once. I won’t lose him again. He’s the only family I have left. I have to save my brother.’ She stabbed a finger at him. ‘You have to save my brother. You’re supposed to be his bodyguard, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’m your bodyguard too,’ he reminded her. ‘I have a duty to keep you both safe from harm.’

  Amber stood and crossed her arms defiantly. ‘Well then, you’ll have to protect me rescuing my brother. Because I’m going, with or without you!’

  ‘Your parents are dead!’ Blaze shouted as he struck Henri with a long, thin bamboo cane. Whack!

  Henri fell to the rocky ground, crying out in agonized shock as a large red welt flared across his upper arm.

  ‘Your parents were weak. They failed to protect you.’ Whack!

  Tears burst from Henri’s eyes as the cane whipped across his back, the pain so intense that he couldn’t even cry out.

  ‘Your sister ran away.’ Whack!

  Henri instinctively curled into the foetal position, his hands over his head, as more blows rained down.

  ‘Did you hear me? She failed to protect you too.’

  Whack! Whack!

  ‘Now she’s dead. So is her boyfriend. And you’re all alone.’

  No Mercy watched impassively as Blaze beat the white boy. He recalled his own initiation ritual beginning in a similar way. Having been abducted from his village, he was beaten day and night until his body and spirit were broken down to nothing. Poisonous words were whispered in his ear to convince him of his family’s treachery and abandonment before their deaths at the hands of a rival rebel group. Then the Black Mamba had come to him, offering salvation and relief from the constant physical and mental abuse. At that point, lost in a world of pain and grief, he’d been willing to do anything to make the unbearable suffering stop. Anything. Even kill a man with his bare hands. That’s when he was reborn, piece by piece, killing by killing. The Black Mamba rebuilt him into a warrior, a soldier of God. Gave him a new name. His past no longer relevant. He existed purely to fight and die as if there were no tomorrow.

  Blaze ceased his brutal punishment of the boy.

  Wheezing and sobbing, Henri lay trembling on the rocks, a splatter of his blood smeared across their surface. Kneeling down, Blaze ran a hand gently through the boy’s red hair.

  ‘But we can protect you,’ he said softly in the boy’s ear. ‘We can make you strong. But first you must prove yourself. Earn our respect. Become worthy of the name Red Devil.’

  The sound of an approaching jeep caused Blaze and No Mercy to look up.

  General Pascal had returned from the lodge, bringing with him the Grey Man, as they now all called him.

  ‘Put the boy to work with the others,’ ordered Blaze, handing No Mercy the bamboo cane. ‘And beat him if he slows or stops.’

  Nodding, No Mercy dragged Henri to his feet and half-carried him over to where the enslaved workers were digging up and panning the riverbed. Blaze strode across the river to greet the general, saluting him as he stepped out of the jeep with the Grey Man.

  ‘Welcome, Mr Grey, to Diamond Valley,’ declared General Pascal with a majestic sweep of his arm at the hidden gorge being stripped back and plundered. ‘That’s what I call it anyway. This place is so rich with minerals that at night the ground sparkles as if the stars had fallen from the sky.’

  ‘Very poetic,’ replied Mr Grey flatly, without any real sign of appreciation. His almost colourless eyes were trained on No Mercy, handing a battered bucket to a bleeding and sobbing child. ‘Who’s the white boy?’ he asked.

  ‘Some foreign ambassador’s son.’ The general laughed as he waved his hand dismissively. ‘White men are always taking from our country. It’s time for them to pay the price.’

  ‘You could ransom him,’ suggested Mr Grey. ‘He’d have value.’

  ‘Why? I’ve all the riches I need here,’ retorted the general.

  Ordering Blaze to bring over the lock-box from his tent, he opened the lid and spread out a collection of rough diamonds on the bonnet of the jeep. ‘Now let’s do business, Mr Grey. Take your pick. I want to have the best-equipped army in Africa.’

  Striking camp, Connor, Amber and Zuzu set forth across the plain. Zuzu walked ahead, her bare feet noiseless on the red earth. Her body small and slender like a gazelle’s, she wore a mottled-brown wrap-around sarong, with a simple shawl slung over her left shoulder. In her right hand she carried a wooden bow and several black-tipped arrows. Aside from a gourd containing water, a fire-lighting stick and a small knife, she possessed little else.

  Connor was amazed that she could survive in such a wild place with no supplies. When he’d asked her about this through Amber, she’d replied that the land provided all she needed to live. And, as if to prove her point, she’d plucked some small orange berries from a nearby bush and popped them in her mouth before offering some to them. The fruits were bitter-sweet, but a great deal more palatable than the ‘sausage’ Connor had consumed for their bush breakfast.

  Earlier that morning, as he’d wrestled over the dilemma of whether to let Amber attempt to rescue her brother or not, Zuzu had handed him one of the plump white blobs cooking on the open fire and he’d bitten into it with barely a second thought. He soon discovered that the ‘sausage’ had a strange fluid consistency and tasted a bit like a nutty mushroom, but rather less pleasant. Zuzu had looked on encouragingly as he chewed. Then Amber had taken great pleasure in informing him that he was eating fried rhino-beetle larva! He’d almost gagged but managed to keep the smile on his face for Zuzu’s benefit, reminding himself that the larva was a bush delicacy. But, rather than subject himself to a second helping, he’d hurriedly agreed to Amber’s change of plan. Besides, he’d realized that he couldn’t carry his Principal kicking and screaming all the way back to the lodge. Nor could he leave her to walk alone and unprotected into a kill zone. And, the most persuasive reason of all, how could he live with himself if, as his bodyguard, he abandoned Henri to his fate?

  Yet as they followed Zuzu through the stiflingly hot bush, Connor began to question the wisdom of his decision. Lacking Zuzu’s intimate knowledge of bushcraft and now possessing only his father’s knife – the night-vision sunglasses having been crushed beyond repair during the leopard attack – he felt woefully under-prepared for the ordeal ahead. It seemed as if they were about to enter the lion’s den with little more than a toothpick for protection. Moreover, he couldn’t believe they were putting their lives into the hands of a complete stranger again. They’d done that once with the Wolf and almost paid the price.

  Connor quietly drew up beside Amber. ‘Are you sure we can trust our guide?’ he whispered, avoiding using Zuzu’s name in case she realized he was talking about her.

  ‘Why not?’ said Amber, surprised by the question.

  ‘For all we know, she could be leading us into a trap. Maybe hoping for payment from the rebels for finding us.’

  Amber frowned at Connor. ‘I can’t believe everyone in this country is corrupt. She saved our lives, remember? In fact, she tried to dissuade me from going to Dead Man’s Hill in the first place, saying it’s cursed by evil spirits
and is where that leopard lives.’

  ‘Now you tell me!’ said Connor, feeling somewhat duped into agreeing to their crazy rescue mission.

  Amber kept talking as if she hadn’t heard him. ‘But I told her how much my brother meant to me and she understood, having lost a brother herself.’

  ‘Even so, we know nothing about her,’ Connor argued, keeping his voice low.

  ‘I do,’ replied Amber. ‘While you were out cold, we talked a lot.’

  Zuzu glanced over her shoulder to check they were still keeping up. Her smile was bright and innocent and Connor couldn’t detect any trace of deception in her eyes. He felt a touch guilty at talking behind her back, but it was a bodyguard’s job to be suspicious – at least until the person in question proved worthy of trust.

  ‘It’s a really sad story,’ Amber explained. ‘Remember I told you that Zuzu’s from one of the local Batwa tribes. Well, the government forced them out of their ancestral lands to create this national park. Minister Feruzi was lying when he said that the Batwa had been given lovely new homes, schools and freshwater wells. The tribes were lucky to get a well, let alone housing. Most were given no land and left to fend for themselves. Zuzu tells me only a few Batwa men were offered work in the park, despite their knowledge of the bush, so many have had to resort to begging or manual labour just to survive. Zuzu and her family are essentially conservation refugees!’

  ‘So how come she’s in the park if it’s a restricted area?’ questioned Connor.

  ‘Hunting for food,’ replied Amber. ‘The Batwa are traditionally hunter-gatherers. Since her father died, his heart broken by the loss of both his son and homeland, it’s fallen to Zuzu to provide for the entire family. But the government’s outlawed all forms of game-hunting. So, if she’s caught, she’ll be arrested as a poacher and then she doesn’t know how they’ll survi–’

  Up ahead Zuzu suddenly became still as a rock, her hand held up in warning for them to be silent. Connor’s eyes immediately scanned their surroundings, searching for the threat. With infinite care Zuzu nocked an arrow and took aim at something hidden among the brush. Connor’s hand went to his knife. The savannah around them grew deadly quiet, as if sensing the danger in their vicinity. Connor felt his pulse quicken and drew Amber closer, ready to protect her from whatever predator appeared.

  All of a sudden Zuzu let loose her arrow and disappeared into the long grass. Connor only caught a glimpse of her lithe body as she silently dashed through the brush. Grabbing Amber’s hand, he pursued their guide, not wanting to let her out of his sight. They caught up with her in a small clearing, kneeling beside a dying dik-dik.

  It dawned on Connor that Zuzu had been the predator the savannah had gone silent for.

  Plucking her arrow from the tiny antelope’s chest and putting it aside, she laid her hands on the animal and softly uttered what sounded to Connor like a blessing. Then Zuzu glanced up and spoke to Amber.

  ‘The Batwa take what they can, but only what they need,’ Amber translated for Connor.

  As Zuzu bound the little antelope’s hooves together, Connor went to help by picking up the discarded arrow. But Zuzu quickly said, ‘Ne touchez pas! C’est toxique!’

  ‘Stop!’ Amber warned. ‘The tip’s poisonous.’

  Connor nodded, leaving the deadly arrow where it lay. ‘Yeah, I got the gist.’

  Zuzu slung the dead antelope over her shoulder. ‘A manger,’ she said with a smile before picking up her bow and arrows and continuing along their previous trail.

  Astounded at her expert hunting skills, Connor and Amber followed speechless in her wake. Zuzu’s pace was steady yet relentless. She seemed neither to need rest nor to drink water, and, despite the disorientating nature of the landscape, always appeared to know exactly where she was headed, following trails and tracks invisible to their eyes.

  Having heard Zuzu’s story, Connor felt a little reassured about their guide but still questioned her motive for helping them. If her family was that desperate, surely she’d be tempted to sell Amber and him to the rebels at the first opportunity. He resolved to keep a careful eye on her.

  After two hours’ solid trekking beneath the sweltering sun, he and Amber were beginning to flag. Just as he was about to ask Zuzu to stop, she pointed to a craggy peak in the distance, atop which perched a lone acacia tree: Dead Man’s Hill.

  Too late to turn back now, thought Connor, steeling himself for the climb ahead.

  At the base of the hill, Zuzu halted for a water break and took a measured sip from her gourd. Severely dehydrated from their long trek, Connor and Amber sat down on a rock and drained their remaining supply in one hit. Connor held out the upturned bottle to Zuzu to indicate it was empty. She smiled, said something to him and pointed up the slope.

  ‘There’s a freshwater spring halfway,’ interpreted Amber.

  Guessing they might be hungry too, their guide strolled over to a clump of palm trees. With the accuracy of a sharpshooter, she slung a rock up into its branches and knocked down three round red fruit. The shiny outer skin was as hard as a nut, but Zuzu showed them how to crack it open with a stick. Connor was taken aback at the flavour: the light brown flesh inside tasted just like dried ginger cake.

  ‘It’s as if she’s walking round her very own supermarket!’ remarked Amber, tucking into the unexpected treat.

  Re-energized, Connor got back to his feet, ready to tackle the hill. However, Zuzu remained squatting on her haunches, picking at her fruit. ‘Aren’t you coming?’ he asked.

  Zuzu shook her head, her eyes glancing fearfully up at the peak as she replied in French.

  Amber translated, ‘She says she’ll wait here until we return with Henri, then guide us back to the lodge.’

  Connor stared at Amber. ‘We can’t go on without her,’ he said firmly. ‘We’ve no idea what’s on the other side or where your brother might be.’ And, although he didn’t say it, he had no intention of letting their guide out of his sight.

  ‘But she’s adamant she won’t go,’ replied Amber.

  ‘Then we’re not going either. If we have to make a quick getaway, we’ll need Zuzu’s local knowledge.’

  ‘But …’ Amber stopped. Connor’s stern expression told her there’d be no negotiation on the point.

  Kneeling down beside Zuzu, she spoke rapidly in French, her tone shifting from gentle cajoling to obvious pleading. Zuzu was distinctly reluctant, repeatedly mentioning les spectres and le léopard. The conviction of her objections was making Connor ever more uneasy at the prospect of scaling Dead Man’s Hill. Eventually, though, Zuzu caved in to Amber’s pleas and nodded. As she rose to her feet and picked up her bow and arrow, Amber glanced over her shoulder at Connor with a triumphant yet strained smile.

  ‘How did you persuade her?’ he asked.

  ‘I told her that you’re a mighty warrior in your land and have the power to protect us from all evil.’

  ‘No pressure then,’ said Connor.

  ‘I also offered her the pick of my clothes and jewellery when we return to the lodge,’ Amber admitted.

  Connor did a double-take. ‘She’s taking us up the hill for a dress?’

  Amber nodded. ‘That sarong and shawl are the only clothes she owns. Zuzu thought it more than a fair trade.’

  Zuzu led them through the scrub and up a winding animal trail. She climbed the rocky slope as surefooted as a mountain goat, making Connor feel distinctly unfit and ungainly by comparison. Even Amber was struggling despite her climbing skills. Zuzu kept looking furtively around, but nothing hostile materialized. The ascent was hot, tiring work and Connor was glad for the spring halfway up, where they could replenish their water bottle and cool down.

  By the time they neared the peak, the sun had passed its zenith. The ancient acacia tree cast a dark shadow that looked like a twisted and tortured man upon the bare sunbleached rock. As they approached, Zuzu slowed and became even more guarded in her tread. Clearly nervous, she indicated for them both to keep low and
stay silent. Hiding behind a boulder, the three of them cautiously peered over the edge.

  Connor was astounded at what he saw.

  They had a bird’s-eye view over the hidden valley. Protected by its steep sides and fed by a number of springs, a thick blanket of trees and plants had flourished in the natural haven. The lush foliage cascaded down like a green curtain to a broad glistening river below, which snaked its way towards a drop-off to feed the Ruvubu River in the distance. It was as if they were staring into a lost world, except for the fact that the landscape was being torn apart and the river had been dammed. At the bottom of the valley, bare-chested workers toiled with picks and shovels, ripping up the soil and clearing away the vegetation. Others were sifting through piles of dirt or panning the muddied waters with rusting metal sieves. Dotted around this scene of devastation like an army of soldier ants were boys toting AK47s.

  Zuzu sorrowfully shook her head at the sight. ‘On dirait qu’ils mangent de la terre.’

  Connor looked to Amber.

  ‘She says, it looks like they’re eating the earth.’

  ‘What are they digging for?’ he asked.

  ‘Des diamants,’ Zuzu replied under her breath.

  Amber sighed in dismay. ‘All that destruction for a diamond ring!’

  ‘C’est le Black Mamba!’ hissed Zuzu, ducking down.

  Connor followed her line of sight and spotted a large man in army fatigues. Even from a distance, the infamous warlord struck an imposing figure. Barrel-chested and with bulging muscles, General Pascal towered over his fellow rebel soldiers, even Blaze who Connor easily recognized from the flash of his mirrored sunglasses. So his hunch had been right: the Armée Nationale de la Liberté had ambushed the president and his entourage.

  By the look of deep-set fear on Zuzu’s face, Connor’s suspicions about her trustworthiness were allayed. She seemed only too aware of the rebel leader’s reputation as a cold-blooded murderer of women and children.