He sensed a smile at the other end of the line.
‘Connor, you wouldn’t be calling unless it was to say yes.’
The following Monday a blacked-out Range Rover pulled up outside the house: 0900 hours sharp.
Bags packed, Connor hugged his mum goodbye. ‘I’ll be back during the holidays,’ he promised.
‘Now, don’t you worry about me,’ she said, kissing him tenderly on the cheek. ‘You go have a good time. I’m so proud of you.’
She squeezed his hand. To Connor, his mother always seemed at her most energized and pain-free when she was concentrating on him.
‘And I’ll be here 24/7,’ reassured Sally, a jolly, middle-aged woman who was to be his mum’s live-in carer.
The morning after the phone call, Sally had dropped by their house. Over a pot of tea, she’d explained the in-care arrangement and that the costs were being covered by Connor’s ‘scholarship programme’. His mum had immediately warmed to the idea, proud her son’s talents were being recognized. By the second cup of tea, the three women were swapping stories and laughing like old friends. Reassured by this, Connor knew his mother was in good hands and that he’d made the right decision for her.
And it had the double benefit that his gran would also be cared for in her own home. This news had initially pleased his gran. But, not one to miss a trick, she had questioned him in private about the ‘scholarship programme’. Despite Colonel Black’s warning, Connor had told her the truth – as he always did with his gran. She’d immediately tried to dissuade him. But, seeing the determination in his eyes, she’d resignedly shook her head and said, ‘You’re your father’s son. Always putting others before yourself.’
So it was agreed Buddyguard was to be their secret and Connor had no doubt that she’d keep it. As he went to say goodbye, his gran gripped him with surprising strength.
‘Stay safe,’ she whispered, and for a moment he didn’t think she’d let him go.
With a final hug for his mum, Connor picked up his bags and strode over to the Range Rover. The driver got out, a slender woman with dark brown shoulder-length hair and olive eyes that were good-natured yet watchful.
Connor smiled in wry recognition. ‘You’re not going to arrest me again, are you?’
The former policewoman laughed. ‘Only if you don’t pay attention in class!’ She offered her hand. ‘I’m Jody, one of your instructors. Now get in, we’ve a long drive ahead.’
Tossing his bags in the boot, Connor clambered into the passenger seat. With a last wave to his mum and gran, he heaved the door shut and the Range Rover pulled away. As they drove out of London, they passed the Tiger Martial Arts Dojo. Connor felt a twinge of regret and a nagging doubt returned. The club was almost a second home to him. He’d just made his mark as a national kickboxing champion. Am I throwing it all away? His instructor hadn’t thought so. Although dismayed to lose his most promising student, Dan had only wanted the best for him.
‘The time to strike is when the opportunity presents itself,’ Dan had said, giving him a friendly tap on the chin with his fist. ‘So good luck – and remember: if you get into trouble, hit first, hit hard, then hit the ground running.’
The Range Rover turned a corner and the club disappeared from view. Burying his doubts, Connor now felt an undeniable thrill at what lay in store for him as a bodyguard. ‘So where are we going?’ he asked eagerly.
‘Wales,’ replied Jody.
‘Oh.’ Connor tried to hide his disappointment. He’d been expecting somewhere a little more glamorous. ‘Why there?’
‘You’ll find out soon enough,’ she replied. ‘Until then, I’d advise getting some rest while you can. The weeks ahead will be demanding.’
Leaving London, they headed west on the M4. While Jody drove, Connor asked her about the Buddyguard organization – a search on the internet had drawn a blank, apart from a news clipping mentioning Colonel Black as the team leader of a high-profile hostage rescue in Afghanistan several years before. But Jody politely evaded this line of questioning. ‘All will be answered in good time,’ she replied. After his fifth attempt to extract information, she flashed him a steely look and he backed off. However, Jody did reveal that she was an ex-Met police officer of some fifteen years’ service. Rapidly promoted up the ranks, she’d moved to CO19, the police’s specialist armed unit, before being transferred to SO14, Royalty Close Protection.
‘So did you ever protect Prince William and Kate?’ Connor asked.
Jody’s manner became guarded again. ‘That would break client confidentiality, I’m afraid.’
Finding it was like getting blood from a stone, Connor decided to take her earlier advice and tried to sleep.
Three hours later, they crossed the Severn Bridge into Wales. When they eventually came off the motorway, Jody took so many minor roads that Connor lost his bearings completely. But judging by the craggy mountains and endless fields they were in the middle of nowhere.
It was late afternoon by the time a pair of iron gates came into view. Atop the black wrought-iron design was a subtle but distinctive winged shield. Levelling with an entry port concealed in the bushes, Jody pressed an infra-red sensor on the dashboard and the gates parted. As they drove through, Connor spotted a discreet CCTV camera following their progress. The Range Rover crunched up a long gravel driveway, open fields on either side. Cresting a rise, an old granite building appeared, not visible from the road. The size of a country mansion, it was tucked into its own valley with a small lake and dense patch of woodland. Squared battlements and narrow windows gave the impression of a fortified castle.
‘This used to be a private school in the 1800s,’ explained Jody. ‘But the facilities have been updated for our purposes.’
To Connor, the school still looked as if it belonged in the nineteenth century and he struggled to see much improvement beyond a large satellite dish on the roof.
The Range Rover drew up outside the main entrance. Connor jumped out and retrieved his bags from the boot. When he turned round, he almost dropped them. Standing in the arched doorway was the last person he expected to see.
‘Welcome to Camp Buddyguard!’ said the Indian boy enthusiastically, helping Connor with his bags. ‘My name’s Amir.’
‘So this is where you ran off to,’ remarked Connor.
Amir offered a ready smile. ‘Yeah, sorry I didn’t get a chance to thank you, but I thought Jody was about to arrest me for late coursework.’ He shot the instructor a mischievous wink.
‘Show our new recruit to his room,’ Jody ordered, apparently immune to his charm.
Amir performed an overzealous salute. ‘Yes, ma’am.’
Shorter than Connor and with a lean frame, Amir bounded up the steps into the school’s entrance hall. His exuberant manner reminded Connor of a meerkat’s – playful yet always on the alert. He was a totally different person from the cowering victim Connor had come across in the Docklands.
‘And Amir,’ Jody called after them, her tone stern, ‘I want that threat report on my desk by 0800 hours.’
Groaning at the deadline, Amir turned to Connor. ‘Let’s go before she makes it any earlier.’
He led Connor through a grand entrance hall and up a wide sweeping staircase. Old paintings in antique frames hung from the walls and the last of the sun’s rays filtered through a bay window on to the polished parquet flooring.
‘So you’re a buddyguard?’ said Connor as they climbed the stairs to the third floor.
Amir nodded. ‘Trainee. I’ve not been on any assignments yet, so I haven’t earned my wings.’ He pointed to a silver lapel badge on his jumper, the familiar shield and silhouette absent of its guardian wings. ‘But hopefully it won’t be long. Just depends on who the next Principal is.’