Hostage (14 page)

Connor studied the photo. Alicia had
chocolate-brown eyes, a butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth smile and a mass of dark
curly hair that fell past her shoulders. She looked like any other young teenager. It
was hard to imagine her as a target for assassins and kidnappers. But that’s
exactly what she was.

‘According to my research and press
reports, Alicia is fun-loving, headstrong and possesses an impulsive streak. She has
slipped her Secret Service protection on several occasions. And, as I understand from
the colonel, that is the main reason the President has requested a
buddyguard.’

Colonel Black nodded in confirmation.
‘It’s your job, Connor, to stick to her like glue.’

Connor briefly wondered how he’d
manage that without becoming an annoying hanger-on.

‘Alicia attends Montarose School in
Washington DC where you’re now enrolled on a student exchange programme for the
last two weeks of term,’ Charley explained. ‘Her grades are good, if not
outstanding. Favourite subjects appear to be art, photography and dance. She’s
generally fit –’

‘Most definitely,’ said Marc
with a rakish grin.

‘I mean healthy,’ corrected
Charley, shooting him evils. ‘Alicia enjoys track and field, and is the captain of
the school team. She holds the fastest time for the four hundred metres. So, Connor,
you’ll be thankful for all those early-morning runs.’

Connor and Marc exchanged sideways glances
and smirked at one another. Marc had found a short cut on Alpha team’s running
route, knocking a good couple of miles off the training. Connor now wished he’d
done the full circuit. He was going to suffer for it if he had to keep up with his
Principal.

Charley clicked to a new slide titled
‘Medical History’.

‘Known medical issues include mild hay
fever and a history of childhood epilepsy.’

‘Does that mean she might have a
fit?’ asked Connor, concerned.

Charley gave a noncommittal shrug.
‘According to the doctor’s reports, her epilepsy seems to have stopped
naturally in the last year or so. But it’s still something to
be aware of. Factors like emotional stress, sleep deprivation and flashing lights have
the potential to trigger a seizure.’

‘I’ve put some information on
epilepsy in the operation folder,’ Ling interrupted, handing Connor a small USB
drive. ‘There’s an action-on sheet explaining how to handle a
seizure.’

‘Thanks,’ replied Connor,
plugging the drive into his laptop.

‘The files are all encrypted,’
she explained, ‘and accessed by fingerprint recognition.’ She indicated the
thumb-sized scanner built into the body of his laptop. ‘I’ve already
programmed it to accept yours. There are also files on Washington DC, Montarose School,
the White House staff you’ll meet and a hot list identifying the potential threats
she faces.’

‘It’s a
long
list,’ said Jason, yawning widely. ‘I should know. I was working on it right
through the night.’

‘Perhaps then you’ll give Connor
a summary of the key groups that pose a risk,’ suggested Charley.

‘Sure,’ he replied, getting up
from his seat and joining her at the front. He took a deep breath and offered Connor a
pitying look. ‘Well, the leader of the free world certainly has some enemies and
Alicia, as his daughter, faces the same dangers. The problems in Yemen, Afghanistan and
Pakistan mean that fundamentalists are a major threat. Al-Qaeda and the Taliban are just
two of the extremist groups who have the United States and its President in
their sights. But it’s unlikely they’ll target our
Principal directly, since their usual methods of attack are bombings, sabotage and scare
tactics. Then closer to home, but no less fanatical, are the white supremacists, who
dislike having a Latino man as a President. They’re a real and present danger.
Next, we’ve got the potential for stalkers and lone-wolf assassins – these are
almost impossible to identify before they strike and you’ll have to rely on Secret
Service intelligence. And, finally, there are the mentally ill, who according to the
Secret Service, account for three-quarters of known threats made against the President
and his family.’

Jason put on a cheery smile for Connor,
whose expression had dropped at the seemingly endless list of threats.

‘So to put it simply, mate, the
world’s your enemy.’

‘Here’s your Go-bag,’ said
Amir, dumping a sleek charcoal-coloured backpack on the table. ‘It contains all
you need to run this operation effectively.’

He pulled out a super-slim mobile from the
front pocket.

‘Next-generation smartphone,’ he
said, admiring its sleek elegant form. ‘Bugsy enhanced this specifically for your
assignment. First, fingerprint identification to protect access.’ He pressed his
thumb to the screen, the phone came to life and Buddyguard’s gleaming winged
shield rotated in 3D on the retina display. ‘I’m currently programmed in as
well as you. But the operating system is firewalled and any critical breach of it will
wipe the hard drive. But don’t worry – all stored data is wirelessly backed up to
our servers.’

His index finger selected an app in the top
corner. A crystal-clear bird’s-eye view of the Welsh mountains appeared, a small
green dot pulsing inside a building that Connor recognized as Buddyguard
Headquarters.

‘Advanced Mapping app, accurate to the
metre with pinpoint GPS,’ explained Amir. ‘In addition, all the Washington
maps are preloaded, plus internal layouts for
key buildings such as
the White House – at least, those we’ve got access to – the National Air and Space
Museum and the Kennedy Center. Whatever happens, you won’t get lost. Nor will your
Principal.’

He passed Connor a stylish red
Armani-branded phone case with a butterfly logo.

‘Thanks, but it’s a bit girly
for me,’ said Connor, handing it back.

‘The case isn’t for you,’
Amir replied. ‘It’s your gift to Alicia and contains a miniature homing
beacon. The encoded signal is linked to this Tracker app.’ He touched a green
target icon on the smartphone’s screen. The map reappeared, now overlaid with a
grid and a flashing red dot beside the blue. ‘It’ll locate the case anywhere
within fifteen kilometres and calculate the quickest route from your position. Bugsy
recommends to keep this feature secret – it’s for emergency use only.’

Amir held up the phone and pointed to the
tiny lens on the back. ‘Ten megapixel camera with optical zoom, high-definition
video, night-vision and instant face-recognition software. Film or photo a crowd and
it’ll ping an individual that it’s seen before at a different location. If
it records multiple occurrences, the app will highlight the suspected face in red. But
Bugsy says
don’t
rely on this app. The Mark One eyeball is always your
best piece of surveillance kit.’

Amir winked and Connor laughed. Bugsy often
referred to his eyes as ‘Mark One’.

Opening a small fabric pouch, Amir now
handed Connor a tiny flesh-coloured earpiece.

‘For when you want to communicate
covertly,’ he explained. ‘It has a vibrational mic that will pick up your
voice. The smartphone acts as your transceiver. Just remember the battery life of the
earpiece is limited. Eight hours tops before a recharge is needed.’

His finger flicked across the
smartphone’s screen. ‘There are a whole bunch of other apps, like Mission
Status, Threat Level and SOS – that’s my
own
program,’ Amir said
proudly.

‘So it worked!’ remarked Connor.
‘Can you
now
tell me what it’s for?’

‘Real emergencies,’ Amir
replied, his expression serious. ‘Even when you don’t have a phone signal,
the SOS app can send a short burst of location data to a GPS satellite which is bounced
back here to headquarters. Works
anywhere
in the world. Drains the battery like
crazy, mind. I’m still trying to fix that. But you can explore all these apps when
you’re on the plane. I’ve also added the latest Angry Birds game in case you
get bored.’

‘Not much chance of that!’
replied Connor.

Amir laid the smartphone gently on the
table, seeming almost reluctant to let it go. Connor knew his friend was a bit of a
tech-head and was dying to keep it for himself.

‘That’s the showpiece,’
Amir sighed, returning to the bag. ‘The other items I’ve prepped include a
basic medical kit, mini-halogen torch, prepaid credit cards and this set of clothes for
high-threat situations.’

Alongside the rest of the gear, he laid a
baseball cap, a pair of sunglasses, a black T-shirt, a cream-coloured fashion shirt and
a styled leather jacket.

‘Jody promises me that they’ll
fit. Why not try them on for size?’

Connor slipped on the jacket. The cut was
perfect, the quality equal to top-brand Italian leather, but the weight was odd.

‘Feels a little … heavy,’ he
remarked.

‘That’s because it’s
bulletproof,’ explained Amir. ‘Both this and the shirt can stop a handgun at
close range. The jacket’s stab-proof too, as is this T-shirt.’

Connor took a moment to inspect the clothes
more closely. His fingers felt the thick cotton-like fabric of the collared shirt.
‘Are you certain this will stop a bullet?’

Amir nodded his head with the utmost
conviction. ‘You can ask Jody, but I wouldn’t recommend it.’

‘Why not?’

‘When I did, she shot me.’

‘
What?
’ exclaimed
Connor, not sure he’d heard right.

Amir lifted his shirt to reveal a purple
bruise across his chest. ‘She got me to wear one. It’s constructed from a
hi-tech woven fabric that “catches” the bullet and spreads the impact over
the whole torso rather than in one specific area. So I can guarantee you – on my life –
that the shirt works.’

‘I bet that hurt, though,’ said
Connor, grimacing in sympathy as Amir re-covered his bruised chest.

‘I’d be lying if I said no. It
felt like a battering ram. But at the time I was more worried about the contents of my
pants! She scared me half to death. I’m
never
going to hand in homework
late again.’

Amir began to repack the bag for him.

‘It’s all right. I’ve
already got my own backpack,’ said Connor.

‘Not like this one you
haven’t,’ he replied. ‘This backpack could save your life too.’
He tapped the rear panel, then flexed it. ‘State-of-the-art liquid body armour.
The jacket and shirt are only effective against handguns. This backpack will shield you
from high-powered assault rifles and machine guns like the MP5.’

‘That’s reassuring to
know,’ said Connor, hoping he wouldn’t be confronted by that sort of
firepower.

‘Colonel Black spares no expense on
our safety equipment,’ explained Amir, showing Connor how the panel folded out to
double its coverage. Then he resumed packing the bag.

Connor was astonished by the gear at his
disposal. State-of-the-art phones, bulletproof clothing, anti-ambush backpacks. ‘I
feel like James Bond,’ he said, picking up the snazzy pair of sunglasses with dark
mirrored lens. ‘So what do these do?’

Connor was hoping for a
‘heads-up’ display with augmented reality like the heroes used in the
movies.

‘Now these are
really
clever
– one hundred per cent anti-radiation, anti-glare devices,’ explained Amir,
slipping them on and grinning. ‘They keep the sun out of your eyes!’

The Gulfstream jet touched down on the runway
and taxied to the small private air terminal. As its engines wound down, the passenger
door opened and the steps automatically unfolded. An immaculately presented air
stewardess checked the exit was clear before ushering the sole passenger from the
plane.

‘Thank you for flying with us,’
she said with a well-practised smile of service, then added in farewell,
‘
Ma’as-salama
.’

‘
Allah ysalmak
,’
replied the man in his native Arabic, his amber eyes admiring the attractive stewardess
one last time. Stepping on to the tarmac, he felt a wave of heat that was pleasant, but
by no means comparable to the arid warmth of his own country.