Bodyguard: Target (15 page)

‘Sandy Higgs, ABC News,’ said
the reporter, introducing herself. ‘Ash, your rise to fame has been meteoric.
When was the first time you realized you were famous?’

‘When I got my first death
threat!’ Ash replied.

A ripple of laughter filled the
conference room in New York’s Soho Grand Hotel. Ash sat relaxed in front of a
microphone; behind him a huge backdrop of his face announced the start of his
Indestructible tour.

‘But, seriously, I’m not in
this for the fame,’ Ash went on. ‘I’m in it for the music. And for
my fans.’

Charley stood just offstage,
out of the
limelight. She stifled a yawn, fighting the remnants of jet lag after the long
flight from London Heathrow. It was the first official day of the assignment and she
was determined to be on the ball. She’d had little time to settle in or get
her bearings, aside from checking into the hotel and catching a glimpse of the
Statue of Liberty as her taxi had crossed the
Brooklyn Bridge into Manhattan.

Beside her towered the monstrous frame
of Big T. She’d been briefly introduced to the veteran bodyguard on her
arrival, but received no more than a grunt of acknowledgement
before the press conference had begun. She hadn’t tried to strike up a
conversation with him, since experience had taught her when to talk and when not to
talk on an assignment.

‘Harvey Lewis,
TeenMusic
Mag
,’ called out another reporter. ‘Your face and album are
everywhere. Your songs dominate the charts and airwaves. Are you worried about
overexposure?’

‘I think it’s too late for
that!’ Ash joked, indicating the massive publicity image behind him.

Another round of laughter greeted his
response. Charley saw that Ash was in his element.
With all the attention focused on
him, he shone like a true superstar.

‘It’s better to burn out
than fade away, right?’ continued Ash. ‘No, I’m not worried about
overexposure. I love touring, travelling the world, seeing new places and meeting
new people. That’s the joy of being a musician. And I’ve just released
an album of new songs that’ll keep my fans happy, for a while
at
least.’

‘Sara Jones, Heaven Radio.
You’re known for your close interaction with your fans. But surely
that’s an issue given the recent threats made against you?’

‘Not really. Anyone has to get
past Big T first!’ Ash gestured towards his colossal bodyguard at the edge of
the stage. Big T put on a suitably hostile scowl, playing up his role for the
cameras. The
photographers seized the opportunity and snapped away.

A man in a blue shirt and jeans stood up
from among
the reporters. ‘Stephen Hicks, freelance. Ash,
is it true you received a death threat written in pig’s blood?’

A hushed silence descended on the room.
This was clearly news to the other reporters as well as Ash.

Ash frowned. ‘No … not as
far as I’m aware.’

‘Well, I’ve a reliable
source that says you did.’ Sensing a story, the reporter pressed on.
‘How do you feel about your team hiding this letter from you?’

‘W-what letter?’ demanded
Ash, his previous cool demeanour fracturing. He glanced sideways at Zoe for
guidance. The Dauntless Records’ PR exec shook her head in reply.

‘Doesn’t that make you
question who you can trust?’
asked the reporter.

Ash didn’t respond, his eyes now
darting nervously round the room.

‘Don’t you fear for your
life on this tour? Are you going to cancel if you get another death
threat?’

Ash gripped the microphone firmly in
both hands. ‘Listen, there’s always going to be haters, no matter
what,’ he answered, a tremor entering his voice. ‘But
nothing’s
going
to stop me from this upcoming tour!’

‘Not even a maniac promising
“no more encores”?’

Realizing the reporter was out for blood
and seeing Ash’s troubled expression, Zoe stepped on to the stage and took
over the mic.

‘Thank you, everyone, for your
time,’ she said, smiling brightly. ‘Press conference is now over. The
tour commences this Friday at Madison Square Garden.’

Ash left the stage.
Donning a pair of sunglasses, Big T immediately flanked the rock star and led him
out of the room. Charley joined them, blending in as part of Ash’s official
entourage – a work-experience PR girl, if anyone asked.

They crossed the almost-deserted
reception area in silence.

A flustered Zoe caught up. ‘Sorry
about that,’ she said to Ash. ‘That reporter
won’t ever have
access again.’

‘Why wasn’t I told about the
letter?’ Ash demanded angrily.

‘Kay didn’t want you
worrying.’

‘Sounds like I should
be!’

‘Don’t be,’ said Big
T, striding alongside. ‘You’re safe as houses with me.’

And me
, thought Charley,
keeping guard on Ash’s other side.

‘Thanks, Big T,’ said Ash,
beginning to smile again.

Approaching the exit, one of Big
T’s security team took point and opened the hotel doors. Emerging on to the
street, they were hit by a tidal wave of people – paparazzi with cameras
blazing like strobe lights, teenage girls screaming like banshees, young lads
fist-pumping the air and chanting, ‘ASH! ASH! ASH!’ Tourists and
bystanders flocked to the scene to witness the commotion.
Overwhelmed by sheer
numbers, the police were swamped by the ocean of fans who’d broken through the
barriers.

Big T carved a path through the seething
mass, a protective arm round his charge. Charley trailed behind. She shielded her
eyes against multiple camera flashes
and tried to scan the
crowd for threats. But it was pandemonium. Never before had she tried to protect
somebody in chaos like this. Disorientated, deafened and half-blinded, she could
barely guard herself, let alone Ash, as the mass of fans swarmed round to get a
piece of him.

A paparazzi guy with a buzz cut and two
days’ worth of stubble barged Charley aside. She stumbled and almost fell to
the pavement, where she would likely have been trampled in the crush. ‘Watch
it!’ she cried.

He turned on her. ‘You watch
it!’ he said in a nasal tone and flashgunned her with his camera.

Blinking away stars, Charley soon lost
track of Ash. In fact, she lost track of everyone. Jostled all over the place, she
could barely stay on her feet. The only still centre amid the storm was Big T. She
spotted him, towering above the gaggle of girls, groupies
and photographers.
Immovable as an oak tree, he barely swayed as the crowd pitched and rolled around
him.

Ash, smiling and laughing, had paused to
sign autographs and pose for photos, giving Charley the chance to catch up.

‘You all right?’ asked Big
T, barely glancing at her.

‘Yeah,’ Charley replied
breathlessly. ‘Had a run-in with a photographer.’

‘Careful,’
he warned.
‘Don’t get on the wrong side of the pap. They’ll make your life
hell.’

A girl squealed in delight as Ash signed
her poster. Another began crying when he hugged her. Charley thought
one fan was actually going to faint when he signed her arm
with a heart.

‘And what’s your
name?’ Ash asked a lad with dark blond hair whose starry-eyed look suggested
he might
explode at being so close to his idol.

‘P-P-Pete,’ he managed to
reply, grinning broadly as Ash signed his autograph book.

Then Ash held up the boy’s camera
phone and took an impromptu selfie with him. Glancing at the result, he noted the
similarity in their features and said, ‘Hey, you could be my twin
brother!’

‘Really?’ said the awestruck
boy.

‘Well, apart
from your blond hair
and blue eyes, we could be identical.’

The fan gaped at him, wide-eyed.
‘Perhaps we’re related.’

‘In another life, my
friend!’ Ash laughed good-naturedly and patted him on the shoulder.

Then Big T was steering Ash towards the
waiting limo. Charley fought hard to keep by their side but, a few metres from the
vehicle, she was caught in a riptide
of fans and dragged in the opposite direction.
Digging an elbow into the girl in front, she forced the fan aside. But it was no
use. Another simply filled her place. Meanwhile Ash was edging further and further
away.

Then a meaty hand grabbed her wrist.
Yanked through the pressing crowd, Charley was back beside Big T. ‘Keep
up!’ he grunted, his other arm shielding Ash.

Charley now stayed determinedly in his
wake. As Ash disappeared inside the blacked-out limo, there was a surge
of fans behind. At the same time Big T let Charley through.
Her foot caught on the door frame and she landed in a heap in the footwell of the
limo. The bodyguard slammed the door behind her, the driver automatically locking
them in for safety.

As Big T waded round
the vehicle to the
front passenger seat, the fans pounded on the roof, the thunderous sound like an
army of jackhammers. Humiliated by her unceremonious entry into the limo, Charley
quickly pulled herself into the soft leather of the rear seat, straightened out her
top and combed a hand through her dishevelled hair.

Meanwhile Ash sat cool, calm and
collected beside her.
He gave her a smug look. ‘Welcome to my life,
babe!’

‘You’re not on the
list,’ said the gruff security guard, barring entry through the artists’
entrance to Madison Square Garden, the iconic circular arena topping Pennsylvania
Station in
the heart of Manhattan.

‘But I’m a personal guest of
Ash,’ Charley insisted.

The security guard, a large man with a
beer belly, let out a snort of laughter. ‘So is every other Wildling
fan.’

He turned to the other two guards
manning the entrance with him and rolled his eyes at Charley’s pitiful attempt
to gain entry.

‘Listen – if you call
through to his
manager, she’ll explain –’

‘Don’t push your luck,
girly. No pass, no entry!’ he snapped.

Charley sighed. This was all she needed.
First day of the tour and she couldn’t even access the venue. Having got the
security guard to check the guest list three times, she began to wonder if
she’d been left off the list on purpose. Following her failure in even the
most basic
close protection of Ash during the press conference the previous
day, perhaps his manager had decided she wasn’t up to
the job and cancelled Buddyguard’s services. But, if that was the case, surely
she’d have heard from Colonel Black by now?

Charley checked her phone. No messages.
She tried calling Kay Gibson direct, but her phone went to voicemail. Charley
approached the security
gate again.

The guard squared up to her, his fists
planted on his ample hips. ‘I told you to leave.’

‘Can you just radio Big T?
He’ll vouch for me.’

‘Oh, you’re a friend of Big
T’s!’ said the guard, suddenly all smiles. ‘Why didn’t you
say so?’

He shifted aside and waved her through
the gate. But she hadn’t taken two steps when the guard seized her by the
wrist.

‘Don’t be so dumb!’ he
growled, pushing his pudgy face into hers. ‘As if Big T knows
you
.’

‘Ouch!’ Charley exclaimed as
he wrenched her into an armlock.

‘I’ve had enough of you and
your stories, little lady,’ hissed the guard in her ear, forcing her arm
further behind her back and clearly enjoying his moment of dominance.

But Charley wasn’t going to
be
strong-armed off the premises. What would Ash and Big T think when they heard about
it?

Goaded by the man’s bullying
tactics, Charley threw her head back. The guard cried out as his nose crumpled under
the impact. She then scraped the heel of her shoe down his
shin, before stamping on his foot. Spinning out of the armlock, she promptly
twisted the man’s arm and drove
him to the ground. As blood poured from his
nose on to the concrete, the other two guards rushed to his defence, one pulling out
an extendable baton.

Charley released the man and stepped
away, her hands held up in surrender. ‘Just call Big T.’

‘We’ll be calling the
police,’ said the other guard, closing in.

‘No, you won’t,’
grunted a voice. ‘She’s with me.’

The three men spun to see Big T standing
at the gate. They stood open-mouthed as he waved Charley through the barrier.

‘Here’s your security
pass,’ said Big T, handing her a plastic ID card on a lanyard.
‘Don’t lose it.’

Charley slipped it over her head.
‘Thanks … I wasn’t on the guest list,’ she tried to
explain.

‘That’s cos you’re
part of the crew, not a guest.’
He glanced at the guard with blood splattered
down his shirt. ‘Well, you certainly know how to make an entrance.’

‘Sorry. He was a bit
heavy-handed.’

Big T strode off down the corridor with
Charley following.

‘They weren’t going to let
me in,’ she explained, wondering how much trouble she’d got herself
into. ‘But at least it proves security is tight.’

‘Not really,’
said Big T.
‘Most of these venue guards are inexperienced jacket fillers who haven’t
a clue how to do their job properly. Back in my day, the security
industry was for the elite. Now muppets, like that idiot you decked, pass
two-week bodyguard courses and think they’re Jason Bourne!’

Charley looked hesitantly up at the
bodyguard. ‘Do you think I’m a “jacket filler”?’

Big
T stopped, eyed her intently, then
laughed a deep throaty growl. ‘That press conference exit was some baptism of
fire, eh? Listen, Charley, we’ve all gotta learn from experience. Anyone would
be knocked for six when confronted by a mass of crazed Ash Wild fans for the first
time. Mind you, if you can take down an eighteen-stone guard like that, then
I’d say you’re up to the job.’

He grinned at her, revealing a
gold-capped tooth.

Charley smiled back, deeply relieved at
his apparent approval.

‘Here, these are for you.’
Big T handed her a pair of designer sunglasses. ‘Essential kit for celebrity
protection. Stop you getting blinded by paparazzi cameras. They’re also good
for hiding your line of sight,’ he added as she tried them on for size.
‘If an attacker can’t see where you’re looking, they don’t
know when to make their move. This gives you the edge over them.’

They walked on, turned a corner and
entered the main arena. Thousands of empty seats encircled a stage in the shape of a
massive guitar. Suspended above like a futuristic battleship was a rig of
spotlights, speakers and plasma screens. Swarming over
the stage, a team of roadies
and sound technicians were making their final checks for that
evening’s performance. The sheer scale of the operation took
Charley’s breath away.

‘Twenty thousand screaming fans
will be packed into this venue tonight,’ remarked Big T. ‘Any one of
them could be a nutter and it’s our job to spot ’em and stop
’em.’