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target?’
breathed Bahir.
    ‘The President’s
daughter.’
    A round of gasps met this revelation. Not
from disgust, rather from admiration at the audacity of the plan.
    But Hazim couldn’t hide his
scepticism. ‘You seriously intend for us to
kidnap
the President’s
daughter? One of the most protected families in the world.’
    ‘Yes,’ said Malik smugly.
‘The plan may be bold, but it’ll be as devastating and effective as a
thousand bombs. Once we have her, we’ll demand the release of our brothers and
force all infidels to leave our lands.’
    The men cheered at this news, pumping their
fists in the air. Hazim tried to get himself heard over the hubbub. ‘The United
States doesn’t negotiate with those they label terrorists. What makes you think
the President will bow to our demands?’
    Malik removed his
jambiya
and
inspected the gleaming blade. ‘What father wouldn’t if you held his own
flesh and blood hostage?’

Connor’s thumb hovered over the Call
button of his mobile. The telephone number glowed steadily in the display, but he
couldn’t quite bring himself to ring it.
    Was he doing the right thing?
    He could hear his mum shuffling around
downstairs, making them breakfast. Connor wondered if she’d manage on her own. The
TV was on in the sitting room, the volume a notch too high for Connor’s comfort,
to compensate for his gran’s failing hearing. But no one complained; their
neighbours were just as old, and only the three of them lived in the house.
    Spread out on his bed were the contents of
the envelope. A company brochure promoting high-quality live-in carers for the elderly
and chronically ill, plus a letter detailing Colonel Black’s offer. Connor knew
exactly what it said. And each time he read the letter, the more sense it made.
    His mum suffered from multiple sclerosis. On
a day-to-day basis, he looked after her, helped by his gran. But when he was at school
or martial arts training he couldn’t be around. And recently there’d been a
couple of incidentsthat had worried him – the dropping of a pan of
boiling water, then a painful fall down the stairs that had resulted in a broken wrist.
As his mum’s condition worsened, she’d soon need full-time care. On top of
that, he’d noticed his gran was finding it harder to cope. While her mind was
still sharp as a tack, she was getting old and less mobile. As a family, they’d
once discussed the idea of care homes. But his gran had been adamant it would be the
death of her. The little terraced house was full of happy memories of her life with his
grandad and father and she was determined to stay. For his mum’s part, she was
more worried what would happen to her son if she was forced to go into a nursing home.
Being a minor, Connor couldn’t remain in the house alone. And without any close
relatives his choices seemed limited to foster care or entering a children’s home
himself – prospects that appealed neither to him nor his mother.
    Their ideal solution was a live-in carer.
But there was no way they could afford one.
    Until now.
    Connor had spent the past week deliberating
over the decision. He dearly loved his mum and gran and didn’t want to leave them.
Yet by joining Buddyguard he would guarantee their well-being. And he considered it his
duty to look after them, just as they’d looked after
him
when his father
had died.
    He glanced over at the photo on the bedside
table of his father in Iraq. Six years had gone by, but there wasn’t a day when
Connor didn’t think of him. His memories were now like snapshots in a dusty family
album – playing football inthe park, games of hide-and-seek in Epping
Forest, sparring in their back garden. And with each passing year these snapshots faded
a little more. Connor was worried that one day he wouldn’t be able to recall his
father at all.
    But Colonel Black and his father had been
friends. He could fill in the missing pieces. And Connor desperately wanted to know more
about his