Free Bodyguard: Target by Chris Bradford Page A

is his letter bomb tobe returned to sender!’
    The class chuckled at their
tutor’s black humour. Meanwhile Charley’s fingers flew across her tablet
screen as she raced to take down the details. Swamped by so much information, the
rest of the team had given up taking notes altogether. Charley was aware that Blake
shared her notes with the others and the boys had started relying on her towrite uptheir lessons for future revision. Though this
irritated her, she hoped it might raise her value within the team, so she let it
ride. Besides, she enjoyed her regular meetings with Blake after class and they were
becoming close friends.
    ‘
Seal
– one end may
have been purposefully secured to force entry at the other end,’ continued
Bugsy. ‘Also look out for a pin-sized holeindicating the use of an external
arming device.
Stain
– some explosives can weep an oily residue that
will produce marks on the outside of the envelope. Finally,
smell
–
if there’s a strange aroma of almonds or marzipan, this could indicate
nitroglycerin. Then again –’ Bugsy switched the presentation to a
picture of a chocolate sponge lit by candles – ‘it could just be acake!’

The screaming never ceased. A constant
white noise of high-pitched delirium, it assaulted Ash’s hotel room day and
night. He unthinkingly wandered too close to a window and the screaming intensifiedas his name was chanted to the skies.
ASH WILD! ASH WILD!
It was so loud at
one point that the glass actually vibrated in its frame.
    Glancing down at the hordes of fans on
the street below, Ash gave a dutiful wave. This whipped the fans into an even
greater frenzy and the street turned into a seething mass of hysterical girls. Some
had been camped there for days, desperatefor a glimpse of their idol following the
online leak of his hotel location in London. During his initial rush of fame Ash had
found their presence flattering, even reassuring. Now the permanent border guard of
fans wherever he went had become claustrophobic. He felt like a goldfish trapped in
a bowl, a thousand eyes watching his every movement.
    Ash went back to pacing theroom. The
lounge area was exactly twenty-five strides long and fourteen wide. The dimensions
hadn’t changed during his entire time holed upin his
luxury suite and he knew they never would. Slumping on to a plush velvet sofa, Ash
picked up his acoustic guitar and began to strum.
    ‘
You lift me up
,’
he sang softly to himself, ‘
because
…’
    The lyric hung in the air, unfinished.He sought inspiration, but none came. Sighing, he tried again, repeating the phrase
over and over, each time hoping to find the elusive line that would lead to the next
part of the melody.
    But after countless attempts he gave up.
His creativity was stifled in this hotel room. He’d been cooped up far too
long – at least he hoped that was the reason. Deep down he feared hismuse had
abandoned him altogether following the shock of the letter bomb.
    How could anyone send him a lethal
parcel like that? What had he done for anyone to hate him so much? His worst crime
in his life so far had been to cheat on Hanna. But ex-girlfriends don’t send
letter bombs simply for kissing another girl … not unless they’re
totally mental!
    Letting the guitarslide to the floor,
Ash reached for the remote and surrendered himself to daytime TV. Halfway through a
repeat episode of
The Big Bang Theory
, there was a knock at the door. Ash
switched the TV off. The door opened and Big T’s face with its heavy jowls and
wide boxer nose appeared.
    ‘Ms Gibson’s
’ere,’ he grunted in his hard Cockney accent. He stepped aside to allowAsh’s manager into the room. Then, nodding politely to them both, he closed
the door and resumed his guard duty outside in the hallway.
    Kay Gibson greeted
Ash with her arms wide. ‘How’s my superstar?’
    She strode over to him, the high heels
of her Jimmy Choos leaving deep impressions in the carpet. At almost six foot