12

“Enter,” barked Colonel Black.

Taking a deep breath, Connor stepped inside the colonel’s office. An old-fashioned wood-paneled affair with high-back red leather chairs and a heavy mahogany desk the size of a small boat, it reminded Connor of M’s office in the old Bond movies. Yet, despite the room’s antique appearance, it was equipped with the most advanced state-of-the-art technology. Built within the desk was a discreet multicore computer, its slim glass monitor retractable into a hidden recess. A super-thin LED display hung on the wall, broadcasting international news feeds and up-to-the-minute security intel. There was a high-definition videoconferencing system enabling the colonel to govern Guardian operations worldwide, and hidden surveillance cameras provided total security for the room.

As Connor approached the desk, the colonel lowered his monitor and raised an inquiring eyebrow.

“That’s an impressive black eye,” he remarked.

Connor managed a pained smile. “An apology from Ling during combat training.”

The colonel grunted in amusement. “Glad to see you’re getting along so well. Let’s hope the bruise has faded by the time of your assignment. It wouldn’t be professional to turn up looking like some street brawler.”

Connor nodded. “I’m putting ice on it. But it wasn’t exactly my fault. I don’t think Ling likes me.”

The colonel looked surprised. “Whatever makes you say that?”

“She’s . . .” Connor wasn’t sure how to phrase it and didn’t want to sound like he was whining. “She’s waspish with me. Has been since my return from America.”

“Ling can be like that,” replied the colonel, brushing away Connor’s concerns with a wave of his hand. “I’m aware that her social skills require a touch more finesse. But she comes from a tough background.”

Connor frowned. “What do you mean?”

Colonel Black sucked his teeth and shook his head. “Not my place to say. But don’t concern yourself over whether Ling likes you or not. I’m confident she respects you. And that’s what counts on a mission.”

“How can you be so sure?” asked Connor.

The colonel offered a wry grin. “She wouldn’t want to fight you if she didn’t respect you.”

He indicated for Connor to take a seat. “Now, why did you want to see me? I’m sure it’s not just to show me your black eye.”

Perching on one of the red leather chairs, Connor summoned up his courage. Unable to meet Colonel Black’s piercing gaze, he admitted, “I . . . don’t think I’m ready for this assignment.”

“Nonsense,” snorted the colonel. “I’ve just been reviewing your progress. That video of you and the Dumpster was inspirational. I’m even considering showing it to the other teams.”

“But I failed to protect my Principal.”

“No,” he instantly corrected Connor, “you learned what you should do next time to prevent that from happening. Failure is the key to success; each mistake teaches us something. So when you’re out in the field all that training comes together and you avoid such mistakes.”

“But I feel like I’m rushing too fast into my next assignment,” Connor argued. “I’ve only just gotten over my injury”—he rubbed his thigh where the assassin’s bullet had struck—“and I’ve hardly had any advanced training.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll get more training once you’re out there,” assured Colonel Black. “The ship security officer on board Mr. Sterling’s yacht is a former member of the Australian SAS. I’ve checked his background. Brad Harding is a good man. He’ll back you up, and he’s agreed to teach you and Ling the necessary maritime security skills.”

“But . . .” Connor stopped. He realized he was losing this line of argument, so he went straight to the heart of the matter. “But I’m worried my first assignment was just a fluke. Beginner’s luck.”

The colonel fixed Connor with an incredulous stare. “If that’s the case, you have the luck of the gods, since you protected your Principal on three separate occasions. Listen, Operation Hidden Shield was a challenging assignment for any bodyguard. Don’t doubt your abilities. You’ve proved that your reactions are second to none. Without question, you’re a chip off your father’s block.”

“But I’m not my father,” said Connor firmly. “I bet he never doubted himself like this.”

Colonel Black leaned back in his chair, pressed his fingers together and gazed thoughtfully at Connor. “I’ll tell you a story about your father.”

Connor’s ears suddenly perked up. This was one of the reasons he’d joined Guardian in the first place. To learn more about his dad and the secret life he’d led as an SAS operative. Colonel Black, having been in his father’s squadron, was the key to much of his hidden past.

“We were based in Afghanistan at the time, when two SAS troopers were seized by the Taliban who had infiltrated the Afghan police,” the colonel began. “Our commander immediately initiated a rescue operation. We knew that the hostages were still being held in the police station but that they could be spirited away at any moment. Our unit was all ready to go in when we got word from Operation Command that permission for the rescue hadn’t been granted by the Ministry of Defense. There were apparently more important matters at stake than the lives of two soldiers . . . diplomatic reasons.”

Colonel Black’s face grew thunderous at the memory of such political betrayal.

“The men were furious, none more so than your father, Justin. He lived by the decree that ‘no man is left behind on the battlefield.’ So, as the unit’s captain, he decided to launch the rescue mission anyway.”

“He disobeyed a direct order?” said Connor, shocked.

The colonel nodded. “I know Justin harbored doubts about whether he should go ahead with it. After all, his actions were tantamount to mutiny. Failure would result in catastrophic consequences, not just militarily but diplomatically. But his priority was the captured soldiers.”

Connor nodded and smiled. “That sounds like my father. My mother often said he always put others first.”

“That he did. Your father and the rest of his unit blasted their way into the police station. The soldiers fanned out, firing stun grenades and clearing each of the rooms in turn. As your father entered the last cell, he was confronted by a Taliban militant slicing a knife across one of the hostage’s throats.”

Connor swallowed, instinctively putting a hand to his own throat at the gruesome image.

“Your father’s reactions were second to none. He dispatched the militant with a single shot to the head.”

“What about the hostage?” asked Connor, breathless.

Colonel Black reached up and pulled his shirt collar down to reveal the long white scar that circled his neck.

“He survived,” the colonel said with a smile. “That’s why I have such faith in you, Connor, to protect others—just like your father protected me.”