Connor stood at the kerb of the pick-up zone at London Heathrow Airport Terminal 5. But no car came to collect him. His suitcase dumped at his feet like a bodybag, he waited a full half-hour, hoping it was simply traffic holding up his ride. But as he watched the other passengers being whisked away in limos, picked up by family and friends, and numerous taxis come and go, he realized that the traffic wasn’t the problem.

He tried calling Buddyguard HQ but got no response. He guessed Alpha team must be occupied sorting out the mess in Mexico – not surprising really. He’d failed in his assignment.

His Principal was dead.

Despite the driver having gone flat out, they’d reached the hospital too late. And, even though Connor had done his best to stem the bleeding, Eduardo had died from massive internal haemorrhaging. The post-mortem report concluded that a bullet had struck Eduardo in the upper chest, passing through his left lung before ripping through a main artery.

In the aftermath of the attack, Connor had sent Alpha team a short report, too devastated to do much more than provide the bare facts. Eduardo’s father, beside himself with grief and rage, had dismissed Connor on the spot. Connor hadn’t argued. Numb and shell-shocked, he’d simply gone back to the politician’s residence, showered the boy’s blood off himself, packed his bags, then taken the first available flight back to the UK.

The fact that HQ hadn’t sent a car to collect him clearly meant that he was in disgrace.

Not sure what to do next, Connor took a taxi to Paddington Station. On the journey there he contemplated heading straight home to his mum and gran in East London. But how would he explain his unexpected return? Too many questions would be asked. And he didn’t have the answers. His mum still had no idea that he worked as a covert young bodyguard, protecting the sons and daughters of the rich, famous and powerful. She thought he attended a private school on a sports scholarship programme – and that the bruises, knocks and scrapes he came home with at the end of each term were the result of energetic rugby games, mountain bike accidents and martial arts tournaments.

His gran knew the truth, though. Despite her age and frailty, her mind remained sharp as a tack and she’d seen straight through the ‘scholarship’ smokescreen. Connor had confided in her about the true nature of the so-called school in Wales that was headed by the formidable Colonel Black. And, although she disapproved, his gran begrudgingly understood the necessity of the job. The Buddyguard organization funded the medical support for his ailing mother, including the provision of a live-in carer – without which his mother would likely have to go into a nursing home, his gran into a care home and Connor into fostering. Those weren’t desirable options for any of them. And, without his father around, Connor felt responsible for keeping the family together.

So he couldn’t go home – not yet.

Boarding a fast train to Cardiff Central, Connor took a seat in a half-empty carriage and stowed his Go-bag in the luggage rack overhead. He’d picked up a sandwich for the journey but now found he had no appetite. Slumping in the threadbare seat, he stared blankly at the passing view instead, a blur of grey towns and industrial estates eventually giving way to green fields and rolling hills.

Entering a tunnel, his world was suddenly plunged into darkness and Connor briefly saw a red flash of gunfire. A distant cry of pain echoed in his ears … and Eduardo’s face, pale and lifeless, swam before his eyes.

Connor shuddered at the ghostly vision in the window. A second later a train shot past and jolted him back to reality, daylight burning bright as they exited the tunnel. Connor pressed the palms of both hands to his eyes and took a long, slow breath. He knew he was burnt out. It had been one mission too many. And he’d made a mistake – a fatal error of judgement that had resulted in the loss of a boy’s life.

Why didn’t I warn the other two bodyguards of my suspicions about the pollution mask? Should I have tried getting back to the compound instead of making a dash to the SUV? What if I’d picked up the dropped gun and shot back? Or just stayed behind the cover of the car and waited for reinforcements? Would Eduardo still be alive? Would he have even been shot? What if I’d …?

Connor felt the hot sting of tears and the view outside the window became even more blurred. So many what ifs. Every time he thought of Eduardo a surge of anger, sadness and guilt overwhelmed him – anger at the gunmen who’d launched the attack, mixed with sadness at the boy’s tragic death. And guilt at the fact he’d failed in his duty to protect his Principal.

Wiping away the tears with his sleeve, Connor knew in his heart that it was time to quit – to leave Buddyguard for good and put his days as a ‘hidden shield’ behind him. Somehow he’d have to find another way to pay for his mother’s care …

But his father, a decorated SAS soldier, had never quit. Had he ever even failed a mission in his life? If so, how had he coped with the crushing guilt? But Connor could never imagine his father failing at anything. Even when he was shot and mortally wounded in Iraq, his father had still managed to get his Principal to safety. On that fateful mission the Principal had been none other than the US Ambassador Antonio Mendez, a man who ultimately became President of the United States. What would Eduardo have become if he’d survived the attack? Now no one would ever know …

Connor blinked away yet more shameful tears. How he wished he could be with Charley at this very moment, wrapped in her arms, and forget all about Mexico and Eduardo, and the bullet that had ripped through his Principal’s chest. Thinking of his girlfriend put his own situation into perspective. Unlike Charley, who had lost the use of her legs, he was alive and – apart from a painful bruise on the shoulder – uninjured. So he was the lucky one.

But what would Charley think of him now? What would the others in Alpha team think of him? Ling, Jason, Richie, Marc and Amir – they all depended upon one another, trusted each other with their lives. Now they had good reason never to put their faith in his bodyguard skills again.

Connor rested his head against the carriage window and felt the thrum of the wheels on the track. Jet lag finally catching up with him, he closed his eyes …

When he next opened his eyes, the train was pulling into their final destination – Cardiff Central.

Retrieving his Go-bag and suitcase, Connor wearily made his way to the empty passenger collection point. He’d sent Alpha team a message informing them of his travel plans and arrival time at the station. But still no one had turned up to meet him. Colonel Black must be really furious. Connor may have decided to quit Buddyguard, but it appeared Buddyguard had already quit him!

Getting money from a cash machine, Connor hailed a taxi and gave the driver directions. The driver, a large man with grey stubble, hangdog eyes and a belly that threatened to consume the steering wheel, shot him an incredulous look. ‘That’s in the Brecon Beacons, in the middle of nowhere!’

‘I know,’ said Connor, putting his suitcase in the boot and clambering into the back seat with his Go-bag.

The driver whistled. ‘It’ll cost you an arm and a leg. Sure you don’t want to take a bus?’

Connor shook his head. ‘The school’s a long walk from any bus stop.’

‘All right, boyo,’ said the driver with a shrug.

An hour later they were wending their way between stone-walled fields of green and hills dotted with sheep.

‘Are you sure this is the right way?’ asked the driver as the road narrowed and entered a hidden valley. ‘Doesn’t look like there’s anything down here.’

Connor nodded. ‘It’s a private school.’

‘Must be very private.’

As they were nearing the brow of a hill, a cattle truck came speeding over the rise and blasted its horn. Cursing, the driver swerved sharply into a thorn hedge, narrowly missing a head-on collision.

‘Bloody farmers!’ said the driver, as the cattle truck thundered on. ‘Think they own the roads round here.’

His heart still in his mouth, Connor could only nod in agreement as a delivery van followed in the truck’s wake.

‘Bloomin’ rush hour, by the looks of it!’ snorted the driver before continuing down the lane, far more cautiously this time. A few minutes later a pair of wrought-iron gates came into view.

‘You can drop me off just here,’ said Connor.

The driver frowned. There was no building in sight. Just a long gravel drive with open fields on either side. ‘Don’t you want me to take you to the door?’

‘No, thanks,’ said Connor, handing over several crisp notes. It was still a fair walk to the old school, but he didn’t want the driver to see the training facilities. ‘Keep the change.’

Watching the taxi go, Connor stood before the gates. Perched atop the arch like a bird of prey, a winged shield glinted in the morning sunlight. It appeared to be an ancient coat of arms but was in fact the emblem for the Buddyguard organization. Connor remembered the first time he’d passed through these gates, driven by his close-protection instructor, Jody. He’d been nervous, excited and unsure what his future held. Now that he knew, he wished he’d never set foot inside the grounds.

Surprisingly, the gates were open. They were clearly expecting him. But what sort of welcome will I get?

With his suitcase weighing as heavily as his conscience, Connor set off down the driveway. He passed the hidden CCTV camera that would have observed his arrival and crossed one of the many concealed perimeter alarms encircling the estate. Then, as he crested a rise, the familiar old castle-like building of Buddyguard HQ came into sight. Familiar … except for the ominous spiral of smoke rising from its roof and the body lying in the centre of the gravel forecourt.