Connor dropped his suitcase and ran towards the smoking building. What the hell had happened? Who was the casualty? He couldn’t tell at this distance. Was it a client? One of the instructors? A recruit? Or … an intruder?

Connor stopped dead as sense took over from reflex, his initial shock hardening into professional instinct. Rushing into a situation without thinking was the equivalent of jumping out of a plane without a parachute. He could just as easily become a casualty himself before he had a chance to help anyone. First, he had to ACE the incident.

Assess the threat.

Counter the danger.

Then, in this instance, rather than Escape the kill zone … Enter it!

Taking a moment to sweep his eyes over the terrain, Connor searched for threats in the grounds and surrounding fields. At this stage he didn’t know for certain what the actual danger might be. The casualty could simply have tripped down the entrance steps while escaping the building; or been overcome with smoke inhalation; or even suffered a heart attack. The smoke indicated there was a fire in one section of the school building. But Connor had to assume the worst-case scenario: an attack or a bomb had caused the fire.

His gaze scanned the small lake, football pitch, summer house and old well in the gardens, spotting no one at all. That was unusual in itself – unless everyone was gathered at the evacuation point on the tennis courts on the far side of the building. A dense patch of woodland to the north and low stone walls bordering the estate provided potential cover to any hostiles. Yet Connor couldn’t see any apparent threats.

That wasn’t entirely surprising. Apart from clients – whose self-interest ensured their confidentiality – and the select few in the know, Buddyguard was a well-kept secret. So the idea of an assault on its covert headquarters was highly unlikely.

Still, after Mexico, he wasn’t taking any chances. Crouching low, Connor followed the line of the drystone walls to make himself less of a target and to avoid spooking the sheep in the nearby fields. As he scurried along, he was acutely aware that this wasn’t the most direct route, but it paid to be paranoid in his line of work.

Darting diagonally across the football pitch, Connor approached the main building from the east. With the sunlight behind him, he had the advantage of clear sight, while any hostile would be looking straight into the sun. Reaching the corner of the building, he peered round it. The body still lay face down in the forecourt.

Up close, Connor could now see who the casualty was and felt his stomach lurch. He instantly recognized the shaved dark head of his combat instructor, Steve Nash. An ex-British Special Forces soldier with a physique that outgunned the movie star Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson, he was the toughest member on the staff. If someone had managed to take him down, then –

Connor started laughing to himself. How stupid could he be! This was simply a training exercise, like one of the dozen or more he’d participated in during his own close-protection course. Whenever possible, Colonel Black insisted on authenticity to ensure his recruits were ready for real-world encounters. His combat instructor was simply play-acting the role of a casualty.

‘Steve!’ called Connor, stepping out of hiding.

No response.

‘Steve! It’s me, Connor. Is this a training exercise?’

Still no response. Connor began to feel uneasy again. If his instructor was play-acting, then he was doing a convincing job. With a final check round, Connor hurried over to him. As soon as he laid a hand on his instructor’s muscled forearm, he knew something was deeply wrong. Steve’s skin was cold to the touch. Two fingers to his neck confirmed he had no pulse. With great effort, Connor managed to roll him on to his back. Connor gasped at the sight. Blood stained the gravel a dark inky red and there were several small yet distinct holes in his instructor’s broad chest.

Shock numbing his grief, Connor stared a full minute at his dead mentor before snapping back to high alert. His eyes darted around for the shooter. He noticed the gravel in the forecourt was churned up all around him, indicating a number of large vehicles had arrived and left at high speed.

But that didn’t mean the place was clear of hostiles.

Unable to do anything for Steve, Connor rushed over to the school entrance and took cover. No wonder he hadn’t received any response to his calls and no one had come to pick him up. Buddyguard had been under attack.

Aware that the surviving instructors and recruits might still be fending off the intruders, Connor took out his XT tactical torch from his Go-bag and, with a flick of the wrist, extended the hidden baton. More effective than a piñata-buster, this self-defence weapon could knock an assailant out with one strike. Switching his Go-bag to the front and tightening the shoulder straps, Connor prayed he wouldn’t need the protection of its bulletproof inner panel … or, for that matter, the trauma kit stored in its side pocket.

Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Connor stole up the steps and into the school’s entrance hall. On first glance everything appeared normal. Still, a deathly quiet hung in the air. Then Connor noticed the oil painting above the fireplace was skewed at an odd angle. Bullet holes peppered the wood-panelled walls and blood was smeared across the polished parquet flooring. There’d been splatters on the steps too. Steve had evidently put up a fierce fight.

Turning towards the wide sweeping staircase, Connor listened for signs of a battle upstairs but heard nothing. Deciding it was wise to clear the ground floor first, he crept down the main corridor towards Alpha team’s briefing room. Passing various classrooms, he noticed desks overturned, chairs kicked over and computers missing. In the dining hall, breakfast was still out on the tables. As he crept inside, Connor caught the lingering whiff of tear gas and spotted the spent cartridges of several flash-bang grenades – clear evidence that this wasn’t a straightforward robbery.

The silence was unsettling and Connor felt an icy finger of fear creep up his spine. Where is everybody?

Connor started coughing and his eyes began to sting. Despite the smoke escaping through an upper window, the dining hall was still hazy with gas. He retreated back into the corridor. Even more on edge now, he continued towards the briefing room. A window in the hallway was broken, glass scattered across the carpet. Careful not to step on any shards, Connor crept past. The briefing room was in the same state as the others: furniture in disarray and computers missing. Here the door seemed to have been barricaded shut. It may have held for a while, but scorch marks indicated an explosion and the door now hung off its hinges.

By the look of things, the attack had been brutal and unexpected. But why wasn’t the alarm raised? How did the intruders overcome the security systems?

Connor went over to the main desk and tried the phone. The line was dead. He retraced his steps and headed to Colonel Black’s office, passing more ransacked rooms and broken windows on the way. The office’s heavy oak door had been kicked in, the lock broken and the state-of-the-art LED display on the wall smashed. But, to Connor’s surprise, the intruders didn’t appear to have discovered the colonel’s personal computer. The heavy mahogany desk had been swept of its personal effects and its drawers rifled through. Yet Connor knew that an advanced multi-core computer was built into the desk’s frame and a slim glass monitor concealed in a hidden recess. Perhaps he could use the colonel’s computer to access the security systems and find out what had happened. Maybe even discover where everyone else was … dead or alive.

Setting aside his baton, Connor sat in the colonel’s high-back red leather chair and pressed his thumb to the discreet fingerprint scanner on the inside of the armrest. A small digital display flashed: ACCESS DENIED. He knew it was pointless but Connor tried again anyway. As the display blinked stubbornly red again, Connor heard a crunch of glass in the corridor. Snatching up the XT torch, baton at the ready, he darted over to the open doorway.

There was another tinkle of glass. The intruder was right outside the door! Connor leapt out to take him down first … only to discover the corridor empty. Too late, he realized that the crunch of glass had been a distraction. Behind, he heard movement and something struck him in the back. A searing pain blazed through his body and his muscles went into spasm. Connor felt as if he was being beaten with a dozen baseball bats at once. The convulsions overcoming him, he collapsed to the floor.