Connor scanned the timetable. He groaned when he saw double maths was the opener for Monday morning. His eyes skipped over the standard subjects to the bodyguard lessons – which, if the truth be known, fascinated him. Even if they were demanding and pushing him to his limit, he realized this was the sort of training his father must have done.
Foot drills. World affairs. Hostage survival. Route planning. Embus Debus. Vehicle searches. Unarmed combat –
A relieved smile broke across Connor’s face. At least he’d be one step ahead of the others in that class.
Connor entered the sports hall with Charley and the rest of Alpha team. A group of kids hung around the basketball court. When they spotted Charley, they strolled over.
‘Aren’t you that surfer girl?’ asked a young lad with wavy brown hair. ‘Charley Hunter?’
Charley nodded.
‘Wow!’ he said, eyes widening in star-struck glee. He turned to his friends. ‘I told you so. This girl was the Quiksilver Junior Surfing Champion. She conquered the Banzai Pipeline in Hawaii.’
The kids began to crowd round her wheelchair. One of the girls produced a pen and asked for an autograph. Worried that Charley was going to be mobbed, Connor stepped forward.
‘Hey, watch it!’ snarled a boy dressed in combats and a death-metal T-shirt, his way blocked by Connor.
‘Sorry, mate, but you need to give her some space.’
‘I just wanted to get her autograph,’ mumbled the boy, moodily stuffing his hands in his pockets.
Suddenly Connor caught sight of a blade. ‘KNIFE!’ he shouted, as the boy thrust for Charley.
Relying on his jujitsu training, Connor grabbed the boy’s wrist. He was almost too late, the tip of the blade sweeping a hair’s breadth from Charley’s throat. The other kids scattered in panic as the two of them fought for control over the lethal weapon. Connor twisted the boy’s arm using kote-gaeshi technique to drive him to the floor. The boy still refused to let go of the knife. Jason dived on top, pinning the attacker to the ground, while Ling and Amir rushed Charley towards the exit.
A man clapped for them to stop.
‘Excellent reactions,’ commended their unarmed combat instructor, Steve. Ex-British Special Forces, he was a six-foot-two man-mountain with skin dark as ebony and the muscles of a gladiator. He’d also been the other phoney police officer involved in Connor’s recruitment. ‘That training exercise demonstrates how difficult it is to foresee an attack. But you handled it well. The Principal was saved.’
He glanced at the red ink line marking Connor’s left forearm where the rubber knife had caught him.
‘You, on the other hand, are seriously injured.’
Connor grimaced, disappointed with himself for not managing to cleanly disarm the attacker from Delta team.
‘Knife attacks are possibly the most dangerous of all close-quarter combat situations. That’s why the best way to tackle a threat is not to tackle it at all,’ Steve explained as he collected the training weapon. ‘Avoidance and escape should always be your first priority as a bodyguard. This is not cowardice. Remember, it’s far better to make a good run than a bad stand.’
He beckoned for Alpha and Delta teams to gather round.
‘However, there will be times when escape is impossible and you must take the threat head on to defend yourself and your Principal. If you’re forced to fight, end it fast. It should be over within five to ten seconds. A punch to the face. A knife-hand strike to the throat. A kick to the groin. Whatever it takes.’
Steve slammed a meaty fist into the palm of his hand for emphasis. The class all nodded obediently. They’d spent the first hour of the lesson doing pad work. Drilling jabs, crosses, front-kicks and roundhouses over and over in order to commit them to muscle memory – so that the techniques became instinctive rather than reactive. For Connor, this was already the case. So, while many of the other recruits struggled to master the moves, he relished getting his teeth back into his martial arts training.
‘But remember the whole purpose of any defensive action is to escape with your Principal,’ continued their instructor. ‘You’re hitting to buy time. Even in the middle of a conflict you should be looking for the way out.’
He pointed to the green emergency exit sign by way of example.
‘But you can’t go around punching and kicking every potential threat. First, the person could be innocent with no intention of harming your Principal. Second, you’ll end up in court for assault. That’s why it’s useful to have several non-lethal techniques in your armoury. Ling and Connor, as you’re both black belts, I need you to demonstrate.’
They stepped forward. Steve instructed Ling to hold out her arm straight. Then he positioned her middle finger on the bone of Connor’s sternum just above his solar plexus.
‘Connor, walk towards Ling.’
Since Ling was small and willowy, Connor saw no problem in getting past her. But as soon as he stepped forward there was a sharp pain in his chest.
‘Come on!’ chided Steve. ‘You’re a strong lad. It shouldn’t be too difficult.’
Connor pushed harder, but the pain only increased. And Ling wasn’t even straining as she held him back.
His combat instructor seemed to enjoy the astonished look on his face.
‘That’s how you keep someone at bay with just a finger.’
‘The single-finger technique’s effective only if the person is a mere annoyance to your Principal,’ explained Steve. ‘But if they’re determined and becoming a serious threat you may need to be more insistent and use a different PAL technique.’
‘PAL?’ queried Connor, having never heard of such a martial art style.
‘Pain Assisted Learning,’ replied his instructor with a wicked grin.
Asking Ling to step aside, he stood in front of Connor. Holding out a muscular arm, he gently fended Connor off with his fingertips.
‘Have you heard of Bruce Lee’s “one-inch punch”?’
Connor nodded.
‘Well, this is the one-inch push.’
With barely more than a flick of his wrist, Steve palmed Connor in the chest. Taken completely by surprise, Connor staggered backwards then collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath. A concussive wave of pain spread through his lungs and his chest felt as if it had imploded.
‘Effective, isn’t it?’ commented Steve, helping him back to his feet.
Rubbing his chest, Connor managed a small grunt of acknowledgement. These skills were on a totally different level from his kickboxing and jujitsu training.
While Connor recovered, Steve explained the workings of the technique. ‘Like a coiled-up spring, you drive your body weight through your arm and into the person’s chest. This move can be as powerful as a punch, but you appear to be doing hardly anything. So, if your victim complains, what are they going to say?’ Steve put on a whiney petulant voice. ‘He pushed me, Officer!’
The class laughed at this. Then, putting on chest pads, they began practising the two techniques on one another. Connor was partnered with Jason.
‘That looked like it really hurt,’ said Jason with the trace of a smile.
‘Felt like he cracked a rib,’ Connor replied, still rubbing his chest.
‘Well, I’d better let you go first then. Give you time to recover.’
Connor got the distinct impression Jason was implying he was weak, rather than making the offer out of any friendly concern. Just you wait, Connor thought, holding out his arm to fend off his partner.
Jason strode forward, utterly confident of overpowering Connor. Then he grimaced in pain and frustration as he failed to push past Connor’s finger.
‘So it really does work!’ he exclaimed.
‘Oh yes, but not as much as this,’ replied Connor, copying his instructor’s movements for the second attack. Letting his arm flex like a spitting cobra, he one-inch-pushed Jason in the chest.
Even with the protective pad, Jason grunted in shock and doubled over.
‘I see … what you mean,’ he groaned.
‘Sorry,’ said Connor, surprising even himself with the force of the strike.
‘Don’t worry … mate,’ said Jason, standing upright. ‘Now it’s my turn!’
Jason didn’t bother with the single-finger technique. He went straight to the one-inch push. Connor flew backwards, barrelling into two students from Delta team.