Page 82 of The Bodyguard

“Of course I do…”

“Then save the questions for later.” I turn my attention to Mikkel Nielsen. Pick up his arm and try to find a pulse, he has one, but it’s weak. There’s still blood seeping from his wounds and I glance quickly down at the floor where a trail of red marks our journey from front door to kitchen. “Get him some water.”

Lena does as I ask, she obviously gets that we need to do this before any talking is done.

“Okay. Try and get him to drink some, I’ll grab some towels.”

I search the drawers for towels and cloths to try to stem the flow of blood, but they’re going to do fuck all in reality. We need the help Flick’s sending.

“I thought you told me you’d left MI5?” Lena doesn’t look at me when she speaks, she’s cradling her father’s head as she tries to get him to take a sip of water.

“I’m calling in favours, that’s all.”

She’s about to say something else when we both hear the front door opening and heavy footsteps making their way along the tiled hall floor.

“Hot water, now!”

The man who’s joined us in the kitchen; whose booming voice practically ricochets off these dull beige walls, he’s tall, built like a weight-lifter, his German accent thick and strong as he shouts instructions: things he needs us to bring him, what he wants us to do. And Lena – whether it’s through fear or shock or a mixture of both – jumps to it, maybe the adrenaline’s finally kicking in for her, too.

Nielsen is almost out of it now, his eyes closed, but he’s breathing. Just. He’s hanging on. But he needs those bullets removed, as quickly as possible, and then we need to move. Again.

“Your father’s plane is waiting at an airfield five miles from here.”

Our friend is, quite obviously, aiming that at Lena, but he keeps his attention on the job at hand, he’s already lifting a bullet from the wound on Nielsen’s neck. “You have clearance to leave in an hour. We have people back at the house clearing up the mess.” He glances over his shoulder at me. “Nothing will blow back on you. Flick’s got it covered.”

I always knew she would. She doesn’t break her promises.

Lena looks at me, her eyes wide, and I know she wants to ask a zillion questions, and I don’t blame her. But right now, even she knows there are more important things happening.

“I don’t have my passport,” she says, her eyes focused on her father’s still body, this tower of a man looming over him as he continues to work on his wounds.

“Just get on the plane,” the man-mountain replies, keeping his back to us. And Lena looks at me again, and I nod. She just needs to do as he says, that’s all. And everything will be okay.

We hear the clatter of a bullet hitting the small metal tray; watch as this mystery man gets to work on Nielsen’s leg, and I check my watch. It’s getting late, so hopefully there’ll be less people about once we leave here, which has to be soon if we want to make sure that plane takes off.

Another clatter on steel signals the removal of the final bullet, and I hear Lena breathe a sigh of relief, but her father isn’t really out of the woods yet. Not yet. We need to get him home, as soon as we can, and get him checked over properly. By his own people.

“Done.”

The man starts to pack his things away, checks Nielsen’s dressings, and turns to face us.

“I’ll help you get him in the car. There’ll be someone waiting for you at the airfield, to help you get him in the plane. He should be okay until you get him back to the UK.”

Lena stands back to let us do the lifting this time, and as soon as her father’s settled in the car I start the engine and we pull away, following the man who’s just saved Nielsen’s life as he leads us towards the airfield.

Lena doesn’t say a word the whole journey, but I glance at her in the rear-view mirror, once or twice. She’s holding her father’s hand, her eyes staring out of the window, her expression one of pain and confusion and her head must be a fucking mess. She was fine, until I turned up. Until her father followed me, I don’t even know whose fault this was. How far back the problem goes, what the fuck’s going to happen now, I have no idea. I just need to get out of here. I need us all, to get out of here.

As we pull into the airfield, the steps on Nielsen’s private plane are already down, the pilot in position, and with the help of our friend, and another stranger, we manage to get Nielsen comfortable, hooked up to a drip, and hopefully stable enough for us to get him back home alive.

“I’ll stay with him,” Lena says, sitting down next to her father’s makeshift bed, her hand sliding back into his.

I thank those who are remaining here in Germany for their help, and within minutes we’re taking off, and I close my eyes and breathe a sigh of relief. But this isn’t over. Not yet.

“Jonah?”

My eyes spring open, and I look up to see Lena. “I thought you were staying with your father?”

She sits down on the arm of the seat across the narrow aisle from mine and crosses her arms, her eyes down. She seems almost defeated, and it rips my heart apart.

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