Page 4 of Close Protection

‘You used to work with MI6 but left after your wife was murdered by a Daveeno member. And now nine years later there’s a break-in at your office and they stole one of your old work journals? I know it may sound far-fetched but there’s a chance there could be a connection.’

George shifts in his seat. ‘All right, so what exactly do you want from me?’

Andy continues, ‘We would like to place Special Agent Petrov in your home to keep an eye on things. His main task would be providing protection for your daughter, but he would also be looking out for any potential Daveeno threats.’

George frowns, looking over to me. ‘You’re not a qualified close protection officer. Why would I trust you to keep my daughter safe?’

‘Sir, Special Agent Petrov is one of the best youngagents we have. He joined the military younger than most, at sixteen, and served for two years before moving on to a special operations unit. He protected seven US congressmen, ensuring their safety when they came under fire, every one of them remaining completely unscathed. I assure you, he’s more than qualified to protect your daughter.’

George sighs, nervously tapping his pen on the table. ‘Fine. You can stay, but do not tell my daughter who you are or why you’re really here. I don’t want her to worry.’

I nod. ‘Of course, sir. To her, I’ll just be a close protection officer you hired as a precaution.’

‘Wait here one moment while I inform Mr Green that you’ve arrived.’ Amelia’s words bring me back to reality before she continues down the hallway towards a heavy-looking wooden door. She knocks, and sticks her head around the jamb.

After some inaudible conversation she closes the door and returns to where I am standing in the hallway. ‘Go on in, Milosh,’ she says with a kind smile, gesturing towards the door.

As I walk in, I automatically do a quick survey of the room – a large fireplace and seating area takes up the left side with floor-to-ceiling Georgian windows lining the back, looking out on a backyard. To my right I notice an extensive book collection with what looks like too many first editions to count.

The room is decorated with a variety of striking paintings and stately furniture. If money had a smell it would be this – musk and worn leather. As I go to close the door behind me I notice a painting of Miss Green hanging on the wall. She looks significantly younger here than in any of the hallway pictures but her air of regality is still the same.

In the centre of the room George sits at a sturdy mahogany desk, with an oddly eager smile on his face.

Opposite him with her back to me, sitting on what looks like a very uncomfortable chair, is a feminine figure. Daphne Green.

‘Milosh, hello! Great to finally meet you,’ exclaims Mr Green, standing up to greet me as he starts the charade. I’m not completely happy lying to his daughter, but, hey, she’s not my kid.

‘Good to meet you, Mr Green,’ I say, closing the distance between us to shake his hand.

‘Oh, please, call me George,’ he insists, gripping my hand firmly. ‘Come, sit down, we have a lot to talk about. This is my daughter Daphne who you’ll be guarding. Daphne, this is Milosh Petrov.’

As I go to sit down in the empty leather seat across from George’s desk I turn to my left and lock eyes with Daphne Green. Just like George’s, her picture didn’t truly capture what she looks like in person. However, unlike withGeorge, this discovery is wildly inconvenient.

Brown skin, slender physique, with deep chestnut eyes and pillowy lips. Her raven hair softly cascades down her back, which is held impeccably straight.

In the pictures she had a regal presence. In person it’s almost overwhelming. Even though I’m wearing street clothes and she appears to be in her pyjamas, I somehow feel underdressed just sitting next to her. ‘Miss Green.’ I nod, as I offer my hand to shake.

‘Mr Petrov,’ she replies, her voice honeyed and gentle. As she encases her soft, slender hand within mine, a look of deep confusion comes over her face. ‘I’m sorry,’ she enunciates slowly. ‘You’ll have to forgive me, but I don’t quite understand. You… you’re the bodyguard?’ She turns to face her father. ‘He’s the bodyguard?’

‘Close protection agent,’ George corrects. ‘And, yes, Milosh is to be your protection detail for the foreseeable future.’

‘Forgive me, and absolutely no disrespect Mr Petrov, but you look rather young to be a qualified bodyguard,’ Miss Green states. ‘I mean, don’t get me wrong,’ she continues, giving me a once-over, her eyes briefly landing on my forearms, ‘You look very capable. I’m just slightly puzzled as to how you’re the best person to protect me.’

She turns back to George before continuing, ‘Because ifthis threat is as big as you think it is, surely I need a team, or at least someone with more experience.’

‘Milosh has plenty of experience, Daph. From what I remember, he served in the US military for two years before joining a special ops team. He protected a group of US congressmen, keeping them safe when they came under fire, earning him a medal of honour. And all that before turning twenty. He’s practically an American hero. Does that about cover it, Milosh?’ George sits there looking pretty pleased with himself, although I can’t understand why. It’s not like he was there with me.

‘Pretty much, sir,’ I respond.

‘So, to answer your question,’ George continues to his daughter, ‘I hired Milosh because he has a proven track record of being discreet, and he’s more than capable of protecting you. And, as a plus, because you’re close in age, if you go out his presence won’t draw attention. I want this situation to affect you as little as possible. You need to be out there enjoying your life.’

‘Sorry, sir, you mean for Miss Green to go about her daily life as normal during this time? While the threat hasn’t been properly understood?’

They both look at me, Daphne clearly more horrified than her father. Mr Green silently studies me, his tone is slightly more guarded as he adds, ‘Within reason, of course.’

Daphne shifts and huffs silently under her breath. Mr Green doesn’t see it, but it’s the kind of thing I’ve been trained to notice as her weight shuffles from thigh to thigh and her eyes dart around the room, pleading for an out.

She doesn’t protest like I thought she would. If I’m honest, I thought there would be a tantrum or something by now. The congressmen acted more entitled than her. After a few deep breaths, she looks up and smiles at me.

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