"Keep your head down!" Connor shouted as a barrage of bul­lets raked the brick wall.
 
His Principal had gone into shock and kept trying to bolt from their hiding place. But that was the worst possible re­action the boy could have. A casual stroll down the street had turned into a bodyguard's nightmare, and now they were pinned down in a well-planned ambush.
 
Connor knew his next move would be crucial. In his head, he ran through the A-C-E procedure . . .
 
Assess the threat. Two shooters. One in an alley. Another behind a tree. Intention to kill, not capture.
 
Counter the danger. His first priority was to find cover and secure the Principal. But the low brick wall they had hid­den behind provided only temporary protection. As soon as the shooters repositioned themselves, he and his Principal would be exposed again.
 
Escape the kill zone. Easier said than done!
 
Connor tapped his mic. "Alpha One to Control. Request emergency EVAC."
 
His earpiece burst into life, and he heard Charley, Alpha team's operations leader, respond, "Alpha One, this is Control. Backup on its way. Three minutes out."
 
Three minutes? thought Connor. They'd be dead meat in that time. And, without any firepower of their own, they were defenseless. Connor needed an exit strategy . . . and fast.
 
Covering the Principal with his body, Connor peeked over the wall and scanned the immediate area. A clump of bushes off to their right gave some visual cover for an escape, but no physical protection from gunfire. A car parked farther down the street provided little hope; he was too young to know how to drive, let alone know how to hot-wire a car! He looked at the building behind them--a small warehouse with offices attached. The back entrance was only thirty feet away, but it was across open ground. Checking on the en­emy's progress, Connor saw that the shooter behind the tree was advancing to get a clear shot. He had no choice but to risk it.
 
"Move!" he growled, seizing his Principal by the arm and sprinting toward the warehouse.
 
Keeping his body close, Connor shielded the boy as the enemy opened fire. Bullets whizzed past. One almost clipped his ear. Their feet pounded across the pavement and, wheth­er through speed or pure luck, they made it to the entrance unharmed.
 
Connor yanked on the handle. "NO!" he cried, tugging furiously at the locked doors.
 
He spun around. They were now sitting ducks. Connor shoved his Principal into the shelter of a large wheeled dump­ster. The boy tried to run on, crying, "I don't want to die!"
 
"Stay down," Connor ordered, pushing him to the ground. Then through clenched teeth he added, "Amir, you're not making this any easier for me."
 
"Sorry," replied his friend, offering a flash of a grin from behind his safety goggles. "But I'm supposed to be a panick­ing Principal."
 
"Well, panic less," Connor pleaded as several bullets thud­ded into the metal bin.
 
Amir flinched and covered his head with his arms. "A bit difficult under the circumstances, don't you think?"
 
Richie, who was playing the part of the first shooter in the training scenario, had left his position in the alley and was unleashing a hail of paintballs from his assault rifle. So was Ling, the other shooter, who by now had reached the far end of the low wall. If either of them managed to hit Amir with even a single paintball, Connor would instantly fail the exercise.
 
Ever since his successful assignment protecting the American president's daughter the month before, the rest of Alpha team had been impressed but also a little envious of his newly acquired status. The only other person on the team to have earned a gold Guardian badge was Charley-- and she truly deserved it, whereas he was just a first-time rookie.
 
That's why certain fellow guardians had made it their mission to test him to the limit--in Ling's words, "to make sure Connor doesn't get too big for his boots." Although Connor had no problem with a bit of good-natured teasing, deep down he questioned whether his first assignment had just been beginner's luck. It was true his father had been in the Special Air Service, a unit of the British Special Forces, and been one of the best bodyguards on the circuit. But that didn't mean Connor was made of the same stuff. For his own peace of mind, he needed to prove himself . . . beyond a doubt.
 
Connor clicked his mic again. "Alpha One to Control. Where's my pickup?"
 
"Alpha One. Thirty seconds out. Maintain position."
 
As more paintballs thudded into the bin and splattered the pavement at their feet, Connor wondered, Do I have any other choice?
 
Richie closed in, setting his sights on Amir. Connor pressed Amir farther down behind the dumpster. Paintballs rattled off it like hailstones. A black 4×4 Range Rover roared down the road, its tires screeching as the driver braked hard and spun the armored vehicle to form a shield against Richie's attack. The paintballs now pinged harmlessly off the body­work.
 
But that still left Ling as a threat. With fifteen meters of open ground between them, she couldn't miss her target. Connor realized he was in a no-win situation. Whether they ran or stayed put, one or both of them would be shot down.
 
Then Connor had an idea. Kicking off the dumpster's brakes, he grabbed Amir and shoved the huge container with his shoulder.
 
"What on earth are you doing?" cried Amir as the wheeled dumpster began rolling down the path toward the Range Rover and Connor pushed him ahead to stay covered.
 
"Getting rid of the garbage," replied Connor with a grin as the dumpster resounded with the furious impact of Ling's paintballs. The dumpster was picking up speed now, and Connor and Amir had to sprint alongside it to stay shielded from Ling's assault. Then the dumpster struck the wall and came to a dead stop. Having lost their only cover, the two of them made a final mad dash for the Range Rover.
 
Paintballs peppered the hood and windshield as Con­nor wrenched the back door open and shoved Amir inside. Connor dived in after him, landing on top of him in the footwell.
 
"GO! GO! GO!" he screamed at the driver.
 
Flooring the accelerator, the driver sped away from the kill zone.

---

Excerpted from Hijack by Chris Bradford
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.