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Chris Bradford is a true believer in practising what you preach. For his award-winning Young Samurai series, he trained in samurai swordsmanship, karate, ninjutsu and earned his black belt in Zen Kyu Shin Taijutsu.
For his new BODYGUARD series, Chris embarked on an intensive close-protection course to become a qualified professional bodyguard. During his training, he acquired skills in unarmed combat, defensive driving, tactical firearms, threat assessments, surveillance, and even anti-ambush exercises.
His bestselling books are published in over twenty languages and have garnered more than twenty-nine childrens book award nominations.
Before becoming a full-time author, he was a professional musician (who once performed for HRH Queen Elizabeth II), songwriter and music teacher.
Chris lives in England with his wife and two sons.
Discover more about Chris at www.chrisbradford.co.uk
Books by Chris Bradford
The Bodyguard series (in reading order)
HOSTAGE
RANSOM
AMBUSH
The Young Samurai series (in reading order)
THE WAY OF THE WARRIOR
THE WAY OF THE SWORD
THE WAY OF THE DRAGON
THE RING OF EARTH
THE RING OF WATER
THE RING OF FIRE
THE RING OF WIND
THE RING OF SKY
Available as ebook
THE WAY OF FIRE
In honour of the HGC
you know who you are!
PUFFIN BOOKS
Praise for the Bodyguard series
Brilliant Book Award 2014 Winner
Hampshire Book Award 2014 Winner
Bone-crunching action adventure
Financial Times
Breathtaking action as real as it gets
Eoin Colfer, author of the bestselling Artemis Fowl series
Bradford has combined Jack Bauer, James Bond, and Alex Rider to bring us the action packed thriller
Goodreads.com
Wholly authentic the action and pace are spot on. Anyone working in the protection industry at a top level will recognize that the author knows what hes writing about
Simon, ex-SO14 Royalty Close Protection
A gripping page-turner that children wont be able to put down
Red House
Will wrestle you to the ground and leave you breathless. 5 Stars
Flipside magazine
A gripping, heart-pounding novel
Bookaholic
The best bodyguard is the one nobody notices.
With the rise of teen stars, the intense media focus on celebrity families and a new wave of millionaires and billionaires, adults are no longer the only target for hostage-taking, blackmail and assassination kids are too.
Thats why they need specialized protection
BUDDYGUARD is a secret close-protection organization that differs from all other security outfits by training and supplying only young bodyguards.
Known as buddyguards, these highly skilled teenagers are more effective than the typical adult bodyguard, who can easily draw unwanted attention. Operating invisibly as a childs constant companion, a buddyguard provides the greatest possible protection for any high-profile or vulnerable young person.
In a life-threatening situation, a buddyguard is the final ring of defence.
No Mercy shifted the AK47 assault rifle in his grip. His hands were slick with sweat, the weapon heavy and cumbersome. The jungle around him pulsed with danger, each and every murky shadow hiding a potential enemy. The sun beat down from the African sky above, but its scorching rays struggled to penetrate the dense canopy running wild along Burundis northern border. Instead the days heat was slowly yet steadily absorbed, like a pressure cooker, turning the jungle into a living hell.
Clouds of mosquitoes buzzed in the humid air and monkeys chattered fearfully in the treetops as No Mercy advanced through the bush alongside his brothers-in-arms. No Mercy was dying for a drink. But he wouldnt stop couldnt stop not until the general gave the order. So he was forced to lick the sweat from his upper lip in a vain attempt to ease his thirst.
As he trekked towards the rendezvous point, ever watchful for booby traps and old civil-war mines, No Mercy became aware that the monkeys in the trees had gone quiet. In fact the whole jungle had fallen silent. Only the faint inescapable drone of insects remained.
The general held up a closed fist and the troop halted. Scanning the dense vegetation for the threat, No Mercy saw nothing besides towering tree trunks, green vines and thick palm fronds. Then out from behind a tree stepped a white man.
No Mercy thrust his AK47 at him, his finger primed on the trigger.
The white man, his skin more ivory grey than flesh white, didnt move a muscle. With unblinking eyes, he surveyed the band of rebel soldiers in mismatching uniforms and aid-distributed T-shirts, along with their ageing and rusted weapons. Finally his unflinching glare fell upon No Mercy pointing the AK47 at his chest.
To No Mercy, the white man was something almost alien, totally out of place in the heart of the jungle. Dressed in a spotless olive-green shirt, cargo trousers and black combat boots, he didnt seem affected by the stifling heat at all. He wasnt out of breath, let alone sweating. Even the mosquitoes appeared to be giving him a wide berth. The stranger was like a lizard, cold-blooded and inhuman.
No Mercy kept the barrel of his assault rifle targeted on the mans chest. His finger itched to pull the trigger. Just one word, even the slightest nod, from the general and he would blast the man away in a hailstorm of bullets. Thats how hed earned his warrior name, No Mercy, for killing without remorse or pity.
General Pascal stepped forward from among his band of soldiers. As intimidating and large as a silverback gorilla, the Burundian general was a head taller than the white man. He wore army fatigues and a beret as red as fresh blood. His dark pockmarked face sent shudders of fear through the local villagers who knew him, and his fists bore the calloused scars of countless beatings that hed personally inflicted upon those same villagers.
Dr Livingstone, I presume? said the general, his pencil-thin moustache curling up into an unexpected and disarming smile.
You have a sense of humour, General, the white man replied without any trace of having one himself. Now tell your boy soldier to lower his gun before he gets himself killed.
No Mercy bristled at the insult. He may have been fifteen, but age meant nothing when you had the authority of a firearm.
The general waved at him to stand down. Reluctantly No Mercy did as he was ordered, pouting his lower lip in a sulk. The AK47 hung limp from its strap, looking like an oversized yet deadly toy against the young boys side.