Sins of the Father (17 page)

Angel did not have a plain jacket. His black blazer had the school emblem on the pocket, and the next nearest dark jacket was his tuxedo jacket. Finally Kael settled on Angel’s most unobtrusive black leather jacket with no shiny buckles or decorative zips, and if he’d had a buzz cut, Angel would have stood out less than he did with his long, light blond hair. But if Kael was honest, he loved Angel’s fashion sense and the interesting combinations of clothes he wore.

Naked, Angel looked down at the clothes. “Yes, Sir. That makes more sense.”

Kael pulled his boy into his arms, rubbing Angel’s small bottom briskly with both hands. “Get dressed.” After a short, tight hug, he let him go and went to the hall cupboard to remove his weapons box from the false shelf at the back. With his Glock 26, the small subcompact he allowed Angel to use at the range, and two shoulder holsters, he returned to the bedroom.

When he was dressed, Angel examined his image in the full-length mirror. “Should I tie my hair back, Daddy?”

“No. You’ll look like Thornton’s twin with your matching blond ponytails. Come here.”

With the utmost gravity, Kael fitted Angel’s shoulder holster and gun, ignoring his boy’s excited grin. “You will very likely not remove your gun from the holster at all during this detail. But if you have to, don’t be afraid to use it.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“You will call me sir and give no indication to anyone that you are anything other than a new recruit learning your craft. You’re not my Angel for the next few days. I’m not saying act like we don’t know each other, but it must be a professional relationship, especially when others are about.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Kael put on his own holster and gun and then his jacket. “Shadow me everywhere I go without hanging on my heels, unless I tell you to do something else. Watch me and do what I do. We won’t get much sleep, but I’ve got a team, so we can take naps.”

“Yes, Sir.” Angel donned his jacket and looked at himself again, patting his chest where the gun was concealed. Kael attached the PTT to Angel’s shirt collar. “This is a push-to-talk otherwise known as a beam-me-up. You will keep in contact with me at all times.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Where’s your iPhone?”

“In my jeans.”

“Leave it. You can’t take it on the job. It would not look very professional if you were texting friends. And I have my secure line.” He patted the phone at his belt.

“Now give me a kiss.”

Angel did not obey at once but looked at him, smiling, for a long moment. Then, on tiptoes he kissed Kael tenderly on the lips. “I love you, Daddy.”

“And I love you. Make me proud. But do not do anything risky. Understood?”

Angel saluted, making Kael laugh.

* * * *

It took about two and a half hours to get from London to Dorneywood in Buckinghamshire. The Russian would not be arriving until eight p.m., so Kael had told his team to assemble outside the house at three o’clock. They were ready and waiting when he got there. With Angel standing unobtrusively beside him, he addressed them.

“The bobbies are in charge of the grounds, two hundred acres in all. All we really need to worry about is the garden immediately around the house and the house itself, just like at Downing Street. The house and immediate area are under CCTV outside but not inside, but I still want a walkabout once every hour. Check your maps and follow exactly the route I marked. You three,” he said, pointing at Mackie, Crosswell, and Ellis, “will take turns walking the perimeter of the house. When one is outside, the other two will be inside. Talk to each other regularly.” To Thornton he said, “I will be no more than a few feet from Romodanovsky except when he’s in private meetings, and then I’ll be outside the door. You will shadow the son, Dmitri, and he will probably be with his father most of the time so I’ll be seeing a lot of you.”

“I see you’ve got the young lady at your side again,” Mackie said with a wink.

Kael looked at him, his expression hard. “I thought I spoke to you about that last time.”

“Oh yeah, you did. Sorry, sir.” The man shrugged. “It was just a joke. Who’s blondie with the fancy specs?”

“This is Button.” He looked at Angel, who maintained an excellent poker face behind his Irlen lenses, giving no betrayal of their intimacy. The sky was clear and there was a lot of glare, making it difficult for his boy to see well. “He’s in training. He’ll be shadowing me.”

“Button?” Crosswell, a big man about Kael’s age, chuckled, slapping Angel on the back. “Funny name.”

Angel smiled at him. “It does sound funny on its own. My first name’s Angel.”

“That’s even worse. And he’s American,” Ellis said. It sounded like an accusation.

“He’s a British citizen,” Kael told them.

“He looks too young to be in training with SIS,” Mackie pointed out.

“Angel’s a child prodigy.” Mattie punched him gently in the shoulder. “Aren’t you, mate?” She smiled at Angel and then up at Kael, who returned her smile.

Mackie raised an eyebrow, glancing at the others.

Seeing the exchange, Kael said, “These two saved my life last year. So if I’m a bit partial to them, that’s the reason.” At his words, Mattie’s small chest puffed out.

“Oh right,” Mackie said.

“Should I speak in an English accent to be less obvious, Sir?” Angel sounded very serious.

“I’m not sure it matters,” Kael said.

In a perfect rendition of Received Pronunciation, Angel said, “I could talk like this if you think it would help. I’m really awfully good at it.” Kael burst out laughing while the men stared at him in shock.

“Bloody hell, sir, I’ve never seen you laugh before,” Mackie said.

“I don’t think I have either,” Mattie said. “Smile or chuckle maybe, but not laugh.”

Grinning, Angel went on, playing the joke to the hilt. “Saunders, you have a sense of humor? How shocking.”

The laughter among the men tapered off as they looked nervously at Kael, seeming unsure how he would take the joke.

“Christ, that’s scary. You sound like Conran,” Kael said, still smiling. “But that’s enough.” He sobered and got back to business. “Your accent is fine.”

Surprise mingled with relief crossed the faces of the three men at Kael’s acceptance of being the butt of a joke. He glanced at his watch. “There’s a room upstairs at the back of the house for our use. There’re a couple of beds so you can all take turns taking naps when I give you permission. And you will be fed. It’s half past three. Let’s go on a walkabout.”

* * * *

As he had at Downing Street, Kael waited in the entrance hall of the beautiful Queen Anne style house for the Russian to enter. The home secretary, Terrance Townsend, stood about five feet from the door, ready to greet his guest. Outside were Mattie and Angel on either side of the door. They would follow Romodanovsky inside when his own security stepped back. The moment the Russian entered the house, his gaze scanned the hall, coming to rest on Kael. Their eyes locked, and the Russian smiled briefly with just his mouth, as if he had been waiting for the moment he would see Kael again. Behind him followed a diminutive young man with receding, short blond hair and wearing a dark suit. His stride was so much shorter than Romodanovsky’s that he appeared to be skipping in order to keep up.

“Mr. Romodanovsky.” Townsend, dressed in an evening suit, shook his hand. “Welcome to Dorneywood.”

Kael fell into step beside Romodanovsky, and they went directly to the dining room that Kael had checked thoroughly five minutes before. The ladies remained seated while the men rose to shake hands with the honored guest. Glancing behind him, Kael spotted Angel and Mattie enter the dining room and walk unobtrusively to their station at the other door. Mattie was detailed to slip into the kitchen and watch the food being served. Poisons had been used before. The case of Alexander Litvinenko sprang to mind. The KGB agent was with MI6 at the time of his death, though Kael had never met him.

A man Kael recognized as Sir Rodney Black, the commissioner of the Metropolitan Police Service, approached Romodanovsky to shake his hand. “I’m looking forward to working with you, sir. Scotland Yard is happy to share our expertise on policing. If anyone can get the mob out of Russia, you can, and we’ll be glad to assist you.”

“I am happy to accept any assistance you have to offer.” Romodanovsky’s English was perfect, and he was well schooled in all the correct responses. No one would detect even a hint of skepticism in his tone, but Kael spotted it. He knew the Russian was thinking,
You have no idea about the Russian mob and how to deal with them.

“Dmitri Romodanovsky? You’re the image of your father.” Sir Rodney offered his hand to Kael, who stood about three feet to the Russian’s left with the small blond man between them.

A deathly silence descended. When Kael did not take the hand and instead took a step back, the commissioner grew uncomfortable, his confusion showing plainly in his reddening face. Romodanovsky turned his head to look directly into Kael’s eyes, holding his gaze. The man’s eyes narrowed, scanning Kael’s body, before coming back to rest again on his face. The perusal was quickly over, and yet Kael detected a million questions in the look.

Glancing at Angel, Kael noted the boy’s beautiful gray eyes alighting on him before darting to Romodanovsky and back again. Kael recognized the same questions in Mattie’s eyes as she looked at the Russian and then at him, obviously noting the similarity the commissioner had seen.

Breaking the thick, embarrassed silence, Romodanovsky placed a hand on the blond young man’s shoulder. “This is my son Dmitri. He attends Cambridge.”

“Of course.” The commissioner grabbed Dmitri Romodanovsky’s hand and pumped it vigorously. “Of course, of course.” The remaining introductions were made, and with a great shuffling of chairs, everyone was seated.

Mattie disappeared into the kitchen, and Angel stood at the door leading to the kitchen—but inside the dining room—while Kael stood at the door that led to the entrance hall. Maids came and went continually, while footmen stood at attention about the room, alert for instructions. The small, semiformal dinner proceeded without incident. It was mostly small talk, nothing important. That would happen after dinner, when the spouses of the politicians and all the servants left the room.

On countless occasions Kael had been in life-threatening situations. He had been attacked, beaten, taken prisoner. He had killed more people than he could count, and never had his heart pounded as it did now. No matter what the situation, his training and his natural ability to focus, avoid distraction, and remain in the moment always won out. But at that moment, his mind was in a whirl. He forced himself to remember to scan the room and listen intently above the noise of conversation and laughter for any threats.

“You’re the image of your father.”

Throughout the meal, Romodanovsky’s gaze gravitated to Kael, watching him for longer than necessary. On the rare occasions he had acted as minder in the past, the mark barely looked at him and never spoke with him unless the mark got frightened. During dessert, Kael saw Romodanovsky look directly at Angel for more than a minute. To Kael’s relief, Angel never once looked directly at the man.

An hour into the dinner, Mackie spoke on the PTT. “Sir, there’s a car at the front door. The bobbies obviously let it through the gates, but there’s nothing on the itinerary about a late visitor.”

“See who it is,” Kael said quietly.

A minute later, Mackie said, “It’s the Russian ambassador to England. He says he’s stopping only for a moment on his way back to London since he’s never met Mr. Romodanovsky.”

“Where’s he coming from?” Kael asked.

“He says he’s been in France, sir, and he’s on his way back to London.”

“Keep him outside until I give you the go-ahead.” The butler entered the dining room, going directly over to the home secretary to announce the visitor while Kael went into the entrance hall, punching in his code to reach Conran.

“Where has the Russian ambassador to the UK been for the last twenty-four hours?” Kael asked as soon as Conran picked up. He strode across the entrance hall to the front door but did not open it.

“France,” Conran said a moment later.

“Send me a mug shot.”

The dining room door opened, and Romodanovsky walked out with Townsend beside him. The Russian looked at Kael and smiled. Ignoring the man, Kael watched the screen on his phone, waiting for the picture.

When the front door opened, he slapped the phone closed and stuffed it in his pocket, removing his Glock 26 from the holster in one smooth movement. Mackie entered beside a tall, thin man. “I told you to wait!” Kael said.

“His ID checked out, sir,” Mackie said.

Striding toward Romodanovsky, the man spoke in Russian. “Mr. Romodanovsky, a pleasure to meet you.” Moving in quickly beside the man, Kael watched his right hand going into the pocket of his long, dark overcoat. The swiftness of the man’s movements and a general sense of unease made Kael stick the muzzle of his gun against the man’s temple and fire. The gunshot was no more than a small
pop
, not disturbing those in the dining room.

The stranger crumpled, his gun slipping from his hand and clattering to the floor.

“Who drove him?” Kael demanded, looking at Mackie.

“He drove himself, sir. He’s the Russian ambassador. I checked his identification.” Mackie’s voice rose.

In Kael’s pocket, his phone buzzed. Snatching it out, he flipped it open and looked at the picture. “That is the fucking Russian ambassador.” He showed the picture of a fat-faced, dark-haired man, first to Mackie and then to Romodanovsky and the home secretary.

Mackie’s shoulders slumped. He paled visibly. “Sorry, sir.”

Romodanovsky spoke in Russian, looking at Kael. “Did you already have that picture?”

“No. I asked my superior to send it as soon as I heard that someone wanted to see you, but I did not see it until just then.”

“Then how did you know?”

“I just knew.” Kael held the man’s gaze. “I’m psychic.” He half smiled before turning to Mackie, who shrank under his scrutiny. “Drag that body outside and get the so-called security police over here to remove it. I’ll talk to you later.”