Angel and the Assassin 3: Sins of the Father

armchair with his feet on an ottoman
    and a glass of brandy in his hand. Kael brought the ice wrapped in a flannel. “Here.”
    Resentfully the man took the offering, pressing it to his reddened, swollen cheek.
    The bleeding had already stopped. “If you were so offended that I wanted to fuck you,
    you could have said no.”
    “I did.” Kael indicated the man’s face.
    “A simple word would have sufficed.”
    “I’ll remember that next time.”
    Standing suddenly, Romodanovsky walked into the bathroom and threw the ice
    pack into the sink. “I need to go outside.”
    “There’s a garden in the back.”
    “No, I want to run, and I do not want twenty security guards puffing after me,” he
    said.
    Fyn Alexander | Sins of the Father
    50

    Kael shrugged and stood up. He threw his jacket on the bed. The black crepe-soled
    shoes he always wore when working were excellent for running. “Are you ready?”
    Romodanovsky took out an expensive pair of trainers and laced them up. “Where
    can we go?”
    “St. James Park is at the rear of the house. Can you climb over the wall? It’s high.”
    “Yes.”
    “We’ll have to do this clandestinely. Specialist Operations would have a fit if they
    knew you were outside with only one minder.” He directed Romodanovsky into the
    hall in front of him. “We’re going to walk in the garden,” Kael told Mattie as they
    passed. “Remain here.”
    Swiftly they walked through the house and out into the extensive gardens, past
    the benches and the holly tree, past the flower beds. The security detail in the garden
    consisted of two uniformed police officers and one man from Romodanovsky’s
    personal guard. None of them spotted the two men. With his arm around
    Romodanovsky’s shoulder to keep him close, Kael ran silently with him through the
    gardens to the high surrounding wall. With care he picked a path through rose beds
    that lined the wall. “You first.” He cupped his hands to give the other man a leg up,
    amazed at the ease with which a man of sixty-two leaped, easily scrambling the rest of
    the way. Kael stepped back several feet, took a run, and scaled the wall. On the other
    side, they dropped down and made their way to the park.
    For thirty minutes, they ran at a steady, even pace. All the while, Kael scanned
    their surroundings for possible danger. But no one had seen them leave, and he knew
    they were safe. Finally Romodanovsky began to tire. He slowed and stopped. Kael led
    the way to a bench near the lake, where they sat, well away from the nearest lamppost.
    Romodanovsky turned sideways on the bench to face him. “That’s better. Life is
    far too sedentary as a politician. Have you always lived in London?”
    Coming to a decision, Kael said, “I was born in Liverpool.” What difference could
    it make if a man like this knew a little about him?
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    51

    “The home of the Beatles. I was born and raised in Switzerland, but now I live in
    my motherland, Russia. What school did you attend before Cambridge?”
    “College Grange.”
    “So you are part of the old boys’ network. Did your father work in intelligence?”
    Kael shrugged. His father was a waiter or something in a fancy hotel.
    “It’s all in the DNA,” Romodanovsky went on as though Kael had answered.
    “Look what happened to Russia under communism. Egalitarianism only goes so far.
    Meritocracy is flawed, as there are few from the lower classes with any real intelligence.
    A strong right-wing government is the only way. People need to be controlled.”
    Turning sideways to face the man, Kael said, “I thought your interest was in
    getting rid of organized crime.”
    “It is, but only because it erodes government power and siphons wealth from
    those who are truly deserving of it. Those who would use it wisely.”
    “You’re the worst kind of fucking snob,” Kael said. “You think that because you
    were born wealthy, you’re more deserving than those who were born poor.”
    “Are you a socialist?” Romodanovsky laughed. “Surely not.”
    “I have no political affiliations, but I know money does not make you a better
    person.”
    “Of course it does. But it’s more than just that. It’s in the genes. I come from a long
    line of rich landowners and natural leaders. All intelligent, cultured men and women. I
    could do nothing else but be in a position of great authority.”
    Kael felt like smacking him again. “What about your effeminate son