Angel and the Assassin 3: Sins of the Father

“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.”
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    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
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    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