Angel and the Assassin: Be Brave

museum. From fifty feet away, he knew who it was. He
    knew her small frame and fair hair. She was scanning the courtyard, looking for her
    contact. When she saw him, her face broke into a smile.
    “Don‟t be so obvious, Thornton,” he said in French when he reached her.
    “Sorry, sir. I had no idea who I was working with. I‟m so excited it‟s you.”
    “That will pass quickly. My name is Louis-Philip Laurent, if anyone should
    ask. And your French is excellent.”
    “Thank you, sir. Charlotte Fournier.”
    “And I‟m queer, so keep your hand off my knee when I‟m driving.”
    She looked up at him nervously for a minute, then laughed. “No danger. How‟s
    Angel?”
    “Good. Do not mention him again. Focus.” He looked her up and down. She had
    pulled off a look that was both practical and classy. Expensive jeans and flat shoes,
    with a dark top and a little black jacket. “Who told you how to dress?”
    “It was my idea, sir.” She squinted a question, obviously seeking his approval.
    “Well done. We‟ll pass as a couple.” Kael‟s phone rang. He listened briefly, then
    snapped it shut. “Follow me. Have you slept tonight?”
    “Yes, sir. I was already in Paris on a training session.”
    At the car, Kael handed her the keys and he got into the passenger seat. “Start
    driving out of the city toward the village of Provins.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Within minutes he was asleep.
    When the car stopped, Kael woke up immediately and looked at his watch. It
    was a little after seven a.m. and just getting light. He looked up at the medieval
    wall of Caesar‟s Tower. “What took you so long? The journey should have taken an
    hour and a half at the most.”
    “I got lost, sir. Sorry. At least you got to sleep a bit longer.”

    90
    Fyn Alexander

    “This is true.” He had needed the sleep. “On the outskirts of the village is a
    large brick house surrounded by a high wall with security gates. The target is there.
    What have you been told?”
    “Sir, the only thing I‟ve been told is to follow your instructions.” She looked
    sideways at Kael. “I hate to ask this, and please don‟t bite my head off like you did
    that bloke at Herstmonceux, but could we get some coffee and food?”
    Provins was a popular tourist spot, a medieval fortress town with a busy
    market and lots of restaurants, and at seven in the morning, it was just waking up.
    The look on Mattie‟s face, one of nervous questioning, reminded him of Angel when
    he wanted something he suspected Kael would think trivial. He was used to being
    alone on a job, and he never ate until the details were taken care of. But it wouldn‟t
    do any harm. “Yes, all right.”
    “Oh thanks!” The look of relief on her face was comical.
    They left the car and walked down the street looking for a café. “French only,
    and keep your voice very low. Act like we‟re lovers and want only to look at each
    other,” Kael said as he opened a door for her. He ordered coffee only, but Mattie
    ordered a big breakfast with eggs and croissants and ate the lot with obvious
    enjoyment. While she ate, she talked nonstop, mostly about her training and her
    couple of years in the army, and Kael listened. Her excitement about the job
    reminded him again of Misha and of himself.
    Mattie stuffed the last piece of croissant into her mouth. “Is it true you hit
    someone for not paying attention in a French class, sir?”
    “It was a German class,” he said. “News certainly travels fast. Wouldn‟t you
    think that people who choose to work in intelligence services would be a little more
    mature than to gossip?”
    Mattie looked down. “Everyone says you‟re a genius. I didn‟t know you did
    undercover.”
    “That‟s because I‟m undercover,” he said. “You thought I just suddenly
    appeared at Vauxhall Cross?”
    She shrugged. “Yeah. I‟ve never seen you before, and then all of a sudden you
    were the talk of the place when you started teaching languages.”
    “Why was I the talk of the place?” He didn‟t really care, but he was a little
    curious.
    “For one thing, the women think you‟re drop-dead gorgeous. They don‟t know
    you‟re gay. You don‟t have that voice. And then you have a reputation for being
    somewhat strict. Everyone says you‟re a genius and that you went to Cambridge.
    Some people say you come from a rich family.”
    If only they knew.
    “SIS is running with people who went to Cambridge and come from rich
    families.” He had