Angel and the Assassin: Be Brave

like
    it. He wanted to be a shark again. Sex, work, sleep, and food, in that order. Giving a
    shit was for sissies.

    Angel and the Assassin: Be Brave

    99

    He responded quietly, “The sex slave I dragged that fucker off was nine years
    old.”
    Mattie‟s hand flew to her mouth, and neither of them spoke as the dark road
    swept past them and the lights of the motorway beckoned.
    At the Channel Tunnel, they swapped seats and Kael drove them into London.
    The sun was just coming up when he stopped at a Tube station in the already busy
    London traffic. “Go home and sleep, Mattie. You did good work. My report will
    indicate that.”
    “Thank you, sir. I apologize again for the inappropriate remark I made.”
    “I‟m over it,” he said.
    Behind them a horn blared. Kael didn‟t respond, but Mattie looked over her
    shoulder. “Everyone‟s so impatient.” She paused. “Sir?”
    “What?”
    “How do you know the little girl won‟t identify you to her captors?”
    “I told her not to say anything.” And I told her I’d come back for her . But he
    could not bear to say those words out loud because he had known at the time he was
    lying. “She‟s probably just grateful I got him out of there. Until the next one comes
    along.”
    “She must have known instinctively that you‟re a nice bloke.”
    “I am not a nice bloke, Mattie. I throw people over castle walls. That bastard in
    the boot may be dead, and I don‟t give a shit. And any minute now, I‟m going to get
    out of this car and take a smack at whoever is beeping their horn behind me.”
    Mattie opened the door. She had one leg on the curb and her backside still in
    the seat when she turned to look at him. “I think you‟re a terrific bloke.” She got out
    and closed the door.
    Pulling into traffic, Kael dialed his mobile without looking at it. “I have the
    package.” He closed the phone, and a moment later it rang and the digital voice
    gave him the address of the safe house. Half an hour later, Kael stopped in front of
    the house and got out, leaving the keys in the ignition.

    100
    Fyn Alexander

    Chapter Eleven

    Despite exhaustion from being awake for twenty-four hours, Kael drove
    straight to the Paris Gym. In the weight room, he sweated for two hours, clearing
    his mind of everything but the exertion of pressing the weights. After Argentina he
    had felt relieved his life was back on track. A job well done. This was the first time
    he had returned from a job and been unable to put it from his head.
    Without bothering to shower, he went home wet and stinking with sweat. In
    the silence and perfect order of his flat, he showered, scrubbing the filth of slave
    traders and human misery from his pores. Clean at last, he rolled into bed. Angel
    had changed the sheets before he left for school, and they felt crisp and cool against
    his skin, and smelled fresh. Pushing a button on the bedside console, he watched as
    the blinds lowered, shutting out the world.
    When he had left the flat thirty-six hours before, it was with a sense of
    pleasure that he would do what he did best and return to Angel feeling renewed,
    refreshed. Yet so close to home, so close to his boy, he had quite deliberately waited
    until Angel left for the day, knowing he would be unable to act as if everything was
    all right—because it wasn‟t. He knew as well as anyone that children were
    trafficked, but he had never before looked into their eyes. Never had he seen the
    men who paid for them. Did caring about that little girl make him a better man and
    a worse operative? And which was the superior thing to be?
    In the restful semidarkness, Kael closed his eyes. He wanted to sleep for a long
    time because when he woke up, he would feel refreshed and have a different
    perspective on the situation. Exhaustion was affecting his mood and making him
    question things he normally left alone. And he did not like it.

    * * *
    The secure-line phone vibrating on the bedside table woke Kael from a deep

    sleep. He looked at the clock—2:46 p.m.—as he grabbed the mobile and pressed it to
    his ear. “What do you want, Conran?”
    “What the hell did you do to Clement?” Conran asked.
    “I kicked the shit out of him.”
    “You left him outside the safe house in the boot of the car almost dead.”
    Kael sat up. “I gave him a kicking. So what?”
    “You were supposed to deliver him alive and unharmed. He claims you
    dragged him out of the boot on a dark road and attacked