Angel and the Assassin: Be Brave

struggled, and pushed him down onto his belly. Only when Dudek
    stopped moving did Angel roll off, drawing the blade out. His hand was covered in
    Dudek‟s blood, yet he felt exhilarated. Panting, he scrambled off the bed, pumped
    with adrenaline.
    Daddy had warned him that sometimes you got such an adrenaline surge you
    thought you could do anything, and you had to slow down and run a checklist. He
    dropped his shoulders, closed his eyes, and breathed. Clean off the blood. Get the
    gun. Go carefully down the stairs.
    He opened his eyes and saw Dudek, his body turning white as it bled out, limp,
    naked, and no longer a danger to anyone. A job well done.
    Using the bedsheets, he wiped his hands and then carefully cleaned the
    scalpel. He pulled his pants up, checked himself in the mirror for blood, and saw for

    150
    Fyn Alexander

    the first time that his left eye was red and swollen from the blows he had received
    earlier.
    At the window, he pulled back the curtain, surprised to find it still broad
    daylight. The last few hours had felt like twenty-four, and he was sure it was night
    already. Mattie stood beside her car on the phone, talking. He caught her eye and
    waved. Then quickly he searched Dudek‟s clothes for a weapon. A small subcompact
    GLOCK had fallen from his trouser pocket. Angel picked it up, checked that it was
    loaded and the safety catch was off. At the door, he took a deep breath. Daddy
    always said to let the silence descend, but Angel wasn‟t exactly sure what that
    meant. He walked boldly down the stairs and into the front room. Two men sat at a
    table playing cards. Denbigh was no longer there. Angel shot them one after the
    other before they had time to reach for their weapons. His aim was perfect, his hand
    never wavering. He was on a roll.
    The gun had no silencer, and it brought the girls in the basement running up
    the stairs screaming. The narrow hall was suddenly congested with the girls—and
    in front of them was Harry Denbigh, who had come out of Dudek‟s office. For a
    moment he stopped short, stunned to see Angel there.
    “You! The Black Widow‟s bitch.” His face contorted with an angry sneer as he
    pulled out a GLOCK 26. “Shut up, you fucking tarts,” he screamed at the women
    behind him. Frightened and confused, they scurried into the empty office. “Drop the
    gun, you stupid little fuck. I‟ll kill you before you‟ll kill me.”

    Stiff from spending eleven days lying on a concrete floor with his wrists, knees,
    and ankles bound, Kael had just managed to struggle into his trousers and shirt
    when he heard the first gunshot. He couldn‟t find his shoes, and he knew Denbigh
    had taken his jacket. The only thing in the jacket pocket, aside from the charm
    Angel had given him for his birthday and some cash, was the secure-line phone. But
    Denbigh would never have been able to use that without the code and had probably
    tossed it by now.
    Without a sound, Kael climbed the stairs faster than he thought possible given
    how stiff his limbs were. At the top of the narrow stairs, he saw the girls, Ekaterina
    among them, crowded into a small room. He put his finger to his lips and turned
    into the hall, coming up behind Denbigh. He slid his left arm around Denbigh‟s
    neck, pressing on his windpipe and removing the gun from Denbigh‟s right hand in
    one smooth movement.
    “Get on your fucking knees, you piece of shit.”
    With the gun to the back of his head and Angel standing in front also pointing
    a gun at him, Denbigh complied without protest.
    “What‟s the code for the alarm?” Angel asked in English.
    Denbigh told him the number, and Angel punched it into the keypad and
    opened the door. Mattie came in, gun raised.

    Angel and the Assassin: Be Brave

    151

    “Dyadya?” The little girl came out from the office door holding a rag doll in her
    arms, the same doll she had laid beside Kael several nights to “keep him company,”
    as she put it. The same doll that had caused him to be taken captive. Kael spoke to
    her in Russian, and she walked past him and took Mattie‟s hand. When she was
    outside in the street, he stepped away from Denbigh.
    “Turn around, you fucking little fart. Look what you did to my face. I look like
    a frigging cage fighter.”
    Still on his knees, Denbigh turned, looking up at Kael. “I‟m sorry, sir,” he said
    quietly. “Look, can we work this out? I didn‟t do any worse to you than you did to
    me.”
    “Yes, you did. You