Angel and the Assassin

kind
    James Bond used in Quantum of Solace , with a silencer. Sven dropped the phone
    and slumped to one side. Blood ran from the wound, down his neck, and onto his
    immaculate, white Armani shirt, creating a fractallike pattern.
    As silently as he had entered, the man turned to leave. At the French
    windows, he froze and pivoted round again. His body as still as a statue, he scanned
    the room by turning his head very slowly. Angel wanted to duck out of the way—it
    would have taken him a split second—but he froze, just like the stranger had a
    second ago.
    The beautiful blue eyes met his. The man put one hand on the back of the
    chesterfield to lever himself and sprang over the couch toward him.
    Angel ran back up the stairs and along the hall to his bedroom. His heart
    thudded—not from running—but from fear. Pure, unadulterated, sickening fear.
    In his bedroom, he turned off the light and ran into the bathroom, flipping off
    that light as well, until he stood in the pitch-dark. Nothing but the sound of rushing
    water filled his head. On tiptoe Angel crept into the shower. The water ran hot,
    streaming over his body. He had forgotten he had left it running, and the room was
    filled with steam. The man had killed Sven, and now he would kill Angel. He
    pressed his back to the tiles, waiting to die.

    * * *
    Kael stood in the bedroom in the dark. He had studied the house plan with his

    usual attention to detail and knew the boy was trapped in the bathroom.
    He also knew the boy should not have been there. Mrs. Andresen had left her
    husband that morning, and he had been told by intelligence that the boy had left
    with her. Not only was he in the house, but he had seen Kael‟s face and seen him hit
    the target.
    Only that familiar prickly sensation on the back of his neck that alerted him to
    danger had made him turn around. At first he had no idea what it was: male,
    female, child, or adult. It was not until his foot hit the bottom step of the staircase
    that he saw a very slender naked male figure ahead of him running through the
    darkened house, and knew it was Andresen‟s stepson.
    There was nothing else to do. He had to kill the boy.

    Angel and the Assassin
    17

    Kael stood in the bathroom doorway. His incredible night vision had always
    been an asset. The room was both dark and unfamiliar; added to that, it was filled
    with steam, and still he could see a vague outline of the boy plastered against the
    tiles in the big shower stall. It was one of those showers with three jets and room for
    an intimate gathering, bigger than his own shower at home.
    From his pocket he removed the scalpel, placed his gun on the floor, and
    removed his clothes, smiling all the while. The blood would run down the drain, and
    he could rinse off any spatter. Why didn‟t all his kills have the decency to hop in the
    shower and make his life easier? He stripped off his latex gloves and shoved them in
    his pocket.
    When he was naked, the scalpel in his hand, he flipped on the light. A
    whimper issued from the shower. Kael crossed the bathroom and opened the glass
    door. He stepped into the shower and stood absolutely still. Flattened against the
    wall stood a lovely and utterly terrified boy. Blond hair was soaked to his head, and
    his big silvery gray eyes opened wide with fear, staring straight at Kael.
    The smell of warm urine filled Kael‟s nostrils, and he looked down at the boy‟s
    legs to see yellow piss mingling with the water. The boy also looked down, then back
    at Kael, shame passing over his face.
    “Are you going to kill me?” The voice was little more than a whisper.
    An unexpected and overwhelming feeling gripped Kael in the belly. He wanted
    to take the boy in his arms and calm his fears. He wanted to comfort him, not kill
    him. “Why would I do that?” Of course he was going to kill him, but he wanted the
    boy‟s fear to go away first. He enclosed the scalpel tightly in his hand, hiding it.
    “Are you English?”
    The situation was ludicrous, yet the boy‟s natural curiosity forced him to ask a
    question that made it feel almost commonplace. “Yes. What‟s your name, boy?”
    “Angel,” he said softly. “Angel Button.”
    “Angel,” Kael repeated and opened both his arms to the boy. “Come here,
    Angel.”
    He thought he might have to repeat himself or take a step toward the boy to
    encourage him. He expected Angel to slide down the wall or piss himself again.
    Instead Angel took two or three