Angel and the Assassin

know Angel was in London?”
    “I have no idea. They have intelligence, just as we do—not as sophisticated
    obviously, but they seem to manage,” Conran said.
    “Tell me everything you know,” Kael said.
    “They got in touch with his mother and her septuagenarian boyfriend,
    Gregoire St. Germaine, but those two‟ve refused to cooperate.”

    Angel and the Assassin
    169

    Kael sat up and leaned forward. “They won‟t pay a ransom? His mum won‟t
    pay a ransom for her own son?”
    “No, and the man is a millionaire. The Bosnians have threatened to kill the
    boy, but they still won‟t budge.” The last phrase jarred Kael like a heavy blow, but
    he did not lose his composure. When he was in a threatening situation, all he
    focused on was the solution. “They‟ve also contacted the American government
    asking for ransom money from them since the boy is an American citizen, but they
    won‟t play.”
    “What about us? Angel has British citizenship now.”
    Conran went to the sideboard and poured a whiskey. “Do you want one?”
    “No.”
    “We won‟t play either. No one is going to make deals with Bosnian terrorists
    over a boy with dual citizenship, which you insisted he have. The foreign minister
    said let the Americans take care of him. The American‟s are saying he‟s a British
    problem now. No one is going to do anything politically. Aside from that, the
    stepfather was an arms dealer and the Bosnians are terrorists. No government will
    go to bat for the boy without someone lobbying publicly for him, and the mother
    won‟t. She wouldn‟t even cooperate with the police when she thought he might have
    been killed.”
    Kael drank some water. “Get out a map, and show me where you think
    Beganovic and his people are. I want a plane, an all-terrain car at the other end,
    and a translator in case I need one. I‟ve never picked up that language.”
    Conran walked over and sat on the edge of his desk looking at Kael. “Our
    people won‟t give you anything to go after this boy. They will not help.”
    “Then you must make them, Stephen.” Conran sighed, looking beaten. Kael
    stood up and put his hand on Conran‟s shoulder almost kindly. “I‟ll let you figure
    out how. Then we won‟t have to go through the ritual of me threatening the lives of
    your family or threatening your personal integrity with erotic videos and you won‟t
    have to tell me I‟m an evil bastard and you always knew I was a killer.”
    “I never thought I‟d see the day.” Conran looked up at him. “Kael Saunders in
    love and willing to risk everything.”
    “That‟s right. I love Angel, and I‟ll do whatever it takes to get him back.”
    “You‟re actually more concerned about someone other than yourself? That is a
    turnup for the book.”
    Kael gave him a gentle, almost kind look. “Wonders will never cease. You
    know, Stephen, you really have very attractive eyes.” Conran issued a nervous little
    cough as Kael leaned in very close and spoke into his ear. “A plane, a car, and a
    translator, now. And you, Stephen. You are coming with me in case I need to use
    you as a bargaining chip. I want my boy back, and I‟ll happily kill to get him.”

    170
    Fyn Alexander

    Chapter Twenty

    Banja Luka Airport, Bosnia

    By the time Kael arrived in Bosnia with Conran, Angel had been in the hands
    of his captors for at least thirty-six hours. Kael had tried to keep a professional
    distance, but on the way to the airport, he could not stop himself worrying, not just
    about the basics of whether or not Angel was injured or still alive, but if he was
    hungry or cold or tired. The thought of him being frightened and lonely, of thinking
    nobody cared about him or would not come to get him back, made Kael‟s stomach
    tighten painfully.
    Daddy’s coming, Angel. Sit tight; Daddy’s coming.
    The wind blew viciously cold as he and Conran climbed down from the small
    plane on the dark, deserted runway of the tiny airport. They hurried toward the
    decrepit old army jeep waiting for them. It had a canvas roof and plastic windows.
    “Nice vehicle. Let‟s hope we don‟t come under fire,” Kael said. “I‟ll drive.”
    “I‟m happy to hear it.” Conran looked the jeep over nervously. “I haven‟t a clue
    where I am, and this thing looks like it will crap out at any moment.”
    Fastening the zipper on his leather jacket against the cold, Kael saw the
    interpreter waiting in the backseat of the darkened vehicle. When he