“Why? Do you need the money?” Kael laughed. Conran came from a rich family. Money was never a problem for him.
“No, I want to get away from you. Let someone else deal with you.”
Kael laughed and leaned in close. “But I thought you looooved me,” he whispered.
“Oh shut up,” Conran hissed. “I don’t really mean that. I’d still be your handler. No one else would take you on.” He hurried off in the direction of Westminster Bridge, back to Legoland.
After showing his security pass to the heavily armed police constables, Kael walked through the gate. He had been sent the plans of the interior of Number 10 in a time-limited file the evening before, giving him one hour to memorize the floor plans of the house and the details of Romodanovsky’s suite before the file became corrupted and unreadable. With his exceptional memory, an hour was unnecessary, and he had formed his security plan as he looked at it. Afterward he had checked out Number 10’s official Web site and looked at the virtual tour of the house, seeing how different it was to the actual layout. The public could only know so much.
The team waited across the street from Number 10, Mattie, small and dainty among the men. They stood to attention when Kael strode up to them. “Thornton, Crosswell, Mackie, Ellis.” He nodded at each in turn. “Have you got your beam-me-ups?” He lifted his lapel to show the penny-size two-way push-to-talk. The other part of the apparatus was inserted discreetly in the ear. The men laughed, and Thornton smiled up at him.
“Sir, are we allowed toilet breaks? And what about food?” one of the men asked.
Kael stared down at the man who, like most people, was shorter than him. “I’ll forget you asked that question. If the mark dies or gets so much as a nick from a weapon, I’ll kill you.”
“Right then, sir. We’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.”
For a moment, Kael gauged the man’s face for sarcasm before deciding none was intended. “Excellent!” For the next five minutes, he went over exactly which areas of the house each man would secure. “Keep in touch with each other at all times. Don’t be afraid to use your weapons. Thornton, come with me.”
“You get the pretty one, and all I’ve got is him to look at,” Mackie said. He was the oldest man in the group, and he nodded at Mattie and winked. Older than Kael by about ten years, he was the type who still thought it was funny to make sexist jokes.
Looking into the man’s eyes, Kael said, “She’s lovely, but my boyfriend is much cuter.” His tone was utterly deadpan, and from the surprised, then amused looks on the men’s faces, they thought he was joking. Leaving it at that, Kael walked toward Number 10 while they followed.
The prime minister met Kael in the front hall of the three-hundred-year-old house. There were one hundred rooms, and he intended to look in every one of them before Romodanovsky arrived in forty minutes.
“Saunders?” The PM offered his hand.
Kael shook it. “Prime Minister.”
“I asked for you in particular.”
“Yes, Stephen Conran told me.” Kael smiled very slightly. “I assume I have unlimited access to the house.”
The PM nodded. “I’ll get someone to show you around.”
“There’s no need. I know exactly where everything is, but I still need to do a walkabout before the man arrives. I’ll start in the basement.” Kael walked away with Thornton on his heels.
“Bloody hell, sir. That was the prime minister,” she said excitedly. “Should you really just walk away like that what you’re done, like he’s the lackey or something?”
“He’s just a man, Thornton, a man like any other.”
“I still wish I could tell everyone I know where I’ve been and who I’ve met.”
“The urge will pass,” Kael said. “If it doesn’t, you won’t last long in this job.”
But he had no worries about Thornton. She tailed him through the White Drawing Room, the Terracotta Room, the State and Private Dining Rooms. Everywhere they walked, Kael memorized the doorways and windows until he had a three-dimensional map in his head. Even while visualizing, he talked, continually telling Mattie what he expected, where she would stand, which gestures meant what. They ended the tour at the third-floor apartment where the prime minister and his family lived. Romodanovsky would be staying in a corner bedroom with a study and bathroom attached.
“He’ll be here in eight minutes if he’s on time,” Kael said, checking his watch. Swiftly he strode back through the house, Mattie running to keep up with his long stride. When they reached the entrance hall, Kael pointed at the door leading down to the basement kitchen. “Go down again and tell the cooks that the Romodanovsky special security detail will expect to be fed. I only said what I did to frighten the men.”
“Oh thank God,” Mattie said, hurrying off.
With a smile, Kael watched her go and then stood unobtrusively beside the guard chair where he could watch the front door. The prime minister and a number of people Kael recognized as cabinet ministers were gathering to welcome the Russian. Several minutes later, the front door opened and the PM stepped outside for the photo op.
When Arkadiy Romodanovsky walked in, Kael stared at the man, forgetting for a split second why he was there. The Russian minister stood well over six feet tall with a typically Russian face that looked as if it had been carved from rock of the Caucasus Mountains. His gray hair was cut into a military-style crew cut. He was thin, with a strong, rangy build. For a man of sixty-two, he looked incredibly physically powerful. Before Angel, Kael would have fucked a man like him with pleasure.
From his brief, Kael knew exactly what Romodanovsky looked like. Pictures of him were fairly rare, unlike most politicians, whose images could easily be found online. A picture may paint a thousand words, but there was nothing like the presence of a person to convey their biography. This man had a magnetic and commanding charisma radiating from him. With a practiced smile, he spoke in perfect English to the prime minister.
The moment Romodanovsky came abreast of him, Kael fell into step with him, though removed several paces by the PM, who walked beside the Russian.
When Mattie appeared, Kael nodded discreetly at the man’s opposite side, and Mattie too fell into step with him. Conran had warned him that he would not be allowed to enter the cabinet room when talks were in progress, and Kael, again with nothing more than a nod and a slight movement of his eyes, sent Mattie to guard the door at the far end of the room while Kael remained at the grand double doors where the politicians entered.
Through the official lunch in the Small Dining Room and the official dinner that evening in the State Dining Room, Kael followed Romodanovsky’s every move. Always unobtrusive, occasionally sending Mattie off to reconnoiter the house and make contact with the rest of the team, he never allowed the man out of his sight except when he stood outside a private meeting. It was a little before eleven p.m. when the final discussions of the day were over. Romodanovsky emerged with the PM from his study, and Kael followed the men upstairs to the third floor. At the door to Romodanovsky’s suite, the two men exchanged a few words. Mattie was already inside checking that all was clear.
Kael followed the man into the suite and whispered to Mattie to remain outside. “You can sit down, but do not fall asleep.”
“Red Bull in my pocket, sir,” she whispered with a grin.
Romodanovsky removed his jacket and went to the bathroom. Kael chose a comfortable leather chair, positioned it in a corner, and sat where he could see the whole room. When he reentered, Romodanovsky glanced about until he located Kael, and smiled with just one corner of his mouth. “Will you remain in here all night?”
In perfect Russian, Kael replied, “That’s correct. I was told to keep you alive while you are in the prime minister’s house, and that is what I will do.”
A full-blown smile of surprise and pleasure swept over the man’s lean face. “Your Russian is perfect.”
“I know,” Kael said. “Are you going directly to bed?”
“I see you are not inclined to show deference.” Romodanovsky reverted to English. “Even security guards know how to be polite.”
I’m not a fucking security guard
. “I’ll be with you until you walk out of the front door at ten tomorrow morning. You’ll survive my bad manners,” Kael said.
The Russian gave a little laugh. “Would you like some tea or coffee?”
“No.”
“A glass of brandy? I like brandy.” On the sideboard sat a tray with glasses and a cut crystal decanter. Romodanovsky poured a glass and held it up to Kael. “Will you join me?”
“No.” Kael liked brandy almost as much as he liked his whisky, but never on a job.
Removing his tie, the man kept his eyes on Kael. “Are you planning to watch me sleep?”
“Yes.”
“You strike me as a very intelligent man. Why is your conversation so limited?”
A slight smile tilted Kael’s mouth. “Because, Mr. Romodanovsky, we are neither friends nor colleagues. You are a job and nothing more. I’ll keep you alive because I’m being paid to keep you alive.”
“And if you were paid to kill me, would you do that also?”
Yes, no question
. “The British government does not employ assassins. You must be thinking of the Russian government.”
With an elegant movement, the Russian grabbed a heavy, leather wing chair and swung it easily into place about three feet from Kael, showing the strength in his shoulders. He sat down opposite Kael, his long legs stretched out. His magnetic blue eyes openly assessed Kael. “Are you fucking the little blonde girl outside?”
The unexpectedness of the question shocked Kael, though he kept it carefully hidden. If Mattie was in here instead of Kael, she would not be safe with this man, though she could still knock him to the ground with the right moves. “None of your business.”
“Do you play chess?”
“I can.” All the boys at College Grange had studied chess. It was supposed to help with mathematics skills, so Kael had ordered Angel to join the chess club at Redmond and had been practicing with him once or twice a week for the last year.
Romodanovsky looked across the room at the beautiful, modern-styled silver and gold chess set on the rosewood half-moon table beside the door. Kael didn’t move. If the man thought he was going to fetch it, he was mistaken. The Russian was no sub. He was as dominant as Kael. If they spent too much time together, they’d kill each other.
The momentary standoff ended when Romodanovsky rose and set a small round table between them. Then, crossing the room, he brought the chessboard and placed it on the table. With an aggressive gesture, he snatched two pawns and hid them in his hands. “Choose.”
Kael pointed at the man’s right hand. It was the silver.
For more than thirty minutes, they played in silence. Romodanovsky obviously played chess far more often than Kael. He was a much better player, and Kael found his resentment building toward the man. When he played Angel, they were pretty evenly matched, and both won at the same rate. In fact when they’d first started playing, Kael let Angel win more often than not in order to build up the boy’s confidence.
But at that moment, he felt like punching Romodanovsky in the nose.
“Checkmate.” The silver queen was knocked on her side, and the Russian’s gaze met Kael’s.
Calming his breathing to betray no emotion, Kael said, “Well done.” He sat back comfortably, and for a long moment, they looked at each other, until Romodanovsky rose and brought two glasses of brandy back to the table. He sat one in front of Kael.
“Are you going to bed?” Kael asked. “It’s after one.”
“No, I need very little sleep. When I was younger, perhaps your age, I slept a little more. How old are you?”
On the few bodyguard jobs he’d done, Kael had never shared information about himself and rarely spoke to his charges. Usually he stood outside their rooms at night. But there was something about this man. “Thirty-three.”
“And your name?”
“I’m sure you could find out if you want, but I won’t tell you.”
The Russian chuckled. “Mr. Kael Saunders. Yes, I already know. Are you married?”
“No personal information,” Kael said.
“I am married.” Romodanovsky got up and began to walk about the room. The old caged-animal analogy sprang to Kael’s mind. The man’s energy was remarkable for his age. He looked like he was spring-loaded and ready to fly. “I have five children, all boys.”
Kael watched him but did not respond. A barely discernible noise outside the door brought Kael to his feet. In a few long strides, he was at the door, his hand up to silence Romodanovsky and keep him away from the door. He opened it silently to find one of his team whispering to Mattie. When he saw Kael, he said, “Just passing on the message that everything is fine, sir. There’re so many bobbies and security guards around Number 10 at the best of times that having us here is probably overkill.”
“That’s true, but make sure you stay awake.”
“Is everything all right?” the Russian asked when Kael closed the door again.
“Yes, it was one of my team patrolling the house.”
“I heard nothing. How did you hear that?”
“It’s my job. I’m very good at it. And you’re better than me at chess.”
That lopsided smile tilted Romodanovsky’s mouth again. An aggressive sexuality emanated from the man that Kael understood because it matched his own. Only Angel had kept his desire to roam at bay this last fifteen months. His love for his beautiful boy.
“You like to win. You hate to lose. You’re like me,” Romodanovsky said.
Sitting down again, Kael did something he never did on a job. He took the brandy and drank it, enjoying the sudden headiness and the heat going down his throat. Romodanovsky went over at once with the decanter and refilled his glass, but Kael would not touch another. This man was having an effect on him that he did not understand and did not want to deepen.
Romodanovsky sat opposite him again, sipping on his brandy while looking unwaveringly at Kael. Refusing to be intimidated, Kael held his gaze until the other man smiled and looked away. “You can call me Arkadiy,” he said. When Kael did not respond, he continued, “My eldest son is named after me. He is a diplomat. The others are businessmen, and the youngest is still at school. Cambridge.”