Be Brave (13 page)

for several seconds, letting the calm settle over him. Utterly serene and intent upon

his task, he pushed open the door into the hotel proper.

The corridor was long, silent, and luxurious. Thick carpet muffled any

footsteps, although Kael walked soundlessly in any case, like a ghost. Mirrors

adorned the walls, and beautiful flower arrangements stood on long polished tables

between the numbered doors.

Angel and the Assassin: Be Brave

55

He visualized the layout he had studied and turned left, pulling on latex

gloves. The target"s room was about fifty feet from the corner. Without pause he

walked in and closed the door behind him. He scanned the living room, crossed it on

silent feet, and checked the bedroom. The target was in the bathroom. Kael smiled,

remembering how he and Angel had met. He doubted this encounter would be as

pleasant.

The bathroom door opened, and Kael stepped back against the wall, wondering

if his target would be naked and handsome. The man who passed without seeing

him was barefoot, wearing his trousers and a shirt open at the neck. He was young.

No more than thirty, but big-bellied and swarthy.

Kael raised his weapon. The target, suddenly seeming to sense something

wrong, turned, and their eyes met. He fired once, the sound muffled by the silencer.

A ragged red hole appeared in the man"s forehead, exactly where Kael had

intended. The man keeled over backward, his arms out at his sides. Kael stepped

forward and checked the pulse in his neck. There was none. He pushed his gun back

into the shoulder holster and glanced at the TV.

A pornographic movie was playing with the sound muted. On-screen a young

girl, no more than sixteen years old—perhaps younger—was being raped by a huge

man while several others watched. Either she was an incredibly good actress or the

fear in her eyes was real. Kael picked up the remote and hit the Mute button to

restore the sound. The pleading from the girl and the look in her eyes told him that

she was an unwilling participant, not an actress. This was not a girl used to doing

porn movies. She was a sex slave, and from the looks of her fair skin and strong

cheekbones, she had been trafficked from Russia or one of the Eastern Bloc

countries. He glanced dispassionately at his target once more before walking out,

back the way he had come.

Elation swept over him, and he ran down the ten flights of stairs as if he had

wings on his heels. He was in his element. Angel had remarked on his short fuse the

last few months. Conran had told him he was wound up to the point of being on

edge all the time. They were both right.

Did he need to kill in order to feel alive and to relieve tension? Or was it the

job as a whole—the travel, the excitement, the unknown—that made his blood run

fast? But there were no unknowns. Every job was planned down to the finest detail.

Though that didn"t mean nothing ever went wrong. Sometimes someone got killed

just because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time, but he accepted it and

had never lost a moment"s sleep over it. Every second on a job, his mind was moving

to the next possibility.
If that goes wrong, I’ll do this. If I get injured, I’ll do that.

It was the buzz he needed.

Each job was a series of precisely planned unknowns, and strategizing for each

possibility was what kept his mind and body alive. However, he simply couldn"t

deny that in the seconds before the kill, he felt more in tune with his surroundings,

more at peace and more certain that he was in the right place doing the right thing

than at any other moment.

56

Fyn Alexander

This is what I do. This is who I am.

* * *

and began to write.

My first kill was a sniper hit, and Misha was with me. She came to my flat one

day with two tickets to Amsterdam and said, “We’re going on a jaunt. You don’t need

to bring anything.” I had no idea at that point that she was following orders, but we

had known each other for a year and were great friends by then, and anyway, I was

game for anything. We arrived at Schiphol Airport in the early evening and went

directly into the middle of the city. It was April, so it was still cool, especially in the

evening. And Holland tends to be damp.

“What are we going to do?” I asked her. She said, “Shut up. Don’t ask questions.

Just do as I tell you,” and that was when I got suspicious. We walked onto a bridge

over Keizergracht—the Emperor’s Canal. Directly ahead of us, a man walked with a

carryall with something long in it. He put it down without stopping and disappeared

into the darkness. Misha walked straight over to the bag and glanced around. “Open

the bag,” she ordered. I opened the bag. “Assemble,” she said. I squatted on the

ground and assembled the high-powered rifle. “See the water taxi?”

I stood up and looked down the canal. Coming toward the bridge was a long,

glassed-in water taxi still several hundred yards away. The lights were on inside,

and with my exceptional eyesight, I could see the security men on board. The taxi

was cruising nearer to the bridge by the second. “There’s a woman on board, fifties,

black dress, blonde hair in a bun at the back.” I raised the rifle and looked through

the sight. “That’s your target. Leave the rifle behind.”

Misha walked away.

I had about three seconds from when she gave me my target to focus and fire

before the taxi got too close to the bridge. I hit my target through the temple. Before

she dropped to the ground, I had put down the rifle and begun walking in the

direction Misha had gone. For several minutes I couldn’t find her, so I kept moving.

“Hey, handsome. Are you hungry?” She stepped out of a doorway and fell into step

with me.

“I’m starving,” I told her.

We went to a pub and ordered food. I was elated. I couldn’t stop laughing and

joking. Misha remarked that she had never seen me so animated. “How do you feel,

mate?” she asked.

“I feel great,” I said, and it was true. “I feel alive. I feel like I could do

anything.”

“You were born for this job,” she said. “You’ll be on your own after this. You

don’t need me to hold your hand anymore.”

“What happened to the rifle?” I asked.

Angel and the Assassin: Be Brave

57

She said, “The rifle was probably picked up within seconds of you putting it

down. Anyway, it’s not your problem. You do only what you’re told to do, and the rest

is someone else’s job.” We finished our meal, had a few more beers, and headed back

to London.

58

Fyn Alexander

Chapter Seven

“Angel Gabriel Button!”

“Oh my God. Is that your full name? And who"s that fat bugger?” Jack pointed

across the street.

Classes had just finished for the day, and Angel had asked Jack to go home

with him to spend the night so he wouldn"t be alone. “Shut up. He might hear you.”

Freddie Merchant sat in a red BMW, waving out of the window at him. “Hi,

Freddie!” he called. “Wait there,” he told Jack. Angel looked both ways and ran

across the street. In the back, two little girls were strapped into car seats. They both

screamed, “Angel!” when they saw him.

“Hi, girls.” He waved into the backseat. “How"s it going, Freddie?”

“Everything"s peachy with us. It was nice to see you and Kael at Christmas,

but that was two months ago. We don"t see enough of you. How"s Kael?”

“He"s fine. You know Daddy.”

“Did the old man enjoy his birthday?” Freddie"s face stretched into a Santa

Claus smile without the beard. “What did you get him?”

“Birthday?” Angel said. “He had a birthday?”

“He didn"t tell you? Typical. Kael was thirty-three on February second.”

“That was weeks ago. Why didn"t he tell me?”

“That"s Kael for you. He hates a fuss.”

Remembering the parcel that had arrived in the mail about that time, Angel

smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Duh! He got something from

Sharon a few weeks ago. I never put two and two together.”

In the backseat, the two girls hit their heads and shouted, “Duh!”

“Anyway, how"s school going? Can you get all your GCSEs in one year, do you

think?” Freddie asked.

“I didn"t start until six weeks into term, but I seem to be doing well. Daddy

tutors me all the time.”

“The drill sergeant.” Freddie laughed.

Angel smiled at the girls, who were still smacking their foreheads. “Tell you

what, Freddie. Let"s surprise him with a birthday dinner. Can you and your family

come on Saturday?”

Angel and the Assassin: Be Brave

59

Freddie looked doubtful, but in a comic way. “Oh, you"re taking your life in

your hands springing a surprise on Saunders. He"ll have your guts for garters.”

“I"ll take the risk.” Angel laughed, happy that he could do something special

for Daddy. “I"ll cook. I"m getting really good. And I"ll bake a cake. But how can we

keep him out of the flat while I prepare everything?”

“We"ll work something out. What"s your mobile number?” Freddie wrote it

down while Angel looked over at Jack, whose body language was saying
hurry up.

“He should have told me,” Angel said.

“Kael Saunders doesn"t have ordinary things like birthdays. He always

thought he was tougher than everyone else.” Freddie"s voice was filled with

affection. “We"ll
make
him have a good time.”

Angel laughed. “I"d better go. Talk to you later.” But before he could walk

away, Zoe demanded a kiss and Amelia joined until they were screaming in the

backseat.

“They love you, Angel,” Freddie said. “They talk about you all the time.”

Angel opened the back door and leaned in. Amelia was nearer and grabbed his

face to kiss him. “Me first,” Zoe screamed and reached out to whack her sister. “Zoe,

no!” Freddie tried to lean over the seat but couldn"t maneuver his rotund body into

the right position. Angel grabbed her wrist just in time. “Zoe,” he said in

disappointed tone. She hung her head but smiled when Angel kissed her cheek. “I"ve

got a job for you girls. Between now and Saturday, you have to make a beautiful

birthday card for Uncle Kael. A great big one. Okay?”

“Okay,” they agreed.

He ducked out of the car and ran back to Jack, calling, “Keep it weird, girls.”

“Keep it weird!” they yelled back, imitating Angel"s accent.

At home Angel ordered pizza, and Jack put the music up loud. They were

dancing in the living room when they heard banging on the front door. Angel ran

along the hall to look through the peephole with Jack behind him. “It"s the lady

from down the hall.” He opened the door.

Mrs. Chalmers was caked in makeup and dressed up as if she was going to a

party. “If you don"t turn the music down, I shall have to complain to the

management.”

“Is there something you"d like us to play?” Jack burst out laughing. “Do you

want some rap?”

“Don"t be impudent, young man,” she said.

Angel shoved him inside and stepped into the corridor. “Jack, turn the music

down.” Daddy would smack him hard if he caught him being rude to a neighbor.

“I"m really sorry, ma"am. We were just dancing and goofing around. I didn"t realize

how loud it was.”

“Well, you cannot disturb the peace,” she said, her anger deflating at his polite

tone. “Is your father home?” She looked round him into the flat.

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Fyn Alexander

Your father
? “He"s away on business. Just for a night or two.”
Daddy always

says, tell nobody our business.

“I see. Why do you have an American accent?” She looked him up and down as

if he were an alien.

“My mom is American,” he said vaguely. “Good evening, ma"am. Sorry we

bothered you.” He stepped inside and closed the door. Jack was not in the living

room when he returned, and Angel found him in the dungeon.

“This room is totally sick, but how come everything"s so clean and perfect? Not

just the dungeon but the whole flat. There are no pictures or anything.”

“That neighbor woman totally has the hots for Daddy,” Angel said in an

attempt to distract him. “Come out. Daddy says we"re not allowed in here.”

“You said he was out of the country on business.” Jack walked over to the

freestanding flogging post. “Have you ever been whipped, I mean for real?”