Sins of the Father (27 page)

The family was gathered around a large kitchen table finishing their meal. Jack rose at once when he saw Kael. He was always respectful after the time Kael had scared the shit out of him when he caught him and Angel messing about in the dungeon last year.

“This is my wife and daughter.” Dr. McCarron indicated a chair, but Kael shook his head. He wanted information, not a conversation. Kael nodded briefly at them before focusing on Jack.

“Hello, Jack. Where’s Angel? Did you meet him after the chess club?”

“Yes, sir. We were going to go to Starbucks, and then he got a phone call and got in a Rolls. He said he had to work.”

“Back up a minute. What do you mean, got in a rolls?”

“A Rolls-Royce car. He got a call on his mobile, and then the car pulled up and he said he had to go. He said it was work.”

“Work?”

“Would you like some coffee, Mr. Saunders?” Jack’s mother was an attractive, dark-haired woman who looked considerably younger than her rumpled, balding husband.

“No, thank you,” he replied without looking at her. “Who phoned? Did he say?”

Jack shrugged and squinted, obviously trying to remember. “I think he said, ‘Hi, Mr. Conran.’”

Surprised, Kael repeated, “Conran? Are you sure?”

“I think so. Yes, sir.”

“What time was it?”

“A bit after five.”

Jack’s sister, a mischievous-looking teenage girl with long, curly dark hair and glasses, had been eying him up from the moment he entered the kitchen. “Are you Angel’s boyfriend?”

“Lavinia!” her mother said.

“I’m just asking,” the girl said.

“It’s all right, Mrs. McCarron. Yes, I am,” Kael said to the girl.

“It’s Doctor McCarron,” the woman pointed out.

“Is it?” Kael said without expecting a response. “Jack, can you tell me anything else? Who was in the car?”

“I couldn’t see. The windows were tinted. Is everything okay? He’s not in any danger, is he, Mr. Saunders?”

“I hope not. Thanks, Jack.” Kael walked down the hall to the front door, followed by the boy. At the door, he stopped and put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “You’re a good friend to him. Can you remember anything else? Anything at all?”

After a small pause, Jack said, “He said, ‘Will I get paid?’”

“Right. Thanks.” Kael walked quickly back to his car.

Paid.

The conversation he’d had with Angel in his mum’s kitchen came back to him as he drove.
“I’m not even a proper grown-up yet. I don’t earn any money. You must feel like you adopted a kid.”
His boy wanted to impress him by working and earning money. It was Kael’s own fault that this had happened. Maybe he should have let Angel take that busboy job and not been so damn controlling all the time.

Twenty minutes later, he knocked on Conran’s front door.

“Good grief, to what do I owe this honor?” Conran ushered him down the hall to his study. Inside he indicated an armchair and poured Kael a whisky without bothering to ask if he wanted it. Kael tossed it back and thrust the tumbler back at him.

“Did you phone Angel this afternoon around five o’clock?”

Surprised, Conran sat down behind his desk while Kael remained standing. “No. Why would I do that?”

“To send him on a job.” Conran’s brow creased in confusion. “Probably a security detail.”

Shaking his head, Conran said, “Angel does not work for SIS. He is not even close to being properly trained, even with you giving him private instruction. And aside from that, you’d do some serious harm to me—without my permission. What’s happened?”

Kael smiled at Conran’s acknowledgment of his own masochism. “He got a phone call this afternoon from someone imitating your accent well enough to fool Angel into getting into a black Rolls-Royce.”

“Good God! You don’t look terribly worried,” Conran said.

“I’m not. I know who it is, and he wouldn’t dare hurt my boy because he knows I’d hunt him down and kill him.” The confusion on Conran’s face proved he had played no part in this. “Romodanovsky’s got him, and he’s probably flying to Russia with him at this minute.”

“Why on earth would he kidnap Angel, even if Angel doesn’t know he’s being kidnapped?”

“To lure me. He wants me to work for him. He asked me several times to go to Russia with him to see what he has to offer me. Angel is perfectly safe with him. But he’s not going to give him up until I go and fetch him. I’ll go in the morning.”

“You’re taking it all very calmly,” Conran said. “That’s not at all like you.”

“Don’t be fooled.” After his mother’s story about the man who had fathered him, he was close to certain that the brilliant, aristocratic, ruthless Russian was his father. Aside from the physical similarities, it was his mother’s words that had convinced him.
“He was so quick and so strong.”
Words that mirrored exactly those of the maid at Dorneywood. Had that man raped his mother, and was he the result of that rape? No wonder he was a cold-blooded killer.

Like father, like son.

“I’ve arranged a psych assessment for you at the private hospital we use. You’ll see a psychiatrist who works for MI6. You’ll be phoned with the appointment date,” Conran said cautiously, looking incredibly relieved when Kael took it in stride.

“I will not go to a psych assessment, so don’t bother.” He spoke very calmly. “I know exactly who I am.”
My father is a rapist
. With that he walked to the front door, Conran following him.

“Do you look at the news?” Conran asked as they stood on the step in the cold night air.

“Never,” Kael answered.

“Check Sky News when you get home.”

* * * *

Something smelled delicious when Kael opened the door, and even though he knew Angel was halfway to Russia by now, he half expected to find his boy rushing to the front door to wrap his arms and legs around him. His mum came out of the kitchen as he was hanging his jacket in the hall cupboard. “Where is he?”

“He lost track of time. I said he could stay over with his friend.” He followed his mum back into the kitchen, where the table was set for three. She removed the third place setting and began to serve the food.

“I’m glad you’ve taken my advice and eased up on him a bit. He’s a good boy.”

“Yes, you were right.” Kael brought his laptop from the bedroom wardrobe and set it on the counter. “Mum, I have to leave for Russia in the morning. I have to translate.”

“The places you go.” She smiled at him, always so impressed by the things he did. “No wonder you’re such an expert at speaking Russian. You started teaching it to yourself when you were eight. Do you remember?”

He did. He had bought a book of Russian phrases at the supermarket checkout, and by the next day, he was speaking simple sentences to his mum, making her laugh. “It seemed to come naturally to me, didn’t it?”

He found the Sky News home page. The headline, MURDERED MAN’S DNA FOUND ON DEAD PROSTITUTES, jumped out. He clicked on the video and put the sound up.

“
The man found murdered in a back alley in Bermondsey last week has been associated with the killings of five prostitutes. His DNA was found on all five women, who were killed over the last eighteen months in the Southwark area
,” the newscaster read. “
Ben Cranmore, a well-known architect, was found with his throat cut in an area frequented by those looking for sex for hire. A source close to the family says Cranmore’s wife is devastated
.”

That wasn’t what Conran had said. But there was a strange poetic justice in this world sometimes. A perfect balance of good and evil.

“I heard about that this morning,” Sharon said. “He got what he deserved, killing those poor working girls. It might have been one of the other prostitutes what killed him.”

“Hard to feel sorry for him, isn’t it?” Kael said.

“I don’t.” Sharon scattered salt and pepper liberally on her food. “People like him are all respectable on the outside, and inside they’re rotten to the core.”

“Like the man who fathered me,” Kael said quietly, looking into his mother’s eyes.

Reaching across the table, she took Kael’s hand. “He was a bad bastard, no question. But look how you turned out. You’re such a good son to me, and you look after Angel like he’s your son. You’re nothing like your father. Nothing at all.”

Chapter Fifteen

“Where’s my boy?” Kael said into the mobile he had bought at a shop in Moscow just minutes before. It had been surprisingly easy to get Romodanovsky on the phone. The man had clearly been expecting him and waiting for contact.

“He is perfectly safe. I wouldn’t harm him.”

“I’d kill you if you did. There’s absolutely nowhere in the world you could hide from me if you did anything to harm Angel.”

“You love him.” Romodanovsky’s tone was a combination of teasing and admiration.

The time for playing games was over. “Yes. I love him.”

“I know which flight you came on.” Kael could actually hear a smile in the man’s voice. “I have excellent intelligence about you. Remain where you are. A car will be there shortly to bring you to my house on the Moskva River.”

Kael hung up and watched the busy Moscow street, loud with the noise of traffic and pedestrians. Knowing it would be colder in Moscow than England ever got in winter, he had worn a black, knee-length wool coat over his usual black clothes. At Domodedovo Airport, he had checked the outdoor temperature—minus nineteen Celsius—and had bought a fur
ushanka
to cover his bald head.

Looking as Russian as any other man on the street and speaking the language without an accent, he blended in perfectly as he waited for the car. Moments later a sleek black Bentley pulled up. Glancing quickly into the back, Kael decided to sit in the front seat. The uniformed driver paused in surprise before saying, “Welcome to Russia, Mr. Saunders.” The driver spoke in heavily accented English.

“Just take me to Romodanovsky,” Kael replied in Russian and then sat in silence for the nearly two-hour journey to the Romodanovsky dacha. The winter white landscape rushed past, the bare branches of the trees black against the white sky as they left Moscow. The countryside was beautiful, with long stretches of wide-open land, the sun gleaming on the snow, and then miles and miles of dense forest, the trees overhead shutting out the light to the road.

Sunlight on snow would be very painful to Angel’s light-sensitive eyes, and Kael hoped his boy had his Irlen lenses with him.

The property, when they approached it, had no gates and no fencing, but everywhere he looked, Kael saw security cameras and guards with dogs. They were stopped twice on the long road up to the house.

The dacha was as big and rich as an English country house and set in extensive grounds, with the Moskva River running through the property. Outside on the snow-covered lawn, with half a dozen borzois running around him, Romodanovsky looked like a tsar in his gray fur coat and ushanka. The car pulled up the sweeping driveway, and as if he were a host welcoming a guest and not a rapist who had lured Kael’s boy halfway across the world, Romodanovsky waved. The smile on his face made Kael want to smack him. The dogs pranced up to the car as he got out and then followed him as he walked up to Romodanovsky.

Yes, you won, you fucker. You stole my boy because you knew it was the only way to get me here.

“Kael Saunders.” Romodanovsky stuck out his hand.

Ignoring it, Kael scanned the grounds, noting the minders strategically placed about the man and also at a distance on the lawn and along the road. Angel was less than a hundred yards away, his eyes on Kael. Raising his hand, Kael beckoned with one finger. At a run, Angel took off toward him. He had left London dressed in his school uniform, but someone had given him a warm coat, hat, and boots. He came to a halt about a foot from Kael and pulled off his Irlens, trying to keep the happy grin from taking over his face. Trying to look professional.

“Sir,” he said.

Angel had no idea he had been used to get Kael there. He thought he was on a job, and as much as Kael hated to burst the boy’s bubble, at some point he would have to tell him what had happened. It could probably wait until later, but he had been so worried about him, despite knowing Romodanovsky would not harm him. All he wanted was Angel in his arms.

Kael grabbed his boy and pulled him tight to his chest. “Daddy!” Angel’s frantic whisper made him release the boy. “This is work.” Kael met the beautiful silver gaze and watched as Angel looked at the smiling Russian and then back at him. “Holy brain bypass, what have I done? What have I done!” His cheeks, already pink with the cold, turned scarlet with embarrassment at his own stupidity. Kael wanted to smack Romodanovsky simply for upsetting his boy.

“Daddy, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right, sweetheart. We’ll be leaving in a minute. We’ll talk about this later.”

Romodanovsky put his arm around Angel’s shoulders. “You can’t possibly leave yet, Kael. I want to show you my dacha and the grounds. I want to show you the houses in Moscow and Switzerland. When you see what I can offer you, you will want to work for me. The boy can stay too. I know you won’t part with him.”

“Get your fucking hands off him,” Kael said. Romodanovsky removed his arm at once. Kael took Angel’s hand and began to walk toward the car.

“Oh come now, Mr. Saunders. Don’t be so angry. I have much to offer you.” Romodanovsky placed his hand on Kael’s shoulder. “Don’t leave. We need to talk.”

Releasing Angel’s hand, Kael whirled and landed his fist in the man’s jaw, knocking him off balance. The Russian stumbled and fell backward into the snow. Just as he knew they would, the minders surrounded Kael in seconds, grabbing at his arms. Before he could even begin to fend them off, Romodanovsky shouted, “Don’t touch him. Back off.”

The men stepped away from Kael. One of them helped Romodanovsky to his feet. The man’s cheek was already beginning to swell from the blow. “Move away,” he said angrily to his men.

When the minders had backed up fifty yards, Kael looked at Angel. “Go and wait by the car.” The boy obeyed at once.

Snatching up a handful of snow, Romodanovsky pressed it to his swelling cheek. “Why do you hate me?”