Sins of the Father (7 page)

It must have been the brandy, but Kael could not keep the recognition from his face.

“Did you go there?” Romodanovsky asked.

“Yes,” Kael said. “I studied languages.”

“My son Dmitri is studying law. He is a good boy but rather effeminate. He used to cry a lot when he was little. I tried to toughen him up by making him play rough sports, but nothing worked. Do you have children?”

Kael shook his head. The last thing he had ever wanted was children.

“It used to be easier for fathers. You dropped your sperm and then got on with your life. These days a man is expected to change their nappies and carry them about while they cry.”

Freddie and Adam with their two little girls came to mind, and the way they loved and nurtured them. Kael pitied Romodanovsky’s children. “Are you close to your sons?” He already knew the answer, but he was curious what the man would say.

“Fathers and sons should not get too close. Perhaps if I had had a daughter.” He shrugged. “Girls are easier.”

A chuckle escaped Kael. Zoe and Amelia weren’t easy now. God help their fathers when they reached their teens. “I think it depends on the kid.”

“But you have none. How would you know?”

I’ve got Angel, and I am a father to him in some ways
. “I have friends with children.”

“Are they girls?”

Kael smiled and nodded.

“Well, there you are then.”

Putting down his glass, Romodanovsky rose and went to the bedroom. After several minutes, Kael followed. The door was ajar. Romodanovsky had changed into casual trousers and, bare-chested, was picking up a soft, dark casual shirt from the bed. “Please come in,” he said when he saw Kael in the mirror. He pulled on the shirt but did not button it. Kael glanced about the room and was about to return to the study when Romodanovsky walked up to him. There was a split-second pause when they looked into each other’s eyes, and then, to Kael’s complete surprise, the man reached out and placed his hand tenderly on Kael’s cheek. Neither of them moved. What did he want? The gesture seemed paternal, but coming from a man who admitted he had no paternal feelings at all, it must mean something else. Despite their age difference, Kael found the man very attractive.

It seemed an eternity but was no more than a few seconds, and then Romodanovsky took a half step closer and closed his mouth over Kael’s. He smelled of expensive shaving soap, no colognes, no fragrant deodorants, just a clean, manly smell. Kael’s senses were intoxicated. He tasted brandy on the man’s lips and on his tongue when he pushed it between Kael’s lips. Romodanovsky trailed his mouth away from Kael’s and up to his ear. “Come to bed with me,” he said quietly.

Suddenly angry and not sure why, Kael took a step back. There was unquestionably an attraction between them. Mature and physically fit, the Russian was exactly the type of man Kael had always found attractive. And he would have accepted his offer in the past. Now he would not accept it because the only man in the world he loved was Angel. And he was as loyal to his boy as he knew Angel was to him.

But why was he angry? Why did he feel betrayed? Perhaps the paternal gesture of a moment ago had led him to believe Romodanovsky admired him. Never, until he met Angel, had he cared if anyone admired him. He reveled in Angel’s admiration. And he loved it when his mum told him how great he was. But other men’s opinions meant nothing.

Curling his fingers into his palm, he struck Romodanovsky across the cheekbone with his knuckles, making certain not to break the bone, though he felt like it. Shocked at both the gesture and the pain, the man recoiled, his hand to his face. The skin had split just under the eye, and a trickle of blood ran through his fingers. A volley of Russian swear words issued from the man as he stood up straight. Kael walked into the bathroom, soaked a fresh hand towel in cold water, and took it to him. He found Romodanovsky examining his face in the mirror. Seeing Kael, he turned to face him. The look in his eyes was murderous. Kael offered him the cold compress. Romodanovsky snatched the cloth and sat on the end of the bed, pressing the towel to his face.

“What the hell is wrong with you? You’re supposed to protect me, not assault me.”

“You made a pass at me,” Kael said calmly.

Meeting his gaze, Romodanovsky said sarcastically, “How shocking. You’re a homosexual. Don’t deny it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of denying it. I’m proud of it. But what the hell are you? A married man with five children.”

“What does that have to do with anything? You were attracted to me the moment you saw me in the entrance hall this morning.”

It was true; he had been. “Then why did you ask me if I was fucking the blonde girl?”

“To see what you would say. But I know you are not.”

“Let me look at your eye.” Lifting the man’s chin on his fingers, Kael examined the swelling cheek and the small cut. “You’ll live. I’ll send for some ice.” He strode to the door and stepped out into the hall. Mattie got up as soon as she saw him.

“Everything okay, sir?”

“Get some ice from the kitchen. He’s hurt his face.”

It took about ten minutes for Mattie to fetch the ice, and in the meantime, Romodanovsky finished dressing and sat in an armchair with his feet on an ottoman and a glass of brandy in his hand. Kael brought the ice wrapped in a flannel. “Here.”

Resentfully the man took the offering, pressing it to his reddened, swollen cheek. The bleeding had already stopped. “If you were so offended that I wanted to fuck you, you could have said no.”

“I did.” Kael indicated the man’s face.

“A simple word would have sufficed.”

“I’ll remember that next time.”

Standing suddenly, Romodanovsky walked into the bathroom and threw the ice pack into the sink. “I need to go outside.”

“There’s a garden in the back.”

“No, I want to run, and I do not want twenty security guards puffing after me,” he said.

Kael shrugged and stood up. He threw his jacket on the bed. The black crepe-soled shoes he always wore when working were excellent for running. “Are you ready?”

Romodanovsky took out an expensive pair of trainers and laced them up. “Where can we go?”

“St. James Park is at the rear of the house. Can you climb over the wall? It’s high.”

“Yes.”

“We’ll have to do this clandestinely. Specialist Operations would have a fit if they knew you were outside with only one minder.” He directed Romodanovsky into the hall in front of him. “We’re going to walk in the garden,” Kael told Mattie as they passed. “Remain here.”

Swiftly they walked through the house and out into the extensive gardens, past the benches and the holly tree, past the flower beds. The security detail in the garden consisted of two uniformed police officers and one man from Romodanovsky’s personal guard. None of them spotted the two men. With his arm around Romodanovsky’s shoulder to keep him close, Kael ran silently with him through the gardens to the high surrounding wall. With care he picked a path through rose beds that lined the wall. “You first.” He cupped his hands to give the other man a leg up, amazed at the ease with which a man of sixty-two leaped, easily scrambling the rest of the way. Kael stepped back several feet, took a run, and scaled the wall. On the other side, they dropped down and made their way to the park.

For thirty minutes, they ran at a steady, even pace. All the while, Kael scanned their surroundings for possible danger. But no one had seen them leave, and he knew they were safe. Finally Romodanovsky began to tire. He slowed and stopped. Kael led the way to a bench near the lake, where they sat, well away from the nearest lamppost.

Romodanovsky turned sideways on the bench to face him. “That’s better. Life is far too sedentary as a politician. Have you always lived in London?”

Coming to a decision, Kael said, “I was born in Liverpool.” What difference could it make if a man like this knew a little about him?

“The home of the Beatles. I was born and raised in Switzerland, but now I live in my motherland, Russia. What school did you attend before Cambridge?”

“College Grange.”

“So you are part of the old boys’ network. Did your father work in intelligence?”

Kael shrugged. His father was a waiter or something in a fancy hotel.

“It’s all in the DNA,” Romodanovsky went on as though Kael had answered. “Look what happened to Russia under communism. Egalitarianism only goes so far. Meritocracy is flawed, as there are few from the lower classes with any real intelligence. A strong right-wing government is the only way. People need to be controlled.”

Turning sideways to face the man, Kael said, “I thought your interest was in getting rid of organized crime.”

“It is, but only because it erodes government power and siphons wealth from those who are truly deserving of it. Those who would use it wisely.”

“You’re the worst kind of fucking snob,” Kael said. “You think that because you were born wealthy, you’re more deserving than those who were born poor.”

“Are you a socialist?” Romodanovsky laughed. “Surely not.”

“I have no political affiliations, but I know money does not make you a better person.”

“Of course it does. But it’s more than just that. It’s in the genes. I come from a long line of rich landowners and natural leaders. All intelligent, cultured men and women. I could do nothing else but be in a position of great authority.”

Kael felt like smacking him again. “What about your effeminate son at Cambridge?”

“Every litter has its runt,” Romodanovsky said.

“What about self-made millionaires or geniuses in a family of ordinary people?”

“Mutations,” he said decisively. “Mutations are always welcome when they better the species. But a man like you, with your background, you should have children.”

The Russian knew nothing about Kael’s background. Like most people who met him and knew where he had gone to school, Romodanovsky assumed he came from wealth. “I thought we’d already established that I’m queer.”

“Queer?” The man laughed. “Interesting word. You are very handsome, highly intelligent, and determined to have your own way. Just like me. Just because you prefer men does not mean those superior genes of yours should not be reproduced.”

“That is highly unlikely to happen. Have you ever made a pass at a man before?”

“Yes, I’ve just never been refused. Am I too old for you?”

“Not at all,” Kael said.

“You don’t find me attractive?”

Looking directly into the man’s eyes, Kael said, “Yes, I do.”

“Then what? Professionalism. Never fuck on the job just as policemen are not supposed to drink on the job?”

The memory of all the men Kael had fucked on the job brought an involuntary smile to his face. Fucked and then killed. “I have no such scruples.”
Or I didn’t used to.

“You have a man in your life, and you are loyal to him,” Romodanovsky said as if reading his mind.

Kael shook his head. This was a man he did not want knowing about Angel. “There’s no one. I just wasn’t in the mood.”

The Russian put his hand on Kael’s knee, sliding it toward his groin. “Are you in the mood now? There’s still plenty of time.”

Shoving the hand away, Kael stood. “We’re going to return to Number 10, and you are going to keep your hands off me or I’ll smack your other eye.”

Accepting the admonition with a shrug, Romodanovsky stood. “Let’s run back.”

* * * *

It was a little after eleven when Kael and Mattie left Number 10 under a bright blue sky. The wind was chill and sharp, blowing any thoughts of sleep from Kael’s mind. But Mattie looked tired despite the Red Bull. The rest of the team he had released ten minutes ago.

“Can I go straight home, sir, or do I have to debrief at Legoland first?”

“You can go home and sleep. I’ll talk to Conran. I’m heading over there now. I’ve got a firearms class after lunch.”

“Aren’t you exhausted, sir?”

“I’m okay. I’ll sleep tonight.”

The constables at Parliament Street opened the gate, and they walked on through the crowded London streets, heading toward the Victoria Embankment. “So what happened to Romodanovsky’s face?” Mattie asked, looking up at him. “And, sir, I can’t keep up with your long stride at the best of times, but right now I’m knackered.”

Kael slowed his pace, cutting the length of his stride in half. “He made a pass at me, so I smacked him.”

“Never! I thought he was married with grown-up kids. I’d have felt really unsafe alone with him, but I’m a woman. He’s got that look about him. You know, dangerous.”

“Yes, he does. I think he is dangerous.”
No more dangerous than me, though.

“You know, sir”—she lowered her voice to a whisper, which would have been difficult for anyone other than Kael to hear amid the heavy London traffic—“I’ve wondered if I might be bisexual a few times.”

“Why? Because you kissed a girl and you liked it?” He chuckled. He’d never heard of Katy Perry until Angel was playing her music one day. “There’s no such thing as bisexual. They’re just people who can’t make up their minds. You pick a team, and you play for it.”

“You’re very rigid, aren’t you, sir?”

“Yes,” Kael said.

“What was a married bloke doing coming after you if he’s not bisexual?”

If only Mattie knew about Conran. “Romodanovsky is like a dog. He’d hump anything that moved.”

They came to a halt at Westminster Bridge and stood against the wall beside the river to stay out of pedestrian traffic. Mattie shivered in the cold. “Sir, can I ask your advice?”

“You’re damn good at your job. Don’t worry about it. Have you been offered a move?”

“No, sir, it’s not about the job. It’s personal. What do you think of Joe Hotchkiss? He was in your self-defense class.”

“I know exactly who he is,” Kael said. “He’s a good operative. He’s about my age, right?”

“Yes, sir. But what about as a bloke? You know, is he decent?”

“What does it matter as long as he does his job? Let’s face it, I’m not the nicest man in the world, but I’m good at what I do.”

With her arms wrapped around her middle, Mattie went on, “He’s been asking me for a while to go out with him.”