lot. Who"s offering? Denbigh.” Kael beckoned with one finger. The young man
stepped out of the crowd, where he had managed somehow to end up behind
everyone. “You complained last night that I was favoring Angel. So you go first.
Show us what you"re made of.”
Kael began to pull the climbing harness and ropes from the bag. He secured
the anchor to the tower brickwork and ordered Denbigh into the harness. It took
several minutes to secure the straps, and Kael could see as he checked the heavy-
duty plastic snap-lock buckles that Denbigh was shaking with fear.
Kael used the firm, in-charge voice he would adopt to encourage Angel if he
was scared. “Right. Climb onto the wall and hold the descender.”
8
Fyn Alexander
It took several minutes for Denbigh to get himself in place on the edge of the
tower. “Now take the descender and lean back. You have to be at an angle.” The
young man didn"t move. He remained rigid, staring at the floor of the tower. “Lean
back,” Kael ordered loudly.
A freezing wind tore at their clothing, and yet sweat poured down the young
man"s face and neck. He was utterly terrified. Kael grabbed him by the front of his
jacket and dragged him back onto the tower. “Take off the harness.” Humiliated but
relieved, Denbigh removed the harness.
“Angel, put this on.”
Grinning with excitement, Angel put on the harness. Kael checked it carefully
to ensure it was secure. Within minutes the boy was descending the tower,
screaming, “Sir, I"m doing it. I"m doing it. This is so totally, deeply amazing.” Kael
leaned on the edge of the tower, looking down at him, a smile splitting his face, love
and pride fighting for precedence.
When Angel was at the bottom of the tower, safe on solid ground, Kael looked
at the remaining eight people. “Don"t you feel ashamed?” he screamed like a drill
sergeant. “An eighteen-year-old, inexperienced boy just went down that tower on a
moment"s notice. Now who the fuck is next?”
Every hand went up. Angel had shamed them into doing their job. Mattie
followed Angel, and Denbigh was the last to go. Kael assessed Denbigh, who had
begun to sweat profusely again. He put his hand on Denbigh"s shoulder, but the
young man"s eyes darted everywhere, unable to meet Kael"s. Perhaps no one had
ever encouraged him to act like a man before, and Kael decided he would give him a
chance. “I"ll help you, Denbigh. I"ll talk you through it,” he said firmly but kindly. “If
you do this, you"ll feel great about yourself and the others will respect you for
working your way through your fear.” It was what he would say to Angel.
Denbigh shook him off. “I don"t need your fucking help…sir. I"m not going
down that wall.”
That did it.
The man was disrespectful, and he refused help and advice. He would not be
recommended for further training with SIS. “You"ve got two choices. Number one,
you put the harness on and abseil down the tower like everyone else, or—”
But Denbigh interrupted him. “Number two, I walk down the steps and look
like a coward. It"s a good job I don"t care what anyone thinks.”
Infuriated at the shoddy attitude, Kael got in his face. “No. Number two is I
throw you off the fucking tower, and you had better pray you have a soft landing in
the moat.”
Denbigh turned his back and took a step toward the tower steps. “Go to hell,
you fucking turd burglar.”
The lack of respect for authority angered Kael far more than the gay slurs. He
grabbed Denbigh"s wrist, twisting his arm up his back and at the same moment
wrapped his other arm around his neck, pressing his forearm against Denbigh"s
Angel and the Assassin: Be Brave
9
throat, immobilizing him. “It"s not because of your disparaging remarks about my
sexuality that I am doing this,” Kael said into his ear. “It"s because you"re a fucking
coward, and I can"t stand cowards.” With the wind gusting in their faces and
carrying Denbigh"s screams away with it, Kael dragged him to the edge of the
tower, picked him up bodily, and threw him over.
Without bothering to look where Denbigh had fallen, Kael pulled on the
harness and abseiled down the tower. The rest of the group was standing in silent
horror at what they had just witnessed. As if nothing had happened, Kael said,
“Right. You lot, march double-quick back over to the woods and pack up the camp.”
Denbigh never followed them back to camp, and Kael found him soaking wet in
the car park waiting for the van to pick them up a couple of hours later. He didn"t
look at Kael or anyone else before climbing into the van. The others gathered
around Kael and Angel. Mattie was the first to shake his hand. “You are one mean
bastard, sir, but I"d trust you with my life. I hope I get to work with you at some
point.”
“You"ll go far,” Kael said to her.
He shook hands with them all in turn, telling each of them at least one good
thing they had done over the weekend. “Thank you, sir,” they said, as happy as
children at the praise. He watched as they got into the van and briefly waved them
off. Satisfied with the way the maneuvers had gone, he pulled Angel into his arms.
“My brave boy. You put them all to shame.”
“I"m still in shock that I did all that stuff.” Angel grinned up at him. “I feel like
I could do anything in the world.”
You probably could, but I won’t let you. I’m keeping you safe.
* * *
bed immediately after they had showered. “Daddy, come to bed.” Angel held out his
arms, but Kael wasn"t ready yet. He wanted a whisky, and he needed to write up a
debrief on the weekend and send it to Conran right away. But he was still
distracted by Mattie Thornton and her similarity to Misha. So he kissed his boy and
ordered him to lie down. The moment his head hit the pillow, Angel was fast asleep.
In the living room, Kael swallowed a mouthful of whisky, took his leather-
bound diary from his dressing-gown pocket, and began to write.
I met Misha at my first self-defence class with SIS. I was 22 and she was 28,
but she looked about 17 because she was baby faced and very petite. I walked into the
room and stood beside her without even noticing she was there. Then someone
pointed out the discrepancy in our sizes and everyone laughed, including me. I
looked down at her, a 7-stone woman who was about five feet two inches tall. She
couldn’t be an operative, at least not the kind I was being trained to be. I had no idea
she had served eight years with the military and was an expert sniper.
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Fyn Alexander
I asked her what she was doing there and she said, “Same as you.” I laughed
and said, “A little girl like you?” She called me a sexist arsehole and delivered a
karate chop to the back of my right knee. I hit the ground and she stood there
laughing at me along with the rest of the class, including the instructor. She said,
“The bigger they are, the harder they fall.”
Humiliated and angry, I was on my feet in about three seconds. I picked her up
and said, “The smaller they are, the farther they fly.” I had no self-control in those
days, and I wanted to kill anyone who got the better of me. I would have thrown her
across the room if she hadn’t dug her nails into my face and nearly gouged out my
eyes. The instructor walked over and ordered us both to sit on the floor cross-legged
like little kids in school. Neither of us dared disobey him, anymore than my students
would dare to disobey me now. Sitting there like that was more humiliating than
being thrown down by a pocket- sized girl. Misha was tiny so she looked really cute
sitting there. At my size I looked as stupid as I felt. The instructor stuck his finger in
my face and said, “Cocky bastards get themselves killed.” To Misha he said, “And
you ought to know better.”
So there we were, sitting on the floor for the entire class throwing filthy looks at
each other. When it was over and we were allowed to leave she invited me to go for a
beer. I was stunned. I’d already decided I hated her. “I’m gay,” I told her.
“I’m asking you to go for a beer not a fuck,” she said.
“You’re buying,” I told her.
She said, “Why?” She was always blunt like that.
I said, “Because I’m going to be bruised from being knocked down and I’ve got
scratches all over my face so you owe me.” I must have sounded very childish.
“Is the pretty boy all worried about his pretty face?” She laughed.
I told her to shut it. We went to the pub and drank a few beers, and before I
knew it she had me in stitches telling jokes about the instructors. I never dreamt that
day I would end up loving her, not as a woman, but as a trusted and dear friend.
Angel and the Assassin: Be Brave
11
Chapter Two
Secret Intelligence Service, Vauxhall Cross, London
Kael"s stress level soared as he walked into the ground-floor classroom at
Vauxhall Cross. The German-language class he was teaching was not going well.
The students talked to each other, asked stupid questions, failed to pay strict
attention when he was speaking, and several women in the class who ought to know
better actually giggled when he entered the room, whispering behind their hands
like schoolgirls.
Everyone in the class was over twenty-one, and they acted like five-year-olds.
During last Friday"s class, he had done what the masters at College Grange did
when he boarded there from the age of twelve to seventeen; he threw chalk and
blackboard erasers at them.
Obviously the tactic had worked, because on this crisp Monday morning, the
room fell silent when he entered.
He took off his jacket, hung it on the hook behind the door, and sat on the edge
of his desk in front of the class looking at the expectant, nervous faces before him.
Half his class of eighteen adults was not present. “Did I frighten a few sensitive
souls on Friday?” He raised his eyebrows. “Good! It"s the start of a new week, and I
expect everyone to behave themselves.”
Like a class of terrified children, they stared at him, hands clasped before
them on their desks. “You are adults, not children. When my lips move, yours don"t.
When I speak, you listen. Are we clear?” They looked sideways at each other as they
nodded.
From his briefcase, Kael unloaded his textbooks and began the day"s lesson.
Walking up and down, he chalked verbs and adverbs on the blackboard, speaking as
he went, now and then calling on someone to answer a question. Barely half an hour
into the class, a man near the window sat gazing out at the car park as if
mesmerized. Kael had watched him in his peripheral vision for the last ten minutes.
The idiot had not heard a word.
Deciding it was time to make an example of him, Kael put his chalk on the
ledge beneath the blackboard and turned to face the class. “Stillwell, what is the
German for „fuck"?”
Those paying attention shifted uncomfortably in their seats, glancing with pity
at the offender.
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Fyn Alexander
The man did not respond, and several other men laughed nervously, seeming
relieved that Kael"s attention was not focused on them. Kael"s voice grew heavier as
it always did when he was angry. His jaw clenched. He hated disrespect. He was
trying to help the stupid morons. What was wrong with them?
“The German for „fuck" is
bumsen
, and that is what I am going to do to you if
you don"t start paying attention.” His voice rose as he walked between the desks
toward the young man. “I am going to
bumsen sie
! Fuck you right up your fat arse.”
The sound of Kael"s raised voice finally drew the man from his reverie, and
when he saw Kael approaching him, his eyes widened in fear. Panting, he rose to
his feet just as Kael reached him. Stillwell was tall, about six feet, but Kael"s height
and powerful build intimidated even large men, and Stillwell was overweight and
out of shape. Stillwell fell heavily onto his chair as Kael struck him with his open
hand, cuffing him sharply across the ear.
“Pay attention, you fat moron.” He walked back to the front of the class and
continued talking to a room of silent, wary students as though nothing had
happened.
* * *