Sins of the Father by Fyn Alexander

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