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knee, looking as if he was in his own home watching
    television. He took the glass and swallowed half in one swig. “Let me get this right.
    You"re removing me from my position because I smacked an idiot across the head.”
    “It"s not just him. Half your German class was at human resources last Friday
    complaining that you threw chalk and blackboard erasers at anyone who sniffed too
    loudly or dropped a pen.”
    “That"s an exaggeration.” Kael finished his whisky and put the glass on the
    desk.
    “Members of your Russian class have been complaining from the moment term
    began, especially about the mobile phones you"ve confiscated. And perhaps you
    didn"t notice, but your French class went from twenty-three students down to eight
    by the third week. No one complained; they just quietly dropped out, citing various
    reasons.”
    Of course he had noticed. “The ones that are left really want to learn.”
    “People are afraid of you. Which is fine for your afternoon sessions but not in a
    language class. Most of your language students will go into desk jobs. They"ll never
    work in the field. The most dangerous thing most of them will ever do will be to
    negotiate the Underground. You cannot treat them like operatives.”
    Conran had a point. “All right. I"ll tone down my teaching style. I"ll be kinder.
    Treat the little fucks with kid gloves. Will that make you happy?”
    “It"s unfortunate you didn"t do that from the beginning. It"s too late now, and
    it"s out of my hands. You"ve been replaced.”
    “I will not be replaced.” He had wanted to teach so he could spend time at
    home with Angel. His boy needed him. “I"m a good teacher!” he shouted so loudly
    that Conran jumped.
    Kael got to his feet again, unable to remain still when he was agitated. The
    routine of teaching—working in the closed environment of a classroom—had taken
    its toll over the last six weeks since classes had begun. The lack of physical activity
    had driven him to the gym every day, where he worked out for two hours until his
    muscular body was leaner and more finely tuned than ever. Together with the
    adrenaline rush his anger had given him, he couldn"t stop himself from stepping
    round the desk and dragging Conran to his feet.
    Holding Conran by his tie and a handful of his shirt, Kael threw him up
    against the wall. Conran"s face grew red, and his breath came in short, hard bursts.
    “Saunders, calm down, please.”
    Kael looked down into terrified eyes. “Give me my job back.” He pushed his
    knuckles into Conran"s throat, fully aware that he was making it difficult for the
    man to breathe. He eased up on the pressure, waiting for him to answer.
    Conran spoke with difficulty. “You are not suitable to be in a classroom with
    ordinary students. You have absolutely no people skills.”

    Angel and the Assassin: Be Brave

    17

    “I do! How dare you—a member of the tiny cock club—tell me I"m lacking in
    any area!” He raised his hand with his fingers drawn toward the palm.
    Conran spotted the gesture and screamed, “Don"t break my nose again. It took
    weeks to heal last time you did it.”
    The door opened, and Kael looked over his shoulder to see Conran"s stout,
    dowdy secretary watching them. Kael was always charming to her, yet she did not
    look in the slightest bit surprised at the scene. “Shall I call someone, Mr. Conran?”
    she asked calmly.
    “No, thank you.” His voice sounded strangled and strangely comic.
    “Then I shall see you in the morning, sir.” She glanced at the shattered whisky
    tumbler on the floor.
    “Have a good evening, Mrs. Lane,” Kael said, smiling. The door closed, and he
    looked again at Conran. The secretary"s intrusion had broken the tension. Kael took
    a breath and released Conran who stood, straightening his tie and brushing down
    his jacket.
    “I"m sorry, but you are not going back into the classroom.”
    Kael walked to the door. “I have got people skills. People like me.”
    Conran