The Spy Who Came for Christmas Read online

Ted groaned, raising a hand to his head.

  “The microphone!” Kagan hit him again with the gun barrel. “Where is it?”

  “Under my coat collar.”

  Kagan found it and pulled it free. “Where’s the transmitter?”

  “In one of my gloves. When you knocked me down, I shoved it under that chair.”

  Grabbing for it, Kagan shouted, “Meredith, you know where to go. Hurry. Cole, he told them you’re hiding behind the television cabinet. You’ll need to find another spot.”

  “But they promised they wouldn’t hurt us!” Ted insisted, his voice rising. “I’d never put my son in danger!”

  “That’s exactly what you did.”

  “No! All I care about is protecting my family. Meredith, I was only trying to help you and Cole. Surely you understand that.”

  “Pay attention,” Kagan demanded. “Who are you going to believe? Your wife and son, who trust me, or those men outside, who’ll do anything to get their hands on the baby? I promise you, they won’t think twice about killing us all. They never leave witnesses.”

  “All I wanted was—”

  “For God’s sake, shut up and help your family!”

  * * * * *

  CROUCHING IN THE living room, Kagan listened as Meredith hurried toward the laundry room, where she’d hidden the baby.

  He had no idea what new hiding place Cole had chosen, and he didn’t dare ask, aware that Andrei would hear through the microphone he’d taken from Brody. He was about to shut off the transmitter or relieve his anger by hurling the microphone onto the brick floor and smashing it, but suddenly he realized he had a use for it.

  He shoved the earbud into his left ear and spoke into the microphone. “Andrei?”

  “Regrets, my friend?” The voice sounded bitter. “I warned you how this would end.”

  Instinctively, Kagan directed his words toward the front window.

  “There are computers in the house. I e-mailed for help. The police are on their way.”

  “No, Pyotyr. When I rehearsed things with my not-so-good spy, he told me his computers have password locks.”

  “Password locks,” Kagan repeated, staring at Ted.

  Ted seemed paralyzed by confusion. Abruptly, he murmured, “I’ll fix that.” He crawled across the living room, squirmed over the drawers at the end of the hallway, and entered his office.

  “Give me the package, and my offer still holds,” Andrei’s acid voice said through the earbud. “You can walk away.”

  “Why don’t I believe you?” Kagan said into the microphone.

  “Then consider this. Your foolishness has involved other people. You’re responsible for everything that happens to the family in there. Their deaths will be your fault.”

  Kagan couldn’t help glancing behind him: first toward the shadows of the laundry room, where Meredith hid with the baby, and then toward a glow in Ted’s office, presumably caused by a computer screen. He heard Ted’s fingers clicking at a keyboard.

  Where’s Cole? he wondered.

  “But if you give me the package,” Andrei’s voice said, “I’ll let the family live.”

  “Even though they’re witnesses?”

  “Only the man saw us. But I’ll make an exception and allow him to live, along with his wife and son. We’ll be out of Santa Fe before the police get organized. I don’t risk much by letting the family survive. It’s my gesture to you, Pyotyr, because I valued your friendship, even though you didn’t value mine. Give me the package. Accept your punishment. Since you apparently have a conscience, at least you’ll know that others won’t suffer because of you.”

  “It’s a baby, Andrei. Not a package. If I do as you ask, what happens to him?”

  “Our clients will keep it, to use it to pressure Hassan into rejecting his cause and going back to being a doctor. That’s a better way than assassinating him and turning him into a martyr. In his speeches, Hassan promises his followers that he’ll be tireless in his pursuit of a lasting peace. When he swears, ‘I’ll never let you down,’ thousands flock to him. If he quits, his followers will be so disillusioned that his cause will wither.”

  “And a year from now? Two years from now? What happens to the child then?” Kagan demanded.

  “Hassan and his wife will be allowed occasional secret visits. There’s a birthmark on its left heel.”

  “Yes. Shaped like a rose.”

  “Proof that it’s still alive, that there hasn’t been a substitution. To keep anything from happening to it, Hassan and his wife won’t dare to take up the cause again.”

  “You keep calling the baby ‘it.’ Not ‘it,’ Andrei. He. A person.”

  “Pyotyr, you know there are only objects. If you’d remembered that, you wouldn’t be having this problem. What’s your real name?”

  Kagan ignored the question. He had an urgent one of his own.

  “Hassan’s enemies, will they raise his child?”

  “Yes. Until he’s old enough to be trained as a suicide bomber.”

  The statement felt like a blow to Kagan’s stomach. Something in him went numb. Only after a moment did he realize that Andrei had referred to the child as “he,” not “it.”

  “What’s your real name?” Andrei repeated.

  Train him to be a suicide bomber? Kagan felt sickened, unable to speak.

  Ted crawled from his office and reached Kagan, who tapped the microphone against his leg to prevent Andrei from hearing what Ted whispered.

  “I have phone capability on my computers, but when I tried the Santa Fe police, all I got was a busy signal. The snow must have caused a lot of accidents. I sent an e-mail to people I know in Santa Fe, telling them to contact the police and get a SWAT team here.”

  Kagan nodded, doing his best to look optimistic. Still, he couldn’t help thinking, It’s Christmas Eve. Is this the one night of the year when people won’t check their e-mail? Or will their phone calls only jam the 911 phone circuits more? How many hours might it take before the police arrive?

  The glow from Ted’s office made him feel exposed. He whispered to Ted. “The light from your monitors. Shut them off.”

  Immediately, he stopped tapping the microphone and said to it, “My real name? It’s what I told you. It’s Pyotyr. I didn’t lie about everything. Our friendship’s real.”

  “Of course. And your last name?” Andrei’s voice asked.

  “You know I won’t tell you that. I need to protect my family.”

  “Your family?” Andrei sounded indignant. “You mean you have a wife, and you didn’t tell me?”

  “No! How could I work undercover this long and be married? Don’t you think I want a wife and children like you do? Don’t you think I envy you? My mother and father. They’re my family.”

  Kagan said it with a subdued wave of grief. His parents were, in fact, dead—the victims of a drunk driver who’d hit their car head-on two years earlier. But he needed to try to make Andrei relate to him as a person, and parents who were still alive gave him a sympathetic reason not to reveal his last name.

  “And you work for American intelligence?”

  “Yes.”

  “You admit it. Finally, some truth.”

  “Andrei, remember the day we drove down to the gun dealer in Maryland to pick up that load of weapons the Pakhan wanted? We made the dealer add our Glocks as a bonus. We spent the afternoon on the firing range, testing who’s a better shot.”

  “And my Glock will be the gun that kills you.”

  “Listen to me. In the last few years, I can’t recall a better afternoon,” Kagan said. He concentrated on the kitchen door, ready to shoot if someone charged in. “I am your friend, Andrei. I was honored to be invited to your home. I felt privileged to be with your wife and daughters. They’re the family I never had. Remember when I saved your life in Colombia?”

  “Don’t make too much of that, Pyotyr.”

  Kagan shifted his attention to the shadows in the hallway, listening for someone breaking i
n.

  “That drug lord was seriously pissed off when he realized the Soviet-era submarine you’d sold him would sink the first time he tried to use it to smuggle cocaine into the United States. I’m the one who spotted the ambush in that parking garage. You were ahead of me and the other men. I could have left you and run like the others did. But I got you out of there when no one else tried.”

  “And as thanks, I’ll make your death instantaneous.”

  “Some things can’t be faked, Andrei. Our friendship is one of them. You’d have sensed immediately if I was playing a game. I never told my controllers about anything that you were personally involved in. I never did anything that put you at risk.”

  “Except when you stole the baby.”

  Kagan noticed that Andrei said “the baby” and not “the package.” That gave him a reason to hope.

  “No one is more ruthless than our clients,” Andrei insisted. “If I don’t deliver what they paid us to get, they’ll never stop hunting me. The Pakhan, too, will never stop hunting me.”

  “There’s an alternative!” Kagan kept pacing, checking the kitchen door and the hallway.

  “I can’t imagine what it could be.”

  “Come over to my side.”

  “Your side?”

  “Work for us.”

  “Defect?” Andrei made the concept sound outrageous.

  “Just pretend it’s the Cold War.”

  “Join American intelligence? And you make this proposal on a radio frequency to which my comrades are listening. Is this the quality of tradecraft your controllers taught you?”

  “It’s the only way I have of talking with you! Listen to me, Andrei. Working for my side is better than stealing babies. Don’t you have a personal low, a point beyond which you’d despise yourself? Isn’t there ever a time when you feel ashamed? Worse than that? Disgusted?”

  Andrei fell silent.

  “That’s what I’ve been feeling for a very long time,” Kagan continued. “Self-disgust.”

  “I do what’s necessary for business,” Andrei’s voice replied.

  “But there are other ways to earn a living. Your wife doesn’t have any idea how many people you’ve killed to pay for that nice house near the beach. Your daughters don’t know how much blood it took to earn their tuition at that wonderful private school they attend. How do you suppose they’d react if they found out what you really are? One day, government agents will pound on your door. Or else one night, rival gangsters will go to your home and—”

  “Shut up!”

  “Andrei, you once said we didn’t have a choice about our lives. Well, now I’m giving you a chance to take control. Join me. Wouldn’t it be great to tell your wife and daughters the truth about what you do, and to know it’s honorable? My people will relocate them,” Kagan said into the microphone. “You’ll all receive new identities. Your wife and daughters will be protected. You won’t need to be afraid for them.”

  Kagan hoped it was true. He couldn’t help recalling the fear with which his parents and he had lived, despite the best promises of the State Department.

  “You’ll earn an honest salary, doing good for a change,” Kagan said. “Wouldn’t it feel wonderful to give the child of peace a chance to fulfill his destiny?”

  “Destiny?” Andrei mocked. “You sound like a politician.”

  “When I was running from you tonight, I felt as if the baby was trying to communicate with me, to tell me where to go and warn me when you were close.”

  “Your wound made you hallucinate.”

  “But I believe the baby does have a destiny, Andrei. His father’s amazing: a powerful, inspiring leader who preaches hope instead of hate. Imagine how much more amazing his son can be. Maybe our destiny is to guarantee that he fulfills his. Why don’t we make sure the baby gets back to his parents?”

  “Then the clients and the Pakhan would hunt down both of us. Neither our deaths nor those of my family would be quick.”

  “That won’t happen if we hunt them first, Andrei. We can make them sorry they ever thought of raising the baby to be a suicide bomber. Who was the monster who had that idea? How’s that for somebody’s personal low? Let’s show them we’re better than that. Let’s show them we’re human beings.”

  Kagan paused, turning his head toward the outside entrance to the kitchen. Did I hear something? A key being slid into a lock?

  Again, he tapped the microphone against his leg so that Andrei couldn’t hear what he whispered to Ted.

  “There’s a pot of boiling water on the stove. Put it on top of the microwave. When I shout, ‘Now,’ push the microwave’s start button. The timer’s already set.”

  Kagan was close enough that, even in the shadows, he saw Ted’s forehead tighten in confusion.

  “I don’t have time to explain, Ted. For Meredith and Cole, just do it. They’re depending on you.”

  Ted hesitated, then surprised him by nodding.

  “Whatever you want. I’ve got a hell of a lot to make up for.” Staying low, Ted hurried into the kitchen.

  Kagan stopped tapping the microphone against his leg. He clipped it to his shirt. “Andrei, are you still there? The snow must be interfering with the radio transmission. All I heard was interference.”

  “I’m afraid it’s a little late for me to pretend to be a human being, Pyotyr,” Andrei’s voice responded. “Is the baby somewhere safe?”

  Again, Kagan noted that Andrei said “the baby” and not “the package.” He kept hoping he’d gotten through to him.

  “Yes. He’s somewhere safe.”

  “I think Ted was right when he said the laundry room. Merry Christmas.”

  There was something about the firmness with which Andrei said the last two words.

  Abruptly, the baby cried out in the laundry room.

  * * * * *

  BULLETS PUNCHED holes in the front window, spraying shards of glass into the living room.

  The shots were silent. By contrast, the crash of the glass and the impact of the bullets against the back wall were shockingly loud, but not so loud that Kagan didn’t hear a window shatter in the master bedroom.

  Someone was breaking in.

  They’ll come from three directions.

  “Now, Ted! Now!” he yelled. “Turn it on!”

  In spite of the baby’s wail, he heard the hum of the microwave. As Ted stayed low and rushed back into the living room, a crackling sound came from the kitchen. Kagan saw periodic flashes through the archway, the crumpled tinfoil in the microwave arcing like miniature lightning.

  The door to the kitchen banged open. A hunched silhouette charged in, shooting at everything before him, his bullets walloping walls and cupboards, the sound-suppressed shots themselves inaudible in the commotion.

  Suddenly, a loud crack was accompanied by a blinding glare. In the microwave, the heated glue burst from its plastic tube, the arcs from the tinfoil igniting its highly volatile vapor.

  As the microwave exploded in a fireball, Kagan saw the oven door rocket toward the gunman at the same time that the pot of scalding water catapulted off the oven, spraying over him.

  Smoke from the explosion filled the kitchen. Hearing screams, Kagan ran through the archway, saw a figure writhing in agony on the floor, and shot him twice in the head. The gunman was Yakov. In the confines of the kitchen, Kagan’s sound-suppressed shots made noises like muted snaps from a nail gun.

  He rushed to the kitchen door, slammed it shut, and twisted the lock.

  The smoke thickened. He saw flames licking the cupboard above where the fireball had erupted from the microwave.

  “Are you all right?” Ted yelled from the living room. His voice sounded farther away because Kagan’s ears rang from

  the explosion.

  “The kitchen’s on fire!” Kagan shouted back.

  Their voices overlapped as Ted yelled, “Someone’s in the master bedroom! I heard something falling!”

  Eyes watering from the smoke, Kagan crouc
hed next to the archway that opened into the living room. He wiped his sleeve across his eyes and aimed along the corridor that led to the other end of the house.

  Behind him, the flames grew. Now the smoke reflected it, the illumination making him feel exposed.

  Air brushed past his head.

  Again.

  Again.

  Bullets. Someone was shooting from the end of the corridor, the noise barely audible. The gunman’s sound suppressor hid the muzzle flashes, too, making it difficult for Kagan to judge exactly where to aim.

  He squeezed off two quick shots toward the master bedroom. He hated to use the ammunition on a target he couldn’t see, but he needed to make the gunman stay in the bedroom.

  “Ted, you’ll soon hear another explosion! When it happens, don’t hesitate! Run into the kitchen and try to put out the fire!”

  Ted didn’t answer.

  “Ted!” Kagan shouted.

  “He heard what you told me to do! He’ll wait for me to run! He’ll shoot when he sees me in the light from the fire!”

  “Just trust me! Do what I say!”

  Again, Ted didn’t answer.

  The only sound was the crackle of the flames growing on the cupboard door.

  Kagan tried desperately not to cough. He felt another streak of air sweep past him and shot toward the end of the corridor.

  Simultaneously, three bullets shattered more glass in the living room window. Someone—probably Andrei—was shooting from the front.

  The baby wailed.

  “Ted!” Kagan yelled. “The only way Meredith and the baby can leave the laundry room is through the kitchen! You’ve got to put out the fire before they’re trapped!”

  “I promised I’ll do whatever you want! Just tell me when!”

  “Get ready!”

  Kagan squeezed the trigger again and again. His bullets were directed toward the floor at the end of the hallway, toward the pressurized cans of hair spray and shaving soap he’d placed there. They were thirty yards away, difficult targets even in daylight. As the fire grew behind him, all he could do was keep shooting.

  He assumed that the gunman, having been warned, would duck back from the master bedroom’s doorway and take cover. That—along with the bursting cans—should provide Ted the protection he needed to get into the kitchen, Kagan hoped.