The Spy Who Came for Christmas Page 17

  Taking one more shot, he flinched as a sharp bang assaulted his ears. A can exploded, spraying the end of the hallway with chunks of metal and pressurized liquid.

  “Now, Ted! Now!”

  But Ted was already in motion, racing past him into the kitchen. He stumbled over Yakov’s corpse, grabbed the kitchen table to catch his balance, and veered toward the sink. The force of his movement parted the smoke and brightened the flames that wavered up the cupboard next to the kitchen door.

  Almost out of ammunition, Kagan thought.

  He heard water running in the sink, the clatter of a saucepan, water splashing into it. Steam hissed as Ted hurled the water against the burning cupboard.

  The light from the flames diminished.

  Again, water splashed into the saucepan. Again, Ted hurled it against the cupboard.

  “It’s out!” he yelled.

  The thickening shadows told Kagan the same thing.

  Yakov’s gun, he thought. If I can reach it . . .

  He risked switching his gaze from the hallway and focused on the corpse next to him. But the bright flames had hurt his night vision, and he couldn’t adapt to the dark again to see the gun.

  More bullets snapped past him, but this time they were directed behind him, toward the floor. Kagan realized that the flames must have illuminated the pressurized cans he’d placed next to the kitchen door. The gunman was imitating his tactic.

  “Ted, get over by the sink!”

  The sharp bang with which one of the cans exploded felt like hands slapping Kagan’s ears.

  In agony, Kagan tried to recover from the shock. Aiming along the hallway, he saw a figure lunge from the master bedroom.

  He knows I’m down to my last few rounds!

  The gunman had Mikhail’s bulky silhouette. He must have put in a fresh magazine, Kagan realized, because he kept shooting as if he had an endless supply of ammunition.

  Having been warned about the drawers that lay on the floor, Mikhail veered this way and that. The zigzag movement confused Kagan’s aim as Mikhail kept shooting.

  Kagan fired once, twice, but then his gun was useless, its slide locking back, its magazine empty. Certain that he was about to die, he rolled frantically toward Yakov’s body next to him, searching for the gun. But his wounded arm was so stiff that it restricted his movement.

  Doubly certain that he would die, he felt a bullet strike the brick floor, spraying fragments over him.

  He kept pawing for Yakov’s gun but couldn’t find it.

  Without warning, Mikhail stumbled, sprawling face-down onto a drawer. Something about the way he fell struck Kagan as strange, but there wasn’t time to think about it as he unclipped the knife from his pocket and surged up.

  The hook on the back of the knife levered against his pocket and pulled the blade open.

  Charging, he saw Mikhail’s shadowy figure peer up from the floor and raise his pistol. Kagan slashed the back of Mikhail’s wrist, causing him to drop the gun. But as Kagan slashed again, Mikhail used his uninjured hand to grab his ankle and yank him off balance.

  Kagan fell heavily.

  When he hit the floor, he crunched across broken glass, managing to come to his feet at the same moment that Mikhail rose and dove forward. Despite their injured arms, they grappled viciously, sliding on the shards of glass. Kagan fought to stab his opponent, while Mikhail struggled to get the knife away from him.

  Kagan’s heart sped so wildly that the precise movements necessary for martial-arts combat became impossible. He and Mikhail were like two large animals, colliding with each other.

  Mikhail was heavier, able to make his weight a weapon. He used his uninjured hand to squeeze Kagan’s knife wrist, spinning him. Then he curled his blood-slick arm around Kagan’s neck, strangling him from behind. Kagan felt increasing pressure against his larynx.

  Something crashed.

  Andrei’s breaking through the front window! Kagan thought.

  But the crash was accompanied by a blow from behind that sent Mikhail lurching forward.

  Ted hit him with something!

  In a frenzy, Kagan squirmed free of Mikhail’s grip. He tried to slice with the blade, but again Mikhail grabbed that wrist. The force of their struggle knocked Kagan against the back wall of the corridor. His head smashed the glass of a picture hanging there.

  Jolted from the impact, he tried to knee Mikhail in the groin but succeeded only in striking a thigh. As the Russian pinned him against the wall, straining to get the knife away from him, Kagan stomped down hard on a foot and heard a groan. To the right, he sensed the open door to Ted’s office and used all his strength to pivot with Mikhail, thrusting him through the doorway.

  The trip cord caught behind Mikhail’s ankles. Kagan added to the Russian’s backward momentum by shoving. When they hit the floor, Kagan was on top, his impact knocking the air from Mikhail’s lungs. The Russian’s grip loosened enough for Kagan to yank his knife hand free.

  Screaming with fury, he plunged the blade into Mikhail’s throat, all the way to the handle, and felt the Russian thrash. He worked the knife back and forth, widening the hole, grating against bone, feeling the hot blood gush over his fingers. Mikhail’s mouth gaped in a desperate effort to breathe.

  His arms fought to push Kagan away. He gasped, the blood causing a rattle in his throat. His arms lost strength. Kagan kept twisting the knife. At last, Mikhail’s hands fell away, trembled, and lay still.

  Only then did Kagan let go of the knife. Andrei! he thought frantically.

  Dizzy from his frenzied breathing, he scrambled toward where Mikhail had dropped his pistol. He grabbed the gun, hurried into the living room, crouched, and aimed toward the bullet holes in the front window. Huge chunks of glass had fallen into the room. The snow was drifting in.

  Where was Andrei?

  Kagan’s ears rang painfully. From the laundry room, the baby kept crying, its wail seeming to come through cotton batting.

  But Kagan noticed something odd—inexplicably, the window was broken only at the top half. Every bullet had been directed upward, where the least possible harm would result.

  What the . . . ?

  “Look out!” Ted shouted behind him.

  Spinning, Kagan saw a dark figure lurch from the office. Mikhail’s throat gaped, wheezing, spewing blood. The knife was no longer embedded there. It was in his hand, and as he thrust the blade toward Kagan, Ted surged from the kitchen, crashing into him. The impact sent Ted and Mikhail toppling onto the floor. Raging, Mikhail swung the knife at Ted, who kicked and fought to squirm away.

  The knife grazed Ted’s cheek, making him groan. But he was far enough away that Kagan could shoot without fear of hitting him. He put two bullets behind Mikhail’s right ear, and when the Russian collapsed, this time Kagan had no doubt that he was dead.

  Andrei. Where’s Andrei?

  Kagan whirled again toward the front window.

  * * * * *

  HE WAS DRENCHED in sweat. His breathing was frantic. He knew that barely two minutes had elapsed, but the intensity of the fight had made the passage of time seem much longer.

  The baby kept wailing. Then suddenly, it stopped.

  At once, Kagan heard Andrei’s voice, but this time, it didn’t come from the radio’s earbud. Instead it came faintly from the area outside the house. Although Kagan had the sense that Andrei was shouting, the explosions had traumatized his ears enough that he had to strain to hear what was being said.

  “Pyotyr!” the voice called. “Don’t say a word! Shut off your radio transmitter!”

  Wary, Kagan didn’t respond.

  “Do you hear me?” Andrei shouted. “Shut off the transmitter!”

  What’s he up to? Kagan wondered. Tense, he did as he was asked.

  “Okay, it’s off!” Kagan’s words seemed to come from inside a tunnel.

  “I figured you were the one who survived. Otherwise, Yakov or Mikhail would have opened the door.”

  “It’s nice to kno
w you have confidence in me.”

  “More than you can imagine,” Andrei said. “By the way, I shut off my radio transmitter also. The clients and the Pakhan can’t hear us.”

  “What are you doing?” Kagan aimed toward the half-broken window. More snow flurried through it. “All your shots were aimed high. If you’d continued the attack from the front, I’d have been killed.”

  “You mentioned destiny. I figured I’d let Mikhail and Yakov decide it for me. If they won, then the child was meant to be delivered to our clients.”

  “I thought you didn’t believe in destiny.” Kagan kept aiming through the window.

  “Of course I do. I’m Russian.”

  “Tell me why you held back.”

  “Things happened tonight, Pyotyr.”

  “Yeah, it was a busy Christmas Eve.”

  “The Pakhan called me certain names,” Andrei said.

  “Names?”

  “Hooyesos. Govnosos. Kachok. Koshkayob.”

  “That’s a lot of disrespect.”

  “He sided with the clients against me. He threatened me.

  Worse, he threatened my family.”

  “And nobody threatens your family.”

  “Believe it. Pyotyr, suppose I do defect. Where do you think I should ask for my wife and daughters to be relocated? You know Anna. What would she like?”

  “Considering tonight’s weather, I think someplace warm.”

  Kagan was reminded of why his parents had chosen Miami.

  “Or perhaps she’s tired of living near water and would enjoy a change of scenery.”

  “That’s something you’ll need to discuss with her.”

  “As soon as we finish here,” Andrei said from the front of the house. “You and I have hunting to do. If I’m going to switch sides, I can’t leave my enemies alive to come after me and my family.”

  Kagan heard a voice behind him. It belonged to Ted, who was saying something urgently. Then Kagan realized that Ted wasn’t speaking to anyone in the house, and that he’d done something remarkable.

  “Andrei,” he said through the shattered window, “Ted turned out to have more nerve than we imagined. He risked his life to save his wife and son. Now he searched one of the bodies to get a cell phone. He’s talking to the police. How he got through I’ll never know. But he did. I mention that in case you have a surprise planned.”

  “You think I’m not telling the truth?”

  “I think that if this is a trick to grab the baby, you’ve got less than five minutes to make your move.”

  “What kind of friends don’t trust each other?” Andrei chided. “Actually, you’re the one who has less than five minutes. If we’re going to make this work, we need to get out of here right away. When I gave Yakov the key to the house, I kept the car keys. I used them a few minutes ago to back the Range Rover out of the garage.”

  “I don’t hear it.”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to, given what those explosions must have done to your ears. What caused them?”

  “The big one was a microwave I blew up.”

  “Always resourceful. I’m sure Yakov and Mikhail were startled enough to lose their momentum.”

  “For certain, Yakov did.”

  “The bastard shouldn’t have run away when that drug lord tried to kill me in Colombia. Pyotyr, make up your mind. If you want me to defect, you need to get out here and help me do what’s necessary.”

  The snowfall was now so thick that Kagan could hardly see anything beyond the window. Is he trying to fool me into showing myself? he wondered.

  “Andrei, do you know what Santa Fe means?”

  “Someone in the crowd mentioned it tonight. Holy Faith.”

  “I guess it’s time to have some faith of my own.”

  Anything for the baby, Kagan thought. I need to keep Andrei occupied. I need to keep him away from the house.

  “All right, I’m coming out.”

  He turned toward Ted, who lowered the cell phone and told him, “A SWAT team and an ambulance are on the way.”

  “Thank God,” Meredith said. She stepped from the laundry room, appearing through the smoke that lingered in the kitchen. The lights outside provided enough illumination to show Kagan that she held the baby.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Scared. Sick.” She glanced nervously toward Yakov’s body, then quickly away.

  “And the baby?”

  “He isn’t hurt.”

  Kagan felt a momentary relief that was suddenly broken.

  “Wait a minute. Where’s Cole?”

  “Cole?” Ted’s voice was stark. “Where are you, son?”

  “Cole?” Meredith looked around desperately.

  Kagan almost panicked, fearing that the boy had been shot, but then he heard a faint voice.

  “I’m here,” Cole said. He limped from the shadowy hallway. Dragging his baseball bat, he made his way unsteadily among the drawers on the floor. Even in the shadows, Mikhail’s body was obvious.

  It made Cole stop.

  “Cole, can you see me?” Ted asked. “Keep your eyes on me. Don’t look down, son. I’m coming to get you.”

  Broken glass scraped under Ted’s shoes as he walked over. He picked up his son and lifted him over the corpse.

  When Ted set him down, Kagan put a reassuring hand on Cole’s shoulder. He’d been puzzled by something that had happened during the gunfight, but now he understood.

  “Cole, when I told you to find a new hiding place, where did you go?” Kagan asked. “You came from the hallway. Were you in the bathroom?”

  “Yes.” Cole sounded as if he was in shock. “I was lying in the bathtub.”

  “The second man charged from the master bedroom,” Kagan continued. “But I was out of ammunition. The only thing that gave me time to grab my knife was that he tripped.”

  “Of course,” Meredith said. “He tripped on one of the drawers you set down.”

  “No, he knew about the drawers,” Kagan told her. “And he was moving confidently. I don’t think it was a drawer that tripped him.”

  “Then what happened?” Ted asked. “Why did he fall?”

  “You’d better ask Cole.”

  “I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”

  “Tell them, Cole,” Kagan said. “Your mother and father should know how brave you are.”

  “Brave?” Ted sounded baffled.

  The boy hesitated. “I had to help. With all the noise, the man didn’t hear me crawl out of the bathtub. When he ran past, I stuck out my bat.”

  “You tripped him?” Meredith asked in amazement.

  Cole fidgeted with the baseball bat. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

  Meredith spoke softly. “My dear brave boy.”

  “He’s more than a boy,” Kagan said.

  “I hear sirens,” Cole said, looking up.

  With little time remaining, Kagan stepped toward Meredith and the baby she held. He put a finger on the tiny forehead.

  “The child of peace? Lord, I hope so. Grow strong and healthy, little guy. Make me believe that it’s possible to have peace on earth and goodwill to all.”

  Andrei yelled from outside. There was nervousness in his voice now. “The sirens, Pyotyr.”

  Kagan looked at Ted.

  “Your left cheek’s bleeding.”

  “What?” Ted jerked a hand to his face and touched the blood.

  “Might have been flying glass or—”

  “No. The knife did it.”

  “It’s deep. I’m afraid you’ll have a scar.”

  “That’s good.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’ll remind me of what I almost lost.” Ted turned toward Meredith and Cole.

  Kagan did the same. “Meredith, did anyone ever tell you how beautiful you are?”

  She glanced down in embarrassment. If the lights had been on, Kagan was sure he’d have seen her blushing.

  “Ted, don’t yo
u think she’s beautiful?”

  “Very much.”

  “Tell her every day.”

  Kagan went into the kitchen and pulled on his parka, concealing Mikhail’s blood that covered his shirt. He shoved Mikhail’s gun and his own Glock into the right pocket of the coat. He picked up Yakov’s gun and reloaded it with a remaining magazine he found on the corpse.

  “Meredith, tell the police everything that happened. Don’t hold anything back. You don’t know anything that can harm me. Just say the truth. And Cole, don’t forget the story about the Magi.”

  “The spy’s version of Christmas.” The boy sounded dazed.

  “What story is that?” Ted asked.

  “Your son will tell you.”

  “Pyotyr!” Andrei’s voice warned from outside. “The police! We don’t have much time!”

  “Ted, walk with me.” They moved to the front door.

  “When I fought with the second man, I felt something crash against him. Did you hit him from behind?” Kagan asked.

  “With a lamp.” Blood dripped from Ted’s cheek.

  “There might be hope for you yet. Have you ever fired a gun?”

  “No.”

  “You point the barrel and pull the trigger. There are refinements, but basically that’s it.”

  “Is there a reason you want me to know this?”

  “Take this gun. The man you spoke to, the one with the creased face and the thick eyebrows, if he tries to come inside the house, don’t let him.”

  “You think he might break his word? You think you might be walking into a trap?”

  “It’s been known to happen.” Kagan looked behind him. “Cole, what’s a major rule of being a spy?”

  Cole spoke numbly. “Don’t take anything for granted.”

  “What’s another rule?”

  “Always have a backup plan.”

  “I’m proud of you.” Kagan studied the boy’s father. “Ted, can I rely on you to stop that man if he tries to get inside?”

  “Anything to protect my family.”

  “Keep remembering that. To protect your family.”

  “You have my word.”