David Morrell: The Spy Who Came for Christmas

“ Lost it.”

“ He took my mother’s phone,” Cole said.

“ He?” Kagan crawled painfully toward a wooden chair at the kitchen table.

Neither of them answered. In another part of the house, a man’s voice sang, “ Away in a manger, no crib for a bed…” Kagan was surprised that he took the time to identify it as Bing Crosby’s.

Damn it, concentrate, he thought.

“ A man took your cell phone?” Kagan felt he’d achieved a small victory when his right hand touched the chair.

“ You promised to tell us why they want the baby,” Meredith demanded. “I made a mistake. I don’t know why I brought you inside.”

“ You brought me inside because you heard the baby crying.” Kagan fought for energy. “Because you couldn’t leave the baby out there in the snow.” He took a deep breath. “Because you’re a decent person, and this is the one night of the year you can’t refuse to take care of someone who’s hurt.

With effort, Kagan pulled himself onto the chair. His gaze drifted toward a wall phone next to the night-light across from him.

At least, it had once been a phone. Someone had used a hammer to smash it into pieces. The hammer lay on the counter.

“ Is the man who took your cell phone the same man who did that?” Kagan pointed toward the debris.

From his new position, he had a better view of the side of Meredith’s face. Even in the dim illumination provided by the night-light, it was obvious that her cheek was bruised and her eye was swelling shut. She had dried blood on the side of her mouth.

“ Is he the same man who beat you?” Kagan asked.

The question filled him with bitterness. To prove himself to the Russian mob, he’d been forced to beat many people. Often, the Pakhan had ordered him to punch women in the face, to knee them in the groin and knock them to the floor, kicking their legs and sides to make husbands, fathers, sons, and brothers do what the Pakhan wanted.

His mission controllers had been delighted by how effectively such tactics had earned Kagan access to the mob’s inner circle.

But each night, Kagan had suffered nightmares-and each morning, he’d been filled with shame.

Now his shame reinforced his outrage at what had been done to Meredith. His powerful emotions started adrenaline flowing, giving him energy.

“ If you don’t tell me why those men want this baby, Cole and I are going for the police,” Meredith threatened.

“ No,” Kagan blurted. “You don’t dare go outside. It isn’t safe.”

The baby squirmed in Meredith’s arms. Its tiny face shriveled and prompted Kagan to fear it was about to cry again.

“ We can’t let it make noise,” he said. “It’s hungry. You’ve got to feed it and change it. Can you do that? Can you help the baby? Anything to stop it from crying again.”

The baby whimpered, pushing against Meredith.

“ Cole,” Kagan said urgently, “would you like to help your mother and me? Is there a bedroom that faces the front of the house? Does the bedroom have a television?”

The boy looked puzzled. “Mine.”

“ Go in there and turn on the television. Close the curtains but leave just enough space so the glow from the television can be seen through the window. We want them to think everything’s normal in here.”

Cole wrinkled his brow.

“ Then go into the living room and look out the window. Pretend you’re admiring the snowfall,” Kagan told him. “If you see anyone out there, don’t react. Just peer up as if you’re waiting for Santa Claus.”

“ I’m too old to believe in Santa Claus.”

“ Of course. I don’t know what I was thinking. Obviously, you’re too old to believe in Santa Claus. Just fool anyone who might be watching. Admire the snowfall. Pretend you’re a spy. Would you like to learn to be a spy?”

“ Is that what you claim you are?” Meredith asked. Dismay crept into her voice.

“ Yes.” Kagan slumped on the chair, exhaustion overwhelming him. “God help me, yes, I’m a spy.”

Andrei followed the various tracks along the lane, taking note as some of them angled toward houses behind chest-high walls, presumably evidence of someone returning home.

Or that’s what I’m supposed to think, isn’t that right, Pyotyr? Andrei decided. But maybe one of these sets of tracks belongs to you.

Solitary footprints went through a gate on the right. Andrei peered through the falling snow toward a living room window. Next to Christmas lights on a hearth, a man held up a treat while a Dalmatian looked up patiently and waited for its master to reward it.

Andrei returned the Glock to his right hand and put his left hand into a coat pocket, warming his fingers in the thin shooter’s glove. He continued along the tracks, studying them, but he no longer saw with the tunnel vision of a hunter on the verge of catching his prey. His perspective was now wide, taking into account the trees and shadows to the right and left, on guard against an ambush. Earlier, with Mikhail and Yakov flanking him, he’d been confident that Pyotyr would keep running.

But with only me for a target? he wondered. Pyotyr, will you t ake the chance of attacking me if I’m alone?

Something flashed. The air became filled with an acrid smell.

Andrei spun, almost pulling the trigger as a burning object fell with the snow. At once, he realized that it was a plastic garbage bag shaped like a hot-air balloon. Inside, attached to an x-shaped platform of balsa, were rows of burning candles. The hot air they created had given the bag its lift. But not any longer. The candles had set the bag on fire.

When it crashed, sparks flew, the flames dwindling, smoke forming in the snow.

Andrei refused to allow the surreal event to distract him. He pivoted, aiming toward the shrouded area around him. Urgent questions crowded his mind.

Did it make sense for Pyotyr to go this way? Wounded? With the baby to concern him? Out here, away from the crowd, Pyotyr was helpless. If he fainted from blood loss, he and the baby would freeze to death.

Maybe I’m wrong, Andrei thought. Maybe he believes he has a better chance among the people on Canyon Road. Or maybe that’s what he wants me to think.

Andrei reached for the radio transmitter under his coat and switched the frequency to the one the team had used at the start of the mission, the one that had enabled him to speak to Pyotyr earlier. He hoped that the sound of Pyotyr’s breathing would tell him whether or not he was still moving or whether he had stopped and set up an ambush.

But this time, there wasn’t any sound. Only dead air.

Did you shut off your transmitter to keep the sounds you make from revealing where you are? Andrei wondered. Well, it won’t do you any good. I’ll find you, my friend.

He switched the transmitter to the new frequency the team was using. All the while, he scanned the hiding places that flanked the lane.

Ready with his pistol, he followed the dwindling tracks.

“ Thank you for inviting me to your home, Andrei. It’s an honor to have dinner with your wife and daughters.”

“ The honor is mine, Pyotyr. I owe you my life.”

“ But you’d have done the same for me. That’s what friends are for-to watch each other’s back.”

“ Yes. To watch each other’s back. The Pakhan’s other men ran. You’re the only one who helped me out of that trap. And the bastard actually gave you hell for taking the risk. He gladly would have let me die to keep the rest of his men from being killed.”

“ Quite a life we chose.”

“ Chose, Pyotyr? Do you honestly believe we made a choice?”

“ We stay here, don’t we?”

“ Where else would you go and not attract attention? With your fake identity card, do you think you could be an accountant or a real-estate agent in some place like Omaha? How long do you think it would take for government agents to show up at your door? But not before the Pakhan sent men to slit your throat to keep you from telling the government what you know about him.”