David Morrell - The Spy Who Came for Christmas

“ Yes?” Her voice came softly through the archway.

“ Please bring the baby in here and sit on the floor next to him. Be ready to rush him into the laundry room if you hear anyone trying to break into the house.”

“ If,” she said. “But maybe they won’t come.”

“ That’s right. Maybe we’ll have just a quiet Christmas Eve.”

All the while Kagan spoke, he kept his gaze on the view beyond the window, concentrating on the fence and the lane.

He thought of the man out there with whom he’d pretended to have a friendship. Did I fool you, Andrei? Are you searching for me near Canyon Road? When you don’t find me, will you return here to take another look?

I was a frequent guest in your home. Many times, I ate dinner with your wife and daughters. You invited me to help celebrate your wife’s birthday. Once, when you were drunk, you called me “brother.” Even the guns we carry are identical: 10-millimeter Glocks that were part of a load of weapons the Pakhan sent us to pick up from a gun dealer in Maryland. We test-fired them at the dealer’s range. We kept tying each other for the number of head shots we scored.

Because I betrayed you, because I made a fool of you, I know you’ll never stop hunting me. If not tonight, then tomorrow or another day, you’ll find me. That much I’m sure of.

Kagan remembered the many missions he and Andrei had conducted. With renewed self-loathing, he recalled the violence he’d been forced to inflict on his victims in order to win Andrei’s confidence. Because of the secrets he’d learned and the plots he’d uncovered-missile launchers, plastic explosives, infectious materials, and other terrorist weapons being smuggled into the country-he’d saved many innocent lives.

But he couldn’t shut out the memory of the clatter of the teeth he’d pulled from the restaurant owner and dropped on the floor, of the homes he’d burned, of the women he’d beaten while Andrei and the Pakhan had watched.

Meredith and Cole are as innocent as any of the other people I saved. They’re in danger because of me. If anything happens to them..

Kagan’s thoughts were interrupted by the flush of a toilet behind the kitchen. It sounded loud in the stillness. He heard Cole limp into the living room and sit on the floor next to the now-dark Christmas tree. The baseball bat scraped against the floor when he set it down.

“ Do you like to play baseball, Cole?”

“ I can’t with this leg.”

“ Then why do you have the bat?”

“ My dad gave it to me for my birthday. He hoped I’d grow enough that I might be able to adjust to my leg and play. After a while, he stopped trying. But I like to imagine.”

A different scrape came from the wicker basket as Meredith pulled it into the living room and sat next to it. Kagan heard her settle against a wall. The baby made another whimpering noise and became silent again.

Good baby, Kagan thought. Please don’t cry.

“ Cole, I saw presents under the tree.”

“ I guess so.”

“ Is there anything special you’re hoping for?”

“ For my dad to stop drinking.”

“ Well, when we get out of this, I’ll talk to him.” The “when” was deliberately chosen, a projection into the future, a further way to make them optimistic.

“ He won’t listen,” the boy said.

“ You’d be surprised. I’m a very persuasive guy. When I mentioned the presents, I thought maybe there was something special that you’d like to open. This is a holiday, after all. What do you think, Meredith?”

She didn’t respond for a moment.

“ Yes, open something, Cole,” she said quietly. “There’s no reason to wait.”

But Cole didn’t reach for anything.

“ Cole?” Kagan prompted.

“ I guess I’m not in the mood.”

“ Sure. I understand. Well, if you change your mind…”

Despite the apprehension that coursed through him, Kagan’s eyelids felt heavy. The exhaustion caused by his wound was taking its toll.

“ Meredith, maybe you could make some coffee. Caffeinated, if you have it. With sugar. I can use the sugar.”

He heard her crawl into the kitchen.

“ Cole, did I see a creche on a table next to the tree?”

“ A creche?”

“ A manger scene. Little figures of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Donkeys, lambs, and other animals that would be in a stable. The shepherds.”

“ Yeah, there’s one on that table,” Cole said. “The three kings. You forgot to mention them. They’re next to the shepherds.”

“ The three kings. Yes. I mustn’t forget them. They’re hardly mentioned in the gospels, but they’re more important than most people realize.”

In the dark, Kagan’s fatigue settled over him. At the same time, his heart pounded at an unnerving rate, hammering in his ears, draining more energy. It was all he could do to stop his lungs from heaving in a desperate need to take in air ever deeper and faster, wearing him down further.

He used the gunfighter’s rhythm of holding his breath for three counts, inhaling slowly for three counts, holding his breath for three counts, and exhaling slowly for three counts.

The irony was that he’d soon need the coffee he’d asked Meredith to make, that without a stimulant he’d eventually run out of adrenaline and crash.

Can’t let Meredith and Cole know what’s happening to my body. Need to keep distracting them, he thought.

The three kings.

His memory took him back fourteen years to the Rocky Mountain Industrial Academy, the covert espionage training facility he’d attended in the mountains outside Fort Collins, Colorado. He was reminded of something he’d learned from one of his instructors, Robert McCaddam, a legendary spy-master who, according to rumor, had once been a Jesuit priest.

McCaddam, who was seventy-five at the time, enjoyed finding implications of espionage in all sorts of situations. Around Christmas, he was fond of standing next to a fireplace, lighting his pipe, and teaching what he called the true story of the season.

“ Cole, I’d like to tell you a story. Will you listen? It’ll put us in the Christmas spirit.”

“ What kind of story?” Cole sounded doubtful that anything could put him in the Christmas spirit.

“ It’s about the three kings.” Kagan bit his lip to ignore the pain in his stiffening arm. “But the first thing you need to understand is, they weren’t really kings.”

“ Then what were they?”

“ You’ll be surprised.”

He stared out the window, looking for movement in the falling snow.

“ Cole, did you ever read the nativity story in the Bible?”

The boy was silent.

“ Or maybe you heard someone reading that part of Matthew’s gospel out loud in church,” Kagan suggested.

“ I’m afraid it’s been a long time since we went to church.” In the kitchen, Meredith kept her voice low as she made coffee.

“ Well, it can’t be any longer than when I went to church last,” Kagan replied.

That wasn’t the truth-he said it only to keep bonding with them. That afternoon, he’d spent an hour in Santa Fe’s cathedral, studying a manger display, his mind in a turmoil, trying to decide what to do.

“ The reference to the so-called three kings is very small. Just a couple of dozen sentences. That’s amazing when you consider how much has been written about them ever since. To understand what the kings really were, you need to realize that Matthew’s gospel was written in either Hebrew or Greek. Over the years, it was translated into a lot of other languages. Changes crept in. In English, the word ‘kings’ didn’t show up until centuries later. When language experts try to get a sense of the original words, the most likely translation is ‘astrologers’ or ‘magi.’”