David Morrell - The Spy Who Came for Christmas

“ 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 crouched 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.

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.