The Spy Who Came for Christmas (2 page)

The left pocket of his parka was torn open, the result of someone grabbing for him when he'd escaped. He recalled the shock he'd felt when he'd reached for his cell phone and discovered that it had fallen out. Something had seemed to fall inside him as well. Without a way to contact his controller, he was powerless to summon help.

Kagan wore a flesh-colored earbud, so small that it was almost impossible to notice in the shadows. A miniature microphone was hidden on his parka, but all communication had stopped fifteen minutes earlier. He took for granted that his hunters had switched to a new frequency to prevent him from eavesdropping while they searched for him.

Doing his best to blend with the crowd, he strained to be aware of everything around him: the carolers, the twinkling lights on the galleries and the trees, the art dealers offering steaming cocoa to passersby. He searched for an escape route but knew that if the men chasing him managed to follow him to a quiet area, he wouldn't have a chance.

Nor would the object he held under his parka.

He felt it squirm. Fearful that it might be smothered, he pulled the zipper down far enough to provide air. It might be making sounds, but the carols and conversations around him prevented him from knowing for sure. Those same distractions prevented the crowd from hearing what he hid under his coat.

"We three kings of Orient are . . . "

Yeah, they came from the East all right, Kagan thought. In his weakened condition, the incense-like smell of the bonfires reminded him of the gifts the three Magi had brought to the baby Jesus: frankincense for a priest, gold for a king, and myrrh, an embalming perfume for one who is to die.

But not what's under my parka, Kagan thought. By God, I'll do anything to make sure it doesn't die.

* * *

"PAUL, WE HAVE a new assignment for you.. How's your Russian?"

"It's good, sir. My parents were afraid to speak it, even in secret. But after the Soviet Union collapsed, all of a sudden it was the only language they spoke around the house. The urge to use it had built up during the years they were in hiding. I needed to learn Russian so I could understand what they said."

"Your file says they defected to the United States in 1976."

"That's right. They were part of the Soviet gymnastics team sent to the summer Olympics in Montreal. They managed to slip away

from their handlers, reached the American consulate, and requested political asylum.."

"Interesting that they chose the U.S. instead of Canada.."

"I think they worried that Canada's winters would be as cold as those in their former home in Leningrad."

"I was hoping you'd tell me they admired the American way of
^lfe
."

^{"They did, sir, especially Florida, where they went to live and never felt cold again."}

^{"Florida? I had an assignment there one Christmas. All that sun and sand, the mood didn't work. They never felt cold? I assume you mean except for the Cold War."}

^{"Yes, sir. The Soviets never stopped searching for defectors, especially ones who'd made international headlines. Despite the new identities the State Department gave them, my parents were always afraid they'd be tracked down."}

^{"Their original names were Irina and Vladimir Kozlov?"}

^"Correct."

^{"Changed to Kagan?"}

^{"Yes, sir. Gymnastics was their passion, but they soon realized they could never compete again. The risk of discovery was too great. They didn't even dare go into a gymnasium and practice their moves. They knew they wouldn't be able to resist doing their best, and if people saw how amazing they were, word would have spread. Perhaps to the wrong people. My parents were too terrified to take the chance. Suppressing their talents broke their spirit. That was the price of their freedom."}

^{"They could have won gold medals?"}

^{'Almost certainly. But they defected because of me. Relationships between male and female gymnasts were strictly forbidden, but somehow they managed to find time to sneak away and be by themselves. Perhaps if the opportunity hadn't seemed so rare, they might not have . . . Well, in any case, when my mother realized she was pregnant, she knew that the Soviets would insist she have an abortion, to keep her in competition. She was determined not to let that happen."}

^{"Only teenagers--they grew up fast."}

^{''They were so paranoid about KGB agents grabbing us in the middle of the night that they raised me to be suspicious of everyone, to study everything wherever I went, and to watch for anybody who seemed out of place. As I grew up, I thought it was a normal way to live, always keeping secrets."}

^{"So it was natural for you to become a spy."}

^{* * *}

^{"COLE'S BEEN
throwing up," the man said into the telephone, taking care not to make his words sound forced. "Some kind of stomach bug. I'm afraid we can't come to the party. . . . Yes, I'm sorry, too. It's an awful way to spend Christmas Eve. . . . I'll tell him. Thanks."}

^{He pressed the dial-tone button, then picked up a hammer from the counter and smashed the phone into pieces--just as he'd done with the phone in his office and the one in the master bedroom.}

^{Chunks of plastic flew across the kitchen.}

^{"There," the man said unsteadily. He dropped the hammer, opened a woman's purse that was lying on the counter, and took out a cell phone, shoving it into his coat pocket. "That takes care of everything." He crossed the kitchen and yanked open the side door, the motion so violent that it sucked snow into the house. While the flakes settled over the woman lying on the floor, he raged outside and slammed the door behind him.}

^{Pressed against a kitchen cupboard, the boy was so stunned that for a moment he couldn't speak. Finally, he found his voice.}

^{"Mom?" Tears burned his eyes. "Are you okay?" He moved toward her. Although the heel on his right shoe was higher than the one on the left, it didn't fully compensate for his short right leg, giving him a slight limp.}

^{He knelt and touched her arm, feeling dampness where the snow that had blown in was already melting on her.}

^{"I'm . . ." His mother took a deep breath and found the strength to raise herself to a sitting position. "I'm . . . going to be all right." Her right hand touched the side of her cheek, causing her to wince. "Get me . . . some ice cubes, would you, sweetheart? Put them in a dishcloth."}

^{Moving quickly despite his limp, the boy grabbed a dish towel from the counter and went to the side-by-side. He tugged the freezer door open, reaching in. The ice cubes chilled his fingers. While his mother groaned, making the}

^{effort to stand, he wrapped the ice cubes in the towel and hurried back to her.}

^{"You're always a help," she murmured. "I don't know what I'd do without you." She put the ice pack against her cheek. Blood from her lips smeared the cloth.}

^{Music played in the background, a jolly man singing,
"Here comes Santa Claus."
In the living room, logs crackled in the fireplace. Lights glowed on the Christmas tree. Colorfully wrapped presents lay under it. They only made the boy feel worse.}

^{"Should I call the hospital?" he asked.}

^{"The phones are broken."}

^{"I can go down the street and try to find a pay phone, or ask a neighbor."}

^{"Don't. I want you to stay close."}

^{"But your cheek ..."}

^{"The ice is helping."}

^{The boy frowned toward the nearly empty whiskey bottle on the counter.}

^{"He promised."}

^{"Yes," the woman said. "He promised." She took another deep breath. "Well. . ." She stood straighter, mustering determination. "We can't let him ruin our Christmas Eve. I'll. . ." She searched for an idea, but the look on her face told the boy she had trouble concentrating. "I'll make us some hot cocoa."}

^{"Mom, you ought to sit down."}

^{"I'm fine. All I need are some aspirins."}

^{"Let
me
make the cocoa."}

^{Still holding the ice pack to her cheek, she studied him.}

^{"Yes, I don't know what I'd do without you." When she smiled, the effort hurt her injured cheek, and she winced again. She peered down. "My dress . . ." Its green had blood on it. "I'd better put on something else. Can't spend Christmas Eve looking like this."}

^{The boy watched as she wavered into the living room, along the hallway, and into the bedroom on the left.}

^{The music changed to "Frosty, the Snowman."}

^{Cole limped into the living room and stared at the Christmas tree. He turned to the right toward the big picture window and peered out toward the falling snow.}

^{Behind his eyeglasses, tears blurred what he saw. Nonetheless, he was able to distinguish the footprints in the snow where his father had crossed the front yard and opened the gate. The lane beyond the fence was deserted. The cheerless lights from the Christmas tree in the living room reflected off the inside of the window.}

^{He promised,
the boy thought.
He promised!}

^{* * *}

^{ANDREI MOVED
closer through the crowd, only ten people away now. The snowfall persisted, dimming the candles that burned in the paper bags along the street, deepening the shadows, providing cover.
Almost perfect,
he thought.}

^{Music drifted from an art gallery, carolers singing,
"Oh, little town of Bethlehem."}

^{Again, Andrei heard the accented voice coming from the earbud under his watchman's cap. The Pakhan's angry tone was loud enough to hurt Andrei's eardrums. "We need to assume Pyotyr's a mole."}

^{Pyotyr,
Andrei thought bitterly. Of course, given what had happened, that surely wasn't the target's real name.}

^{It was a measure of the Pakhan's anger that he'd stopped speaking in euphemisms. "The son of a
bliatz
probably belongs to law enforcement or American intelligence. But after everything we made him do to prove himself, I don't understand why he waited until
now
to make his move. Why
this
assignment?"}