The Spy Who Came for Christmas (30 page)

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Authors: David Morrell

Tags: #Crime, #Fiction, #Thrillers, #Suspense, #Espionage, #Organized Crime, #Russia

BOOK: The Spy Who Came for Christmas
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Kagan said it with a subdued wave of grief. His parents were, in fact, dead--the victims of a drunk driver who'd hit their car head-on two years earlier. But he needed to try to make Andrei relate to him as a person, and parents who were still alive gave him a sympathetic reason not to reveal his last name.

'And you work for American intelligence?"

"Yes."

"You admit it. Finally, some truth."

"Andrei, remember the day we drove down to the gun dealer in Maryland to pick up that load of weapons the Pakhan wanted? We made the dealer add our Glocks as a bonus. We spent the afternoon on the firing range, testing who's a better shot."

'And my Glock will be the gun that kills you."

"Listen to me. In the last few years, I can't recall a better afternoon," Kagan said. He concentrated on the kitchen door, ready to shoot if someone charged in. "I
am
your friend, Andrei. I was honored to be invited to your home. I felt privileged to be with your wife and daughters. They're the family I never had. Remember when I saved your life in Colombia?"

"Don't make too much of that, Pyotyr."

Kagan shifted his attention to the shadows in the hallway, listening for someone breaking in.

"That drug lord was seriously pissed off when he realized the Soviet-era submarine you'd sold him would sink the first time he tried to use it to smuggle cocaine into the United States. I'm the one who spotted the ambush in that parking garage. You were ahead of me and the other men. I could have left you and run like the others did. But I got you out of there when no one else tried."

'And as thanks, I'll make your death instantaneous."

"Some things can't be faked, Andrei. Our friendship is one of them. You'd have sensed immediately if I was playing a game. I never told my controllers about anything that you were personally involved in. I never did anything that put you at risk."

"Except when you stole the baby."

Kagan noticed that Andrei said "the baby" and not "the package." That gave him a reason to hope.

"No one is more ruthless than our clients," Andrei insisted. "If I don't deliver what they paid us to get, they'll never stop hunting me. The Pakhan, too, will never stop hunting me."

"There's an alternative!" Kagan kept pacing, checking the kitchen door and the hallway.

"I can't imagine what it could be."

"Come over to
my
side."

"Tour
side?"

"Work for us."

"Defect?" Andrei made the concept sound outrageous.

"Just pretend it's the Cold War."

"Join American intelligence? And you make this proposal on a radio frequency to which my comrades are listening. Is
this
the quality of tradecraft your controllers taught you?"

"It's the only way I have of talking with you! Listen to me, Andrei. Working for
my
side is better than stealing babies. Don't you have a personal low, a point beyond which you'd despise yourself? Isn't there ever a time when you feel ashamed? Worse than that? Disgusted?"

Andrei fell silent.

"That's what I've been feeling for a very long time," Kagan continued. "Self-disgust."

"I do what's necessary for business," Andrei's voice replied.

"But there are other ways to earn a living. Your wife doesn't have any idea how many people you've killed to pay for that nice house near the beach. Your daughters don't know how much blood it took to earn their tuition at that wonderful private school they attend. How do you suppose they'd react if they found out what you really are? One day, government

agents will pound on your door. Or else one night, rival gangsters will go to your home and--"

"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.

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