The Spy Who Came for Christmas

Part Two

Kagan heard a faint choir singing, “Silent night, holy night

…”It took him a dazed moment to realize that the soft music came from a radio or a CD player, but not in the room where he lay on his back on the floor.

A woman loomed over him, as did the boy who had nearly struck him with the baseball bat. Kagan’s eyes hurt from the glare of the overhead light. Orienting himself in a panic, he saw the gleam of stainless steel. A stove. A refrigerator.

I’m in a kitchen, he realized. He tried to raise himself, but his strength gave out, and he sank back onto what felt like a brick floor.

“ You’re hurt,” the woman said. “Don’t try to move.”

“ The baby,” he murmured anxiously.

Even dazed, he was alarmed by the sound of his voice. For almost a year, he’d spoken so much Russian that his English had an accent. He worried that it would be one more thing to unsettle the woman.

“ Here. I have him in my arms,” she said.

The baby remained wrapped in a small blue blanket. Kagan’s vision cleared enough for him to see the woman holding the infant protectively against her chest.

From his perspective on the floor, the ceiling light shone down through her long blond hair, giving her a halo. She was in her mid-thirties. Thin, perhaps more than was healthy, Kagan noted, desperation focusing his mind. His life depended on what he could learn about this woman in the next few minutes. She wore a red flared satin dress, as if for a party, al- though it hung askew on her shoulders, making him think she’d put it on hastily. And there was something wrong about her face, which she kept turned toward Kagan’s left.

She stared at the crimson stain on the left sleeve of his parka.

“ Why are you bleeding?” she asked. Her forehead creased with concern. “Why were you carrying the baby under your coat? Were you in an accident?”

“ Turn off the lights.”

“ What?”

Kagan strained to minimize his accent. “The lights. Please…”

“ Do they hurt your eyes?”

“ Phone the police,” Kagan managed to say.

“ Yes. You need an ambulance.” Holding the baby, the woman continued to tilt her face to Kagan’s left, self-conscious about something.

What’s wrong with her cheek? Kagan wondered.

“ But I can’t phone for help,” she told him. “I’m sorry. The phones are broken.”

While Kagan worked to order his thoughts, melting snow dripped from his hair. He realized that the zipper on his parka had been pulled almost completely open. Sweat from his exertion soaked his clothes. Heat drifted up from the bricks, a sensation that made him think he was delirious until he remembered a bellhop telling him about the under-floor radiant heating-hot water through rubber tubes-that warmed the hotel where he was staying.

“ Broken?” He drew a breath. “The snow brought down the phone lines?”

“ No. Not the lines. The phones are…” The woman kept her face to the side and didn’t finish the sentence.

“ Smashed,” the boy said. Bitterness tightened his voice. He had a slight build, almost to the point of looking frail, but that hadn’t stopped him from attacking Kagan with the baseball bat. He was around twelve years old, with glasses and tousled hair, blond like his mother’s. Talking about the smashed phones made his cheeks red.

The baseball bat, Kagan abruptly realized. Is he still holding it? With relief, he saw that the boy had leaned the bat against a cupboard. Kagan didn’t understand why the boy had attacked him, but there wasn’t time for questions.

Dizzy, he tried to sit up. He remembered the microphone he wore. The woman or the boy might say something that would tell Andrei where he was hiding. Under the pretense of rubbing a sore muscle, he reached beneath his parka and turned off the transmitter. It was the first time since he’d taken the child that his hands had been free to do so.

To his left, he saw the small window over the kitchen sink.

“ Please.” He worked to neutralize the accent he’d acquired, his voice sounding more American. “You’ve got to pull the curtain over that window. Turn off the lights.”

The baby squirmed in the woman’s arms, kicking, crying again.

“ Do it,” Kagan urged. “Turn off the lights.”

The woman and the boy stepped back, evidently worried that he might be delusional.

“ As weak as I am, you can see I’m no threat to you.”

“ Threat?” The woman’s eyes reacted to the word.

“ Men are chasing me.”

“ What are you talking about?”

“ They want the baby. You’ve got to turn off the lights so they can’t see us.”

“ Some men are trying to kidnap this baby?” The woman’s face registered shock. She held the infant closer, defending it now. The blue blanket was enveloped by the arms of her red dress.

Slow down, Kagan warned himself. This is coming at her too fast. She needs time to adjust.

He inhaled slowly, held his breath, then exhaled, each time counting to three as he would before a gunfight, working to calm himself.

Making his voice gentle, he asked, “What’s your name?”

The woman looked surprised, unprepared for the change of tone. She hesitated, still keeping her face angled to the left. The baby whimpered in her arms, and its wizened face seemed to urge her to reply.

“ Meredith,” she finally said.

Thank God, Kagan thought. She gave me something. He noticed a night-light next to the stove across from him.

“ If you’re concerned about being in the dark with me, turn on that night-light. The glow won’t attract attention from the street. It’s the bright lights we need to worry about. Then I promise I’ll explain why I’m injured, why I have the baby.”

Meredith didn’t respond.

“ Listen to me.” Kagan mustered the strength to keep talking. “I didn’t intend to bring trouble to you. I planned to hide in the shed or the garage. Things didn’t work out. I’m sorry I involved you, but that can’t be changed now. Those men will do anything to get their hands on this baby. You’ve got to help me stop them from thinking he’s here. That’s the only way you and your son will get out of this.”

If Meredith hadn’t been holding the baby, Kagan was certain she’d have grabbed the boy and fled from the house. But the baby made all the difference, seeming to prevent her from moving.

“ You can see how helpless I am,” Kagan said. “What’s the harm if you close the curtains over the sink and use the night-light? It won’t hurt you, but it might save the baby.”

Meredith kept hesitating, her strained features showing the confusion she felt.

“ And it might save you and your son,” Kagan emphasized. “You’ve got a known situation in here. A baby who needs help. A man who’s injured. But you have no idea of the trouble outside.”

When the baby whimpered again, Meredith looked down at its unhappy face and debated. She stroked its dark, wispy hair, then frowned toward the window.

Reluctantly, she told the boy, “Cole, do what he wants.”

“ But…”

“ Do it,” she said firmly, then added gently, “Please.”

The boy looked at her, his gaze questioning, then moved toward the window.

“ Thank you,” she told him.

When Cole nodded, Kagan didn’t bother trying to conceal his relief.

The boy surprised Kagan by limping slightly as he crossed the kitchen. He stretched nervously over the sink to close the curtains. Then he turned on the night-light, which had a perforated tin shield that looked like a Christmas tree and reduced the glow.

Watching Cole walk unevenly toward an archway that led into the living room, Kagan subdued a frown when he saw why the boy limped. One leg was shorter than the other. The heel on his right shoe rose two inches higher than the one on the left.

Even so, Kagan couldn’t help silently urging the boy to hurry.

Cole flicked a switch on the wall and turned off the main kitchen lights. Apart from the glow of the night-light, the only illumination came from the fireplace and the lights on the Christmas tree in the living room.

Kagan allowed himself to hope.

“ Okay, you said the phones in the house aren’t working. But don’t you have a cell phone?”

“ No,” Meredith answered uncomfortably. “Don’t you? ”

Kagan thought of the coat pocket that had been torn open when he’d escaped.

“ 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.”

“ Believe me, Andrei, I wasn’t complaining.”

“ Of course you weren’t. Feel how cold it is. Look at the ice on the beach. The TV weatherman says we’ll get another six inches of snow. Even then, I don’t know why anybody grumbles. Brighton Beach is nothing compared to spending a winter in the Russian army.”

“ Or in a prison in Siberia. Perhaps we should go back inside and have dessert. Your wife’ll think we don’t like the oladi she made.”

“ In a moment. First we have business to discuss. That’s why I asked you to come out to the porch.”

“ Why are you scowling, Andrei? Is something wrong? I swear I wasn’t complaining.”

“ Hah-got you. I just wanted to make you worry so your surprise would be all the greater. I have very good news, my friend. You’re being promoted.”

“ Promoted?”

“ The Pakhan likes what I say about you, and what he’s seen. He likes the intensity you bring to your work. He likes the results. Don’t make plans for Christmas. You and I and some others, including the Pakhan, are going to Santa Fe.”

“ Where’s that?”

“ New Mexico.”

“ The desert? Good. I wouldn’t mind a warm Christmas, drinking rum and Coke next to a swimming pool.”

“ It’s not the kind of desert you’re thinking of, Pyotyr. This is high desert. Pine trees. Cold and probably snow. It’s near a ski area in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.”

“ Sangre de Cristo?”

“ I Googled the name. It’s Spanish. It means ‘Blood of Christ.’ Apparently, that’s what the explorers thought the sunset on the snow looked like.”

“ Andrei, I don’t understand why the Pakhan wants to go on a holiday where it’s cold.”

“ We’re not going there for a holiday. We’re going for a baby.”

“ A spy?” Meredith’s voice rose. “I should never have brought you into the house. Leave. Get out. ”

“ The baby. It’s the baby you wanted to help.”

“ I made a terrible mistake. Go. If my husband finds you here when he comes back-”

“ Is your husband the man who beat you?”

The question caught Meredith off guard.

Kagan turned toward Cole. “Is your father the man you wanted to hit with the baseball bat?”

In the glow of the night-light, Cole pushed his glasses onto the bridge of his nose. “I wasn’t going to let him inside so he could hurt my mom again. The snow landed on my glasses. You were blurred. I didn’t think anyone else would be coming.”

“ But you stopped when you realized I was a stranger.”

“ If you’d been him, I’d have used the baseball bat. I swear I’d have used the bat.”

“ I believe you would have.” Kagan put his hand reassuringly on the boy’s thin shoulder.

The baby started crying, rooting its mouth against Meredith’s chest.

“ Please,” Kagan told Meredith, “do something. If the men outside hear him-”

“ How do I know you’re not the one who’s dangerous?” she demanded. Even though her attention was directed toward Kagan, she instinctively rocked the baby. Her raised voice made its tiny hands jerk with agitation.

“ Do I look like I want to hurt you?” Kagan felt blood dripping from his arm onto the brick floor. He needed to take care of it soon before he lost so much blood that his strength was gone. “Do I look like I’m even capable of hurting you?”

“ So much is happening. My husband… ”

“ Won’t hit you again,” Kagan said. “I promise.”

That made an impression. Meredith became very still. Fixing her gaze on him, she no longer averted her face. Even in the dim light, it was obvious that her cheek was more purple, her eye more swollen than when Kagan had first seen her. The split at the side of her lip was larger than it had first appeared. But despite everything, he had a sense that she’d once been an attractive woman.

She’s that thin because she’s nervous, he realized.

“ Won’t hit me again?” Meredith’s voice dropped. “I wish I could believe that.”

“ Hey, it’s Christmas. Wishing will make it come true.”

“ If you do something to Ted, he’ll only take it out on me later.”

“ That’s his name? Ted? Don’t worry. I won’t do anything that would make him want to hurt you.”

“ Then how would you get him to stop?”

“ Hey, don’t you like surprise presents? Help the baby, and I promise Ted won’t hit you again.”

Kagan couldn’t remember anyone staring at him harder.

“ Somehow,” she said, “you make me believe you.”

The baby cried, kicking against Meredith’s arms.

She reached under its blanket. “The diaper’s soaked. But I don’t have anything to… A dish towel,” she realized. She held the baby with one hand and pulled two towels from a drawer. “Let’s see if I remember how to do this.”

She spread one of the towels on a counter and folded the other. Then she set the baby down on the first towel and eased its head onto the makeshift pillow of the second.

As she unzipped the baby’s blue sleeper, Kagan saw that Cole still hadn’t done what he’d asked. Again he urged the boy, “Go into your bedroom. Turn on the television. Go to the window in the living room. See if anybody’s watching the house. If they are, fool them the way I told you.”

“ But what if somebody is watching the house?” Cole wondered. His eyes looked large behind his glasses.

“ They won’t try to get in right away. For one thing, they won’t know for sure that I’m here.”

“ You think somebody’s going to break in?” Cole’s voice wavered.

Movement made Kagan turn toward Meredith. As she pulled the baby from its sleeper, the infant’s legs curled toward its chest, emphasizing its vulnerability. Immediately, it jerked its arms and whimpered.

“ They won’t try to break in unless they hear crying,” Kagan said.

“ I’m doing the best I can,” Meredith snapped. “With only this night-light, it’s hard to see.”

“ No, that’s not what I meant,” he said in a hurry. “Please, I apologize.”

“ What?” Meredith looked at him in surprise.

“ I guess I sounded disapproving. I didn’t intend to. You probably get plenty of disapproval as it is. The baby can’t ask for more than your best.”

She studied him as if seeing him for the first time. Then the baby’s squirming required her attention, and she tugged open the adhesive strips on the diaper.

Cole remained in the kitchen.

I’ve got to engage him, Kagan thought.

He unclipped the tiny microphone hidden under the ski-lift tickets on his parka. He put it deeply in one of his pants pockets, where the scratch of the smothering fabric would prevent it from transmitting voices. Then he removed his transmitter from under his coat and gave it to the boy.

“ What’s this?” Cole asked, curiosity mixing with suspicion.

Kagan took out his earbud, cleaned it on his pants, and handed it to him. “They’re part of a two-way radio setup. That’s the transmitter, and this is the earpiece. The on-off switch is at the top of the transmitter. The volume dial is on one side. The channel dial is on the other. Do you play video games?”

“ Of course.” Cole seemed puzzled by the question, as if he took it for granted that everyone played video games.

“ Then you ought to be good at multitasking. While you watch for movement out the window, I want you to hold the receiver to your ear and listen while you keep changing the frequency on the transmitter. Maybe you’ll find the channel the men outside are using. Maybe we can hear what they’re planning.”

Cole studied the objects in his hands.

“ Make it seem like you’re listening to an iPod,” Kagan told him.

“ Right. An iPod.” The boy examined the equipment and nodded. “I can do that.” He mustered his courage and limped into the living room.

Throughout their conversation, Kagan sensed that Meredith was watching him.

Then the baby squirmed, and she removed the diaper.

“ A boy,” she murmured. “He doesn’t look more than four or five weeks old.”

“ Five weeks. Good guess,” Kagan said. “If he’d waited a little longer, he’d have been a Christmas present.”

Meredith dropped the diaper in a trash can under the sink.

“ I forgot how tiny a baby is. Look. He has a birthmark on his left heel. It sort of reminds me of a rose.”

“ The child of peace.”

“ What?”

Kagan realized he’d said too much. “Isn’t that what babies mean this time of year? Like the Christmas carol says, ‘Peace on Earth, goodwill to men.’ It’s sexist, I suppose, but the sentiment still works.”

Again Meredith studied him. Then she returned her attention to the baby.

“ He isn’t Anglo.”

“ Anglo?” Kagan asked.

“ What the locals call ‘white.’ But he doesn’t look Hispanic or Native American, either. His skin is like cinnamon. He looks-”

“ Middle Eastern.” Kagan stood and wavered. Managing to steady himself, he went to the kitchen sink and peered cautiously past the curtain on the window.

“ I don’t have any safety pins big enough to close this dish towel and make it work as a diaper,” Meredith said.

Wincing, Kagan eased off his parka, freeing himself of the weight of the gun in his right pocket. When Meredith had opened the coat and taken out the baby, she hadn’t pushed the flaps to each side and thus hadn’t felt what was there. He set the parka on the kitchen table, taking care to cushion the impact of the gun against the wood and avoid a sound that might attract questions.

“ Do you have any duct tape?” he asked.

“ Duct tape? Yes, that would work instead of safety pins. But what made you think of that?”

“ Duct tape has all kinds of uses. Where is it?”

“ The bottom drawer, to the left of the sink. We had a leak under the drain.”

Kagan opened the drawer and pulled out the roll of duct tape. He tore off two pieces and pressed them where Meredith held the folded dish towel around the baby’s hips. Then he tore off several more strips-longer ones-and stuck them to the edge of the counter.

“ For now, I won’t need those,” Meredith told him.

“ They’re for something else,” Kagan said.

He turned his back, then unbuttoned his shirt and gently pulled it free. He didn’t want Meredith to be alarmed by the Russian prison tattoos on his chest.

Despite the sweat that slicked his skin, he shivered. In the glow from the night-light, he managed to confirm that the bullet had passed through the flesh of his upper left arm. The wound was swollen, but as far as he could tell, neither bone nor the artery had been hit.

Well, that’s the good news about the bad news, he thought.

He braced himself for what he needed to do. You can manage this, he told himself, fighting the pain.

Behind him, Meredith evidently got a look at the injury to his arm. “What happened to you?”

Kagan didn’t answer.

“ Is…? My God, is that a bullet wound? Were you shot?”

When I rescued the baby.”

Repressing his dizziness, Kagan leaned over the sink and soaped the wound. “Do you have a first-aid kit?” He tried not to grimace when he rinsed blood away with warm water.

Meredith’s mind seemed paralyzed. “A first-aid kit?” She was so overwhelmed that she appeared to have trouble understanding the concept. “First-aid…? The next drawer up.”

Kagan pulled it from the drawer and opened it, pleased to find antibiotic cream. While he gingerly rubbed it over his wound, he looked through a crack in the curtains above the sink. The snow kept falling. He stared past the two trees toward the coyote fence and the lane. No one was in sight.

Maybe we’ll get lucky, he thought.

Sure we will.

He noticed a dry cloth next to the sink. Biting his lip, he pressed it to his wound and used the strips of duct tape to stick it to his skin. Sweat beaded his face while he wrapped several layers of tape tightly around his arm, making a pressure bandage. He waited, hoping that he wouldn’t see any blood leak out.

The baby whimpered. When Kagan looked over his shoulder, he saw it trying to suck one of its fists.

“ What are we going to feed him?” Meredith said.

“ Do you have any milk?”

“ Babies aren’t supposed to be fed regular milk.”

“ The World Health Organization has an emergency recipe for diluting it with water and adding sugar.”

“ We don’t have any milk. Cole can’t digest it. We had rice milk, but we used the last of it earlier.”

“ Then put a half teaspoon of salt into a quart of water.”

“ Salt?”

“ Add a half teaspoon of baking soda and three tablespoons of sugar.”

“ Are you making this up?”

“ It’s something the Mayo Clinic developed.”

Kagan shoved a finger into the bullet hole in his shirt. He tugged at the hole, ripping the sleeve open to make room for the added bulk of the pressure bandage. As he put on the shirt, he told Meredith, “Warm the water until the salt, baking soda, and sugar dissolve.”

“ World Health Organization? Mayo Clinic? Since when do spies know about feeding babies?”

“ I once escorted a medical team in Somalia.”

That was close enough to the truth to be believable, Kagan decided. The country had actually been Afghanistan, and he hadn’t been an escort. Instead, his assignment had been to pretend to be part of the medical team while he tried to get information from Afghan villagers about the location of terrorist training camps. Knowing how to save a baby’s life could buy a lot of cooperation.

“ The babies were starving,” Kagan explained. “The doctors told me what to do. It felt good to be able to help.”

Reinforcing Kagan’s point, Meredith held the baby against her chest.

“ The mixture isn’t a substitute for food. All it’ll do is give him electrolytes and keep him from dehydrating,” Kagan went on. “He needs twelve ounces in the next twelve hours. But after that, he’s got to have formula.”

Twelve hours, Kagan thought. If we’re not out of danger by then, it won’t matter if the baby gets fed or not.

“ Someone’s coming,” Cole said from the living room.

Wary of the shadows on either side, Andrei followed the tracks.

The falling snow had accumulated until it was above the ankles of his boots. The footprints ahead were rapidly becoming faint impressions.

Two sets veered toward a house on the right. Farther on, two other sets angled toward a house on the left. The pairs of prints were next to each other and showed no sign of scuffling. But Andrei suspected that if Pyotyr had used his gun to force someone to take him into a house, he would probably have done so with the gun pointed toward the person’s back. In that case, one set of prints would be in front of the other. Also, the prints in front would be unevenly spaced, evidence that the person in front was being shoved.

As Andrei kept walking, faint light reflecting off the snow now revealed only one remaining set of fresh tracks. He noted that they paralleled some almost-filled prints that came in Andrei’s direction, apparently from a house farther down the lane.

Do these fresh prints belong to you, Pyotyr? he hoped. Have I almost caught you?

Or maybe you’re leading me into a trap.

Andrei slowed, scanning the snowy haze before him. The cold made his cheeks numb, but that only took his mind back again. While in the Russian army, he had once marched twenty-four hours in a blizzard. In that period, he hadn’t been able to drink or eat anything, the weather having frozen his water and rations. We do this to make you tougher, his officers had told him.

Well, those bastards accomplished their goal, Andrei thought bitterly. No one can be tougher or harder. Pyotyr, you’re about to learn what that means.

Ahead, the remaining footprints turned to the left toward the upright cedar limbs of a coyote fence. The prints reached a gate. Andrei carefully observed that the other tracks, the ones that were almost obliterated by the snow, came from that same gate.

They belong to someone who went to see the Christmas lights and then returned, Andrei concluded. The excitement of the hunt dimmed in his chest. I’ve been following someone who lives in the neighborhood. I wasted valuable time. I should have stayed with Mikhail and Yakov and continued searching the area near Canyon Road.

Wait. Don’t jump to conclusions, he warned himself.

Continuing along the lane, he concentrated harder on the two sets of tracks. The old ones came from the left side of the house. The new ones went in that direction, disappearing into an area of darkness that Andrei assumed concealed a side door. Peering intently, he managed to see a shed and a garage over to the left. Switching his gaze toward the house itself, he noted that it had the distinctive architecture-flat roof rounded corners, earth-colored stucco-that he’d seen almost everywhere in Santa Fe.

Christmas lights hung above a wreath on the front door. Immediately to the left, a pale light glowed behind a curtain over a small window in what was probably the kitchen. To the right of the door, a large window showed a living room, murky except for a dwindling fire in a hearth and lights on a Christmas tree. Farther to the right, in another room, a curtained window revealed the flickering illumination of what seemed to be a television.

Determined to be thorough, Andrei glanced toward the roof. The dim reflection of the front-door lights allowed him to see snow accumulating on a satellite dish.

He didn’t study the house in an obvious way. Instead, his trained eyes took in everything as he walked past, seeming to admire the picturesque winter scene. The hiss of the snow almost muffled the sound of his footsteps. After twenty seconds, the house was no longer in sight, which also meant that he could no longer be seen from it.

With no more footprints to follow, there wasn’t any point in continuing down the lane. Again, disappointment took hold of him. Stopping, he assessed the situation. His initial guess had probably been correct, he reluctantly decided. The tracks belonged to the same person.

But if someone had recently come back to the house, wouldn’t there be more lights inside? Was it reasonable to believe that the person who lived there had gone to bed early on Christmas Eve, a night most Americans obsessed about because of gifts they were eager to receive?

What time is it?

Andrei pushed back the sleeve of his ski jacket and exposed the face on his digital watch. Obeying a habit from the military, he was careful to shield the watch with his hand before he pressed a button that caused its red numbers to glow. Quickly, he released the button and extinguished the glow.

The numbers showed 9:41.

If whoever lived in the house was elderly, it wouldn’t be out of the question for him or her to go to bed early on Christmas Eve, Andrei decided. The flickering light from the television suggested that someone was in bed, perhaps watching one of those sugary holiday movies like It’s a Wonderful Life, the title of which always made Andrei scoff.

A wonderful life? The only true parts of that movie were the old guy losing the bank’s money and the rich guy wanting to control the bank so he could charge high interest rates and take people’s homes. If the story had been true to life, the hero-what’s his name? James Stewart-would have succeeded in killing himself when he jumped into the half-frozen river.

And why was he so damned skinny? Andrei thought. Did he starve himself? Only in America, where there’s so much food, do people starve themselves so they can be skinny. Go fight rebels in Chechnya on the half rations we were given. You’ll soon change your mind about wanting to be skinny.

Without warning, the Pakhan’s angry voice shouted through the earbud under Andrei’s watchman’s cap.

“ Did you find him?”

“ Not yet,” Andrei murmured into the microphone concealed on his jacket, keeping his voice as low as possible.

“ When the clients learn we don’t have what they paid for-”

“ We’re searching as hard as we can.”

“ If I’m forced to return the money, I swear I’ll help them track you down.”

“ So you told me earlier. I haven’t forgotten.”

I’ve never been disloyal to you, Andrei thought. I’ve always done more than you asked.

“ I just need a little extra time,” he said into the microphone, concealing his bitterness.

“ Koshkayob, you don’t seem to grasp how little time you have.”

Andrei’s stomach hardened. He resented the insult as much as he hated being threatened-but nowhere near as much as he was furious that the Pakhan had chosen to support the outsiders against him.

“ I can’t talk any longer.” Anger more than necessity made him end the transmission abruptly.

He turned and faced the snow-hazed lane along which he’d searched. As he went back the way he’d come, he knew he needed to hurry to rejoin Mikhail and Yakov, to search other places, to make up for the time he’d squandered.

But some instinct kept him from rushing.

The house appeared again, this time on his right. Again he studied it as he passed, moving closer so he’d be able to see through the gloom. The flickering light from the television. The Christmas-tree lights. The lessening flames in the fireplace. The coming and going footprints. The gate.

The gate.

There was something about it, something that nagged at him, but he couldn’t decide what it was. He kept walking until once more he was out of sight from the house. He stopped, turned, and crouched, making sure his head was below the top of the fence.

He crept toward the gate, taking pains to stay down.

In his stooped position, the back of his neck was exposed to the chill of the falling snow. Nonetheless, he barely registered the sensation, so intent was he on the gate. He shifted closer, and the upright cedar limbs became larger before him. There was something about them. Something out of place. Something he couldn’t leave without checking.

Reaching the gate, he sank to his knees in the snow. Ignoring the cold that seeped through his pants, he brought his face close to the gate and the bark on the limbs. He gazed up toward the snow that had accumulated on their sawed-off tops.

Some of the snow had fallen, dislodged by the motion of the gate. That was to be expected. Whoever had opened the gate might even have brushed against the snow on the top, causing more to fall off.

Brushed against the gate, Andrei thought.

He strained his eyes in the pale light that was reflected by the snowfall. The gate swung inward to the left. It wouldn’t be unusual for someone’s left side to brush against the gate when going through.

Concentrating, he found a dark smear near the bolt that secured the gate.

Excitement built in him. The smear was at the level of a man’s arm. He had barely noticed it and almost dismissed it when he’d walked past, attributing it to a discoloration in the wood.

Now electricity seemed to shoot along his nerves when he touched a gloved finger to the smear and found that some of it stuck on the leather. Dark-colored, it was semisolid liquid, on its way to being frozen.

In the shadows, Andrei couldn’t distinguish the color, but he had no doubt that this was blood.

“ Islamic terrorists thanked Allah when they found the Russian mob, Paul. In Middle Eastern countries, Al-Qaeda radicals don’t look any different from the people around them, who just want to be allowed to lead their lives in peace. But if they leave their native countries and try conducting operations in the West, they stand out.

“ Before 9/11, they could move freely among us. We welcomed visitors. We were innocent. Now Middle Eastern terrorists know they’ll be profiled if they do anything that’s even the slightest bit unusual, so they need somebody else who can do the blood work for them, someone who blends.

“ Finding Westerners to cooperate with them used to be nearly impossible. After all, even the most callous criminal still has an instinct not to foul his nest. I’m not talking about love of country, Paul. That concept’s too noble for the element we’re talking about. But nearly everyone, no matter how corrupt, will refuse to do something that endangers his own tiny corner of the world-his neighborhood, his street, his house or apartment. It’s basic self-preservation.

“ Except for the Odessa Mafia, Paul. They’re so detached from their adopted country that they don’t even care about their homes. If they get paid enough to plant a dirty bomb in Manhattan, a bomb that’s guaranteed to spread radioactive fallout to where they live in nearby Brighton Beach, they’ll just pack up and move before they detonate the bomb. Pay them enough, and they’ll do anything.

“ And it’s not only Al-Qaeda they’ll work for. They’re also taking money from Hamas.”

“ There’s a man outside the house,” Cole said.

Kagan froze in the middle of buttoning his shirt. In the faint glow from the night-light, he doubted that he could be seen through the curtains that covered the kitchen window. Even so, he moved deeper into the room.

His normal pulse rate was sixty-five beats per minute. He now estimated that it was one hundred and ten and getting faster. Chest tight, he picked up his parka from the kitchen table and felt the reassuring weight of the gun in the right pocket.

He stopped at the archway that led into the living room.

“ What do you see?”

“ A man.” Cole’s voice was faint.

Only one? Kagan thought. No, there’d be more. Then the idea occurred to him that his hunters might have split up to cover more area.

Or maybe this is a false alarm.

“ Cole, remember, don’t seem to pay any attention to him. Just keep showing interest in the snowfall.”

“ I’m not at the window. He doesn’t know I’m watching him.”

“ What do you mean?”

“ I’m sitting in a chair that’s away from the fireplace and the lights on the tree. It’s dark here. He can’t see me.”

“ You’re sure?”

“ Hey, I’m only a little kid. Nobody pays attention to a little kid, scrunched down in a chair. But I don’t know how he could see me.”

“ What’s he doing?”

“ Just walking past. It’s like he was looking at the Christmas lights and the snow. Now he’s gone.”

“ Maybe he is just enjoying the lights and the snow. Could be he lives around here.”

“ We moved here at the start of the summer. I don’t know all the neighbors, but I haven’t seen him before.”

“ Maybe he’s visiting someone. Describe him.”

“ I couldn’t see him clearly. He’s tall-I saw that much. Big shoulders. He has a cap pulled down over his ears. It’s shaped like his head.”

“ It’s called a watchman’s cap.” Kagan felt the shadow of death passing by. “What color is his coat?”

“ It has snow on it, but I think it’s dark.”

“ What about his cap? Is that dark, too?”

“ It’s got too much snow on it. I can’t tell.”

Don’t let the boy sense what you’re feeling, Kagan thought.

“ That’s the right thing to say, Cole. Always admit if you don’t have an answer. A spy once wanted to keep his job so much that he told his bosses what they wanted to hear instead of the truth. It caused the world a lot of trouble. Which direction did the man come from?”

“ The right.”

From Canyon Road, Kagan thought.

Cole spoke again. “A dark-what did you call it-watchman’s cap? Does one of the guys looking for you wear one? Wait a second. Here he comes again. From the left now. He’s going back the way he came.”

Kagan wanted desperately to step into the living room, to crouch and try to get a look through the window. But he didn’t dare risk showing himself.

“ He seems in a hurry this time,” Cole said.

Kagan understood. Whoever was out there-almost certainly Andrei, given Cole’s description-had followed all those footprints until the final set led him to this house. But Kagan’s trick had worked, and Andrei had decided that the same person had made both sets, coming and going.

Now he’s angry that he wasted time.

“ He’s gone again,” Cole said.

“ That’s good. But keep watching.”

In the background, Judy Garland sang, “ Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” The only other sounds were the crackle of a log in the fireplace and the whimper of the baby.

Need to keep him from crying.

Careful to hide his tension, Kagan turned from the archway and faced the kitchen, where Meredith held the child.

“ How’s that mixture coming?” he asked.

Meredith stood a careful distance from a pot on the stove, holding the baby away from the flame.

“ I’m heating it. But how do I feed him? I don’t have a bottle with a nipple on it.”

“ Do you have a shot glass?”

“ Somehow, I think I can find one.” Her voice had an edge to it.

Kagan noticed that she frowned toward a whiskey bottle on the counter. The bottle was almost empty. A shot glass sat next to it.

“ I see what you mean.”

“ I hope you’re not going to start drinking,” she said.

“ Not to worry.” Kagan took the glass and stayed to the side of the sink, away from the window, while he used hot water to rinse the alcohol from the glass. “A baby can sip from something small like this.”

“ No. When Cole was born, his pediatrician told me not to offer him a cup until he was four months old.”

“ Actually, a baby can sip from a tiny container soon after birth.”

“ You’ve got to be making this stuff up,” Meredith said. “Do you really expect me to believe this is something else you learned from the World Health Organization?”

“ It works. The trick is how you do it.” Kagan went to her and pretended to put a hand behind the baby, demonstrating the technique. “Tilt him slightly back like this. Keep a hand behind his head to protect his neck. Hold the shot glass against his upper lip. Don’t pour. That’ll make him gag. If you let him control how much he sips, he’ll do fine.”

After a wary glance toward the window, Kagan went over to the stove and stirred the mixture, dissolving the sugar and salt. The spoon scraped against the pot.

“ Cole, any sign of movement out there?” Despite Kagan’s outward calm, he estimated that his pulse rate was now one hundred and twenty. His arteries felt the pressure that expanded them.

“ No,” the boy said.

“ You’re doing a good job. Keep watching.”

The baby squirmed as if it might start crying.

Kagan quickly used the spoon to dribble some of the mixture on the inside of his wrist. “Slightly warm. It’s ready.” He turned off the stove and spooned the mixture into the shot glass. “I filled it to the one-ounce mark. We can measure how much the baby’s drinking.”

Meredith held the baby the way Kagan had shown her, protecting his neck from tilting too far back.

“ Here we go, little fellow.” She took the glass from Kagan. “Does he have a name?”

Kagan didn’t reply.

“ Sorry,” she said. “I guess it’s not something I should know.”

“ Actually, I was never told his name.” Although Kagan’s instinct was to avoid revealing information, in a way it no longer mattered. If the men outside got their hands on Meredith, the outcome would be brutally the same whether she knew anything about the baby or not.

He changed the subject.

“ You’re dressed like you were going to a party.”

“ The parents of a boy Cole goes to school with invited us to their house.” Meredith sounded weighed down by thoughts of what might have been.

“ Will you be missed?” Kagan asked quickly. “Will they wonder what happened to you? If they can’t reach you on the phone, maybe they’ll become concerned enough to-”

“ Before Ted smashed the phones, he called them and claimed Cole was sick.”

“ Ah.” Kagan’s tone went flat. “Ted’s a clever man.”

“ Yes. A clever man.” Meredith took a deep breath and looked down at the baby. “I’d forgotten what it feels like to have something this helpless in my arms. That’s right, little fellow. Keep sipping. I bet you’re thirsty. Don’t worry. We’ve got plenty, and it’s all for you.”

“ Not quite,” Kagan said. Dehydrated from bleeding, he was terribly aware of his own thirst. He reached into the first aid kit, opened a container of Tylenol, and shoved four tablets into his dry mouth. Crouching to prevent his silhouette from showing at the window, he went back to the stove, tested the saucepan’s handle to make sure he wouldn’t burn himself, and poured some of the mixture into a glass he found next to the sink.

He took two deep swallows and got the pills down. He tasted the salt and the sugar. Instantly, his stomach cramped, aggravating the nausea produced by his wound. He waited, then took another swallow, feeling his mouth absorb the warm fluid.

“ See anything, Cole?”

“ It really looks like he went away,” the boy said from the living room.

“ Keep watching anyhow. It never hurts to be cautious. Spies can’t take anything for granted.”

“ I keep changing the channel on the radio you gave me, but I don’t hear anything. Maybe I’m not doing it right.”

“ If you play video games, I’m sure you can work that receiver.” The microphone in Kagan’s pants pocket was too far from his mouth to transmit his voice if Andrei happened to be listening on the frequency the team had first used. “Those men won’t talk unless they need to. There’s only a slight chance that you’ll turn to the frequency they’re using at the moment they happen to be talking. But we’ve got to try everything. You’re doing fine.”

Kagan switched off the night-light, noting that Meredith trusted him enough now that she didn’t object. Concealed by the deeper shadows, he opened the curtains a couple of inches.

Through the falling snow, he was able to see the upright poles of the coyote fence. He watched for movement in the shadows beyond it.

“ Meredith, describe the layout of the house.”

Andrei crawled hurriedly through the snow along the bottom of the fence. His breathing quickened as the heat of the renewed hunt dissipated the cold on his cheeks. When he was far enough down the lane that he felt safe to stand, he did so and peered up at a utility pole.

Two wires led from it toward the house. In the faint reflection off the snow, he strained his eyes and saw that one of them was attached to an insulator on the pole-that was for electricity. The other wire was either for telephone service or for cable television. Then he remembered the satellite dish he’d seen on the roof and decided that the remaining wire must be for the phone.

In adequate conditions, his marksmanship was exceptional. But now it took him four shots before a bullet connected with the thick wire at the pole and blew it apart. Because of the falling snow, the sound suppressor on his gun was even more muffled than usual, and the sound of hitting the wire wasn’t enough to attract attention.

Immediately, he removed the partly empty magazine, slid it into a pants pocket, and shoved a full fifteen-round magazine into the pistol. Only then did he speak to the microphone, his voice an urgent whisper.

“ I found him.”

Through the earbud under his cap, he heard an abrupt exhale.

“ Thank God,” the Pakhan’s taut voice said.

Andrei thought it ironic that his leader, who had also been raised in the atheistic Soviet Union, would use that expression.

“ Our clients are here now,” the Pakhan said. “I’ve never seen anyone so furious. How soon can you deliver the package?”

“ I don’t know,” Andrei answered.

“ What?”

“ Pyotyr took cover in a house. I need to figure how to get to him.”

“ Don’t let him escape again,” the Pakhan’s voice warned.

“ Not this time. He’s ours.”

“ I don’t give a govno about him! Deal with him quickly! The package! Just get me the package!”

It troubled Andrei that the Pakhan felt so threatened. Normally, he was content to provide barely adequate service. If clients complained, he ordered someone like Andrei to set fire to their homes. People who needed to employ the Odessa Mafia were desperate to begin with. The Pakhan’s attitude was that they ought to be grateful for any help they received.

But these clients were another matter.

The three million dollars they’d paid for a week’s work-at a resort city, no less-had been too tempting for the Pakhan to resist. At the time, he’d called it easy pickings.

“ They made all the arrangements. They bribed the necessary people. They learned the target’s schedule, exactly when and where the job can be done. It should have been easy for them. But they can’t carry out the actual mission. They need us because we can blend with the Santa Fe crowd, while they’d be spotted right away. So I charged those damned Arabs as much as possible.”

Accustomed to causing fear rather than being the subject of it, the Pakhan now understood the penalty for going into business with clients who were even more ruthless than he was.

Andrei stepped off the lane toward a fir tree that provided a hidden vantage point from which he could watch the house.

“ Did the rest of you hear?” he murmured to his microphone.

“ Yes.” Yakov’s voice came through the earbud. “Where are you?”

“ Follow the lane I took.”

A few minutes later, when he saw two heavyset men hurrying through the falling snow, Andrei said to the microphone, “I’m to your right. By a fir tree.”

The men paused, looking in his direction.

“ There you are,” Mikhail murmured. “Good. We wouldn’t want to shoot you by mistake.” Grinning at the joke, he and Yakov took cover behind the tree and assessed the house.

“ How many people are inside?” Yakov’s question could barely be heard.

“ No way to tell,” Andrei replied softly. “Someone walked off and made footprints earlier, but those are Pyotyr’s footprints that go through the gate toward the house.”

“ How do you know?”

“ Blood on the gate.”

“ Ah.”

“ There’s light-probably from a television-in the room on the far right.” Andrei pointed. “Maybe there’s someone in the house, someone who isn’t aware that Pyotyr snuck in. Or maybe the house is empty, and Pyotyr turned on the television to make it seem the place is occupied.”

“ A lot of maybes,” Mikhail said. “He lost his cell phone. But if he’s in there, he’ll use the land line to call the police.”

“ I shot the telephone wire,” Andrei told him.

“ He could have phoned before you did that. Or maybe there’s a cell phone in the house.”

“ Then why haven’t the police arrived? Why don’t we hear sirens?”

Yakov shrugged. “It’s Christmas Eve on Canyon Road. The crowd would make it difficult for police cars to reach here.”

“ But we can’t just leave or rush the house because we think the police might be coming,” Andrei insisted. “If we screw up, we’d better run and keep running. We’d never be able to stop-because we know our clients and the Pakhan will never stop hunting us.”

And my family, Andrei thought. If the Pakhan can’t find me, he’ll go after my wife and daughters.

“ Then what do you suggest?” Mikhail wanted to know.

“ We’ll approach the house from three sides,” Andrei decided. “Pyotyr can’t defend it from every angle. At least two of us are bound to get in.”

“ Those are pretty good odds, as long as I’m not the one who gets shot,” Yakov said.

“ Pyotyr’s wounded and weak from blood loss,” Andrei countered. “His aim will be affected. There’s a high probability that all of us will get out of this alive.”

“‘ High probability’ doesn’t fill me with confidence. Whoever goes in from the front takes the greatest risk. How do we decide who-”

“ The two of you sound like old women. I’ll take the front,” Andrei said irritably.

They stared at him.

“ Pyotyr knows I’m the one he has the most reason to fear. I’ll show myself in front of the house. He’ll be distracted. That gives the two of you a better chance to get inside from different directions. If we synchronize the attack precisely-”

“ We have company,” Yakov warned.

Andrei pivoted toward the lane. At first, he worried that police were arriving. But the figure he saw was alone, plodding through the snow: a man wearing a buttoned pale-gray coat and a hat with built-in earflaps. He walked with his head so low that he looked weary.

The holiday blues? Andrei wondered. Or maybe he’s just protecting his face from the snow.

A further thought occurred to him.

Maybe this is a policeman putting on some kind of act. If so, he won’t be alone. He’ll be setting up a trap.

Andrei thought of the Pakhan, of the clients, of Pyotyr.

Of his wife and daughters.

The man trudged closer, angling toward the opposite side of the lane, toward the gate.

I’ll take the risk, Andrei decided.

“ We’re going to Santa Fe for a baby?”

“ Yes, Pyotyr. For the child of peace.”

“ I don’t understand.”

“ Don’t you read the newspapers? Don’t you watch the news on television?”

“ The news? Bah. Everything they tell us here is propaganda, the same as it was back in Russia.”

“ Then you’ve never heard of Ahmed Hassan?”

“ Is that the child’s name?”

“ The father’s. He’s an obstetrician.”

“ Andrei, my English isn’t…”

“ Hassan delivers babies. He’s a surgeon who once specialized in treating Palestinians who were shot in gunfights with Israelis.

Over the years, he operated on two thousand combat patients. ‘But nothing got better,’ he said. So he changed his specialty and became a baby doctor. Thousands of children are in the world because of him, far more than all the gunshot patients he treated. As he tells his followers, he chose life instead of death, hope instead of hate.”

“ His followers? You make Hassan sound like some kind of religious leader.”

“ In a way, he is. Although he doesn’t have any religious authority, his speeches are so impassioned that a great many people are inspired by his sheer presence. He speaks like a prophet and attracts more disciples every day. They believe he has a vision. He preaches that war between Palestinians and Israelis will destroy the region and the rest of the world with it. Many-those who are tired of the decades of killing and destruction-agree with him.

“‘ The children,’ Hassan reminds them. ‘Think of our children. If we truly love them, if we treasure them as much as we claim to, we’ll give them a future and create a lasting peace.’”

“ Peace. You used that word to describe the baby.”

“ Yes, Pyotyr. The child of peace. Hassan’s child. His enemies are paying us three million dollars to steal it for them.”

“ The layout of the house?” Meredith sounded troubled.

“ Why do you need to know that?”

In the shadowy kitchen, Kagan saw her outline sit tensely straighter as she held the tiny glass to the baby’s lips.

“ No special reason,” he answered. “Just a standard precaution. A way to fill the time.”

“ Precaution?”

“ So I can anticipate.”

“ Anticipate what? You heard Cole. The man’s gone.”

“ Probably. The thing is, it’s always a good idea to have a backup plan.”

In the meager light, Kagan couldn’t see Meredith’s eyes, but he was certain that she studied him nervously. The silhouette of her head nodded toward a dark archway next to a recessed side-by-side refrigerator-freezer at the back of the kitchen.

“ The furnace and laundry room are through that arch,” she said. “There’s also a small bathroom, just a toilet and sink.”

“ Any windows back there?”

“ No.”

Kagan was grateful for that small blessing. “What about the rest of the house? Cole said his room is in front.”

“ Yes. In front there’s the living room, a bathroom, and then Cole’s room.”

“ What about in back?”

“ Ted’s office is behind the living room. The master bedroom is next to that.”

“ Across from Cole’s room?”

“ Yes. At the end of a hallway that divides that part of the house.

“ How many outside doors do you have?”

Kagan noticed that Meredith’s voice wavered as the logic behind his questions became impossible to ignore.

“ Three. The front door, the side door here in the kitchen, and one through Ted’s office. It leads to a back garden.”

“ What about an outside entrance to the basement?”

“ There isn’t a basement. Most Santa Fe houses are built on slabs.”

Another thing not to worry about, Kagan thought. “Attic?”

“ Not with the flat roof.”

“ The door in Ted’s office, is it wood or sliding glass?”

“ Wood.”

At least they can’t break through easily, Kagan thought. “Is it locked?”

“ Yes. I checked it when I thought we were leaving the house to go to the party. Then I checked it again after Ted… left.”

“ What about the other doors?” Kagan went over and examined the one in the kitchen, confirming that it was secured.

“ After Ted lost his temper, believe me, all the doors are locked.”

Kagan took another wary look out the kitchen window.

“ He wasn’t always like this,” Meredith said.

“ How so?” Kagan encouraged her to keep talking in the hope that it would distract her.

“ He knows he has a drinking problem. When we moved here from Los Angeles, he was determined to make a new start. In fact, that’s why we came here. Last spring, he visited Santa Fe for a business conference. The night he returned, all he could talk about were the mountains and the light and how the air’s so clean you can see forever. He kept saying the state’s called the ‘Land of Enchantment.’ I understood. We definitely needed some magic.”

“ So you moved here?” Kagan prompted her.

“ Two months later, in June, we were living in this house. On the Fourth of July, I remember, there was a pancake breakfast on the Plaza, thousands of people enjoying themselves. We sat under the trees and watched musicians playing bluegrass songs on the bandstand. People were dancing, having a wonderful time. Ted looked at me with a big smile and said, ‘It’s Independence Day, I promise.’

“ Twice a week, he went to Alcoholics Anonymous meetings. We spent a lot of time as a family. We hiked in the ski basin. We drove across the valley to Los Alamos to see where they invented the atomic bomb. We explored the cliff ruins in Bandolier Canyon. Spanish Market, Indian Market, Fiesta. It was the best summer of my life.

“ In September, Ted had some business pressures that stopped him from spending time with us. I didn’t complain. The bills need to be paid. I did my part and got a job at one of the museums. At Thanksgiving, he brought home a bottle of wine. I must have looked upset because he said, ‘Hey, it’s not even red wine. It’s white. It’s nothing. I’ve been working seven days a week. What’s a turkey dinner without a little white wine?’”

“ And now, a month later… ” Kagan said, letting his voice trail off.

“ New location. Same old problems. I guess there’s no such thing as a fresh start.” After an awkward pause, Meredith changed the topic. “The baby’s asleep.” She set the glass on the kitchen table and carried the child through the dark archway next to the refrigerator-freezer.

Kagan heard her groping around back there and wondered what she was doing. Something scraped on the floor. Meredith’s shadow reappeared. He saw her backing into the kitchen, dragging a wicker hamper.

“ This was in the laundry room. I put towels inside it,” she said. “It’s almost as good as a crib.” She set the baby in the hamper and covered him with one of the towels.

“ In the laundry room, is there space in a corner behind the washer and dryer?” Kagan asked. “With room enough for you to crouch?”

“ Yes.” Meredith sounded puzzled.

“ If something happens, take the baby and hide there. The metal on the appliances might protect you.”

“ Protect me from…?”

Kagan turned toward the archway to the living room.

“ Cole, are you listening?”

“ Yes.”

“ Protect me from bullets?” Meredith asked.

“ It’s a bad idea for everyone to stay together,” Kagan said. “That makes you all one target. Cole, if something happens, is there a place where you can hide?”

The boy was silent while he thought about it.

“ There’s a big television cabinet in here. I think I can squeeze into the space behind it.” His voice was unsteady.

“ If you’re forced to do that, lie on the floor. You need to visualize what I want you to do. If you see it in your mind, if you rehearse it in your imagination and understand what you need to do, you won’t be confused when the time comes. If something happens-”

“ I’m not afraid.”

“ Good.”

“ I was scared when my dad hit my mom, but now…”

“ Yes? Now?”

“ I feel numb.”

From his vantage point behind the fir tree, Andrei watched the man plod through the falling snow. His shoulders were hunched. His head was down.

Within moments, the man was close enough for Andrei to conclude that his first impression had been correct-he looked weary, as if the weight of the world were on him. He glanced up only once, just enough to get his bearings and angle left toward the fence and the gate.

“ Sir.”

Andrei stepped from the shadows and intercepted the man before the two of them could be seen from the house. “I’m a police officer.”

“ Police?” The man looked startled. He was thin, about six feet tall. His hands were crammed into his coat pockets. The faint light reflecting off the snow made it difficult for Andrei to gauge the man’s age any closer than mid-thirties. He had a mustache, an oval face, and a haggard expression. His breath smelled of whiskey, but not strongly. Any drinking he’d done had been a couple of hours earlier.

“ What are the police doing here?” The man came out of his gloomy mood, straightening with concern.

“ Do you live in that residence?” Andrei pointed.

“ Yes, but-”

“ What’s your name, sir?”

“ Brody. Ted Brody. What’s this all about? What’s going on?”

“ There’s been an incident in the neighborhood.”

“ Incident?”

“ Do you know how many people are in your house, Mr. Brody?”

“ My wife and son. Why do you… My God, has something happened to them?”

“ Mr. Brody, please just answer my questions. How old is your son?”

“ Twelve, but-”

“ Describe the house for me. Draw a diagram in the snow.”

“ Diagram? I don’t understand.”

“ The rooms. The windows. The outside doors. That’s very important. Show me the location of every outside door.”

“ Jesus, are you telling me someone broke in?” Brody pushed past, heading for the gate.

Andrei clamped a strong hand on his shoulder and tugged him back down the lane.

“ Stop that… I need to…” Brody struggled. “That hurts. Get your hand off me.”

“ Keep your voice down,” Andrei warned. “You don’t want to let him know we’re out here.”

“ Him?”

Andrei hauled Brody farther back. “Don’t raise your voice. We were chasing a fugitive. He entered your house before we could stop him.”

“ Then I need to get in there. I need to-”

Andrei stepped in front of him and grabbed both his shoulders. He spoke forcefully but at a low register, his face close to Brody’s.

“ Pay attention, Mr. Brody. If you go inside, you’ll only give the fugitive another hostage. Don’t put your family at greater risk.”

“ But-”

Andrei cut him off. “The best thing you can do is help us. Do you have a cell phone? If not, I’ll lend you mine.”

“ Cell phone? Why?”

“ There’s a chance the fugitive doesn’t know we followed him. I want you to call your wife and try to learn what’s happening in there, what room she and your son are in, any details that might help the SWAT team when it gets here.” Even though Andrei knew the phone line wasn’t working, he needed to find out if there was a cell phone in the house.

“ SWAT team?” Brody moaned. “Why did I let this happen? What have I done? I should never have left my family.”

“ Calm down, Mr. Brody. I’ll rehearse the phone conversation with you. We need to assume that the fugitive will be listening when your wife talks on the phone. I’ll teach you to ask questions in a way that won’t alarm him. We’ve got to know where he is in the-”

“ Wait a second.” Brody stared past Andrei.

“ What’s wrong?”

“ Those men over there. Who are they?” Brody pointed toward the fir tree.

“ The other officers on the team. Detectives Hardy and Grant.”

Mikhail and Yakov each held up an arm in greeting, doing their best to look like they belonged there.

“ About the call you’re going to make, it’s very important that you seem natural, that you don’t let your voice indicate how worried you are,” Andrei explained. “The best thing to do is-”

“ Don’t bother. It’s useless.”

“ Pardon me?”

“ There’s no point in calling.”

“ No point in-? But why?”

“ The phones aren’t working,” Brody said.

Andrei felt his muscles tense. Did he notice the telephone wire I shot down? He prompted Brody for more information. “They’re not working? What do you mean?”

“ They’re broken.”

“ You mean the snow broke the telephone lines?”

“ No, I mean the phones.” Brody seemed annoyed that Andrei couldn’t grasp some obvious concept.

“ Every phone in the house? How could they all be broken?”

Brody wiped snow off his mustache but didn’t answer, avoiding the question.

“ Sir, we can’t afford a delay,” Andrei said. “The safety of your wife and son depends on you. How did the phones get broken?”

“ I did it.”

“ What are you talking about?”

“ I smashed the phones with a hammer.” Brody sounded exasperated.

Andrei couldn’t help expressing surprise. Just when he thought he’d heard everything, someone came up with something he could never have imagined. “Why on earth would you smash the phones?”

“ So my wife couldn’t call you.”

“ Call me?” Andrei shook his head in bafflement.

“ You. The police.” Brody stared down at his boots. “I lost my temper.” The last word was tinged with despair. “My wife and I had an argument. I can’t remember what it was about, probably my drinking. I

…”

“ But why were you afraid she’d call the police?”

“ Because I hit her.” Brody kept his gaze down. His shame made him whisper.

“ Ah,” Andrei said. So this wasn’t something unimaginable, after all.

“ It’s the first time that ever happened. After I realized what I’d done, I spent the last couple of hours waiting to get sober enough to come back and beg her to forgive me.” Brody suddenly looked up. “This is all my fault. If I hadn’t left the house, I’d have been there when the guy broke in. I’d have been able to-”

“ But don’t you see? That gives you a natural excuse to call her.”

“ What do you mean?”

“ You can tell her you’re sorry and find out what’s happening. It’s so obvious an excuse, the fugitive won’t be suspicious. Are you sure you smashed all the phones? Doesn’t your wife have a cell phone?”

“ I took it. Her phone’s in my pocket.”

“ Does your son have a phone?”

“ No.”

Andrei tried not to show his elation. There wasn’t any need to worry that Pyotyr might have been able to summon the police before the telephone line had been shot down. With no way to make a call, Pyotyr was completely isolated.

“ Draw the diagram of the house.”

“ Pyotyr, Hassan’s rivals tried to kill him several times. The last thing they want is peace. There’s too much money to be made setting off car bombs in markets and sniping at Israeli soldiers on patrol.

“ Paper bags of cash are distributed weekly from donations made around the world, millions collected from sympathizers who think this is about land or religion when it’s also about men who have a very specific occupation-to cause violence and death. For decades, it’s been the only profession they’ve known. If there were peace, where would their paper bags of cash come from? Even with Hassan’s amazing effect on his followers, it’s far from certain that he can achieve peace. Nonetheless, his rivals fear the astonishing growth of his influence and want to guarantee his failure.

“ When he learned that his wife was pregnant, Hassan became so afraid for her safety that he sent her to the United States. Since July, she’s lived secretly in Santa Fe, which has a small Muslim population loyal to Hassan’s cause. In November, he made a secret trip here to monitor the last stages of her pregnancy and to deliver the baby. But he regretted sending his wife into hiding. He realized that he couldn’t ask his followers to make sacrifices if he and his family weren’t prepared to make them as well.

“ As soon as the baby is strong enough to travel, Hassan plans to return to the Gaza Strip. He plans to stand in front of his followers and hold up his child as a symbol of hope. He plans to call it the child of peace and to say that every parent has a child of peace. His rivals want their weekly payments of cash so much that they’ll do anything to stop him from gaining more sympathizers.”

In the darkness, Kagan searched a cupboard under the stove and found another pot. He filled it with water, put it on the stove, and turned on the gas burner.

“ Why are you boiling water?” Meredith wanted to know.

“ There’s still enough mixture for the baby.”

“ Sometimes, boiling water comes in handy.”

“ For what? Does your wound need cleaning again?”

“ Do you have any tin foil?” he asked.

“ Why would you need-” Looking baffled, Meredith gave up and pointed toward the left side of the stove. “The middle drawer.”

Kagan opened the drawer, pulled out a box, tore off two pieces of tin foil, and crumpled them slightly.

“ What about quick-drying glue?” he asked.

Despite her confusion, this time she didn’t question him but merely said, “One drawer down.”

“ Thanks.” Kagan pulled out the drawer and was pleased to find a large plastic tube of glue, almost full.

He went over to the microwave, which sat on the counter to the right of the stove. That counter was next to the kitchen’s side door. He opened the microwave, put in the two crumpled pieces of tin foil, set the tube of glue between them, and adjusted the timer for two minutes.

“ Wait,” Meredith warned. “It isn’t safe to start the microwave with those things inside.”

“ Just leave it like that. With the timer set.” Kagan pivoted the microwave so that it faced the side door.

His parka lay on the counter. He took his gun from the right-hand pocket, the inside of which he’d partially sliced open to accommodate the sound suppressor on the end of his weapon.

Even in the shadows, it was obvious that Meredith stared. Kagan imagined how the gun appeared to her, the cylinder attached to the barrel making the weapon look grotesque.

“ You had that with you all the time?” she asked.

“ There didn’t seem a right moment to tell you.”

“ You could have killed us whenever you wanted.”

“ The fact that I didn’t threaten you with it ought to tell you there’s a big difference between me and the men outside.”

“ If they’re even out there any longer,” Meredith said.

Kagan let her take refuge in that thought.

“ I don’t like guns,” she told him.

“ I’m not crazy about them, either, but on occasion, they can be helpful. In fact, we could use another one. Does your husband have a hunting rifle or a shotgun?”

“ Ted’s not a hunter.”

“ Some people keep a gun in the house in case of a break-in.”

“ Not us. No guns. Especially with Cole in the house.” Meredith started to say something else. “And not with…”

Kagan imagined what she had almost said- not with Ted’s drinking problem.

He reflexively reached toward the left pocket of his parka, but all he touched was torn fabric. He’d started the night with two spare ammunition magazines in there, but along with his cell phone, they’d fallen out when the pocket had been ripped open during his escape.

All I have is the ammunition in the pistol, he thought. Fifteen rounds in the magazine, plus one in the chamber.

Not much.

“ Where are your aerosol cans?” he asked. “Window cleaner, furniture polish, anything like that.”

Again, Meredith didn’t ask questions. “The cupboard above the refrigerator.”

Kagan opened the cupboard and took down four pressurized cans. He set two of them next to the kitchen door.

The baby whimpered.

Holding the two remaining cans, Kagan went over to the laundry hamper and peered down, tensely hoping the baby wouldn’t start to cry.

“ He’s just dreaming,” Meredith said.

“ Babies dream?”

“ Didn’t the World Health Organization tell you about that?”

Kagan looked at her.

“ Sorry,” she said, averting her gaze.

“ Humor’s always welcome. It’s good for morale.” Again, Kagan peered down at the baby. “Weird how the mind plays tricks.”

“ Tricks?”

“ On Canyon Road, when I was running from the men outside, the baby kicked me from time to time. I was light-headed enough that I almost had the sense he was guiding me, telling me which way to go, like he wanted me to come here.”

“ As you said, you were light-headed.”

In the background, Rosemary Clooney sang, “ I’ll Be Home for Christmas.”

Kagan drew a breath.

“ Guess I’d better get to work.” He shoved his gun under his belt, stooped, and crept into the living room.

The fireplace was on the left, its Southwestern design similar to one in the lobby of Kagan’s hotel. The hearth was a foot off the floor. The firebox had an oval opening and curved sides. The flames in it had dwindled to embers, making it less likely that he’d be seen. His gun digging into his right side, he glanced to the right. In the middle of the shadowy room, a large leather chair faced the window.

“ How are you managing, Cole?”

“ It’s hard staring at something this long.” The boy’s voice came from the other side of the chair’s back. “I still can’t get anything on the radio.”

“ You’re doing a great job. I’ll take your place soon.”

The Christmas tree stood against the far wall. Staying low, Kagan went over and unplugged the lights.

It’s late enough, he decided. Turning off the tree won’t seem unusual.

The front door was to the right of the window. He crept over and made sure it was locked. Then he set the other two aerosol cans next to it.

He turned toward the rear of the living room. The Rosemary Clooney song came from an open door to the right of the fireplace. Inside an office, he found three computer monitors and keyboards on a table in front of him. Matching computer towers were under it. Despite the darkness, he had the impression of many shelves filled with electronics.

“ Meredith, why is there so much equipment?”

“ Ted designs websites for corporations. Sometimes he has three different layouts showing simultaneously.”

Kagan felt a spark of hope.

“ Then we can access the Internet. We can send e-mails to get help.”

“ No. Ted put an electronic lock on the Internet access. I don’t have the password.”

Kagan’s excitement turned cold. “Ted thinks of everything.”

He saw an iPod connected to a docking station and a set of speakers. That was the source of the music. Now Rosemary Clooney was singing that she might only be able to dream about going home for Christmas. When he turned off the speakers, the house became silent, except for the crackle of embers in the fireplace and the faint noise of the television in Cole’s bedroom down the hallway.

At the back of the office, Kagan confirmed that the outside door was locked. The curtains were shut, concealing him as he shoved a table against the window. The table extended partway against the door and provided a barricade. His wounded arm aching, he picked up a chair and set it next to the monitors on the table. Intruders could break the window and get past the obstacles, but not quickly, not without making noise, and not without the risk of injuring themselves.

As Kagan worked, he couldn’t keep from worrying that if Meredith still distrusted him, she might use this opportunity to take Cole and run from the house. At this moment, she and the boy might be opening the side door. He leaned from the office and glanced to the right, toward the kitchen, but Meredith’s silhouette remained in view. She was looking down at the baby in the hamper.

Maybe she’ll do it in a little while, he thought. If I’m out of sight long enough, she might find the nerve to take the boy and run. And the baby-she’ll probably take the baby.

He could only pray that she wouldn’t surrender to her fears and get all of them killed.

I could do it now, Meredith thought.

In the darkness of the kitchen, the only light came from the flame on the stove and the clock on the microwave oven. She thought of how the stranger had angled the microwave toward the side door, how he’d put two pieces of crumpled tinfoil in there along with the tube of quick-drying glue. She still had a vivid mental image of the grotesque, long-barreled gun he’d shoved under his belt.

It made her shiver.

Table legs scraped in Ted’s office. For some reason, the stranger was moving the furniture. Blocking the window? She wondered. While he’s busy, I can do this. I can get Cole. I can grab the baby. We can run. I don’t know anything about this man. Maybe he stole the baby from its parents. Maybe the men looking for him are the police. Maybe whoever shot him was a policeman.

I can do it, she repeated to herself. I can do it now.

Peering down at the baby, she imagined how she could go into the living room and put her finger over her lips to warn Cole to be quiet. She could motion for Cole to follow her. In a rush, she could pick up the baby, open the door, and run with Cole into the night.

There wouldn’t be a chance to get coats. In the falling snow, she could hold the baby against her, using the blanket to shield him. She wouldn’t be able to risk stopping to ask a neighbor for help. That might give the stranger time to catch them. She and Cole would need to run all the way to the crowd on Canyon Road.

We’d be safe there, she thought. Can Cole run that far? Maybe we won’t be able to move quickly enough.

She wondered if the stranger would shoot. The thought made her flinch as she imagined the agony of a bullet slamming into her back. Or maybe she wouldn’t feel anything. Maybe the bullet would kill her.

No, she decided. The one thing she knew for certain was that the baby was important to this man. The way he talked about it. The way he looked at it. He wouldn’t do anything to put it in danger.

Did it seem logical, then, to think he was a kidnapper?

She heard him making other noises in Ted’s office, cutting at something. But what? As the cutting sounds persisted, she thought, Now’s my chance. She took a step toward the living room, preparing to cross to where Cole watched the window, but then she remembered the way the man had looked at her and said, “I promise Ted won’t hit you again.” There’d been something about the steadiness of his eyes, the reassuring tone of his voice, the firmness of his expression-they’d convinced Meredith that he meant what he said.

“ Don’t you like surprise presents?” the man had asked. “Help the baby, and I promise Ted won’t hit you again.”

He hadn’t said, “Help me.” He’d said, “Help the baby.” No, the man would never do anything to injure the baby, Meredith decided. We can run without fearing he’ll shoot.

In Ted’s office, the cutting sounds were now almost sawing sounds.

This is our chance! Meredith thought.

But what if he’s telling the truth? What if there really are men outside who’ll do anything to get the baby? If Cole and I leave the house, we might run into them. I can’t risk it. I can’t put Cole’s life in danger.

“ I promise Ted won’t hit you again.”

As much as she was certain that the stranger meant to keep that promise, she was certain about something else. Because of Cole’s short right leg, adults sometimes treated her son as if he wasn’t smart or as if he wasn’t even in the room with them. But the stranger had looked Cole directly in the eyes and had spoken to him as if he were much older than twelve. He’d trusted Cole to watch the window. He’d trusted him to listen for voices on the two-way radio. The respectful way he treated Cole left Meredith with no doubt that he would do everything in his power to make sure no one hurt her son.

Kagan’s pistol wasn’t the only weapon he carried.

On the outside of his right pants pocket, a black metal clip was hardly noticeable against the black fabric. The clip was attached to an Emerson folding knife concealed inside his pocket, an arrangement that made it easy for him to grip the knife without fumbling. When he pulled it out, a hook on the back of the blade was designed to catch on the edge of the pocket and swing the knife open. As he’d learned too well, there were numerous occasions when the ability to open a knife with only one hand could save his life.

He went over to a lamp on the office table, unplugged it, and pressed the blade against the electrical cord. He had no trouble slicing the rubber sheath, but the copper wires resisted, and he needed to press down hard, sawing more than cutting. He ignored the pain in his wounded arm from the effort of holding the wire against the table.

After he freed the cord, he tied it to the leg of a chair and stretched it calf-high across the office, securing it around a heavy box on the bottom of a shelf. Fortunately, the cord was dark. If an intruder broke through the window and shoved past the obstacles on the table, he’d be so fixated on the open door to the living room that he might not notice the trip cord in the shadows.

“ Meredith, you said there was a back garden?”

When Kagan heard her voice in the kitchen, he was relieved to know that she’d remained in the house.

“ A small one. The dry air at this altitude makes it difficult to grow things without a lot of water.”

“ Is the garden easy to get to? Are there gates to the side?”

“ No. Someone could just walk around to the back.”

“ Or climb a neighbor’s fence?” Kagan grasped at a thought. “Maybe the neighbors would notice a prowler and call the police.”

“ Not tonight,” Meredith said. “For Christmas Eve, the family to the left is visiting a sick relative down in Albuquerque. The couple to the right loves to play blackjack. They went to one of the Indian casinos.”

Kagan remembered driving north to Santa Fe from the big airport in Albuquerque. It had seemed that there was an Indian casino every twenty miles.

“ The blackjack dealers are probably dressed as Santa Claus, but somehow I doubt the pit bosses think it’s better to give than to receive,” he said.

He hoped the attempt at a joke would help calm Meredith’s nerves. Then his concern about the garden in back made him remember his hallucination when he approached the house.

“ Meredith, I thought I saw a flower growing in the snow outside.”

“ You did see a flower.”

“ In winter?” Kagan worked to keep his tone casual, to relax her. “How’s that possible? Why didn’t it freeze?”

“ It’s called a Christmas rose.”

“ I never heard of it.”

Feeling pressure in his temples, Kagan crouched, stepped from the office, and turned to the left, shifting along the hallway. He passed a bathroom on the right. Then, opposite Cole’s room, he entered the master bedroom.

Despite the darkness, he managed to see two windows, one straight ahead above the bed, the other to the right of it. The curtains were closed.

Shadowy suitcases lay on the side of the bed.

“ Planning to go somewhere?” Kagan asked.

“ Away from my husband, as soon as Canyon Road was opened to traffic tonight.”

“ I bet you wish you’d gone earlier.”

“ Then I’d have missed all this Christmas Eve fun.”

“ Yeah, this is quite a party.”

He set a chair on the bed, then put a side table and two lamps next to the suitcases, adding obstacles that might holdback someone who broke through the window above the bed. He pushed a high bureau in front of the other window, partially blocking the glass, making it difficult for someone to climb through. Next, he went to the remaining lamp, unplugged it, and sawed its electrical cord free. He attached it to the leg of a cabinet next to the door and stretched it across to a dressing table, rigging another trip cord.

In a bathroom off the bedroom, a night-light revealed a pressurized can of hairspray and another of shaving soap. Leaving the bedroom, he set the cans at the end of the corridor.

When he crept into Cole’s room, a small television showed Bing Crosby crooning “White Christmas” to soldiers at an inn while a back wall opened and snow fell on a bridge across a stream. A horse-drawn sleigh went past. Everyone looked happy.

Kagan switched off the television.

Cole’s room had only one window, facing the front of the house. Kagan pushed a bureau in front of it, but the bureau wasn’t as tall as the one in the master bedroom, and he needed to put the television on top in order to block the window.

He rigged a third trip cord. Then he pulled drawers from Cole’s bureau and set them along the bedroom floor. He took the drawers from the bureau in the master bedroom and did the same. He took the drawers from the dressing table and placed them along the hallway in an uneven pattern.

Kagan’s gun dug harder into his side. As he crept back into the kitchen, the flame under the pot of water provided a minimal amount of light.

“ You said it was a Christmas rose?” Approaching the limits of his strength, Kagan eased onto a chair and took several ragged breaths.

“ Are you all right?” Meredith asked.

“ Couldn’t be better,” he lied. “Tell me about the Christmas rose.”

“ You really want to know?”

“ Believe me, I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

“ Well, it’s a type of evergreen,” Meredith said.

Kagan nodded, encouraging her to continue.

“ In Europe, some areas grow it easily in winter. It adjusts to the cold and often blooms around Christmastime. Clumps of large white flowers.”

“ Then I wasn’t hallucinating.”

“ There’s even a legend about it.”

“ Tell me.”

“ A little girl saw the gifts that the wise men had given the baby Jesus: gold, frankincense, and myrrh.”

“ And?” Kagan wanted to keep her talking.

“ The little girl wept because she didn’t have anything of her own to give. Then an angel appeared, brushed snow from the ground, and touched the exposed soil. The little girl noticed that where her tears had fallen, white flowers grew. Now she had something to give the baby: a Christmas rose.”

Kagan gathered the energy to stand. Keeping a careful distance from the kitchen window, he looked for shadows moving in the falling snow.

“ White flowers. That’s what I saw.”

“ In Los Angeles, I liked to garden,” Meredith continued. “I’d heard about Christmas roses, but I’d never been able to grow them. When we moved here, that new start I told you about was on my mind, and I decided to try again. A clerk at a local plant nursery said I was wasting my time because they’re not suited for the thin, rocky soil we have here, but I guess I thought that if I could get one to grow, it would be a sign, something to show that Ted and I really had put our troubles behind us. Not exactly a miracle, but kind of, and the Christmas rose really did bloom. It… ”

Meredith’s voice dropped.

“ I’m sorry,” Kagan said.

“ I guess it’s just a stubborn flower. Tomorrow, Cole and I will move out.” The significance of the word seemed to strike her. “Tomorrow.”

Allow her to hope, Kagan thought. “In the morning, I’ll help you.”

As snow kept falling, Brody bent forward and used a gloved finger to draw the diagram of the house. “Cole’s room is in front on the right. There’s a bathroom next to it.” He indicated a door in a hallway. “Then there’s the living room.”

Andrei, Mikhail, and Yakov stood next to Brody, studying the shadowy lines in the snow.

“ And in back?” Andrei prompted him.

“ Master bedroom on the right,” Brody said. “It has a bathroom you can reach only from the master bedroom. Then there’s my office-in back of the living room.”

“ The kitchen’s on the left as I face the house? What’s behind it?” Andrei asked.

“ A laundry room and another bathroom.”

Lots of bathrooms, Andrei thought. Even after having lived in the United States for ten years, he still hadn’t gotten used to all the bathrooms. When he was a boy, he and his mother had shared one with six other families.

“ Show us where every window is.”

Brody did so.

“ In the back,” Andrei said, “is there anything one of our team can stand on to look inside the house? He might be able to get a sense of what’s happening in there.”

Brody indicated the middle of the back of the house. “There’s a brick patio with an overhang. We have a barbecue grill and a metal table with metal chairs. Someone could easily move a chair to a window and stand on it.”

“ Good. Now show us where every outside door is.”

Brody added to the diagram. “When the SWAT team gets here, they’re not just going to charge in, I hope. If there’s shooting, Meredith and Cole might-”

“ Don’t worry. Our men are professionals. They don’t shoot randomly. They make sure they’ve got the correct target, and even then, they don’t shoot unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“ If anything happens to my wife and son… What did this guy do?”

“ He held up a liquor store.”

“ You mean he’s got a gun?”

“ Please keep your voice down, Mr. Brody. Yes, we suspect he’s armed.”

Brody groaned. “If I hadn’t lost my temper-if I hadn’t left them alone…” A thought made him straighten. “Maybe he’ll listen to reason. Maybe you can negotiate and stop this from getting out of control.”

“ That’s hard to do without a phone. But there might be another possibility…”

Brody stepped toward him. “What?”

“ It’s risky.”

“ Tell me what it is.”

“ It could be that I was wrong,” Andrei began.

“ What do you mean? Wrong about what?”

“ Not letting you go inside.”

Brody shook his head in confusion. “But you said that if I went in there, I wouldn’t do any good. I’d just become another hostage.”

“ That was before you told me the phones aren’t working. We need to negotiate with him, and you’re the perfect person for that. You’ve got every reason to walk up to the house. When your wife explains who you are, the gunman won’t suspect you’re working with us. Detective Hardy will equip you with a miniature microphone and earbud.”

“ Earbud?”

“ A tiny earplug that works as a radio receiver. The microphone will allow us to hear everything you say in there, and maybe what the gunman says. Through the earbud, I’ll be able to give you instructions.”

“ About what?”

“ Things I want you to notice. By now, he probably rigged some kind of defense system. Booby traps. It would be natural for you to show surprise if you saw anything unusual. Your questions wouldn’t arouse his suspicion. That’ll give the SWAT team an idea of what to expect if they need to go in.”

“ Go in?” Brody looked alarmed again. “You mean they’ll break down the doors and-”

“ Maybe it won’t come to that.” Andrei spread his hands in a reassuring way, seeking to calm him. “You’re a smart man. You might be able to persuade him to allow you and your family to leave.”

Brody let the thought work on him.

“ Yeah.” He sounded hopeful. “I can try to make him listen to reason.”

“ Exactly.”

“ But what if he won’t agree?”

“ I always have a backup plan. In that case, if he won’t let you and your family go, the microphone and the earbud will give me a chance to negotiate directly with him.”

Brody seemed paralyzed by the dilemma. Finally, he asked, “You really think this can work?”

“ The suspect has numerous arrests for robbery, but he’s never shot anyone. I don’t know why he’d be stupid enough to start now. There’s a good chance to bring this to a successful conclusion. The question is, are you willing to do your best to save your wife and son?”

“ My best to save them? Hell, I’m the reason they’re in danger. If I hadn’t gotten drunk and lost my temper, we’d all behaving a good time at a party.”

Andrei put a consoling hand on Brody’s shoulder.

“ Then maybe it’s time to make things right.”

“Pyotyr, the day after Christmas, Hassan, his wife, and his newborn son will use a private jet to fly back to the Middle East.

“ As a present to his wife, though-the last luxury she’ll have for a long time-he’s arranged for his family to spend four days in a suite at a hotel on Santa Fe’s Plaza. The baby has three bodyguards and a nursemaid. With the child well protected, the wife will perhaps feel less nervous about leaving the hotel and going out to view the famed seasonal decorations in the city.

“ Santa Fe is the capital of New Mexico. At eight P.M. on Christmas Eve, Hassan and his wife will be driven to a reception at the governor’s mansion fifteen blocks away. There, amid numerous television cameras, he’ll make an impassioned speech about his goals in the Middle East.

“ Even though he’s a Muslim, he’ll use Christmas Eve to argue for mutual understanding and tolerance. He’ll use his exceptional speaking ability to talk about the child of peace, who happens to be his son but who represents every Palestinian child. He’ll tell the world that he’s taking the newborn baby back to the Middle East as a symbol of his hope for the future of all children in the region. He’ll argue passionately that if people truly love their children, they’ll do everything possible to demand a lasting truce.

“ Pyotyr, what Hassan doesn’t realize is that, although the infant’s bodyguards are loyal, the nursemaid works for his rivals, who haven’t the faintest interest in peace. All they want is to stay in the violence business that makes them so very much money-more than you or I could ever imagine.

“ At 8:05 tomorrow evening, the nursemaid will free the dead bolts on two of the suite’s doors. She’ll tape a strip of plastic against the side of each door so that the latches can’t seat themselves in the door frames and act as further locks. While Hassan and his wife are away at the governor’s mansion, we’ll enter the suite, shoot the guards, and grab the baby.”

Kagan gripped the kitchen table and pushed himself to his feet.

“ Cole, I’ll take your place now.”

He drank more of the mixture that Meredith had prepared, tasting the salt and the sugar. The now-tepid fluid trickledown his dry throat. His stomach absorbed it without the nausea he’d experienced earlier.

Just give me enough strength to keep functioning, he thought, not sure to whom he directed the words.

In the dark living room, he crept to the leather chair. When Cole’s thin form slid away, Kagan eased into it, the leather creaking. He set the pistol on his lap, felt its comforting weight, and studied the window.

The Christmas lights over the wreath outside the front door illuminated some of the area. Beyond the two leafless trees, the coyote fence was vaguely visible, its waist-high cedar posts contrasting with the snow, but past it, the lane was hard to distinguish. If not for the threat that lurked out there, the view would have been comparable to what Kagan had noticed a little while ago on the television in Cole’s room: Bing Crosby singing “White Christmas” while snow fell on a beautiful scene.

He suddenly realized that the boy had remained standing beside him. Is he staring at the gun in my lap? Is it making him more afraid?

“ I need…” The boy sounded self-conscious. “… to go to the…”

Kagan relaxed slightly, thankful that the boy wasn’t panicking because of the gun.

“ Better use the toilet near the laundry room,” he said. “I booby-trapped the hallway. It might be hard to get to those other bathrooms.” Kagan couldn’t remember when he’d last relieved his bladder. That he didn’t feel pressure in it troubled him. His wound had dehydrated him more than he realized. “When you’re finished, come back to the living room, okay?”

“ You bet. The last thing I want is to be by myself.”

“ Bring your baseball bat. Hang on to it.” Kagan noticed a big-screen television cabinet in the left front corner. Cole had referred to it earlier. “Keep imagining how you’ll crawl behind that cabinet and stay low if anything happens.”

“ Maybe I won’t need to,” Cole said.

“ That’s what I’m hoping. Things are beginning to look in our favor. But as I said, spies never take anything for granted.”

“ It could be…”

“ Could be what?”

“ I don’t think I want to be a spy,” Cole said.

“ At the moment, I don’t want to be one, either.” Kagan listened to the sound of the boy’s uneven footsteps as he went across the brick floor and entered the kitchen. “Meredith?”

“ 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.”