“So, from one point of view, the Magi’s plan went terribly wrong. They hoped to destabilize Herod’s government, and instead they caused a slaughter. But from another point of view, that mass murder had an unintentional positive effect. By killing every other male child around Bethlehem, Herod insured that the baby Jesus was the only surviving child born when and where the king of peace was prophesied to appear. The census turned out to be crucial. It not only brought Mary and Joseph to Bethlehem to fulfill the prophecy, but it also provided written proof that Jesus was born there.
“As for Herod . . . After the children were slaughtered, a mysterious illness overcame him. An eyewitness reported that the king felt consumed with fire. He convulsed. His legs swelled with water. His bowels developed ulcers. His penis rotted and developed worms.”
“Worms on his . . . ewww, gross,” Cole said.
“I warned you. The historical records say that the king breathed with violent quickness, exuding a terrible odor. His agony lasted for a long time, which I confess gives me satisfaction. After he finally died, the officials in charge of his funeral refused to obey his edict, so no men were murdered when he was buried.”
“But what killed him?” the boy asked.
“One theory is that he had chronic kidney disease. Another says he had a raging type of skin cancer. My own belief is that he suffered from what’s called the flesh-eating disease. Basically, he was devoured by his own bacteria. It couldn’t have happened to a more deserving person. His evil consumed him.
“But what interests me is, how did it happen to him? Was it bad luck? Was it God’s will? Or do you suppose a spy had something to do with it, touching Herod with a contaminated cloth that caused the disease? We’ll never know. When an espionage mission is successful, we never realize what was actually involved. But I like to think Herod was assassinated
with what we now refer to as a biological weapon.”
Kagan paused.
“And that’s the spy’s version of Christmas.”
Suddenly the baby cried out.
One moment, it was silent. The next, it wailed as if struck by all the pain and fear in the world, and this time, Kagan was absolutely sure.
“It’s beginning,” he said.
Part Four
The Child of Peace
“COLE, GET BEHIND the television cabinet! Meredith, take the baby into the laundry room!”
As the baby’s wail persisted, Kagan sank from the leather chair and gripped his pistol with two hands, ignoring the pain in his left arm. Although he realized the notion was crazy, every instinct told him that the baby was telling him something, crying out to warn him. He hadn’t survived these many years without relying on his instincts, and right now, they were clanging like alarm bells.
Andrei’ll come from the front, he reminded himself, pulse racing. He’ll try to distract me while the others attack from the sides. His usual method. The same as at the hotel. He knows I’ll expect it, but that doesn’t matter. It’s the best tactic for this location.
Nonetheless, while Kagan stared through the window toward the falling snow and the barely visible coyote fence, he didn’t see anyone stalking forward.
Maybe I’m imagining things, he hoped. Maybe they really went away.
But he knew that if they were watching the house, for sure they could hear the baby now. His ears hurt from the wail.
How can I listen for somebody breaking in?
The wail ended as abruptly as it had begun.
Kagan heard a scraping sound. It came from Meredith desperately pulling the wicker basket into the shadows of the laundry room, where she would try to conceal the baby behind the washer and dryer
The house became unnaturally still
Maybe I let my nerves get the better of me, Kagan thought, although he couldn’t bring himself to believe it. It could be that the baby’s crying only because he needs his diaper changed
At once, Kagan saw a hint of the gate being opened and closed, a figure emerging from the snowfall
Kagan raised his gun, compensating for the weight of the sound suppressor as he aimed. Does Andrei think the snow hide him? I can shoot him now. Then I only need to worry about . .
But the light above the front door reflected off the snow, revealing that the figure’s coat was pale gray and not the black of Andrei’s ski jacket. Instead of Andrei’s watchman’s cap, the man wore a billed cap with earflaps. The figure was Andrei’s height, but thin—without Andrei’s broad shoulders. When the man came closer, Kagan saw that he had a mustache.
“Meredith?”
“What?”
“Hurry into the living room. Somebody’s coming. Does your husband have a mustache? Is this him?"
Kagan heard her footsteps on the brick floor as she scurried through the darkness. Again, he didn’t need to remind her to stay low.
“I...” She stared out the window. A breath caught in her throat. “Yes. That’s Ted.”
The front door was to the right of the window. Kagan shifted to the left. Remaining in the shadows, pressing himself close to the window, he stared along the front of the house. He didn’t see anyone hiding there. Not that he could see the entire length of the house. But he saw enough to take a chance.
The angle the man followed would lead him to the side door, and Kagan didn’t want him entering from that direction. There wasn’t a window. Kagan didn’t have a way to check for anyone hiding beyond that other door. It would be easy for someone to rush in behind Ted.
“Meredith, open the front door. Tell him to come in that way.”
She studied Kagan. Even in the shadows, he saw the contour of the swelling bruises on her cheek and the side of her mouth.
“He won’t hit you again. I promise.”
Meredith nodded, ending her hesitation. She twisted the dead bolt and opened the door. The outside light exposed her. As cold air streamed into the living room, she called out, “Ted, come in. Over here.”
“Meredith?” The voice was unsteady, perhaps from alcohol. “Are these footprints out here? The snow almost filled them, but they seem to go toward the house. Did someone show up while I was gone?”
“Get inside,” Meredith told him firmly.
“Did I hear a baby cry a few seconds ago?”
“Ted, for heaven’s sake, it’s cold. Get in here.”
Ted approached the door.
“Meredith, I’m begging you to forgive me,” he said. “The worst thing I ever did in my life was hit you. I’d give anything to take it back. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”
Snow flurried in.
Ted took off his gloves and stepped through the door. He cast a shadow from the outside light. “Those footprints—who made them?”
Meredith quickly shut and locked the door.
In a rush, Kagan knocked Ted’s legs from under him, dropped him chest first on the floor, pressed the Glock against the back of his head, and told him, “Put your hands behind your neck.”
“What’s going on? Is that a gun?”
“Put your hands behind your neck, and link your fingers.”
“Who the—”
Kagan gripped Ted’s hair and rapped his forehead on the bricks.
“Ouch!”
“Do what you’re told. Meredith, keep looking out the window.”
She took Kagan’s place in the chair.
Trembling, Ted obeyed Kagan’s orders and put his hands behind his neck, linking his fingers. His breath smelled faintly of whiskey, but his speech wasn’t slurred, making Kagan think that he hadn’t drunk any alcohol in a couple of hours.
“What the hell is going on?”
“Pay attention,” Kagan ordered. “Is anybody out there?”
“What do you mean? Who’d be—”
Kagan rapped Ted’s forehead on the bricks, harder this time.
“Hey, you’re hurting me!”
“That’s the whole idea, Ted. Who’s out there?”
“It’s Christmas Eve, for heave
n’s sake. Plenty of people are out there.”
“In the lane?”
“No, on Canyon Road.”
“I asked about the lane.”
“It’s deserted. This far from Canyon Road, there aren’t many decorations. Why would anybody be in the lane? Who the hell are you?”
“Hold still.”
Keeping his pistol against the back of Ted’s neck, Kagan used his injured arm and painfully searched him. He started at Ted’s right ankle, moving up his leg, probing his hips and groin.
“Hey!” Ted objected.
Kagan ignored him, checking his left leg and then the rest of his body. He didn’t find any weapons. He did feel a wallet, but not what he was searching for.
“The cell phones,” Kagan said. If he could get his hands on one of them, he could call for help. “You left here with two cell phones, yours and Meredith’s.”
“How did you know that? Why do you care about—”
“Where are they?”
“Stolen.”
“What?”
“On Canyon Road,” Ted answered. “Somebody knocked against me and kept going through the crowd. Then I realized that my coat felt lighter. I reached in my pockets. The cell phones were gone.”
“Somebody took the cell phones but not your wallet?”
“In my coat pocket, they were easy to get, but my wallet’s under my coat. Meredith, who is this guy? How did he get in the house?”
“Shut up while I decide if I believe you,” Kagan told him.
“Why wouldn’t you believe me? I don’t know who you are, buddy, but this is between my wife and me, okay?”
Kagan’s instincts told him to let Ted keep talking, on the chance that he might inadvertently say something useful.
Ted looked imploringly at his wife.
“Meredith, I swear I’ve never been sorrier for anything in my life. Whatever this guy wants, you and I can deal with him. But we can’t solve anything if you don’t forgive me. After what I did to you, I walked and walked. I felt so bad, I’d have stepped in front of a truck if Canyon Road hadn’t been closed to traffic.”
“You can come to your hands and knees,” Kagan said.
“Everybody was enjoying the carolers and the Christmas lights, but all I wanted was to kill myself.” Ted’s voice was strained as he glanced around the murky living room. “I don’t know what made me notice it, but I saw an old adobe building with a sign that said, ‘The Friends.’ It struck me as some kind of . . .”
“Come to your knees,” Kagan ordered. “Put your hands in your coat pockets.”
Ted obeyed, shifting his knees to avoid the folds of his coat, awkwardly stuffing his hands into the pockets. He kept talking the entire time.
“Think about it, Meredith. The one night of the year I surely needed a friend, somebody to straighten me out, and here’s this sign.”
Kagan remained at the side of the living room, away from the window. “You can stand now.”
In the shadows, Ted rose unsteadily, almost losing his balance because his hands were in his coat pockets. He seemed too nervous to stop talking.
“I went in, and there were people sitting on benches along the walls of a big room. Nobody said a word. They had their heads down. I didn’t understand until I saw a plaque on the wall: ‘The Religious Society of Friends.’”
Ted paused. Again, he looked around the living room.
“They were Quakers, Meredith. I remembered reading in the newspaper that the Quakers have a meeting hall on Canyon Road. The people with their heads down—they were praying. I sat on one of the benches and realized that it had been years since I’d prayed. I’d almost forgotten how to do it, and God knows I had lots to pray for. You. Cole. The strength to quit drinking.”
Ted kept looking around the living room. Although Kagan couldn’t say why, there was something about Ted’s behavior that made him uneasy.
“After a while, they raised their heads and began talking with each other. Their voices were so peaceful. Their faces almost glowed. They looked at me as if I was the most welcome person in the world. One of them brought me a cup of coffee. They didn’t pry, but I knew they understood the pain I was in.
“That’s where I’ve been all this time, Meredith, waiting to get sober enough to come home. I couldn’t help asking myself where my life was going and what I was doing to you and Cole and . . . Cole? Where are you, son? Are you okay?”
“I’m here.” Cole’s muffled voice came from a corner of the living room.
“Behind the television cabinet? What are you doing back there?”
“Hiding.”
“From what? Did this guy hurt you? If he—”
“No,” Meredith insisted, cutting him off. “He didn’t hurt us.”
“Then somebody tell me what’s going on.”
“Three men followed me,” Kagan said.
“Followed you? What are you talking about?”
“Just shut up and listen. They’re tall. Heavy. Tough-looking. In their mid-forties. One of them has a face like it’s been chiseled from a block of wood. Thick eyebrows. A scar on his left cheek. A strong jaw. You’re sure you didn’t see someone who looks like that out there?”
“I told you, the lane’s empty. I didn’t see anybody after I left the crowd on Canyon Road. Hey, put the gun down. It’s making me nervous.”
“It’s supposed to. Keep your hands in your pockets.”
“It’s too dark in here. I can’t see your face. Meredith, turn on some lights.”
“No,” Kagan said.
“Three guys followed you? What do they want?” Ted paused, seeming to focus his thoughts. “I’m sure I heard a baby crying. Where is it?”
Ted stepped to the back of the living room, glancing left and right. His eyes adjusted to the shadows. “Why are all these drawers lying in the hallway outside the bedrooms?”
Kagan followed as Ted moved toward the kitchen. He grabbed Ted’s hand when he reached to turn on a light switch.
Ted spoke again, his voice louder. “Why are you boiling—”
“Get back in here.” Kagan yanked him into the living room.
Something bothered Kagan about what he’d found or rather hadn’t found when he’d searched Ted. No weapons. Not surprising. A wallet, but no cell phones. The explanation for the missing cell phones made a degree of sense. Christmas Eve was a perfect time to be a pickpocket. Crowds, confusion. Items in an outside pocket were easy to steal, compared to a wallet underneath the coat.
But there was something else that troubled Kagan. It nagged at the corner of his mind.
Something missing.
Something every man carried in his pants pocket.
“Ted, where are your keys?”
“What?”
“When I searched you, I didn’t find any keys. How did you expect to get back in the house?”
“My keys? I didn’t...” Again Ted paused, as if focusing his thoughts. “I guess I was so drunk, I forgot them.”
“No,” Meredith said. “You had them in your pocket. You wanted to take the Range Rover, but I insisted that you were too drunk to drive. That’s when you hit me. I told you Canyon Road was closed to traffic, and you hit me again. But I guess you finally got the message—because you walked off instead of driving.”
“I told you I’m sorry, Meredith. I’ll keep saying it as often as I need to. I was wrong. You had every reason to try to keep me from driving. I’ll never take another drink, and I swear to God I’ll never hit you again.”
“Stop changing the subject!” Kagan said. “Where are your keys?”
For a third time, Ted paused. “The pickpocket. He must have taken them. I must have been too drunk to realize it.”
“The thief managed to lift two cell phones and your car keys but not your wallet?”
“The keys were in my coat pocket with the cell phones. I remember now. They wouldn’t have been hard to get.” For a fourth time, Ted paused. Then he spoke again, loudly. “I know I
heard a baby crying.”
“Why are you speaking like that?”
Ted cocked his head.
“The cry seemed to come from . . . the kitchen? No . . . the laundry room.”
“Why do you keep pausing?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I just want to know what’s going on.”
“You’re giving me a bad feeling, Ted.”
“The laundry room.”
“A very bad feeling. Those men outside—did you lie about them?”
“Why would I—”
“Did they promise they’d let you and Meredith and Cole go free, that they wouldn’t hurt you if you helped them?”
“I told you, nobody’s out there,” Ted protested. The sudden, deeper unsteadiness in his voice made Kagan more apprehensive.
“They’re killers, Ted. Whatever they told you isn’t true. They have a strict rule about not leaving witnesses.”
Meredith turned from crouching near the window. “Ted, dear God, did you lie to us?”
“Of course not.”
“Are they out there? Are you helping them?”
“I’m not helping anybody,” Ted answered, much too fast.
“On your knees again,” Kagan ordered.
“My knees?”
“You keep pausing while you talk. Are you listening to someone? Why is your hat still on?”
Kagan kicked the back of Ted’s legs and dropped him to his knees. He yanked off Ted’s hat. With the earflaps gone, he probed Ted’s right ear but found nothing.
“Hey!” Ted objected, trying to twist away.
Kagan probed Ted’s left ear, his stomach turning when he found something that blocked it. Sick, he pulled out the earbud. “Where’s the microphone?”
“Microphone?”
Kagan whacked his gun barrel against the side of Ted’s forehead. “You stupid fool, give me the damned microphone!”
The Spy Who Came for Christmas Page 15
