Debating the possibilities, Andrei peered to the right, away from Canyon Road. There were fewer footprints headed in that direction.
“ Go left. Check the crowd,” he told Mikhail and Yakov. “I’ll go this way.”
Kagan stepped through the open gate and studied the area in front of the house. As the snowflakes thickened, he saw the outline of a bench and an evergreen shrub on the right. Two leafless trees stood to his left. Their white trunks were difficult to distinguish in the snowfall. He stared at the main window but still didn’t see any movement except for the flicker from logs in the fireplace.
At once, his vision wavered, almost in imitation of the dimly glimpsed flames.
It’s just the snow blurring my eyes, he thought.
His legs felt frozen, as did his chest where the zipper on his parka was halfway down, providing air for the baby.
Hurry, he thought. He turned to close the gate and secure the metal bolt, ignoring a twinge of pain in his wound. Whence redirected his attention toward the house, his vision again wavered.
Under his parka, the baby moved. Aware that he needed to find shelter soon, he took one step, then another. The flakes came faster, renewing the hope that his tracks would soon be filled.
I have a good chance of getting this trick to work, he thought. Still, he couldn’t help imagining the emotions of the man to whom he’d spoken just now, the man he’d fooled into believing they were friends, the man who-even if he failed tonight-would never stop hunting him.
Kagan moved nearer to the house, but something he saw in the snow to the left of the front door made him worry that his vision had definitely been compromised.
He was sure he saw a plant. It had a dense cluster of dark leaves. The contrast against the snow was the reason he noticed it. But it seemed impossible. How could a plant grow in this weather? Moreover, it seemed to have flowers, a half-dozen large ones, the white of which was as difficult to distinguish as the trunks of the aspen trees.
And yet he was sure he saw their blur.
Flowers in winter? I’m hallucinating, Kagan thought. Some kind of snow mirage.
Or maybe the blood loss is making me see things.
Unsteady, he followed the half-filled prints toward the side of the house. Keep going, he thought. I’m almost there. If I can get into the shed or the garage, I can rest for a while. Catch my breath. Try to stop the bleeding.
He put one boot in front of the other.
Maybe there’ll be a tarpaulin or an old blanket I can crawl under, he hoped. Try to get warm. Try to warm both of us, he silently promised the baby. He felt more responsible for the child than he’d ever felt for anyone else in the world. Maybe Could wrap you up and put you someplace safe in a corner. That would give me a chance to try to protect us.
But whatever you do, he mentally pleaded, just don’t cry. I’m sure you’re hungry. I’ll try to find you something to eat. I don’t know how, but I’ll do my best. Please don’t cry. You’ve been good so far. The greatest. There’s only one way you can be better. For God’s sake, please don’t cry.
He shivered violently, wiping snow from the top of his head. He reached the side of the house. Away from the Christmas lights that stretched above the front door and the ceiling light that shone from the kitchen, he paused in the shadows, trying to let his untrustworthy eyes adjust. In the hiss of the falling snow, everything seemed closer, as if it were condensing around him.
Sudden movement dissolved the illusion. A figure lunged toward him, and Kagan was absolutely certain the shock from his wound had made him hallucinate-because the figure was a boy, maybe twelve years old, and the boy had a baseball bat. He was about to swing with it, and the intensity of the expression on his face was startling, even if Kagan saw it only for an instant.
His vision doubled. His knees bent.
Before the boy could strike him, he dropped. Sickened, feeling his eyes roll up and his mind drift, he did his best to topple onto his side, to keep the weight of his body from crushing the baby.
Don’t cry, he silently pleaded. Whatever you do, don’t cry.
But now the baby did cry. Jolted when Kagan landed, the infant wailed beneath the parka. Its cry went on and on, rising, pausing only when the baby took frantic breaths. Then it swelled again, a cry of helplessness and fear, of pain, hunger, and despair, of all the sorrow and desperation in the world.
“ Paul, you shouldn’t have risked calling. You’re supposed to use the dead drop. Is this an emergency?”
“ I need you to bring me in. You told me it wouldn’t last this long. Tonight…”
“ I can barely hear you.”
“ Tonight, to prove I was part of the team, they forced me to.. ”
“ I still can’t hear you. You need to get off the line. You’re jeopardizing the mission.”
“ If you don’t bring me in, I’ll walk away.”
“ No. You’d make them suspicious. We’d never get another man in there. Give us time to think of a believable reason for you to disappear.”
“ Soon. Think of it soon.”
“ The quickest we can. Learn as much as possible. There are rumors about a shipment of plastic explosive being smuggled through the Jersey docks. That’s Odessa territory. If Semtex is being smuggled in, the Russians are involved.”
“ Just bring me home. For God’s sake, bring me home.”
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.”