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?”
