The light from the flames diminished.
Again, water splashed into the saucepan. Again, Ted hurled it against the cupboard.
“ It’s out!” he yelled.
The thickening shadows told Kagan the same thing.
Yakov’s gun, he thought. If I can reach it…
He risked switching his gaze from the hallway and focused on the corpse next to him. But the bright flames had hurt his night vision, and he couldn’t adapt to the dark again to see the gun.
More bullets snapped past him, but this time they were directed behind him, toward the floor. Kagan realized that the flames must have illuminated the pressurized cans he’d placed next to the kitchen door. The gunman was imitating his tactic.
“ Ted, get over by the sink!”
The sharp bang with which one of the cans exploded felt like hands slapping Kagan’s ears.
In agony, Kagan tried to recover from the shock. Aiming along the hallway, he saw a figure lunge from the master bedroom.
He knows I’m down to my last few rounds!
The gunman had Mikhail’s bulky silhouette. He must have put in a fresh magazine, Kagan realized, because he kept shooting as if he had an endless supply of ammunition.
Having been warned about the drawers that lay on the floor, Mikhail veered this way and that. The zigzag movement confused Kagan’s aim as Mikhail kept shooting.
Kagan fired once, twice, but then his gun was useless, its slide locking back, its magazine empty. Certain that he was about to die, he rolled frantically toward Yakov’s body next to him, searching for the gun. But his wounded arm was so stiff that it restricted his movement.
Doubly certain that he would die, he felt a bullet strike the brick floor, spraying fragments over him.
He kept pawing for Yakov’s gun but couldn’t find it.
Without warning, Mikhail stumbled, sprawling face-down onto a drawer. Something about the way he fell struck Kagan as strange, but there wasn’t time to think about it as he unclipped the knife from his pocket and surged up.
The hook on the back of the knife levered against his pocket and pulled the blade open.
Charging, he saw Mikhail’s shadowy figure peer up from the floor and raise his pistol. Kagan slashed the back of Mikhail’s wrist, causing him to drop the gun. But as Kagan slashed again, Mikhail used his uninjured hand to grab his ankle and yank him off balance.
Kagan fell heavily.
When he hit the floor, he crunched across broken glass, managing to come to his feet at the same moment that Mikhail rose and dove forward. Despite their injured arms, they grappled viciously, sliding on the shards of glass. Kagan fought to stab his opponent, while Mikhail struggled to get the knife away from him.
Kagan’s heart sped so wildly that the precise movements necessary for martial-arts combat became impossible. He and Mikhail were like two large animals, colliding with each other.
Mikhail was heavier, able to make his weight a weapon. He used his uninjured hand to squeeze Kagan’s knife wrist, spinning him. Then he curled his blood-slick arm around Kagan’s neck, strangling him from behind. Kagan felt increasing pressure against his larynx.
Something crashed.
Andrei’s breaking through the front window! Kagan thought.
But the crash was accompanied by a blow from behind that sent Mikhail lurching forward.
Ted hit him with something!
In a frenzy, Kagan squirmed free of Mikhail’s grip. He tried to slice with the blade, but again Mikhail grabbed that wrist. The force of their struggle knocked Kagan against the back wall of the corridor. His head smashed the glass of a picture hanging there.
Jolted from the impact, he tried to knee Mikhail in the groin but succeeded only in striking a thigh. As the Russian pinned him against the wall, straining to get the knife away from him, Kagan stomped down hard on a foot and heard a groan. To the right, he sensed the open door to Ted’s office and used all his strength to pivot with Mikhail, thrusting him through the doorway.
The trip cord caught behind Mikhail’s ankles. Kagan added to the Russian’s backward momentum by shoving. When they hit the floor, Kagan was on top, his impact knocking the air from Mikhail’s lungs. The Russian’s grip loosened enough for Kagan to yank his knife hand free.
Screaming with fury, he plunged the blade into Mikhail’s throat, all the way to the handle, and felt the Russian thrash. He worked the knife back and forth, widening the hole, grating against bone, feeling the hot blood gush over his fingers. Mikhail’s mouth gaped in a desperate effort to breathe.
His arms fought to push Kagan away. He gasped, the blood causing a rattle in his throat. His arms lost strength. Kagan kept twisting the knife. At last, Mikhail’s hands fell away, trembled, and lay still.
Only then did Kagan let go of the knife. Andrei! he thought frantically.
Dizzy from his frenzied breathing, he scrambled toward where Mikhail had dropped his pistol. He grabbed the gun, hurried into the living room, crouched, and aimed toward the bullet holes in the front window. Huge chunks of glass had fallen into the room. The snow was drifting in.
Where was Andrei?
Kagan’s ears rang painfully. From the laundry room, the baby kept crying, its wail seeming to come through cotton batting.
But Kagan noticed something odd-inexplicably, the window was broken only at the top half. Every bullet had been directed upward, where the least possible harm would result.
What the…?
“ Look out!” Ted shouted behind him.
Spinning, Kagan saw a dark figure lurch from the office. Mikhail’s throat gaped, wheezing, spewing blood. The knife was no longer embedded there. It was in his hand, and as he thrust the blade toward Kagan, Ted surged from the kitchen, crashing into him. The impact sent Ted and Mikhail toppling onto the floor. Raging, Mikhail swung the knife at Ted, who kicked and fought to squirm away.
The knife grazed Ted’s cheek, making him groan. But he was far enough away that Kagan could shoot without fear of hitting him. He put two bullets behind Mikhail’s right ear, and when the Russian collapsed, this time Kagan had no doubt that he was dead.
Andrei. Where’s Andrei?
Kagan whirled again toward the front window.
He was drenched in sweat. His breathing was frantic. He knew that barely two minutes had elapsed, but the intensity of the fight had made the passage of time seem much longer.
The baby kept wailing. Then suddenly, it stopped.
At once, Kagan heard Andrei’s voice, but this time, it didn’t come from the radio’s earbud. Instead it came faintly from the area outside the house. Although Kagan had the sense that Andrei was shouting, the explosions had traumatized his ears enough that he had to strain to hear what was being said.
“ Pyotyr!” the voice called. “Don’t say a word! Shut off your radio transmitter!”
Wary, Kagan didn’t respond.
“ Do you hear me?” Andrei shouted. “Shut off the transmitter!”
What’s he up to? Kagan wondered. Tense, he did as he was asked.
“ Okay, it’s off!” Kagan’s words seemed to come from inside a tunnel.
“ I figured you were the one who survived. Otherwise, Yakov or Mikhail would have opened the door.”
“ It’s nice to know you have confidence in me.”
“ More than you can imagine,” Andrei said. “By the way, I shut off my radio transmitter also. The clients and the Pakhan can’t hear us.”
“ What are you doing?” Kagan aimed toward the half-broken window. More snow flurried through it. “All your shots were aimed high. If you’d continued the attack from the front, I’d have been killed.”
“ You mentioned destiny. I figured I’d let Mikhail and Yakov decide it for me. If they won, then the child was meant to be delivered to our clients.”
