Read The Spy Who Came for Christmas Online
Authors: David Morrell
Tags: #Crime, #Fiction, #Thrillers, #Suspense, #Espionage, #Organized Crime, #Russia
"But you said there were gross parts," Cole objected.
"Several. They all involve Herod. Contrary to what the Magi hoped, he didn't chase the phantom accounts that popped up here and there all over the country. His erratic behavior didn't destabilize Israel. Instead he did something so disturbing that no one could have predicted it, even taking into account his past actions.
"When Herod realized he'd been tricked, his fury prompted him to send his men to Bethlehem and the other villages in that area. The soldiers obeyed his orders and slaughtered every male child who was two years old or less. Herod couldn't be certain when exactly the new king had been born. By choosing the wide margin of two years, he felt certain he'd eliminated the threat."
"Every boy who was two years old or less?" Cole sounded shocked, yet fascinated. "I heard about that, but I never realized . . . How many boys did he kill?"
"Perhaps as many as a hundred. Tradition says it was a far greater number, but the population of the area that included Bethlehem wasn't large enough for there to be thousands of children. Even so, the mass murder of a hundred children would have
felt
like thousands. The effect on the region was catastrophic.
"If a revolution was indeed being planned, this slaughter of children was so startling that now no one dared move against
Herod. How can you fight someone so psychotic that, in his will, he had made arrangements for several hundred men to have their throats slit at his funeral? He gave that order because he wanted tears to be shed at his death. It didn't matter if the tears were for him or for the slaughtered men. All he cared about was that his subjects would be grief-stricken.
"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.
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*
P
art 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 hides 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.