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Authors: David Morrell
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safety pins big enough to close this dish towel and make it work as a diaper," Meredith said.
Wincing, Kagan eased off his parka, freeing himself of the weight of the gun in his right pocket. When Meredith had opened the coat and taken out the baby, she hadn't pushed the flaps to each side and thus hadn't felt what was there. He set the parka on the kitchen table, taking care to cushion the impact of the gun against the wood and avoid a sound that might attract questions.
"Do you have any duct tape?" he asked.
"Duct tape? Yes, that would work instead of safety pins. But what made you think of that?" "Duct tape has all kinds of uses. Where is it?"
"The bottom drawer, to the left of the sink. We had a leak under the drain."
Kagan opened the drawer and pulled out the roll of duct tape. He tore off two pieces and pressed them where Meredith held the folded dish towel around the baby's hips. Then he tore off several more strips--longer ones--and stuck them to the edge of the counter.
"For now, I won't need those," Meredith told him.
"They're for something else," Kagan said.
He turned his back, then unbuttoned his shirt and gently pulled it free. He didn't want Meredith to be alarmed by the Russian prison tattoos on his chest.
Despite the sweat that slicked his skin, he shivered. In the glow from the night-light, he managed to confirm that the bullet had passed through the flesh of his upper left arm. The wound was swollen, but as far as he could tell, neither bone nor the artery had been hit.
Well, that's the good news about the bad news, he thought.
He braced himself for what he needed to do. You can manage this, he told himself, fighting the pain.
Behind him, Meredith evidently got a look at the injury to his arm. "What happened to you?"
Kagan didn't answer.
"Is . . . ? My God, is that a bullet wound? Were you shot?"
'When I rescued the baby."
Repressing his dizziness, Kagan leaned over the sink and soaped the wound. "Do you have a first-aid kit?" He tried not to grimace when he rinsed blood away with warm water.
Meredith's mind seemed paralyzed. "A firstaid kit?" She was so overwhelmed that she appeared to have trouble understanding the concept. "Firstaid . . . ? The next drawer up."
Kagan pulled it from the drawer and opened it, pleased to find antibiotic cream. While he gingerly rubbed it over his wound, he looked through a crack in the curtains above the sink. The snow kept falling. He stared past the two trees toward the coyote fence and the lane. No one was in sight.
Maybe we'll get lucky, he thought.
Sure we will.
He noticed a dry cloth next to the sink. Biting his lip, he pressed it to his wound and used the strips of duct tape to stick it to his skin. Sweat beaded his face while he wrapped several layers of tape tightly around his arm, making a pressure bandage. He waited, hoping that he wouldn't see any blood leak out.
The baby whimpered. When Kagan looked over his shoulder, he saw it trying to suck one of its fists.
'What are we going to feed him?" Meredith said.
"Do you have any milk?"
"Babies aren't supposed to be fed regular milk."
"The World Health Organization has an emergency recipe for diluting it with water and adding sugar."
'We don't have any milk. Cole can't digest it. We had rice milk, but we used the last of it earlier."
"Then put a half teaspoon of salt into a quart of water."
"Salt?"
'Add a half teaspoon of baking soda and three tablespoons of sugar."
'Are you making this up?"
"It's something the Mayo Clinic developed."
Kagan shoved a finger into the bullet hole in his shirt. He tugged at the hole, ripping the sleeve open to make room for the added bulk of the pressure bandage. As he put on the shirt, he told Meredith, "Warm the water until the salt, baking soda, and sugar dissolve."
'World Health Organization? Mayo Clinic? Since when do spies know about feeding babies?"
"I once escorted a medical team in Somalia."
That was close enough to the truth to be believable,
Wincing, Kagan eased off his parka, freeing himself of the weight of the gun in his right pocket. When Meredith had opened the coat and taken out the baby, she hadn't pushed the flaps to each side and thus hadn't felt what was there. He set the parka on the kitchen table, taking care to cushion the impact of the gun against the wood and avoid a sound that might attract questions.
"Do you have any duct tape?" he asked.
"Duct tape? Yes, that would work instead of safety pins. But what made you think of that?" "Duct tape has all kinds of uses. Where is it?"
"The bottom drawer, to the left of the sink. We had a leak under the drain."
Kagan opened the drawer and pulled out the roll of duct tape. He tore off two pieces and pressed them where Meredith held the folded dish towel around the baby's hips. Then he tore off several more strips--longer ones--and stuck them to the edge of the counter.
"For now, I won't need those," Meredith told him.
"They're for something else," Kagan said.
He turned his back, then unbuttoned his shirt and gently pulled it free. He didn't want Meredith to be alarmed by the Russian prison tattoos on his chest.
Despite the sweat that slicked his skin, he shivered. In the glow from the night-light, he managed to confirm that the bullet had passed through the flesh of his upper left arm. The wound was swollen, but as far as he could tell, neither bone nor the artery had been hit.
Well, that's the good news about the bad news, he thought.
He braced himself for what he needed to do. You can manage this, he told himself, fighting the pain.
Behind him, Meredith evidently got a look at the injury to his arm. "What happened to you?"
Kagan didn't answer.
"Is . . . ? My God, is that a bullet wound? Were you shot?"
'When I rescued the baby."
Repressing his dizziness, Kagan leaned over the sink and soaped the wound. "Do you have a first-aid kit?" He tried not to grimace when he rinsed blood away with warm water.
Meredith's mind seemed paralyzed. "A firstaid kit?" She was so overwhelmed that she appeared to have trouble understanding the concept. "Firstaid . . . ? The next drawer up."
Kagan pulled it from the drawer and opened it, pleased to find antibiotic cream. While he gingerly rubbed it over his wound, he looked through a crack in the curtains above the sink. The snow kept falling. He stared past the two trees toward the coyote fence and the lane. No one was in sight.
Maybe we'll get lucky, he thought.
Sure we will.
He noticed a dry cloth next to the sink. Biting his lip, he pressed it to his wound and used the strips of duct tape to stick it to his skin. Sweat beaded his face while he wrapped several layers of tape tightly around his arm, making a pressure bandage. He waited, hoping that he wouldn't see any blood leak out.
The baby whimpered. When Kagan looked over his shoulder, he saw it trying to suck one of its fists.
'What are we going to feed him?" Meredith said.
"Do you have any milk?"
"Babies aren't supposed to be fed regular milk."
"The World Health Organization has an emergency recipe for diluting it with water and adding sugar."
'We don't have any milk. Cole can't digest it. We had rice milk, but we used the last of it earlier."
"Then put a half teaspoon of salt into a quart of water."
"Salt?"
'Add a half teaspoon of baking soda and three tablespoons of sugar."
'Are you making this up?"
"It's something the Mayo Clinic developed."
Kagan shoved a finger into the bullet hole in his shirt. He tugged at the hole, ripping the sleeve open to make room for the added bulk of the pressure bandage. As he put on the shirt, he told Meredith, "Warm the water until the salt, baking soda, and sugar dissolve."
'World Health Organization? Mayo Clinic? Since when do spies know about feeding babies?"
"I once escorted a medical team in Somalia."
That was close enough to the truth to be believable,
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