The Spy Who Came for Christmas by David Morrell

said. "Do you really expect me to believe this is something else you learned from the World Health Organization?"
    "It works. The trick is how you do it." Kagan went to her and pretended to put a hand behind the baby, demonstrating the technique. "Tilt him slightly back like this. Keep a hand behind his head to protect his neck. Hold the shot glass against his upper lip. Don't pour. That'll make him gag. If you let him control how much he sips, he'll do fine."
    After a wary glance toward the window, Kagan went over to the stove and stirred the mixture, dissolving the sugar and salt. The spoon scraped against the pot.
    "Cole, any sign of movement out there?" Despite Kagan's outward calm, he estimated that his pulse rate was now one hundred and twenty. His arteries felt the pressure that expanded them.
    "No," the boy said.
    "You're doing a good job. Keep watching."
    The baby squirmed as if it might start crying.
    Kagan quickly used the spoon to dribble some of the mixture on the inside of his wrist. "Slightly warm. It's ready." He turned off the stove and spooned the mixture into the shot glass. "I filled it to the one-ounce mark. We can measure how much the baby's drinking."
    Meredith held the baby the way Kagan had shown her, protecting his neck from tilting too far back.
    "Here we go, little fellow." She took the glass from Kagan. "Does he have a name?"
    Kagan didn't reply.
    "Sorry," she said. "I guess it's not something I should know."
    'Actually, I was never told his name." Although Kagan's instinct was to avoid revealing information, in a way it no longer mattered. If the men outside got their hands on Meredith, the outcome would be brutally the same whether she knew anything about the baby or not.
    He changed the subject.
    "You're dressed like you were going to a party."
    "The parents of a boy Cole goes to school with invited us to their house." Meredith sounded weighed down by thoughts of what might have been.
    "Will you be missed?" Kagan asked quickly. "Will they wonder what happened to you? If they can't reach you on the phone, maybe they'll become concerned enough to--"
    "Before Ted smashed the phones, he called them and claimed Cole was sick."
    "Ah." Kagan's tone went flat. "Ted's a clever man."
    "Yes. A clever man." Meredith took a deep breath and looked down at the baby. "I'd forgotten what it feels like to have something this helpless in my arms. That's right, little fellow. Keep sipping. I bet you're thirsty. Don't worry. We've got plenty, and it's all for you."
    "Not quite," Kagan said. Dehydrated from bleeding, he was terribly aware of his own thirst. He reached into the firstaid kit, opened a container of Tylenol, and shoved four tablets into his dry mouth. Crouching to prevent his silhouette from showing at the window, he went back to the stove, tested the saucepan's handle to make sure he wouldn't burn himself, and poured some of the mixture into a glass he found next to the sink.
    He took two deep swallows and got the pills down. He tasted the salt and the sugar. Instantly, his stomach cramped, aggravating the nausea produced by his wound. He waited, then took another swallow, feeling his mouth absorb the warm fluid.
    "See anything, Cole?"
    "It really looks like he went away," the boy said from the living room.
    "Keep watching anyhow. It never hurts to be cautious. Spies can't take anything for granted."
    "I keep changing the channel on the radio you gave me, but I don't hear anything. Maybe I'm not doing it right."
    "If you play video games, I'm sure you can work that receiver." The microphone in Kagan's pants pocket was too far from his mouth to transmit his voice if Andrei happened to be listening on the frequency the team had first used. "Those men won't talk unless they need to. There's only a slight chance that you'll turn to the frequency they're using at the moment they happen to be talking. But we've got to try everything. You're doing fine."
    Kagan switched off the night-light, noting that