Read Evil Deeds (Bob Danforth 1) Online
Authors: Joseph Badal
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Thrillers, #Spy Stories & Tales of Intrigue, #Espionage
Artyan Vitas had been in his rental car for hours, watching people come and go at the Danforths’. But none of them was his concern. He had come to exact revenge for the kidnapping of General Karadjic. He would kill Danforth. And maybe Danforth’s wife as well. He’d caught a couple glimpses of her at the front door of the house. She was a bit old for his tastes – he liked them in their twenties – but she was damned good looking and had a great figure for a woman her age. Mrs. Danforth would be a fringe benefit. And then he’d go after the Gypsy girl.
He couldn’t keep his thoughts off the Gypsy – that slinky dress hugging her tight young body. Those breasts. Those legs. He’d make her suffer, a thought he was relishing when the girl suddenly emerged with her escort, the older man who’d been with Danforth during the botched umbrella attack. When the two of them got into the Lincoln, Vitas started his car. He could come back for Danforth later. He knew where Danforth lived; now he needed to find the Gypsy girl’s residence.
The Lincoln pulled away, and Vitas was about to follow, when a red Porsche shot out of the driveway.
Vitas fell in behind the Porsche, while it trailed the Lincoln toward Bethesda’s business district. He memorized the Porsche’s license plate number. Vitas had a contact at the Embassy who could get the owner’s name.
The two cars pulled into a restaurant’s parking lot. Vitas drifted past, went around the block, and came back to park in the lot. The Lincoln and the Porsche were now empty.
“You tell the CIA I had anything to do with getting you together here with Miriana and I’ll see to it that you get assigned to Antarctica. I got plenty of contacts at the Pentagon.”
Michael smiled and said, “I really appreciate you letting us spend some time together before you take Miriana back to Andrews Air Force Base, Uncle Jack.”
Now Jack grinned and patted Michael on the shoulder. “You got one hour, kid. Whatever you want to say to her, you better get it done by midnight,” he said, tapping the face of his watch.
“What are you two talking about?” Miriana asked, returning from the Women’s Room, stepping next to Michael.
“Your curfew,” Jack said.
She glared at Jack and said, “We would call you the bogeyman in Yugoslavia.”
“I’ve been called worse,” he said, then laughed and walked toward the bar near the front of the restaurant.
Michael put a hand on Miriana’s back and guided her toward the dining room. Only two tables were occupied at this late hour. He asked the hostess to seat them at a corner table, pointing at one well away from the other diners.
“I just vant coffee,” Miriana told a waitress.
“You sure you don’t want something else?” Michael asked.
“No, no. Thank you very much. I am pretty full from the good foods your mother served.”
Michael smiled, raised two fingers, and told the waitress, “Two coffees, please.” He looked back at Miriana and felt butterflies erupt in his stomach. He loved looking at her. He loved her accent. It sounded like a mixture of French and Russian. He met her eyes and saw her blush but she held his gaze and smiled back.
“So, tell me what you’re doing with the CIA,” he asked, lowering his voice.
Miriana shook her finger at him and said, “You bad boy. You know I cannot tell you that. If I tell you, I must kill you.”
Michael blurted a laugh. “It sounds like you’ve been around the CIA spooks too long already. Perhaps I should rescue you from that den of iniquity.”
She furrowed her brow. “Den of vhat?” she asked.
He waved a hand in front of him, trying to come up with the right definition. “Evil, sinful,” he said.
“Ah, yes,” Miriana said, “like villains.”
“Exactly!”
Miriana suddenly looked melancholy. Her face seemed to sag and her eyes shut. She bowed her head.
“What is it?” Michael asked, reaching across the table and taking her two hands in his.
Miriana’s head jerked up and her eyes opened. “Oh, I am sorry. It is just that I miss family.”
Michael moved his hands from hers when the waitress returned and placed two coffees on their table, along with a plate of biscotti.
The waitress said, “The biscotti are compliments of the house.”
Miriana seemed to retreat within herself. Michael tried to get her to talk about her family, but she suddenly appeared withdrawn, worried.
Finally, Michael said, “I’d really like to see you again, Miriana. But with my unit shipping out next week, I don’t see how it’s possible. I’d like to write to you from Macedonia, though . . . if that would be all right.”
Miriana met his eyes again and gave him a radiant smile. She took one of his hands in hers and said, “That would be nice, Michael.”
Michael felt his pulse race. He hoped his unit wouldn’t be in the Balkans very long.
Jack hated to break up the kids’ conversation, but it was already past midnight and he had a long drive home after dropping the girl off at Andrews. And he couldn’t help worrying about Michael starting off tonight on the long drive back to Ft. Bragg, North Carolina. He walked over to their table. “Sorry, guys,” he said. “I hate to be a party-pooper, but it’s time to go.” He saw Michael nod his head and push his chair back. Jack walked out toward the front door. He felt a warm glow when he looked back and saw the two of them embrace by their table.
Vitas felt like his bladder would burst. But he didn’t dare go inside to use the bathroom, in case the girl and the man with her chose that time to leave. He forced himself to ignore his need to piss – it was a self-imposed test. Only moments later, the Gypsy girl walked back outside with her escort and a tall, good-looking young man. Vitas felt an instant hatred for the young man. He had always felt that way around tall, handsome men. They had something he would never have. And this one looked extremely fit, as well. The parking lot lights set off the man’s short, dark hair and chiseled features. The younger man got into the Porsche and drove off. Vitas followed the Lincoln.
The Lincoln went to a guarded gate of what appeared to be a military compound. A wooden guard shack with windows stood between a lighted monument sign and a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire. Vitas parked his car two hundred feet from the gate, took a pair of binoculars from the glove compartment, twisted in his seat, and looked at the monument sign, which read, “Andrews Air Force Base.” He lit a cigarette and tried to get all the gears in his brain to mesh.
He waited for the Lincoln to pass through the gate, then he pulled away. Leaning over to pick up his cell phone, he punched in a Virginia number.
“Hello, who . . . who is this?”
Vitas stifled a laugh. Paulus Tomavic’s sleep-thickened voice made him sound pathetic.
“Greetings from the President,” Vitas said.
Paulus didn’t respond.
“Why, Paulus, are you not happy to hear from me?”
Silence.
“Did you go back to sleep, Paulus?” Vitas asked.
“No, no, I’m here.”
“Good boy. Get a pencil and paper. I want you to get some information for me.” Vitas dictated the red Porsche’s license plate number. “I want to know that car’s owner’s name.
“Artyan, please don’t call me at home,” Tomavic pleaded.
Vitas hung up.
“Great party, Liz,” Bob said from the king-size bed. “I didn’t think the Bensons would ever leave.”
“Uh huh,” Liz answered. She sat at her antique vanity.
He watched her reflection in the mirror. “What’s on your mind?” he asked. “You still angry with me?”
She sighed heavily. Without turning to look at him, she said, “You’d think I’d have learned not to expect you to show up on time, after all these years.”
“I lost track of the time,” he said. “I really intended to–”
“Stop!” she blurted. “Don’t go there. You always intend to be on time, but your actions never match your intentions.” She turned around and glared at him. “This was your son’s going-away-party before he ships out to a war zone. What sort of message do you think you send to Michael when you can’t even show up for his party on time?” She turned back to the mirror.
“Come on, Liz, you know how much I love that boy.”
“Yeah, I know how much you love him. But how about the old saying that actions speak louder than words?”
“The way Mike was looking at Miriana, I don’t think he even knew I was here.”
“Jeez,” Liz said.
“What?”
“You just don’t get it, do you?”
Bob knew Liz was right. He’d screwed up again. He loved Liz and Michael more than life itself. Liz had described his work as his mistress. She’d said often enough she’d been competing with his job since the day they got married. First the Army, and now the CIA, one mistress after the other. She was pissed off, but he knew she didn’t want to go to bed with a storm cloud of anger hanging over them. They always tried to resolve their differences before going to bed. He decided to try to cut the tension.
“Hell, Michael didn’t just look at her; he followed her around most of the night.”
“We don’t know anything about her. Where’d she come from? Who are her parents?” Liz met his eyes in the mirror. “I’ve never seen him moon over any girl that way.”
“Come to bed, I’ll tell you a story about her,” Bob suggested.
Liz turned to look directly at him. Then she rose from her chair, went over to the bed, and slid under the covers.
“Miriana played a role in my Balkans mission,” Bob told her. “Without her we would never have been successful. She got wounded. I thought she’d been killed. So much blood. Fortunately, the bullet only grazed her scalp. A little lower, it would have shattered her skull. Miriana risked her life for us – and nearly lost it.”
Bob didn’t mention the million dollars the CIA had put in a Swiss bank account in Miriana’s name. Her motives hadn’t been entirely altruistic.
“So, what do you think of Miriana now?” Bob asked as he closed his eyes and rolled over in bed. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, but, rather, would lie awake worrying about Michael going to the Balkans.
“I hope he’ll write to her,” Liz said.