Read Evil Deeds (Bob Danforth 1) Online
Authors: Joseph Badal
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Thrillers, #Spy Stories & Tales of Intrigue, #Espionage
Sheriff Roy Collins, Richard Turner, the FBI Supervisory Special Agent from the Winston-Salem field office, and three of Turner’s agents from the Fayetteville office met Bob Danforth and the two CIA agents who’d accompanied him to the Fayetteville municipal airport. While Bob, Collins, and Turner got in the Sheriff’s SUV, the others piled into a van.
Sheriff Collins led the way to town. “I’m glad to see you boys working together,” Collins said. Supervisory Special Agent Turner didn’t pick up on the mischief in his voice.
“What’s that supposed to mean, Sheriff?” Turner asked.
Uh oh, Bob thought. I can feel the turf battle starting already.
“Don’t mean a thang,” Collins said, heavily laying on the southern drawl. “I’m jes happy to be workin’ with you all. We’re proud to have sech distinguished visitors down here in little old Fayetteville.”
Bob managed not to laugh. Turner harrumphed in the backseat while the Sheriff pulled onto the highway.
After going a couple of miles, Turner asked, “So what’s so damn important I had to be called off the golf course?”
Bob turned in his seat and looked at the FBI man in the backseat. “Didn’t you get briefed before flying in here?”
“Yeah, but it sounds like a wild goose chase. Some young woman gives you guys the slip and runs off with an Army officer. Probably fucking each other’s brains out. Doesn’t appear to be a national security matter.”
Bob controlled his anger and said, “The Army officer you just referred to is my son.” He saw Turner gulp, then avert his eyes. Bob faced forward again. Obviously, he thought, the briefing Turner received had been incomplete.
They all entered the Sheriff’s office and took seats around a large, old, scarred wooden table set in the middle of the room. Chipped and stained tile covered the floor, and photographs of politicians and uniformed men adorned the walls. The room smelled like cigarettes and bad coffee. Behind a desk on the street side of the room, under a high bank of windows, were two flag stands – one with the Stars and Stripes, the other with the North Carolina State flag. A Confederate flag was mounted in a frame on the wall opposite the desk.
A primly dressed woman of fifty opened the office door and asked if they would care for anything to drink. She took their orders and left the room.
“Your son doesn’t have a clue as to what happened to the young woman,” Collins told Bob. “There was nothing of hers in the room – no toiletries, no clothes, no nothin. But he’s damned insistent she didn’t take off on her own.”
“How can he be so sure?” Turner asked.
Bob frowned at Turner.
“Look, Danforth, we got two young kids here with raging hormones,” Turner said. “Isn’t there a possibility your son could be hiding Ms. Georgadoff to get her away from the CIA? Maybe he kicked in the door to make it look like someone broke in. She probably screwed your boy silly and now he’s willing to do anything.”
Bob jumped out of his chair, reached across the table and grabbed Turner by the knot of his necktie. The other men in the room, except Sheriff Collins, leaped to their feet. But no one tried to interfere between Bob and Turner. Bob pulled Turner forward until they were almost nose-to-nose. “Listen to me, you prick. First, Michael’s no fifteen-year-old kid. He’s a thirty-year-old Army Captain. Second, he signed an official statement under oath to Sheriff Collins. A lie would make him susceptible to a perjury charge. And lastly, he gave me his word. You challenge my son’s character, or call his or Ms. Georgadoff’s honor into question again, and I’ll shove your badge so far up your ass you’ll need a proctoscope to find it.”
Bob shoved Turner. Turner and his wheeled chair slid three feet and slammed into the wall. Two framed photographs – the North Carolina Governor and the U. S. President – fell from the wall and crashed to the floor.
Red-faced, Turner stood and straightened his tie. He scowled at Bob, then at Collins. “You’ll pay for that,” he hissed, and marched out of the room, followed by his three fellow agents. The last agent slammed the door behind him.
“Normally, I would have stepped between you two. I don’t like people messing up my office. But I sure enjoyed watching you knock that banty rooster down a peg or two,” Collins said.
“I must be getting cranky in my old age.”
Collins shrugged. “Ain’t no big thang.”
Turner and his agents left the Sheriff’s office and waited on the sidewalk in front of the Fayetteville Municipal Building. He pointed at two of the agents and said, “You go back in that room and listen closely. I want to know everything that CIA asshole says and does.” When the two men hesitated, he shouted, “Go! Now!”
As the agents climbed back up the stairs, he turned to the remaining agent, Geoffrey Fricke. “I want you to go out to Ft. Bragg,” he told him. “Locate Michael Danforth’s commanding officer. Leave the impression the young Captain fucked up in a very big way. He’s hiding something, and I want to know what it is.” He ignored the sour look Fricke gave him. He didn’t give a shit what the agent thought.
“Jack Cole!”
“Jack, it’s Bob.”
“How’s it going down there?”
“I’m in Sheriff Collins’ office in Fayetteville, North Carolina,” Bob said, catching the Sheriff’s eye. “So far, we got zip. Just the information Michael gave us.”
“Hmm. What did Mike–”
“Michael had
nothing
to do with her going to Fayetteville,” Bob interrupted.
“I’m glad to hear it. Just raising the issue with you wasn’t easy for me.”
“I understand, Jack. Miriana got tired of confinement at Andrews and Michael was the only person she’d met outside the CIA. She took off on her own.”
“What do you think happened to the girl?”
“It’s pretty obvious. Someone snatched her. Too many things have happened recently. You connect the dots and a picture starts to take shape. The incident with the umbrella on Connecticut Avenue; the murders of Olga Madanovic and Darius Alexandrovic. Now Miriana’s disappearance. If we assume the attack with the poisoned umbrella was directed at me, then every one of the targets or victims was directly or indirectly connected to Karadjic’s kidnapping. The Serbs are bent on revenge. They’ve put a killer on the ground here in the States.”
“How are things working out with the FBI?”
“Don’t ask. The head guy here is a royal ass.”
“Bob, you know we didn’t have a choice. A kidnapping on American soil is FBI turf.”
“I know, Jack. But this bastard down here – guy named Turner – thinks Michael and Miriana set up a scam to get her away from protective custody.”
“Jesus! He can’t be that stupid. We were going to turn her loose in a few weeks anyway.”
When Bob didn’t reply, Jack said, “
That
stupid?”
“Yep,” Bob said. “And arrogant. A bad combination.”
After Bob and Jack finished their conversation, Bob dialed his home number. Liz answered, obvious hesitation in her voice.
“Liz, it’s me,” Bob said. “Everything all right?”
“Fine, honey. How are things down there? How’s Michael?”
“Miriana’s disappeared and Michael’s sick about it. The FBI agent-in-charge is pissed off at me. And there’s a hired killer on the loose. Other than that, everything’s great.”
“Try to keep an eye on Michael, Bob. Our son’s in love. He’s got to be hurting.”
“Christ, Liz. They just met. How in the world do you know he’s in love with Miriana?”
“Take my word for it. I just know.”
Bob scratched his head after replacing the receiver.
“I understand Colonel Dennis Sweeney is commanding officer here,” FBI Special Agent Geoffrey Fricke said, presenting his ID to the Sergeant Major seated at the desk nearest the entry. “I’d like to speak with him.”
The Sergeant Major looked up under bushy eyebrows at the man standing in front of his desk. He sized him up. Five feet, ten inches tall, short blond hair, ruddy complexion, powerfully built, aviator sunglasses, dark suit and spit-shined shoes. Suit! FEEB. I hate suits, he thought. I hate FEEB suits even worse.
“So you want to talk with Colonel Sweeney, sir,” Jewell said, running a hand over his shaved head. “What can I tell the Colonel about the nature of your business?”
“That’s all you can tell him, Sergeant, that it’s my business,” Fricke said in an authoritative, self-important tone – just as he’d been taught at the academy. Just as he’d done hundreds of times before, intimidating people.
Jewell slowly rose from his chair, pushing himself up on massive arms, and glared with cobalt blue eyes at the FBI agent. His tailored, short-sleeved uniform shirt fit his body in a way that accentuated his muscular build. Standing and looking down at the man from his six-foot-five-inch vantage point only heightened the effect. The veins in his neck bulged and his head reddened. It was the same purposeful, intimidating tactic he’d used many times with recalcitrant soldiers.
“Sir,” he said in a steely voice, “I’ll ask you once more, and only once more. If you choose to continue to be discourteous, I will have your ass thrown off my base. Do we understand one another?” He paused, then again asked, “What . . . is . . . the . . . nature . . . of . . . your . . . business?”
Fricke visibly swallowed and gave Jewell an apologetic look – as though he’d come to the conclusion he’d misjudged the NCO. “Sergeant, I need to talk with Colonel Sweeney about one of the officers in his command,” he said, in a much more cooperative tone. “We have reason to believe he has broken the law.”
“It’s Sergeant Major, not Sergeant, sir. And what officer are we talking about?”
“Captain Michael Andrew Danforth,” Fricke said, adding “Sergeant Major,” as an afterthought.
“Bullshit!” Jewell said, the word tumbling off his tongue before he knew it. He wheeled around and knocked on the Colonel’s door, then entered, closing it behind him. “I got a FEEB out here demanding to see you. He claims Captain Danforth’s in some kind of trouble.”
“FEEB? You mean FBI? Looking for Mike Danforth? Danforth’s in trouble? What kind of trouble?”
“The guy says he broke the law.”
“Bullshit!” the Colonel spat.
“That’s what I said, Colonel.”
“Well, send him in. And then find Captain Danforth. Have him wait down the hall until I tell you to bring him here. I want to find out what this is all about before I put his neck on the line.”
“Yes, sir!” Jewell returned to his desk, escorted the agent into Colonel Sweeney’s office, then returned to his desk. “Corporal Cunningham,” he yelled to the clerk sitting in the office directly across the hall from his, “get on the radio and track down Captain Danforth. According to the training schedule, his unit’s out on the grenade range. The Colonel wants to see him NOW.”
“What’s going on, Sergeant Major?” Cunningham asked while he reached for his telephone.
Jewell’s voice suddenly changed, dropping several octaves, his words rumbling as though spoken inside a fifty-five-gallon drum. “Corporal Cunningham, unless you can show me a typewritten, military order, signed by at least a full Colonel, saying you have a right to know the reason behind my orders, I expect you to do as I tell you – without hesitation and without any goddam questions. Got it?”
“Yes, Sergeant Major,” Cunningham said meekly.
“Now explain this to me one more time,” Colonel Sweeney said to Special Agent Fricke in a reasonable, quiet tone, while he leaned forward in his chair, hands folded together on his desk blotter. “You say Captain Danforth,
Captain Michael Danforth
, conspired with a CIA-protected witness – some gal named Georgadoff – to fake her kidnapping. She’s a foreign national and he’s got her holed up somewhere. And he’s risking national security. Is that about it?”
Fricke nodded.
“Before I call Captain Danforth in here, would you care to share with me what proof you have to substantiate these accusations?”
“I don’t need to, Colonel. This is government business involving national security,” Fricke said.
“You’re right, Mr. Fricke. You don’t have to tell me squat. But in case you haven’t noticed, I’m also involved with national security.”
Fricke opened his mouth as though to interject, but Sweeney’s raised hand cut him off. “You’re going to hear me out. Don’t try to interrupt me. Captain Danforth is the finest company-grade officer in my command. He’s got generals’ stars waiting for him down the road – unless some bullshit allegation like this gets into his record. I’m going to have Danforth brought in here. But I’m going to sit in on your meeting with him. You fuck with this young man without good reason and I’ll call my cousin, the esteemed senior United States Senator from my home state of Tennessee.” He punched a button on his intercom and said, “Sergeant Major Jewell, send Captain Danforth in here.”
Sweeney and Fricke stared at one another, neither saying a word, until Michael entered. Ignoring Fricke, Michael came to attention in front of the Colonel’s desk and saluted. “Captain Danforth reporting as ordered, sir.”
“At ease, Captain,” Sweeney said. “Take a seat.” He waited for Michael to sit down and then said, “This gentleman is Special Agent Fricke with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. He’s investigating the disappearance of a Ms. Georgadoff and is going to ask you a few questions. If you don’t fully understand a question, make him repeat it until you do understand it.”
“Yes, sir,” Michael said. Then turning to the FBI agent, he asked, “Have you found Miriana? Is she all right?”
Fricke grilled Michael for forty-five minutes. Michael told him the same things he’d told Sheriff Collins and his father.
“Well, that should just about do it, Colonel Sweeney, Captain Danforth,” Fricke said at the end of it. “I appreciate your time.”
“You’re quite welcome,” Colonel Sweeney said in a honey-sweet tone, all the while thinking, Asshole. “Always glad to assist the FBI.” The Colonel then called Jewell on his intercom and told him to come to his office. When the NCO entered the office, Sweeney said, “Sergeant Major Jewell, would you show our guest out?”
“Yes, sir. Be happy to.” The agent followed the Sergeant Major through the building and out the front door to the parking lot. Jewell started to go back into the building, then suddenly turned and said, “Agent Fricke, it may not be my place to say anything; but I want you to know there’s no way in hell Captain Danforth would ever do anything illegal – except maybe drive his Porsche faster than the speed limit. He’s one fine officer.”
For a moment, Fricke looked as though he was considering what he’d just heard. Then he said, “Thanks for your input, Sergeant Major.”