Read Evil Deeds (Bob Danforth 1) Online
Authors: Joseph Badal
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Thrillers, #Spy Stories & Tales of Intrigue, #Espionage
Vitas woke up, surprised to see the sun streaming through the bedroom window. He checked his wristwatch: 10 a.m. His throat was parched; his T-shirt drenched. His leg throbbed with pain. He touched his calf where the raccoon had bit him and jerked his hand away when incredible pain shot through his leg.
He limped down the hall to the bathroom, tossed his shorts and T-shirt on the floor, and stepped into the shower. He let the cold spray bathe his body until his teeth started chattering.
In the kitchen, he took a quart of orange juice out of an ancient Frigidaire, plus some pastries Paulus had provided. He carried the food into the living room, set it on the coffee table, eased down into a worn, brocaded easy chair that might have been considered elegant fifty years earlier, and used the remote to turn on the television. He gulped down half of the juice and ate one of the pastries in three bites. Scrolling through the cable television channels, he settled on the Style Channel, rubbing his crotch while one long-legged, flat-chested fashion waif after another paraded down a runway. He imagined that each of them was Miriana.
The C-5 transport plane rumbled over the Atlantic. Michael sat by a tiny window in an uncomfortable seat among two hundred and fifty other members of the 82nd Airborne, all in full combat gear. The temperature in the cabin couldn’t have been over sixty degrees. Pallets loaded with vehicles, ammunition, and other supplies filled the space not taken up by soldiers.
He tried to concentrate on his mission, on what awaited him and his men when they landed in Macedonia. But his mind wandered to Miriana. He pressed his hands against his face and tried to force away thoughts of what might have happened to her.
“Captain Danforth, Captain Michael Danforth, I’ve got a message for Captain Michael Danforth,” a voice suddenly intruded.
Michael raised his hand. “Here,” he said.
“We just got this message radioed in from the Pentagon,” a man in a flight suit said. He handed Michael a slip of paper. “Hope it’s good news.” Then he walked back toward the cockpit.
Michael unfolded the note: “We’ve got Miriana. Safe and sound under Agency protection. Says she misses you and to take care of yourself. Godspeed! J. Cole.
Michael wanted to yell his lungs out. He felt the tension flood from his body. She’s okay. She’s okay. If he could only hold her in his arms. Then his thoughts returned to the man who’d abducted her. He’d kill the sonofabitch.
Jack stepped out of his office at Langley and saw Bob opening the conference room door twenty yards down the corridor.
“Bob,” he shouted. “Got a minute?”
“Sure, Jack.”
Jack strided down the hall and took Bob’s arm. “I’ve put a man outside your house,” he said. He saw the frown on Bob’s face and immediately said, “I don’t want to hear any objections. If you’re not afraid, I am. Think about Liz. That maniac who took Miriana could come after you.”
“Okay, Jack. You’re right. Thanks.”
“What’s going on? Any progress on finding the kidnapper?”
“I was just about to start a meeting on the subject. Want to join us?”
Jack looked at his watch. “Maybe for a couple of minutes. I’ve got a meeting with the Director in fifteen minutes.”
When Jack and Bob entered the conference room, Tanya, Raymond, and Frank were already seated around the table.
“How’s Miriana doing?” Jack asked.
“She’s fine, Mr. Cole, considering the ordeal she’s been through,” Tanya said. “The doctor checked her out.”
“How about the guy who snatched her?” Bob asked.
“Airport Security found the guy’s car in the overnight parking lot. They called us right away,” Raymond replied. “The lab boys took hair and fabric samples from the trunk and the front seat. The samples from the trunk matched Miriana’s hair and clothing. We found four sets of fingerprints. Miriana’s. Two sets belonging to car agency employees. And one that matches no one in any U.S. files.”
“We have Miriana’s description of the guy,” Frank told them. “He mostly spoke Serbo-Croatian to her. About fifty-years-old, over six feet tall, powerful build, scar on one cheek, one gold tooth, and blind in one eye. She said he had the scariest face she’s ever seen.”
“Has a sketch been done?” Jack asked.
“In process,” Frank responded.
“Maybe he’s already left the country,” Raymond suggested.
“I don‘t think so,” Tanya countered. “He told Miriana he intended to kill Bob, so he’s got unfinished business. And remember that comment picked up on the wiretap on the Yugoslav Embassy? Something about the sins of the father.” She stared at Bob and gave him a worried look. “He’s got Michael on his hit list, as well.”
“Anything else?” Jack asked.
Frank looked at Jack and then at Bob. “Miriana told us the guy bragged about torturing and killing Olga Madanovic.”
Bob clenched his hands into fists and had to force himself to breathe evenly. He looked around the table. “Okay, people, let’s identify this guy. Call your informants. I assume you’ve already checked our records for anyone named Vitas.”
“Yep, nothing,” Raymond said.
Bob gave each of them detailed assignments. After they’d left, Jack smiled at him and said, “It seems to me you’ve got everything covered. I want you to go home now. Start the weekend a little early. You and Liz spend some time together. I’ll send another couple of people out to watch your place. It’ll be a whole lot easier protecting both of you if you’re in one location.”
Vitas woke with a start at a few minutes past three in the afternoon, astonished he’d fallen asleep. He felt groggy, agitated. His throat was as dry as he could ever remember it being. Maybe I’m catching something, he thought. I need to get up, get moving, try to shake this thing. His face felt warm and the wounds on his leg began to burn.
I’ll drive out to Bethesda and get another look at the Danforth place while it’s light. Sitting around here is not getting the job done.
Vitas didn’t spot the man slouching in the car parked in front of the Danforth’s house until it was too late. He turned his face away while he drove past.
Damn, I should have known they’d put a guard on Danforth. The girl probably told them I was after him. Should have killed her when I had the chance. But she looked so good. I really wanted to see her face twisting in pain. I love to fuck them when they’re hurting . . . when they’re screaming.
Vitas waved his hand in the air. Have to chase away thoughts of the Gypsy girl, he told himself. Concentrate. But he found it difficult with the vision of Miriana Georgadoff in his mind, the sudden fire in his groin, and the throbbing pain in his calf.
He turned left at the next corner and parked a half-block away.
The CIA agent parked in front of the Danforth home spoke into his cell phone. “A white Buick Le Sabre just cruised the street,” he reported. “Male driver, late forties, early fifties. No passenger. Virginia tag.” He read off the number.
“I’ll contact DMV and call you with the results. By the way, Jack Cole sent two more men out there. He’s not taking any chances.”
“When are they due?” Bart asked.
“Should have been there already but they called about ten minutes ago and reported tie-ups on 95 because of a wreck.”
Liz looked at the kitchen clock: 3:30 p.m. I’ve got time to take a nice leisurely bath, she thought. Bob probably won’t be home for hours. The roast’s in the oven, the champagne’s in the refrigerator, and my negligee’s all laid out. I’m going to do a little stress relief tonight. She smiled while she climbed the stairs to the second floor.
Vitas drove to the street paralleling the Danforths’ street. He found the house directly behind their residence – the second one in from the corner.
He got out of the rental car and casually walked down the side of the second house and across the backyard. He gripped the top of the five-foot high cedar fence separating the backs of this property and the Danforth residence and pulled himself up. He rolled over the top of the fence, grunting loudly when he scraped his injured leg on the top of the boards, and landed on the Danforths’ lawn. He cursed at the pain and quick-limped across the grass to the patio. He found the French doors open, but the inside screen door locked.
With a switchblade, he easily pried open the simple lock.
The knife put back into his pocket, he drew his 9mm pistol, and stepped into the empty kitchen. There was no one in the first floor rooms. Then he noticed the sound of water coursing through the house’s pipes. He slowly climbed the thickly carpeted steps to the second floor. At the top of the staircase, he heard the faint sound of splashing. After checking the other rooms on the second floor and finding no one there, he turned back toward the bathroom.
Water ran from the hot water spigot into the tub. The bath was beginning to ease the knotted muscles in Liz’s back. The soreness accumulated in a day of gardening, and the tension of the past few days, was ebbing away. Eyes closed, she luxuriated in the sensation, in the peace of the moment.
Then a creaking sound came from the hall outside the bathroom. Her eyes popped open. She shook her head as though questioning her fearful reaction – the sudden thumping of her heart and the tightness in her throat. After all, the old frame house tended to creak and groan. But she sat up when another creaking noise sounded. She was now alarmed. If it were Bob, she would have heard the front door slam.
A man stepped into the bathroom, a smile on his face. He was pointing a pistol at her, but she couldn’t look away from his face. The scar, the sick smile, the white eye, the gold tooth.
Liz’s stomach contracted into a tight ball. She started to scream while she scrambled to get out of the tub, but only managed a squeak before the man’s hand clamped over her mouth. He pushed her down, pressing her head under water.
She clawed his arm while her feet thrashed in the water. But he was too strong. She couldn’t get away. Then he pulled her up by the hair.
“Are you going to be good little girl?” he asked, mockingly, his accent heavily Slavic.
Liz drew in one breath, then retched.
“I asked you question,” he said, his hand clutching her hair, shaking her.
“Answer or I will see how long you can hold breath.”
Liz lashed out at him with her hand, her nails extended.
The man sidestepped and slammed his free hand down on her shoulder, forcing her underwater again. This time, she was sure he would drown her. She felt faint, disoriented when he finally pulled her up. She gasped for breath. Nausea assaulted her and she coughed up soapy water.
“Get out of tub,” he ordered, dragging her up by her hair.
Liz staggered out of the tub and groped for a towel. But he reached it first, stepped back two paces, and held it out at arm’s length. When she hesitated, he waved the pistol at her, motioning her to come toward him. Liz covered herself as best she could with her arms. The man stepped back farther, holding the towel just out of reach.
“You must be Mrs. Danforth,” he said. “Stay vhere you are. Let’s see vhat kind of toy Mr. Danforth plays with.”
Liz turned sideways, hunching over, covering herself again with both arms and hands.
“No, no,” he said, wagging his finger at her as though she were a naughty child. “No cheating; drop arms.”
Liz stifled a sob and bit her lip to keep it from trembling. “Who are you? How do you know my name?”
“Here are rules,” he said. “I ask questions; you answer questions. Now drop arms, or I vill put bullet in you.”
Her whole body shook with anger and fear. “Go to hell!” she said.
Still smiling, the man took two steps forward and struck her left shoulder with the gun barrel. An electric shiver of pain coursed down the length of her arm. Then it went numb and dangled uselessly by her side, exposing her breasts
“You see, I can make you do vhat I vant. You must decide how much pain you can stand. Now drop other arm.”
Liz obeyed.
He placed the muzzle of the gun on her breastbone and slid it down between her breasts, then moved it lower, to her stomach, to her crotch. He rested the muzzle there for several seconds, then moved it up again and poked it into the underside of her chin.
“Where is husband?”
That accent. He sounds Russian, or . . .. “He’s on his way home right now,” Liz said. She thought Bob would be late as usual, but hoped the lie would scare the man away.
He surprised her by saying, “Good. Ve vill give him great velcome.” He dropped the towel on the floor and lifted Liz’s bathrobe off a hook on the wall. “Put it on,” he said. “Ve vill have nice little chat until husband gets here.”
Feeling just beginning to return to her arm, Liz snatched her robe and slipped into it with her back to him, tying it tighter than necessary, as though to protect herself. Then she remembered Bob’s pistol in his bedroom wardrobe. If she could only get to that pistol.
Vitas grasped her arm and shoved her roughly from the bathroom, through the hall, and into the bedroom. She jerked out of his grasp and moved toward the wardrobe, but the man was too fast. He tripped her and snatched her off the floor with one hand as though she weighed nothing. He tossed her onto the antique four-poster bed, pulled a chair to the side of the bed, stared at her, and then glanced around the room. He returned his gaze to the bed and the nightstand. He lifted a Lladro figurine from the stand and ran his thumb over its smooth surface. He smiled at Liz, then threw the figure at the far wall.
Liz whimpered at the sound of the shattering porcelain.
“I like vhat I saw back in bathroom,” he said. “You must exercise. Not bad for woman your age. I bet husband loves your body. How about it, does husband love to fuck you?”
Liz felt a wave of revulsion. Bile hit her throat.
“Remember rules, Mrs. Danforth. I ask questions; you answer questions. Does husband like fucking you?”
“Go to hell!”
“Ah, a fighter! I love woman who fights back. It makes everything much more . . . rewarding.”
“What do you want?”
“There you go again, asking questions. But I guess telling vhy I am here vill not do any harm. But first, tell me your name. If I am going to tell you my deepest secrets, I must know your name.”
Liz refused to answer.
“Do not make me angry, Mrs. Danforth.”
“Elizabeth.”
“Elizabeth. A good name. Okay, Elizabeth. Vhy am I here? The answer is very simple. I am here to kill husband.”
Liz’s hand flew to her mouth.
“It is not that I
vant
to kill husband,” he continued calmly. “It makes no difference to me who I kill. It is just job. Mr. Danforth offended my employer, who is not man who takes offenses lightly.”
“Who’s your employer?” Liz asked, an icy feeling spreading through her.
Vitas blurted a laugh. “Very important man in Yugoslavia.”
Liz’s mouth dropped open. “What? That makes no sense,” she protested.
“But it does, dear Elizabeth,” Vitas said. “It makes all sense in vorld.”
She saw the man look at the photographs hanging on the bedroom wall and walk over to one of Michael in his Army uniform. “Your son is quite handsome, Elizabeth. I recognize him. How old is he? Twenty-five, twenty-six?”
Liz’s throat muscles and tendons constricted. A bilious taste invaded her throat again. Nausea overwhelmed her. “My son?” she said, a plaintive anguish etching the two words. “What do you mean, you recognize him?”
The man shot her a cockeyed look, as though he might hit her for asking another question. But then he said, “I have seen your son, Elizabeth. Vith Miriana Georgadoff. They seem friendly.”
“How do you know?” Liz asked.
“Oh, I have vatched their little romance blossom. First, here, night of your party. Then in restaurant in Georgetown. And then at motel in Fayetteville. They do make handsome couple. But it vould be big mistake to get hopes up for grandchildren. I vill see that never happens.” Vitas laughed heartily, scratching the side of his head with the pistol barrel.
“My goodness, do you run out of questions, my dear?” Vitas laughed again. “Ve are having such nice conversation, I think I vill tell you whole story. Vould you like that, Elizabeth?”
Liz couldn’t control her trembling. A sense of evil seemed to envelope her.
“I follow Gypsy girl to Fayetteville,” Vitas said, “vhere I see your son. You know, Gypsy girl was my guest for few days.”
“You’re the one who took Miriana.”
“Right,” Vitas said. “But I make mistake. The bitch escaped, just vhen I vas about to enjoy myself. Such a tight body. And those breasts . . . gorgeous. I am very upset about losing her. It is no fun just beating and torturing voman unless I get to fuck her, too. And then kill her, of course. You vill see vhat I mean after I take care of your husband. You and I vill have some fun. You vill have to make up for my loss of the Gypsy. Afterwards, I vill return to Balkans and find your son. I know his Army unit went to Macedonia.”