Read Evil Deeds (Bob Danforth 1) Online
Authors: Joseph Badal
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Thrillers, #Spy Stories & Tales of Intrigue, #Espionage
Michael had arranged to have dinner with Jack Cole in the officers’ mess tent on Monday night. His stomach growled when he walked into the tent at 2100 hours. He saw Jack sitting at one of the picnic tables lined up inside. The place was almost empty.
Michael sat and rubbed his face with both hands as though to wipe away the weariness he felt.
“You look beat, kid,” Jack said.
“My company guarded convoys again today. We made seven trips between here and Preshevo. The road’s still so packed with refugees, it takes an hour to go five miles. I’m physically exhausted and emotionally spent. Looking at their faces is . . . they’ve lost hope, Uncle Jack.”
“That’s why we’re here, Mike, to give them hope.”
“I guess. But from what I’ve seen and heard, I’d lay money that no more than half the Kosovars will willingly return to their former villages unless NATO stations troops all over the province. They’ll never trust the Serbs to leave them in peace. What kind of hope do these people have if they can’t return to their homes?”
“Let’s get some chow, Mike, and talk about something less gloomy – like that lovely young lady who has a crush on you.”
Michael’s face warmed. He smiled, then laughed. “Miriana is a subject I can put my heart into. But, as for the food, prepare for more gloom,” he joked.
Jack laughed when he got up from the bench. Michael led the way to the steam tables at the other end of the mess tent.
After picking from a selection of two meats, three vegetables – in addition to the ubiquitous potato – plus bread, dessert, and beverages, they returned to their table and sat across from each other, now the only persons in the dining area. Michael watched Jack remove his suit coat, exposing the .45 in his shoulder holster.
“What’s the matter, afraid of muggers?” Michael said, pointing at the weapon with his fork.
“They should be afraid of me,” Jack said. “But let’s talk about you and your girlfriend.”
“What do you want to know?”
After an hour’s conversation, Michael began to nod off. “I think I’d better hit the sack,” he said, “before I fall asleep right here.”
Jack smiled. “I was hoping you’d talk through the night. It would help with this jet lag.”
While they walked toward the exit, the canvas flap serving as the door flew open. Jack jumped, reaching for his pistol. Michael put a hand on his arm. “It’s okay,” he said. “Take it easy; I know him.”
Attila stood in the tent entrance, next to an American Staff Sergeant with an MP’s armband.
“Sorry to bother you, sir,” the Sergeant said, “but this boy said it was an emer–”
“Captain Danforth,” Attila interrupted, clearly agitated. “Mama told me to come find you. Papa has not returned to our tent. She thinks something happened to him.”
“Calm down, Attila. I’m sure your father’s fine. He’s probably just visiting friends.”
“No, no, something’s wrong. He left camp–”
“He what!” Michael exclaimed.
“He said he wanted to find a dice game. He left more than four hours ago. He said he would walk north, toward Preshevo. Papa usually comes home earlier than this.”
“I’d better go out and try to find Attila’s father,” Michael told Jack. “Sorry. We can talk some more tomorrow.” Then he turned to the MP. “Sergeant, you can escort this boy back to the front gate now.”
“You can’t leave the camp at night,” Jack said after the MP led the kid away. “Wait until morning. You’re going to have to escort a supply convoy in that direction anyway, and you’ll have your men with you then.”
“I can’t just leave the old man out there. What if he’s gotten himself hurt?”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Jack said. “Think, Mike. It’s dangerous out there. Besides, who the hell is he to you?”
“I’m sorry, Uncle Jack. I should have introduced you. That was Miriana’s brother, Attila. It’s his father, Stefan, who’s missing.”
“Stefan Georgadoff. Sounds Bulgarian, not Roma.”
“Georgadoff is Bulgarian; but it’s the mother’s name. Miriana’s father is Gypsy. His last name is Radko.”
Jack’s face went white. “Did you say Radko? R-a-d-k-o?”
“Right. Why? What’s wrong?” Michael said.
“Nothing. I . . . I just thought I recognized the name. My Jeep’s right outside the tent. Come on, I’ll drive.”
Jack’s loyalty to the Danforths wrestled with his desire to tell Michael about Radko. He knew Bob and Liz had never told their son about the kidnapping in Greece. Would he be violating his friends’ trust if he told Michael the truth now?
“Where is he, Bob?” Liz asked, her voice strained.
“It’s a war zone, honey,” Bob said, making a Herculean effort to remain calm. He understood the fear showing in Liz’s eyes. The same fear had penetrated his gut. “You can’t just look up a name in the phone book and call. I contacted the Pentagon. The duty officer said he’d try to contact Mike’s commander.”
“Well, then where’s Jack? You’ve called him, too. Where the hell is he?” she shouted. “I can’t believe the whole damn CIA can’t find him.” She walked back and forth across the den, wringing the dishtowel she’d carried from the kitchen.
“Liz, we know where Jack is supposed to be. But you know Jack. He’s not happy unless he’s got his nose stuck under some tent. Can you picture him sitting in those peace treaty meetings as an observer? He’s probably out in the field somewhere doing real intelligence work. The damned cell phone relay towers are down, so his mobile phone is useless.”
“Twenty-four hours have passed since we talked to Michael. We’ve got to get him away from that bastard, Radko.” She began pacing around the kitchen table, her arms flailing the air. “That bastard!” she cursed, her voice suddenly quieter, the words coming out in a hiss.
“I understand, Liz. I left a message where Jack’s staying. He’ll get it sooner or later and will contact Michael. I’m just as worried as you are.”
“Why don’t you try calling the Pentagon again? They could get him to call us.”
“They’re working on it. We call again and we’ll look like frantic parents.”
“We are frantic parents!” Liz shouted.
“Jack’ll know what to do,” Bob said, putting his arms around his wife.
Liz again paced the length of the den and back. “That sonofabitch!” she said, clenching her fists and shaking them in the air. “How could he be back in our lives again? We should have told Michael about Radko years ago.”
“What do you mean, he killed your son?” Sokic said, trying to keep a neutral expression on his face.
Stefan waved away the question. “Long story,” he stammered. He tried to stand, but his head started spinning and he fell back to the ground. “Life plays strange . . .,” he said, his words drifting off. He sat silent for several seconds, shaking his head as though to clear the fog that had settled over his brain, then said, “A man kills my son and now
his
son wants to take my daughter from me. I will kill Michael Danforth before he steals Miriana from me.”
“We’ll help you, Mr. Radko,” Sokic said, taking his arm and helping him to his feet.
Leaning against Sokic, Radko mumbled, “How will you help me? What can a bunch of ragged-ass Kosovars do to help me?”
“Show us where to find him,” Sokic said. “We’ll take care of everything. You don’t have to worry.”
“What can you do to Danforth? He’s a soldier and you’re a bunch of farmers.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll make sure he doesn’t take your daughter away from you.”
“Sounds goo--” Stefan’s knees seemed to turn to jelly and he collapsed into a sitting position. In the glow of the fire, Sokic saw Stefan’s eyes roll just before he sagged completely to the ground, curled into a fetal position, and began snoring.