Read Evil Deeds (Bob Danforth 1) Online
Authors: Joseph Badal
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Thrillers, #Spy Stories & Tales of Intrigue, #Espionage
Michael bent down, rolled the body over, and immediately froze. He knew he’d made the mistake of his life. The pistol aimed at his stomach and the smile on the man’s face told him everything.
“Remove your hand from inside your jacket and step back!” the man said in a hushed, but firm tone.
Michael showed his hands, slowly straightened up and took a step back. Try to relax, he told himself. Remember your training. He waited until the man began to stand and grabbed his gunhand in both of his own, shifted his weight, and threw the man over his shoulder. The man slammed the pavement with a
whomp!
Then starbursts of light exploded in Michael’s head and he felt himself falling. Then he felt nothing.
“That was careless, Dimitrov,” Captain Sokic snarled, grimacing at the soldier wheezing for breath. But Sokic wasn’t interested in a response. “Josef, you and Vassily put Danforth in the Jeep. Pyotr, you drive,” he rasped. Sokic then turned to Radko who was standing off to the side of the road. “You’ve got two seconds to disappear before I shoot your ass.” He watched Radko move off the road and go into the trees beyond.
Attila stepped out of the trees and slid down the embankment to the road. He was exhausted from his trek north and the return trip looking for his father. He saw the security lights of the refugee camp entrance far in the distance to his right and started to walk in that direction. But a slight sound distracted him. Off to his left, a vehicle was stopped on the road, just outside the ray of light cast by one of the security lamps mounted on the military camp’s perimeter fence. Its headlights were on. Its engine idled.
Several figures stood around the vehicle. Suddenly, another figure ran away from the road, toward the woods. He recognized his father’s walk and posture.
“
Babo
,” Attila screamed. “
Babo
, it’s me.” He ran up the middle of the road toward where he saw Radko enter the treeline.
Pyotr was about to put the Jeep in gear, when Sokic grabbed his arm. “Wait!” he said. “What was that?”
Stefan had heard a shout, while running away from the Jeep into the woods. But he hadn’t stopped. All he wanted to do was get away from the men who were obviously more than he’d originally thought they were. And they were damned sure not Bosnian farmers. It was okay with him if they murdered Danforth, but he didn’t want to be anywhere near them in case American soldiers showed up. After he was hidden, he peeked around a tree and looked down at the road. Then he heard the same voice shouting again.
“
Babo
!”
Stefan looked to the right. Attila stepped into the beam of the Jeep’s headlights.
“Go back!” Stefan screamed. He heard Sokic’s voice shout, “Go! Go!” Then the sound of the Jeep engine revving. The vehicle shot forward. He watched the vehicle speed down the road toward his son.
Radko shouted again. “Attila, run!” His words sounded to him as loud as though they’d been screamed into a bullhorn. But he knew they were wasted. The engine shrieked as the vehicle launched forward and smashed into Attila. His son was flung over the Jeep’s windshield like a pinwheeling sack of potatoes. He watched the boy land with a sickening thud in the middle of the road.
Jack saw the red glow of taillights vanishing in the distance. He goosed the HUMVEE and felt it surge forward.
Then his headlights revealed something on the pavement. He slammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop a few feet from a man bent over what looked like a heap of clothing. Jack pulled out his pistol and jumped from the HUMVEE. He saw flesh and blood in the heap of clothing. Walking closer, keeping his gun extended, Jack asked, “What happened?” The man kneeling beside the body did not respond. He just swayed back and forth.
Jack grabbed him by the collar, forcing him to stand, and shook him. “What’s going on? Who are you?” The man stood hunched over, staring down at the twisted limbs of a teenaged boy.
“Dammit, who are you?” Jack screamed.
The roar of engines speeding toward him from the Army compound deflected his attention. He put his weapon away and put his hands on his head while three vehicles bore down on him. They jolted to a stop a few steps away and a gang of soldiers jumped out and surrounded Jack. One of them roughly frisked him and took away his pistol.
A lieutenant who seemed to be in charge pointed at Stefan. “Who’s that?” he asked no one in particular.
A soldier – Jack recognized him as one of the sentries – said, “That’s the guy Captain Danforth drove off with.”
“So where’s Captain Danforth?” the Lieutenant asked.
The sentry just shrugged.
“Search him, too,” the officer ordered.
The sentry searched Radko and found his pockets stuffed with currency. He also found ID papers and handed them to the officer. The officer stepped in front of one of the Jeeps and held the papers down in the beam of a headlight to read them. “Your name is Stefan Radko?”
No response.
The officer repeated the question – louder this time. “Are you Stefan Radko?”
“Yes, I am Stefan Radko.”
“You sonofabitch!” Jack cursed. He broke away from the two men guarding him, grabbed Stefan by the front of his coat, and jerked him forward. “Where’s Michael, you bastard?”
Stefan glared at Jack. “He is on his way to hell,” he whispered. Then Stefan began to laugh, but he suddenly stopped and sank to his knees.
“Get him back to the camp,” the Lieutenant ordered, pointing at Radko. “We’ll take this other one to headquarters for interrogation.”
The Serb Special Forces team took the bypass road around Kumanovo and sped north to Preshevo. Sokic knew they had to put distance between them and the Americans. As soon as the Americans discovered Danforth missing, there would be a general alert. One Black Hawk helicopter would ruin everything; their mission would be a failure. Kidnapping Danforth was only half the mission. They had to get him into Serbia.
Danforth lay bound, gagged, and unconscious in the back of the Jeep. Sokic smiled with satisfaction at his target’s still figure. Luck had been with them, so far.
The last of the moon could be seen low in the sky. A few refugees already on the road, hiking south, had to scurry out of the Jeep’s path. Sokic tapped Pyotr on the arm. “Make sure you don’t run into any of these scum. We don’t want to damage the vehicle.”
Pyotr nodded his understanding, but Sokic thought he saw disappointment on the man’s face. It was still dark, so he couldn’t be sure.
When Sokic saw the rutted dirt road leading to the spot where the team’s cars were hidden, he yelled at Pyotr to make the turn. They stopped at the spot where they’d left the vehicles, camouflaged beside the road. But the cars were gone.
“Damn Muslim thieves!” Sokic growled. He turned to Pyotr and demanded, “How much gas do we have?”
Pyotr checked the fuel gauge. “It’s on vapors,” he said.
“We might as well dump it in a ravine,” Sokic said. “We’ll have to walk until we find another vehicle.”