Read Evil Deeds (Bob Danforth 1) Online
Authors: Joseph Badal
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Thrillers, #Spy Stories & Tales of Intrigue, #Espionage
“Liz, Michael’s safe!” Bob shouted into the telephone. “He’s safe.”
“Oh, Bob,” Liz cried. She dropped down into the chair next to the telephone. “I need to talk to him. I want to hear his voice.”
“Honey, he’s coming home ”
“Thank God! Thank God! When will he be here? How soon can I see him?”
“Soon, honey.”
Liz paused for a moment and asked, “Are you okay?”
“Couldn’t be any better,” Bob said. “I’m coming home, too. I’ll be there tomorrow morning. I’ll bring you up to date on everything when I get home.”
“Okay, Bob. Just get here as soon as you can.”
“Oh, and Liz, they got Radko. He’s finished. He’ll never be a problem again. Ever.”
Liz replaced the receiver in its cradle. She brought her knees up to her chest and hugged them. The fear she’d carried with her for the last two days, since learning Miriana’s father was Stefan Radko, sloughed off her like a second skin. She sensed the anger she’d borne for twenty-eight years, since Radko had taken her only child, would take longer to dissipate.
She rose from the chair and looked in the hall mirror. Strands of her graying blonde hair had escaped the barrettes and now lay over her face, across her ears. She reflexively moved her hands toward her head, her eyes meeting their twin reflections. And then her emotional dam burst. She broke down and cried with deep, quaking sobs.
The Serb leader’s face appeared dark and menacing. His eyes looked red, satanic. He glared at the aide approaching the other side of his desk. The man stopped in mid-stride.
“I gave you an order,” the leader said, his words unnaturally constrained, as though someone were choking him with a rope. “I told you to bring that sonofabitch Artyan Vitas to me. Where the hell is he?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. President,” the aide said, his face flushed with fear. “He . . . Mr. Vitas is . . ..” The man’s Adams apple bobbed and his hands began to quiver.
“Speak up, you imbecile.” The leader picked up the brass base to his pen set and hurled it across the room, narrowly missing the aide’s head. The man dropped to the floor, cowering, his arms covering his head in anticipation of further missiles coming his way.
“Stand up, you sniveling dunce,” the President screamed.
The aide scrambled to his feet. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He rubbed his hands together, all the while staring at the floor, an eye cocked in case he became a target again. “Mr. Vitas is dead. The doctor says he died of rabies.”
The President hesitated. He couldn’t believe what he’d been told. Artyan Vitas couldn’t be dead. The man was indestructible. But he knew his aide was telling the truth. The sniveling idiot didn’t have the guts to lie to him. Besides, if Vitas were alive he would have been here by now. “How appropriate,” the President said coldly. “He always was a mad dog.” A short, bitter laugh escaped his lips. “Well, don’t just stand there. Bring that fat-assed General Plodic to me.”
“Morning, Captain,” Sergeant Major Luther Jewell said. “How ya feelin’?”
Michael sat on the side of his bed in the almost empty, giant hospital tent, holding his breath and slowly tying his bootlaces. He looked up at Jewell and grimaced. “Like I just played four quarters against the Washington Redskins – without pads.”
“A little sore, huh?”
“Yeah, just a little,” Michael said, groaning as he stood up.
“Jeez, Captain, you sound like my old granpappy.”
“I feel like your old granpappy, Sergeant Major. But it could’ve been a lot worse. Now tell me what you’re doing here. It can’t be just a get-well visit.”
“Colonel Sweeney wants to see you. He knows you’re being released and wanted me to escort you to his tent.”
“Well, lead the way. But take baby steps.”
Jewell chuckled and set out toward the headquarters tent with Michael walking stiffly beside him.
When they reached Sweeney’s headquarters, Michael waited just inside the entrance while Jewell walked across the enclosure and said a few words to Colonel Sweeney. The Colonel looked at Michael, smiled, stood up, and walked toward him. Michael met him halfway and came to attention. He started to salute, but he found he couldn’t raise his right hand all the way up to his forehead.
Sweeney saw the grimace on Michael’s face. “We will dispense with the military courtesy until you’re fully recovered,” he said with a smile.
“Thank you, sir. I don’t even remember doing anything to my arm. I got aches where I didn’t know I had muscles.”
Sweeney laughed. “The surgeon tells me you’re going to be fine. Just need a couple weeks of rest.”
“The only way I’ll get any rest is to get away from the field hospital. They checked for signs of concussion, cleaned up about a hundred cuts and abrasions, and hooked me to an IV for dehydration. That was bad enough. Now they poke me, prod me, and, every time I fall asleep, they wake me up to take my blood pressure or give me a pill, or something.”
“How’s the head?”
“No concussion, sir. But I’ve still got a bad headache, and a heck of a bump.”
“Major Krumka briefed me on the report you gave him,” Sweeney said. “You’ve done us proud, Mike. What you did out there took guts.”
Michael blushed. “Thank you, sir. But if it hadn’t been for those helicopter and jet jockeys, I’d be sitting in a cell somewhere in Belgrade right now. By the way, how are the wounded pilots?”
Sweeney smiled again. “Captain Dombrowsky’s doing fine. No permanent damage. But I hear he’s going to have a helluva scar on his back. Patten’s probably going to have a limp. His flying days are over.”
Sweeney touched Michael lightly on the shoulder. “Listen, Mike, the S-1’s cutting orders for you. You’re going back Stateside.”
Michael’s face dropped with disappointment. “But, sir, I’m fine. Just a little stiff, that’s all.”
“The Pentagon wants you out of here. You’ve been kidnapped once too often. I don’t know the entire story; but the decision’s been made. You’re out of here.”
Michael knew the meeting was over. This time he succeeded in getting his hand six inches from his forehead. “It’s been an honor serving with you, Colonel.”
“The honor’s been all mine, Captain Danforth,” Sweeney said, returning the salute.
Sweeney watched Michael turn and limp out of the tent. Then he walked over to Sergeant Major Jewell’s desk. “You got the papers completed on those decorations for Danforth and the pilots?”
“Yes, Colonel,” Jewell responded. “Distinguished Flying Crosses for the helicopter crews; Combat Infantry Badge and Bronze Star, with V device for valor, for Captain Danforth.”