Read Evil Deeds (Bob Danforth 1) Online
Authors: Joseph Badal
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Thrillers, #Spy Stories & Tales of Intrigue, #Espionage
Evil Deeds (Bob Danforth 1) (53 page)
Michael returned to head-throbbing consciousness. He had a moment of disorientation. Then the memory of what had happened hit him.
His hands, gone numb, were tied tightly behind his back. His tongue was dry and swollen. He tasted dirt. Michael remained still and opened his eyes only enough to glimpse his surroundings. It was still dark. Clouds obscured part of the waning moon. The slight breeze carried a chill with it. Two men stood a few feet away. All Michael could see were their boots and the lower part of their pants. Somewhere just behind him, a man said something in Serbo-Croatian.
Serbs! Michael thought. Stay calm, he told himself, as he assessed his situation: Bound and gagged, killer headache, stiff with cold. In enemy hands. I’m in deep shit.
One of the Serbs poured water from a canteen over Michael’s face. He sputtered when some of it splashed into his nose.
“Well, our guest is finally awake,” one of the men said. “Get him to his feet.” Two men hoisted Michael by the arms. The apparent leader smiled at Michael. “I have a message for you from our esteemed President,” he said in English. “He says, ‘Welcome to Serbia, where you will spend the rest of your miserable life. Welcome to Hell.’ ”
Michael no longer felt disoriented. But he was confused. He felt as though he’d dropped into some Alice-In-Wonderland nightmare fantasy world. What the hell did the Serb leader want with him?
Sergeant Sean O’Hara and Private Tyrell Robinson couldn’t get Radko to say a word while they drove him to the refugee camp. The old man sat in the backseat, silent as a Sphinx.
“Ah,” one of the NATO guards from France said, “it is Monsieur Radko. Where have you been? Your wife and son, they drive us crazy with questions. The boy has gone out to search for you.”
Stefan just stared at nothing.
“What is the matter with him?” the other French guard asked.
O’Hara glanced at Stefan and lowered his voice to answer, “He saw his son get killed.”
“
Merde
!”
“Where’s his tent?” O’Hara asked.
The guard entered a wooden hut and came out looking at a sheet of paper on a clipboard. “Tent 346,” he said. “Go straight ahead until you come to the Red Cross building. Then take a left and go for about a half-mile. The numbers are on little signs in front of each tent.”
“
Merci
,” O’Hara said. But it came across like “Mercy,” in a West Texas accent.
“I n’y a pas de rien,”
the French
guard said, smiling.
As Robinson drove into the camp, he started laughing. “Nice accent there, Sergeant,” he said. “No wonder the French think we’re cretins.”
O’Hara scowled. “What’s wrong with my accent? And how would you know?”
“High-school French – four years.”
“Huh! What did Peppie Le Pew say when I thanked him?”
“He said it was nothing. Must have been talking about your French.”
They finally found tent 346 just when the sun peeked above the horizon. Robinson pulled in front. O’Hara helped Radko out of the vehicle, supporting him while he led him to the tent.
A woman stepped out into the morning light. “Stefan, where have you been?” she cried in English. “I have been so worried.” She touched the patches of dried blood on his jacket. “Are you hurt?” she asked, looking accusingly at O’Hara.
“He’s fine, ma’am. Help me get him into the tent.”
Vanja stepped between Stefan and O’Hara. Robinson helped her move Stefan to a cot. Three cots took up most of the space within the tent. Suitcases and boxes were piled on the dirt floor in the remaining space. The only light came from two lanterns hanging from a rope strung along the top of the tent.
When they had Stefan sitting down on one of the cots inside, Robinson said, “Maybe you should sit down, too, ma’am.”
She refused to sit. “What happened to my husband,” she demanded.
“We think he saw your son get hit by a vehicle out on the road,” O’Hara said.
Vanja covered her mouth with both hands. Then her hands flew to the top of her head. “Where is my son? How badly hurt is he?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, he’s dead.”
Vanja’s shriek filled the tent. She collapsed on the dirt floor, wailing.
O’Hara and Robinson had almost reached the camp’s gate when they took a call on the Jeep’s radio: “Eagle Four, this is Eagle One. Come in, Eagle Four. Eagle Four, can you read me? This is Eagle One. Over.”
O’Hara picked up the mike. “Eagle One, this is Eagle Four. We read you loud and clear. Over.”
“Bring Radko to Colonel Sweeney. Over.”
“We already dropped the old guy at his tent,” O’Hara protested. “Over.”
“Well, go back and get him! Out!”
Vanja sat up, patted her face with the skirt of her dress, and glared at Stefan. “What . . . were you . . . doing out there? Attila would have been safe in the tent if you hadn’t left the camp.”
Stefan was rocking mechanically back and forth on the cot.
“Answer me, husband!” she screeched in a voice that shocked even her. She’d never spoken to Stefan like this before.
“Nothing, woman. Leave me be.”
“I want to know what happened!”
“I did nothing wrong! I was out getting us money. I was walking home when Attila found me. We were in the road. Some drunken American soldiers in a Jeep ran into him.”
Vanja stood and folded her arms across her chest. She stared at him. He wouldn’t meet her eyes. She knew in every cell of her body he was lying.
Suddenly, the same two American soldiers who’d brought Stefan to the tent minutes earlier returned. One said when he stepped into the tent, “Stefan Radko, you’re to come with us.”
“What is it?” Vanja asked. “What has he done?”
“Ma’am, I must ask you to stay out of this. Don’t interfere.”
“Please tell me. Why are you taking my husband away?” Vanja’s chin trembled and her stomach contracted into a tight ball. She felt ill.
“Look, ma’am, you’ll have to talk to our commander about that.”
“Please,” she said. “First you tell me my son is dead; now you want to take my husband. What is happening?”
The black soldier looked Vanja in the eye and said, “We don’t know the whole story. But when we found your husband in the road where your son was killed, we heard something about Mr. Radko maybe being mixed up in the kidnapping of an American officer. A Captain Michael Danforth.”
Vanja’s chin stopped trembling. She clenched her jaw. Then she balled up her fists and whipped around and screamed at Stefan in Roma. “You lying, miserable bastard. You couldn’t leave it alone. Twenty-eight years have passed and you had to pay Danforth back. It was
your
fault from the beginning.
You
were responsible for Gregorie’s death. Kidnapping babies! This is God’s punishment! And now our son, Attila. And if anything happens to Danforth’s son, you’ll have broken your daughter’s heart, as well.”
Vanja turned back to the soldiers and, with her finger pointing back at Stefan, yelled, “Get him out of my sight!”
She stepped aside and allowed the two soldiers to take Stefan. She watched them drag him outside. When they had gone, she sat back down on the cot and sobbed, even after she had no more tears.
