Evil Deeds (Bob Danforth 1) (13 page)
Read Evil Deeds (Bob Danforth 1) Online
Authors: Joseph Badal
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Thrillers, #Spy Stories & Tales of Intrigue, #Espionage
Morton took Liz, Michael, and Meers to his house on the outskirts of Sofia. Their flight to Athens wasn’t until six that night, nine hours away. The atmosphere was jubilant in Morton’s living room. They all knew Michael’s return was a miracle.
Meers read a book from Morton’s library, while Morton sat on a couch, hugging his daughter, Erica. Liz sat in a chair opposite Morton, staring at her son asleep in her lap. The ringing phone interrupted the quiet. Morton snatched up the receiver. After listening for a few seconds, he replaced it in its cradle and settled back against the couch.
Morton’s lips were compressed into a slash. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but seemed to be going through internal conflict about what to say and how to go about it.
Liz sensed his discomfort. “Who was on the telephone?” she asked.
Morton ran his hands through his hair and blew out a gush of air. He sat forward on the edge of the couch and said, “A man who provides information to me.”
Liz stared into Morton’s eyes and said, “An intelligence agent.” After spending time with Franklin Meers, she was becoming adept at interpreting the euphemisms used in the intelligence community.
Morton smiled at her. Then he said. “He tells me the Bulgarians evacuated the orphanage. Our finding Michael in Sofia has caused the government to cover its tracks.”
“Where did they take the other children?” Liz asked.
Morton shrugged. “We don’t know.” He paused for several seconds. “My man also told me there was police and Bulgarian Secret Service activity around the orphanage before dawn this morning. Gunshots were reported coming from the property.”
“Is there any news about my husband?”
Morton shook his head.
Tears brimmed in Liz’s eyes. She inadvertently shifted, waking Michael.
The boy looked up at his mother, rubbing his eyes.
“Where’s Daddy?” Michael asked.
“We’re going to see Daddy soon,” Liz told him, with more confidence than she felt.
Michael brightened for a moment. “Daddy no bye-bye,” he said. Then he laid his head against her breast and fell back to sleep.
Liz hugged Michael. Then she broke down; great shaking sobs racked her body. Please God, she silently prayed, Daddy no bye-bye.
Liz’s emotions surged like the tide – elation over the return of Michael, and then an unrelenting fear she had lost Bob.
The time on the flight from Sofia to Athens had seemed like an eternity. The only good thing she could say about it was it left on schedule.
An Embassy car waited outside the terminal in Athens for Meers, Liz, and Michael. After leaving the airport, the driver announced, “Mrs. Danforth, I was told to pass on to you that your dog’s going to make it.” He added, “The entire Embassy staff has been holding their collective breaths waiting to hear about White Dog. She’s a real American hero.”
At her house in Kifissia, Liz, holding Michael in her arms, started to get out of the car’s backseat, but changed her mind and looked back at Meers.
“Franklin, I apologize for getting so angry with you,” she said. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough for what you’ve done for my family. Getting Michael back.”
Meers smiled and patted her arm. “Liz, I don’t believe for a second you’re sorry about being angry with me. But I accept your thanks.” Then, after a beat, he added, “He’ll make it, Liz; he’s got too much to live for.”
Liz leaned sideways and kissed Meers on the cheek. She didn’t know what to say, and she didn’t trust herself not to break down.
Inside her home, she put Michael in bed and then made sure all the doors and windows were locked. She knew she was being paranoid but even paranoid people had enemies. She sat down in the rocking chair next to Michael’s bed and listened to the soft sounds of his breathing. Not for the first time did she contemplate what life would have been like without her son. And not for the first time did she wonder how she would go on if Bob didn’t return to her.
Then she thought about the man who kidnapped Michael. The Gypsy Meers brought to the Kaki Thalassa beach said the kidnapper’s name might be Radko. She felt as though the name was indelibly tattooed on her brain. She couldn’t remember ever hating another human being. There were few times when she’d even felt real anger toward a person, anger that didn’t stem from annoyance. But these unfamiliar feelings of hatred and anger, seasoned by fear for Bob, stewed together in a fiery cauldron of emotion she knew had changed her forever.
Bob didn’t care if the Bulgarians found their fence cut. Once inside Greece, they would be safe. He used the wire cutters Liz had packed for him and separated the strands of the barbwire fence. Pausing for only a moment to make sure there were no Bulgarian border guards in sight – the last patrol he’d seen had passed by just five minutes earlier, he adjusted the infant inside his jacket and lifted George off the damp night earth and hunched his back to shift his pack.
George was as gray as a ghost and the baby couldn’t possibly sleep much longer. Bob figured she hadn’t eaten in at least six hours. He’d run out of spare clothing to take the place of diapers. And, on top of all that, the wound in his calf had caused his right leg to cramp to the point he had to walk flat-footed. The pain was becoming almost intolerable.
They’d made it about fifty yards into the Greek zone when all hell broke loose. Floodlights and flashlights shone from several directions and a male voice ordered them to halt and lie down on the ground. The Greek the voice spoke made Bob want to laugh and cry at the same time. He let George sag to the bare earth. He dropped to his knees and raised his arms above his head just as the baby girl started screaming bloody murder.
It took the doctor at King George Hospital in Thessaloniki less than an hour to clean and dress Bob’s wound and administer antibiotics. It took another four days for Bob to recover from an infection that could have cost him his leg. Liz and Michael barely left his side the entire time.
George Makris never made it out of the hospital alive. His wounds were too severe; he’d lost too much blood.
Bob exulted over the return of his son but, at the same time, agonized over George’s death. The man had given his life to save Michael. He thought long and hard about what he could do for George’s family, to rehabilitate George’s reputation. He discussed it with Liz. She was the one who came up with the idea.
Bob and Liz stood on a raised platform next to George Makris’ parents, before a phalanx of television cameras and reporters. They read from a prepared statement, telling about George’s kidnapping years ago, his return to and arrest in Greece, the treatment he’d received by Greek authorities, his role in trying to find Michael and in rescuing the Greek infant they’d brought back from Bulgaria, and, finally, his death. Bob also revealed the Bulgarian Government’s part in kidnapping Greek children. The story made headlines in the Greek papers and was highlighted on all the Greek television stations. It burst on the international press like a 10-megaton hydrogen bomb.
Bob had been ordered to keep his mouth shut about his and George’s little excursion into Bulgaria, and about Bulgarian involvement in child kidnappings. The woman from the U.S. Embassy in Athens had explained that divulging what he knew would be politically naive and could be damaging to Bob’s military career. The press conference had been in violation of that order.
Stefan Radko sipped the
raki
from the glass in his hand. He stared at the television screen with an intensity that made his eyeballs ache and his brain fuzzy. The American Army officer read from a piece of paper and told the world about his son’s kidnapping, about the death of a man named George Makris, and many other things. The words the American spoke barely made an impression on Stefan. The man’s comments about how Makris was shot in an orphanage filtered through Stefan’s anger. He knew he had shot and killed the man, and that made him feel good for a second or two.
He concentrated on the American’s face, memorizing every feature. “Robert Danforth,” he said over and over again. “Robert Danforth, the man who murdered my only child, Gregorie. Robert Danforth, you will die a horrible death.” He pointed a finger at the television screen. “I will live to see you dead.”
Stefan finished the remainder of his drink and poured another measure of the strong Turkish alcohol. He continued staring at the television.
Vanja entered the room. “Were you talking to someone?” she asked.
Stefan swallowed half his drink. His eyes still glued to the television screen, he said, “A dead man. I was talking to a dead man.”
Two days after the press conference, Bob limped across the carpet, came to attention, and reported to Colonel Gray, who sat on the other side of a desk, bracketed by the American flag and the unit flag.
“Christ, Bob, take a seat,” Gray said. He took a deep breath and grimaced as though he had a sudden pain. Exhaling slowly, he pulled open his desk drawer and removed a bottle of antacid tablets.
“Damn ulcer,” he said. He poured water from a carafe into a glass, popped two tablets into his mouth, and washed them down with a swig of water. Bob waited while the Colonel took another deep breath.
“Well, your trip into Bulgaria ruffled a few feathers,” Gray said. “But that press conference really did it.” Gray looked uneasy, almost sick.
“Yes, Colonel,” Bob said. “I hope I haven’t caused
you
any trouble.”
Gray waved a hand. “Nothing I can’t take care of. But I’ve got orders for you.” Gray paused and cleared his throat. An apologetic look crossed his face. “I’m damned pissed off about this, Bob.” He reached across his desk and handed Bob a sheet of paper.
Bob read the document, then looked over at Colonel Gray. “This is a request from me to resign my commission and be discharged, Colonel, I–“
“That’s right, Bob. The Army decided your trip to Bulgaria wasn’t in the best interests of the military services. Disobeying the order to keep your mouth shut was a foolish thing to do. You’ve got forty-eight hours to pack up. You’ll be honorably discharged at Fort Dix, New Jersey.”
Bob realized his mouth was hanging open. He slammed it shut. He felt as though he would choke. When confident he could speak without his voice croaking, he said, “What if I refuse to sign, Colonel?”
“Then you’ll be the oldest Captain in the U.S. Army. They’ll never promote you. I’ve already tried to stop this, Bob. The decision’s been made.”
“This hurts, Colonel,” Bob said, his face feeling flushed. “The Army was going to be my career.” Bob clenched his jaw and lasered his eyes at Gray. “Colonel, I’d do the same thing all over again. Even knowing this would happen.”
Gray smiled at Bob. “So would I, Bob.”
“I guess I’d better go home and tell Liz,” he said. “Am I excused, sir?”
Gray stood and came around his desk. Bob also got up and came to attention. “At ease,” Gray said. “I want you to know I don’t agree with the Pentagon’s decision. The Army needs officers like you.”
“Thank you, sir,” Bob said. “Looks like I’d better start thinking about another career.”
Gray reached into his shirt pocket and extracted a business card. “This man asked me a bunch of questions about you. He seemed impressed with what you did, going into Bulgaria, bringing back the little girl.” He handed the card to Bob.
“Cultural attaché? What does he want?”
“He wants to talk to you about a job.”
“Sir, if the Army doesn’t want me, I doubt the State Department is going to feel I’m diplomatic material.”
Gray smiled at Bob. “For your information, that cultural attaché business at the Embassy in Athens is nothing but a front. He’s CIA.”
PART II
1999