Evil Deeds (Bob Danforth 1) (47 page)

“Mr. Radko,” Michael said, having finally found Miriana’s father crouched behind a tent near the inside of the refugee camp perimeter fence, playing dice with five Albanian men. There were neat stacks of currency and coins in front of Stefan. He had clearly been winning.

Stefan looked up at the interruption. “Can this wait?” he said coolly.

“I’m afraid not. You need to come with me.”

Stefan blew out a stream of air. “My apologies, gentlemen,” he said, scooping up and pocketing the dice and his stacks of money. “When our masters talk, we jump.”

Michael suspected that most of the refugees there didn’t understand Radko’s English. He assumed the man had chosen to use English so Michael would understand. The man truly was a sonofabitch.

As Radko walked away with Michael, he began to laugh. “Another week in this camp and none of these peasants will have a coin left in his pocket,” he said, slapping his thigh. “These are the easiest pickings I have had in years.”

“Don’t you feel bad about taking what little these poor people have left?”

“Sheep are meant to be shorn, Captain. Don’t you agree?”

Michael just shook his head. How could this man be Miriana’s father?

“So,” Stefan said, “what is so important you interrupted the game?”

“I have a surprise for you and your family.”

“You have arranged to get us out of here?” Stefan’s eyes sparkled, and his smile seemed to extend from ear to ear.

“No, not yet.”

“Well, what is it?” Stefan said, his smile fading.

“It’s a surprise. I’ve already rounded up your wife and son. They’re waiting for us by my Jeep.”

“We are going for a ride? Where?”

“You’ll see,” Michael said.

Michael, talkative and in high spirits, couldn’t hide his excitement during the ride into Kumanovo. It was a beautiful sunny day with just a trace of a breeze and the open country around them offered a spectacular view of the nearby hills and the distant mountains. Vanja and Attila, seemingly picking up on his mood, were more animated with Michael than either had been before. Stefan just glowered, sitting rigidly in the Jeep’s front passenger seat.

Michael drove to the NATO field headquarters in Kumanovo. While he parked the Jeep down the street from the building entrance, the muffled sound of an explosion echoed through the town.

“What was that?” Vanja asked, looking around, then huddling against Attila.

Michael gave her a reassuring smile. “There are always guerrillas in the hills. Don’t worry, we have patrols out.” He turned back toward the building and led them to a small, first floor office.

“Ah, Captain Danforth, right on time,” a short, stocky man in a German Colonel’s uniform said in English. “And this must be the Radko family. Fritz Heinige,” he introduced himself, shaking hands all around. “I have heard much about you Radkos. The information you provided has been invaluable. Now, if we can all sit down around the table?”

Once they were all settled in chairs, Heinige asked Michael, “Do you have the telephone number?”

Michael handed him a scrap of paper, then watched him lift the receiver and tap in a long series of numbers. Michael glanced at his watch: eight Saturday on night, Macedonia time, equaled noon on Saturday, Eastern Standard Time.

Heinige switched the call to speaker mode, replaced the receiver, and walked out of the room, leaving behind the sound of a phone ringing.

Then, a woman’s voice. “Hello!”

“Mom, it’s me, Michael.”

“How wonderful! Is everything all right?”

“Everything’s great! Is Miriana there with you?”

Vanja, seated between Stefan and Attila, gasped and slid forward in her chair. She grabbed Stefan’s hand.

“Yes,” Liz said. “Do you want to talk to her?”

“Sure. But there are some people here who should probably talk to her first. Could you put her on?”

There was an interval of mildly hissing static, then Miriana’s voice filled the room. “Hello, Michael, is that you?”

Before Michael could respond, the Radko’s erupted in rapid-fire shouting. Michael could understand only her name. “Miriana! Miriana!” But all the rest was Roma shouted back and forth.

Vanja and Attila kept raising their voices, competing to be heard. Miriana must have recognized their voices because she began screaming their names and shooting questions at them. Then Michael heard Miriana break down and cry, “Mama,
Babo
, Attila.” When Vanja began crying and Attila jumped out of his chair, hurried to the telephone speaker and yelled, Stefan took control.

“Quiet!” he yelled. Like someone had turned a switch, the room fell silent. No more shouting or crying. “One question at a time,” Stefan ordered. “Miriana, are you well?”

Michael jumped at the loudness of Stefan’s voice. He wasn’t used to the way the man dealt with his family.

“Yes,
O Babo
. Everyone here has been wonderful. Especially Michael’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Danforth. Are you all okay?”

Michael saw the worried look Vanja gave Stefan, but didn’t know what to make of it.

“Yes, we are fine,” Stefan said. “Everything will be perfect as soon as we get out of here and are all together again.”

“When will that happen?” Miriana asked.

“Soon, I hope.”

“What have you been doing?” Vanja interjected.

“That is a long story. I will tell you when we are together again.”

After fifteen minutes, Miriana finally switched to English and asked to speak with Michael.

Michael picked up the receiver, taking the phone off speaker. “Hi.”

“Hi, yourself. I should put your mother back on phone. She seems – how do you say it? – anxious to talk to you. But, before I say goodbye, I want to say finding family is most wonderful gift you could give me. This phone call has been so . . ..”

Michael heard Miriana’s sniffling over the phone.

“I miss you, Michael,” she said.

Michael felt a shiver run from his neck and down his spine. “If it wasn’t so awkward at the moment . . ..”

“I understand,” Miriana said, giggling.

Liz came back on the line. “From the look on Miriana’s face, you must have made her day. What’s going on?”

“I found her parents and younger brother. They’re with me.”

“Michael, that’s wonderful! Are they okay?”

“They’re all fine, Mom. They’re nice people.” When Michael said this, he turned abruptly in Stefan’s direction. He caught a venomous, squint-eyed look that caused the hairs on his neck to stand up. Stefan’s expression quickly changed to neutral, and he averted his eyes.

Michael turned again, putting his back to the Radkos.

In Bethesda, Bob picked up the extension. “Hi, son, what’s happening?”

“I’ll let Miriana explain it to you. Could you help her family get out of here? I know some refugees are being transported to the States. Can you get their names on the list?”

“I can’t promise, but I’ll give it a try. Let me grab a pencil and a piece of paper. Okay! Where are they located?”

“They’re at the Kumanovo Refugee Camp. It’s right near the 82nd’s base in Macedonia.”

“I guess that’s all I really need to get from you. I can get their full names from Miriana. I assume the records there have the last name spelled, G-E-O-R-G-A-D-O-F-F.”

“Miriana’s mother and brother use that name,” Michael said, “but her father’s name is different. It’s Radko, not Georgadoff. Stefan Radko.” Michael looked at Stefan, just when Miriana’s father laughed in short, grunting bursts that made Michael’s skin crawl.

“What did you say?” Bob shouted, an odd tone to his voice.

“Radko,” Michael said again. “R-A-D-K-O,” he spelled.

“Michael, listen to me! Don’t–” The phone went dead.

Bob desperately tried to reconnect the call, but without success.