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) (8 page)
“Pay attention, Gregorie,” Stefan hissed to his fourteen-year-old son. “Mornings are the best time for us. Mothers take their babies outside before it gets too hot, before they start their other chores.”
Gregorie Radko, sitting in the backseat, peered through a side window of his father’s Mercedes at his aunt, Rumiah, climbing down from the back of a horsedrawn wagon parked forty meters up the street. A man in the back of the wagon handed down several colorful fabrics to her. Gregorie’s breath steamed the glass again, and he wiped it with his shirtsleeve.
“Are you looking?” Stefan demanded.
“Ye . . . yes,
O Babo
,” Gregorie said.
Vanja, sitting in the front with Stefan, looked at the boy, then at Stefan. “Why get the boy involved with this business?” she said.
“Don’t interfere. He’s my son, not yours,” Stefan growled, his face reddening.
Gregorie hated when his father got angry. It scared him. It always had. He wished his father had left him with Mama in Yugoslavia. He turned back to the window and watched the wagon roll around the corner toward the rear of a two-story, corner house. When the wagon disappeared from view, he turned his attention to Aunt Rumiah standing in front of the house, her arms draped with colorful scarves and shawls. She pushed the doorbell. A young woman opened the door. Gregorie stared open-mouthed at them, until his father’s voice broke the silence in the car.
“The job’s been done,” Stefan said, while he started the Mercedes.
They drove to a point several blocks away and waited there in the idling Mercedes. Five minutes later, the Gypsy wagon drove up and stopped next to the car. A man stepped from the wagon, walked to the Mercedes’ passenger side door, handed a small bundle wrapped in a pink blanket through the window to Vanja, and climbed back into the already moving wagon. Stefan hit the gas and sped away. Vanja inspected the bundle.
Gregorie leaned forward and looked over the front seat. Vanja turned and their eyes met. He saw what he thought was shame in hers.
“What is it?” Stefan demanded.
“A little girl.”
Gregorie shrank back in the corner of the backseat. He felt frightened. This is a sin, he thought. Every part of his being ached with a tremendous desire to scream at his father, to curse him, to tell him how he felt. But the ache grew until he thought his head would explode. He knew he could never stand up to his father.
“Are you crazy, Janos?” Demetria said, pacing the floor of the small apartment. “Your uncle will get us sent to prison.”
“You don’t understand, Demetria,” Janos said, slumped on the couch, head in hands. “We have no choice. He’ll kill us if we don’t cooperate.”
She took a deep breath and softened her voice. “What do you mean we have no choice? Of course we have a choice. We should go to the police now, before your uncle gets you in even deeper.” She walked to the telephone and lifted the receiver. “Here,” she said in a pleading tone, “call them.”
Janos’ head came up and his eyes shot open. He leaped off the couch, snatched the receiver from her hand, and slammed it onto the cradle. “Don’t even think such a thing,” he rasped, as though Stefan were within earshot. “You must not ask me any questions,” Janos said, forlornly. His shoulders slumped and he turned away.
“How can you say that? I’m your wife.”
Janos opened and closed his mouth three times, like a fish gasping for oxygen. He turned and walked out of the apartment.
Franklin Meers was shocked when George Makris announced after returning from the beach with Liz that he was going to help the Danforths find their son. The man had seemed so emotionally beaten that Meers didn’t think he had the fortitude to get involved. He was stunned when Makris said he would go along with them on the ride back to Kifissia.
On the drive from Evoia, George proved to be more vocal, more animated than he’d been at his parents’ home. He told them all he could remember about his three years in the Petrich Orphanage. By the time he’d told his story in detail, Liz was quietly crying and Bob couldn’t seem to stop cursing the Bulgarians and the Gypsy band that took Michael.
The trip back to Kifissia took nearly two hours. Meers parked the car in front of the Danforths’ home and they all followed Liz into the house.
After Bob set out drinks for everyone in the dining room, he asked, “What do we do now? We can’t just drive across the Bulgarian border to Petrich, knock on the door of some building, and ask if there are any two-year-old American boys there.”
“Of course not,” George said. “There are patrols all along the border and guards at the orphanage. We’re not going anywhere near Bulgaria until we do some groundwork in Athens.” George then focused on Meers. “And before we start, we need to know how much help we can expect to get from Mr. Meers here.”
Both Bob and Liz snapped their heads toward Meers, wide-eyed expectant looks on their faces.
“Oh no. I’ve already stuck my neck out to here,” Meers said, holding his hand two feet away from his face. “If you think I’m getting in any deeper, you’re nuts. What do you want me to do, ruin my career, go to prison? I’ve already crossed the line. You can’t even think about me helping anymore. You’re on your own from here–”
Meers was already losing steam, but the look on Liz’s face completely stopped him. He halted in mid-sentence, swallowed, and started again. “The risk is too great. Not just for me, but for all of you, too. You could get killed. And the odds against finding Michael are staggering. You’ve got to understand, if you–”
Liz was now staring at Meers with begging eyes.
“Goddammit!” he said. “Goddammit!” He couldn’t fight the desperation he saw on her face.
Following Stefan’s telephoned instructions, Janos drove his truck until he found the Mercedes parked on a narrow, deserted road just outside the Athenian suburb of Glyfada. Stefan sat behind the wheel. Vanja was in the front passenger seat. But Janos didn’t know the person sitting in the back, a boy about fourteen years old.
Stefan got out of the Mercedes and walked to the cab of Janos’ truck. “Show me what you’ve done,” he ordered.
Janos stepped down and led Stefan to the rear of the truck. He rolled up the cargo door and hopped up into the empty bay. Stefan followed him to the front of the bay.
Janos used a crowbar to pry at a section of the front wall. It swung open on hinges to reveal a nine-meter-high, two-meter-deep compartment along the entire width of the truck. A thin mattress was on the floor of the compartment, next to an ice chest.
Stefan clapped his nephew on the back. “Good job, Janos. We’re going to do a lot of business together.”
Janos felt a lightning bolt of fear race down his spine.
Stefan jumped down into the street and waved toward the Mercedes.
Vanja got out of the car, holding a baby in her arms. She walked to the truck, followed by the boy from the backseat. Without a word, she handed the baby to Stefan, climbed up into the truck, reached down for the baby, and walked to the secret compartment. She sat down on the mattress. The boy stayed outside the truck.
“I think it’s about time you cousins met,” Stefan said, smiling, his eyes narrowed with humor. “Gregorie, say ‘
dobar dan’
to Janos, your Aunt Ismerelda’s oldest son. Janos, this is my son, Gregorie. He’s going to work with us. Radko and Son. Kind of catchy, don’t you think?” He laughed uproariously.
The boy hung his head, seemingly cowed by his father. Sparse, silky hairs grew above his upper lip. He had his father’s dark skin, but his hair was lighter.
Poor kid, Janos thought. He’s probably as afraid of his father as I am.
“All right,” Stefan said. “Enough formality! We go! After we have loaded the crates of wine from the warehouse, we’ll be on our way north. Wine for Thessaloniki; a baby for the Bulgarian Communist Party. Capitalism at its best. Ha ha!”
With Vanja and the baby shut up in the compartment, Gregorie in the passenger seat beside him, and Stefan following in the Mercedes, Janos pulled the truck onto the pavement and drove back to Athens.
“What do you mean you want to meet one of my undercover agents?” Meers shouted, rising from his chair at the Danforth’s dining room table. “I’ve helped all I can. I won’t do that. If you compromise one of my operatives, I’ll be useless here. You’re asking too–”
“Please, Franklin,” Liz pleaded.
Meers turned to Liz. “Listen, I’m sick about what’s happened to you and Bob, but I can’t do this.”
In the sudden silence that came over the room, George said, icily, “You don’t have much choice.” He put his hands on the table and leaned toward Meers. “I could see to it your superiors find out you’ve already allowed unauthorized persons access to classified intelligence files.”
Meers stared at George. His eyes widened, then narrowed in a squint. “You play rough.”
“That’s the way the Communist Bloc trains its agents,” George said, sitting back in his chair.
Meers stood and walked to a window. He looked out at the street. After a few seconds, he turned back to the others. Taking a small notebook from his jacket pocket, he wrote something on a sheet of paper. Passing the sheet to Makris, he said, “Be there at seven tomorrow morning.”
After weeks at the Petrich Orphanage, Michael finally did more than pick at his food. He ate his first full meal. And he began playing with the other children and learned some of the funny language they spoke. He didn’t really like his big new house. It was cold all the time and he kept getting lost. And there were no dogs in this house. At night, the house made him scared. He could hear some of the other children crying. Sometimes he had nightmares.
He liked the way Mommy Katrina took care of him – like he was special. But he wished she’d let him sleep with all the other children. She made loud noises when she slept and it made him wake up a lot. But, she’s nice, Michael thought. She gives me candy and hugs me. I like her hugs. They’re warm like Mommy’s. But my other Mommy smells better. Mommy Katrina says Mommy and Daddy don’t want me anymore. That makes me sad. I miss White Dog.
Michael saw Mommy Katrina smiling at him. She crossed the room and patted him on the head. She picked him up from his chair.
“Oh, what a good boy you are,” she said. “You ate all your food. You have made your mommy so happy.”
Michael stared at Mommy Katrina. He understood her words, even though she talked funny. I like when she’s happy, he thought. I like to make my new mommy happy.
