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) (25 page)
The Serb leader looked out his third floor office window. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back and stared in the direction of the snowcapped mountains in the distance. “Did the woman give you the answers we needed, Artyan?” he asked in a level, unemotional tone. “Was she cooperative?”
“Yes, Mr. President,” said the man seated on the far side of the room. “She was most cooperative.”
“Did you interrogate her personally? There is no doubt in your mind she gave you accurate information? We know who the responsible parties were?”
“Of course, Mr. President. I would never leave something so important to underlings. I made sure she did not lie to me. It was Americans. The CIA.”
A shudder chilled the leader. “When do you leave for the United States?”
“Tonight.”
“I will expect to hear good news from you.”
“Yes, Mr. President,” Vitas said quietly. “I will take care of everything.”
The Serb leader just stood there, facing the window. Vitas sat in silence for fifteen seconds, then, without a sound, rose from his chair and departed.
Bob Danforth walked down Connecticut Avenue beside Jack Cole. He was grateful for the light breeze cutting Washington D.C.’s summer humidity and rustling leaves on the trees bordering the sidewalk. The leaves made a whispery sound that was barely discernible above the engine noise of traffic and the voices of the noontime pedestrians crowding the sidewalks.
“I can’t believe the sonofabitch hung himself,” Jack said.
“Jack, Karadjic was a zealot. We knew that. That’s why we had him under a 24-hour-a-day suicide watch. We suspected he wouldn’t sit calmly in his cell and wait to be interrogated and then shipped off to The Hague for the War Crimes Tribunal. One guard looked away for a few minutes.”
“I figured the bastard would want one more chance to tell the world how misunderstood the Serb government is,” Jack said.
“That’s what we all hoped for.”
Bob bent his head back and massaged his neck. The thought of the dead Marines who gave their lives to capture Karadjic – all for nothing – made him sick. He and Jack walked in silence past the next cross street.
Jack intruded on Bob’s thoughts and asked, “How’s your shoulder?”
“It’s sore, but healing nicely. Thank God for antibiotics. The doctors were more concerned about infection than the knife wound itself.”
The packed sidewalks gave Artyan Vitas all the cover he needed. He carried an umbrella tilted toward the sidewalk, its six-inch metal tip gleaming in D.C.’s sunlight. Vitas followed the two CIA men, gaining on them with each step. A young woman with a skirt so short it left little to the imagination strutted on stiletto heels between him and his target.
Danforth! Vitas thought. The President will kiss my ass when he hears I killed him.
He stayed behind the young woman, using her as a screen, while she got closer to the two strolling men. He matched her pace step-for-step, his footfalls synchronized with the clack-clack-clack of her high heels. When she started to move to pass Danforth and the other man on top of the left, Vitas moved slightly to the woman’s right. Still a foot back from her right shoulder, now close to Danforth, he lifted the tip of the umbrella higher in preparation for the forward thrust.
Then Danforth and the other man suddenly moved left, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, outside the entrance of an office building. The young woman abruptly slowed and shifted right to avoid bumping into Danforth, just as Vitas jabbed the umbrella forward, its tip injecting a pin-sized iridium pellet into the back of her thigh.
A scream. Bob turned. A woman collapsed into his arms. Before he could lower the woman to the sidewalk, he met the stare of a tall, thickly-built man with one dead eye who rushed past him. As Bob gently lay the young woman on the sidewalk, she began to convulse violently, white foamy saliva oozing from her mouth. Then she went rigid, her jaws locked.
“What the hell!” Jack said.
Without looking at Jack, Bob said, “Better get an ambulance.” He tried to pry open the woman’s jaws. He thought she might be having an epileptic seizure.
Jack put down the telephone and swiveled around in his chair. He looked at Bob standing at the office window, hands in his pockets, shoulders drooping. The silence in the room was oppressive.
“Finally,” Jack said. “That was the lab. Someone poisoned that girl with a cholinesterase inhibitor. Shut down her nervous system. They found a poison pellet under the skin on the back of her thigh. That’s an old Bulgarian trick. Remember how they killed both a double agent and a Bulgarian defector in London in the early eighties that way?”
“Who’s the woman?” Bob asked, still staring out the window, his voice etched with a somber tone.
Jack picked up a slip of paper he’d made notes on during the phone conversation with the lab technician. “Elyse Vanderpool. A staffer over at the FCC. Just some gal in her twenties. Apparently in the wrong place at the wrong time. Nobody you’d expect an assassin would go after. And there’s no question it was a professional hitman. I mean, you don’t find street thugs running around with poisoned-tip umbrellas. Whoever killed her screwed up. But who the hell was the sonofabitch after?”
Bob blew out a loud stream of air, then turned, anger showing in the set of his jaw, the tightness of his lips. His hands were still shoved deep into his pants pockets, his gaze down at the carpet. He lifted his head, opened his mouth, and bit his lower lip. Then he said, a catch in his throat, “I was the target,” he said. “Whoever killed that young woman was after me.”
Liz Danforth scrubbed at the hardened remnants of last season’s barbecues. She wanted Michael’s going-away party on Saturday – two days away – to be perfect. It would be the last day she’d see her son before he shipped out to the Balkans with his unit. Damn! she thought. Why couldn’t he pick a safe career – like plumbing?
She heard the front door slam. Married thirty years and I still haven’t trained him to close doors so the whole house doesn’t vibrate. “I’m out back, Bob,” she yelled.
He came out from the kitchen through the open patio door.
“Hard at it I see,” Bob said.
She brushed a few unruly strands of hair away from her face with her forearm. “I wouldn’t have to do this if you’d cleaned the damn thing last year, instead of letting this gunk set all winter and spring.”
Bob smiled. “I appreciate you doing the dirty work,” he said. “You’re so much better at it than I am.”
She laughed and tossed the filthy Brillo pad at his smile. Bob ducked. The pad sailed over his head and through the open door into the kitchen.
“Dammit!” Liz groaned. She ran inside and found the greasy pad on a white-cushioned stool at the kitchen counter. “See what you made me do?” she accused, while he came up behind her.
“Me! I was just standing there.”
Liz gingerly picked up the pad in her rubber glove-clad hands and looked at the dark, wet stain on the cushion. She glared at him.
“You know, you’re damn cute when you’re pissed off,” he said. He brushed the hair away from her face and kissed her lips. She let him sweep her into the air, her grease-stained gloves stretched out away from his suit. “You’re just as cute as the day we met,” Bob said. “Why don’t you come upstairs and I’ll show you how cute I really think you are.’
She scowled and said, “Promises, promises. Put me down, you big oaf.”
Bob set her down and walked toward the staircase to the second floor. Liz heard him climb the stairs. She went to the kitchen sink and shed the gloves. Walking back to the barstool, she once again looked at the dark spot on the cushion. I’d better let it dry before I try to clean it, she thought. Bob’s footsteps sounded on the floor above. What the hell, she thought. She walked to the staircase, leaving a trail of clothes on the steps behind her.
Artyan Vitas had been seething with anger for three days, since he’d screwed up. He’d been sitting behind the wheel of his rental car for hours now, watching catering and flower vans make deliveries to the Danforth residence. It was six p.m.
A dark-blue Lincoln Towncar drove up and parked in front of the house. A middle-aged man and a young woman got out of the car and walked up the path toward the front door. Vitas recognized the man – he’d been with Danforth on Connecticut Avenue three days ago. He felt a bolus of anger rise inside him at the memory of his failure. Then he concentrated on the woman. Where have I seen her? The connection wouldn’t come. He concentrated on her shapely body. She wore a black sheath and black high heels. Her long, thick, black hair cascaded over her shoulders and down the middle of her back.
He imagined getting his hands on her tight young body. His vision wavered momentarily, distorted as though under water. He forced himself to focus on his mission. Suddenly he recognized her. Karadjic’s Gypsy fortune-teller! Miriana Georgadoff. That’s it! Olga Madanovic had given him information about the Gypsy girl. Serb intelligence had given him the girl’s photograph. But it can’t be, Artyan thought. Here in Washington, D.C.? Dressed like that! How the hell did she get here?
Yet it all made sense. She had been in on the plot to kidnap Karadjic. She’s working with the CIA. They brought her out of Yugoslavia. This is getting interesting, he thought, rubbing his crotch.
When the doorbell rang, Liz removed her apron and hung it on a hook by the refrigerator. The guests are arriving, she thought, glancing at the stove’s digital clock. She hurried to the front door and saw Jack Cole through the glass, standing next to a woman of about twenty, with blue eyes, black hair, and olive skin. She looks swimsuit-model perfect in that dress, Liz thought. She opened the door.
“Jack, thanks for coming,” Liz said with a sparkling smile. “And who’s this?”
Jack gave a little bow. “Let me introduce you to Miriana Georgadoff, a visitor from Yugoslavia.”
Liz shook the girl’s hand. “Come in, my dear. Even though you’re in the company of Mr. Cole, we won’t hold it against you.” She led them through the house to the backyard and pointed at a corner of the lawn. “Michael’s messing with the barbecue.”
“Where’s Bob?” Jack asked.
Liz felt her face get hot. She didn’t want to let Jack know how pissed off she was. Bob had promised to get home in time for Michael’s party. Just one broken promise in a series of thousands of broken promises. With Bob, work always seemed to come first. “He’ll be here any minute,” she said.
“Hey Mike,” Jack said when he came through the door onto the patio, “You look great.”
“Thanks, Uncle Jack, it’s good . . ..” Michael inhaled an audible breath when Miriana stepped from behind Jack, then exhaled loudly. Unfortunately for him, the sound came out as a whistle. Jack laughed while Michael’s face turned crimson.
“Michael, meet Miriana Georgadoff.”
Michael put out his hand and shook Miriana’s. “Nice to meet you,” he said.
“You have a nice whistle,” she laughed, a devilish grin showing on her face.
“Oh, jeez,” Michael said, his complexion turning even redder than before.
“Why don’t you take Miriana over to the bar, Mike? You look like you could use a cold drink.”
Michael gave Jack an embarrassed look, then touched Miriana’s elbow. “Would you like something to drink?” he asked.
“I would love a Coca-Cola,” she answered, smiling radiantly.
As the two young people walked off, Bob came through the door onto the back patio and moved to where Jack stood on the lawn. He followed Jack’s gaze and said, “Don’t tell me that’s the Georgadoff girl.”
“Yep, that’s her,” Jack responded.
“She sure cleans up nice,” Bob said.
“Yeah. I hope you don’t mind my bringing her along. I told her she’d been invited. I thought she could use a change of scenery from her guarded room at Andrews Air Force Base. I had to sign a damn form taking responsibility for her custody. I didn’t think they were going to let her come with me without a squad of armed guards.”
“Of course she’s welcome. And from the look on Michael’s face she may be more welcome than we know.”
Jack smiled. “I noticed.”
Liz walked up to the two men. “She’s a little young for you, Jack, don’t you think?”
“I’m flattered you think she’s my date.”
Liz kissed Jack on the cheek. “Not such a big stretch, kiddo. You’re still one of the best looking men in the District.”
“Ah, Liz, you’ve got a bit of the blarney running through your veins.”
“Now, go talk to Michael,” she said. “Give him some good advice, like ‘Keep your head down in the Balkans.’”
Two hours later, the party was in full swing. Bob finally found Miriana alone for a moment. “It’s good to see you again, Miriana. How’s the debriefing going?”
“Fine! Is supposed to be over in few weeks.”
“I understand Jack has talked to you about a job.”
“Mr. Cole arranged job with American State Department. But I do not know vhat to do. If desk job is right for me.”
“What about the money the Agency gave you?”
“That is for family. For ven they get out of Serbia.”
“That’s a nice thought,” Bob said, not believing for a minute her family would survive the purges the Serbs were executing. For some reason, Miriana’s family never showed up at the Belgrade airstrip from which they were supposed to be evacuated.
Bob saw Liz waving at him to come to the house. He excused himself and started to walk away. He noticed Michael detach himself from a group of other young men and make a beeline for Miriana.
Looking through the kitchen window, Liz watched Michael cross the yard toward the young woman from Yugoslavia. She saw the expression on his face. It was the same one she’d seen on Bob’s face thirty-one years ago – the first time they met.