Evil Deeds (Bob Danforth 1)

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Evil Deeds (Bob Danforth 1) Page 22

by Joseph Badal


  Bob shoved Turner. Turner and his wheeled chair slid three feet and slammed into the wall. Two framed photographs – the North Carolina Governor and the U. S. President – fell from the wall and crashed to the floor.

  Red-faced, Turner stood and straightened his tie. He scowled at Bob, then at Collins. “You’ll pay for that,” he hissed, and marched out of the room, followed by his three fellow agents. The last agent slammed the door behind him.

  “Normally, I would have stepped between you two. I don’t like people messing up my office. But I sure enjoyed watching you knock that banty rooster down a peg or two,” Collins said.

  “I must be getting cranky in my old age.”

  Collins shrugged. “Ain’t no big thang.”

  Turner and his agents left the Sheriff’s office and waited on the sidewalk in front of the Fayetteville Municipal Building. He pointed at two of the agents and said, “You go back in that room and listen closely. I want to know everything that CIA asshole says and does.” When the two men hesitated, he shouted, “Go! Now!”

  As the agents climbed back up the stairs, he turned to the remaining agent, Geoffrey Fricke. “I want you to go out to Ft. Bragg,” he told him. “Locate Michael Danforth’s commanding officer. Leave the impression the young Captain fucked up in a very big way. He’s hiding something, and I want to know what it is.” He ignored the sour look Fricke gave him. He didn’t give a shit what the agent thought.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “Jack Cole!”

  “Jack, it’s Bob.”

  “How’s it going down there?”

  “I’m in Sheriff Collins’ office in Fayetteville, North Carolina,” Bob said, catching the Sheriff’s eye. “So far, we got zip. Just the information Michael gave us.”

  “Hmm. What did Mike–”

  “Michael had nothing to do with her going to Fayetteville,” Bob interrupted.

  “I’m glad to hear it. Just raising the issue with you wasn’t easy for me.”

  “I understand, Jack. Miriana got tired of confinement at Andrews and Michael was the only person she’d met outside the CIA. She took off on her own.”

  “What do you think happened to the girl?”

  “It’s pretty obvious. Someone snatched her. Too many things have happened recently. You connect the dots and a picture starts to take shape. The incident with the umbrella on Connecticut Avenue; the murders of Olga Madanovic and Darius Alexandrovic. Now Miriana’s disappearance. If we assume the attack with the poisoned umbrella was directed at me, then every one of the targets or victims was directly or indirectly connected to Karadjic’s kidnapping. The Serbs are bent on revenge. They’ve put a killer on the ground here in the States.”

  “How are things working out with the FBI?”

  “Don’t ask. The head guy here is a royal ass.”

  “Bob, you know we didn’t have a choice. A kidnapping on American soil is FBI turf.”

  “I know, Jack. But this bastard down here – guy named Turner – thinks Michael and Miriana set up a scam to get her away from protective custody.”

  “Jesus! He can’t be that stupid. We were going to turn her loose in a few weeks anyway.”

  When Bob didn’t reply, Jack said, “That stupid?”

  “Yep,” Bob said. “And arrogant. A bad combination.”

  After Bob and Jack finished their conversation, Bob dialed his home number. Liz answered, obvious hesitation in her voice.

  “Liz, it’s me,” Bob said. “Everything all right?”

  “Fine, honey. How are things down there? How’s Michael?”

  “Miriana’s disappeared and Michael’s sick about it. The FBI agent-in-charge is pissed off at me. And there’s a hired killer on the loose. Other than that, everything’s great.”

  “Try to keep an eye on Michael, Bob. Our son’s in love. He’s got to be hurting.”

  “Christ, Liz. They just met. How in the world do you know he’s in love with Miriana?”

  “Take my word for it. I just know.”

  Bob scratched his head after replacing the receiver.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “I understand Colonel Dennis Sweeney is commanding officer here,” FBI Special Agent Geoffrey Fricke said, presenting his ID to the Sergeant Major seated at the desk nearest the entry. “I’d like to speak with him.”

  The Sergeant Major looked up under bushy eyebrows at the man standing in front of his desk. He sized him up. Five feet, ten inches tall, short blond hair, ruddy complexion, powerfully built, aviator sunglasses, dark suit and spit-shined shoes. Suit! FEEB. I hate suits, he thought. I hate FEEB suits even worse.

  “So you want to talk with Colonel Sweeney, sir,” Jewell said, running a hand over his shaved head. “What can I tell the Colonel about the nature of your business?”

  “That’s all you can tell him, Sergeant, that it’s my business,” Fricke said in an authoritative, self-important tone – just as he’d been taught at the academy. Just as he’d done hundreds of times before, intimidating people.

  Jewell slowly rose from his chair, pushing himself up on massive arms, and glared with cobalt blue eyes at the FBI agent. His tailored, short-sleeved uniform shirt fit his body in a way that accentuated his muscular build. Standing and looking down at the man from his six-foot-five-inch vantage point only heightened the effect. The veins in his neck bulged and his head reddened. It was the same purposeful, intimidating tactic he’d used many times with recalcitrant soldiers.

  “Sir,” he said in a steely voice, “I’ll ask you once more, and only once more. If you choose to continue to be discourteous, I will have your ass thrown off my base. Do we understand one another?” He paused, then again asked, “What . . . is . . . the . . . nature . . . of . . . your . . . business?”

  Fricke visibly swallowed and gave Jewell an apologetic look – as though he’d come to the conclusion he’d misjudged the NCO. “Sergeant, I need to talk with Colonel Sweeney about one of the officers in his command,” he said, in a much more cooperative tone. “We have reason to believe he has broken the law.”

  “It’s Sergeant Major, not Sergeant, sir. And what officer are we talking about?”

  “Captain Michael Andrew Danforth,” Fricke said, adding “Sergeant Major,” as an afterthought.

  “Bullshit!” Jewell said, the word tumbling off his tongue before he knew it. He wheeled around and knocked on the Colonel’s door, then entered, closing it behind him. “I got a FEEB out here demanding to see you. He claims Captain Danforth’s in some kind of trouble.”

  “FEEB? You mean FBI? Looking for Mike Danforth? Danforth’s in trouble? What kind of trouble?”

  “The guy says he broke the law.”

  “Bullshit!” the Colonel spat.

  “That’s what I said, Colonel.”

  “Well, send him in. And then find Captain Danforth. Have him wait down the hall until I tell you to bring him here. I want to find out what this is all about before I put his neck on the line.”

  “Yes, sir!” Jewell returned to his desk, escorted the agent into Colonel Sweeney’s office, then returned to his desk. “Corporal Cunningham,” he yelled to the clerk sitting in the office directly across the hall from his, “get on the radio and track down Captain Danforth. According to the training schedule, his unit’s out on the grenade range. The Colonel wants to see him NOW.”

  “What’s going on, Sergeant Major?” Cunningham asked while he reached for his telephone.

  Jewell’s voice suddenly changed, dropping several octaves, his words rumbling as though spoken inside a fifty-five-gallon drum. “Corporal Cunningham, unless you can show me a typewritten, military order, signed by at least a full Colonel, saying you have a right to know the reason behind my orders, I expect you to do as I tell you – without hesitation and without any goddam questions. Got it?”

  “Yes, Sergeant Major,” Cunningham said meekly.

  “Now explain this to me one more time,” Colonel Sweeney said to Special Agent Fricke in a reasonable,
quiet tone, while he leaned forward in his chair, hands folded together on his desk blotter. “You say Captain Danforth, Captain Michael Danforth, conspired with a CIA-protected witness – some gal named Georgadoff – to fake her kidnapping. She’s a foreign national and he’s got her holed up somewhere. And he’s risking national security. Is that about it?”

  Fricke nodded.

  “Before I call Captain Danforth in here, would you care to share with me what proof you have to substantiate these accusations?”

  “I don’t need to, Colonel. This is government business involving national security,” Fricke said.

  “You’re right, Mr. Fricke. You don’t have to tell me squat. But in case you haven’t noticed, I’m also involved with national security.”

  Fricke opened his mouth as though to interject, but Sweeney’s raised hand cut him off. “You’re going to hear me out. Don’t try to interrupt me. Captain Danforth is the finest company-grade officer in my command. He’s got generals’ stars waiting for him down the road – unless some bullshit allegation like this gets into his record. I’m going to have Danforth brought in here. But I’m going to sit in on your meeting with him. You fuck with this young man without good reason and I’ll call my cousin, the esteemed senior United States Senator from my home state of Tennessee.” He punched a button on his intercom and said, “Sergeant Major Jewell, send Captain Danforth in here.”

  Sweeney and Fricke stared at one another, neither saying a word, until Michael entered. Ignoring Fricke, Michael came to attention in front of the Colonel’s desk and saluted. “Captain Danforth reporting as ordered, sir.”

  “At ease, Captain,” Sweeney said. “Take a seat.” He waited for Michael to sit down and then said, “This gentleman is Special Agent Fricke with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. He’s investigating the disappearance of a Ms. Georgadoff and is going to ask you a few questions. If you don’t fully understand a question, make him repeat it until you do understand it.”

  “Yes, sir,” Michael said. Then turning to the FBI agent, he asked, “Have you found Miriana? Is she all right?”

  Fricke grilled Michael for forty-five minutes. Michael told him the same things he’d told Sheriff Collins and his father.

  “Well, that should just about do it, Colonel Sweeney, Captain Danforth,” Fricke said at the end of it. “I appreciate your time.”

  “You’re quite welcome,” Colonel Sweeney said in a honey-sweet tone, all the while thinking, Asshole. “Always glad to assist the FBI.” The Colonel then called Jewell on his intercom and told him to come to his office. When the NCO entered the office, Sweeney said, “Sergeant Major Jewell, would you show our guest out?”

  “Yes, sir. Be happy to.” The agent followed the Sergeant Major through the building and out the front door to the parking lot. Jewell started to go back into the building, then suddenly turned and said, “Agent Fricke, it may not be my place to say anything; but I want you to know there’s no way in hell Captain Danforth would ever do anything illegal – except maybe drive his Porsche faster than the speed limit. He’s one fine officer.”

  For a moment, Fricke looked as though he was considering what he’d just heard. Then he said, “Thanks for your input, Sergeant Major.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Vitas dumped the pizza box on the kitchen table and walked into the bedroom. “Hungry?” he asked.

  Miriana grunted into her gag.

  “You promise to behave and I’ll let you eat.”

  She nodded.

  Vitas removed the gag and undid the cloth knots of her restraints. But then he tied her ankles together. He led her to the table, watching her breasts bounce while she hopped on bound feet. “You have nice breasts,” he said. He reached over and squeezed one until she screamed in pain. Laughing, he shoved her into a chair and slid the pizza box over to her.

  Miriana wolfed the food, aware the man never took his eye off her. She felt her skin crawl under his gaze. But it had been over twenty hours since her last meal – dinner with Michael – so she ignored him and ate. The thought of Michael made her eyes fill with tears. She couldn’t stop herself.

  She finished two slices of pizza and three glasses of water, then sat back in her chair and brushed her hair away from her face. “Can I put some clothes on?”

  “No!”

  “What do you want with me?” she asked.

  Vitas half rose in his chair and swung his arm across the table. He hit Miriana across the cheek with his open hand and knocked her to the floor. “You don’t ask questions!” he yelled. “I ask, you answer.”

  Miriana touched her cheek. A sob escaped her lips. Tears now flowed freely.

  Vitas came around the table and sniffed the air. “My God, you smell like piss! You stink!” He grabbed her arm and lifted her up.

  “Get undressed.”

  “I can’t take off my clothes with my ankles tied,” Miriana whimpered.

  Vitas took a bone-handled knife from a pants pocket and flipped open the five-inch blade. He sliced through the cloth binding her ankles. He shoved her toward the bathroom door. “Get your ass in there and clean up. And wash your clothes while you’re at it.”

  When Miriana started to close the bathroom door behind her, Vitas kicked it open. He pulled a chair over and sat down.

  Miriana hesitated.

  “Get in the shower,” Vitas shouted, jabbing the knife toward her.

  His voice echoed off the walls of the tiny bathroom, making Miriana jump. She stepped into the shower and reached for the handle on the glass shower door; but then she jerked her hand back, seemingly afraid to do anything without the man’s permission.

  Vitas smiled. Things were going so well.

  Miriana felt her lower lip begin to tremble. The man’s dead eye seemed to stare alternately at her face, her breasts, her crotch. In his good eye, she saw no sign of . . . anything. Nothing. Not even lust. She felt icy-cold splinters of fear. She hugged herself when she stepped into the shower. Turning her back to the man, she pulled the shower knob and tensed when the cold water hit her. Her breath caught in her lungs and she backed away from the icy spray. She heard the man chuckling. It took all the strength she had not to void her bladder again.

  “Now take off your T-shirt and panties,” the man growled.

  Miriana shook. Fear and cold water combined to make her feel as though she was losing control of her body. She whimpered while stripping off her T-shirt and panties.

  “Wash your clothes,” the man yelled.

  She did as she was ordered.

  “Now your body,” he said. “Use the soap.”

  Again, she followed his instructions.

  “No, no,” he screamed, “slower. First your hair. Yes, that’s it. Now your neck. Good, good. Now your breasts.”

  His voice now seemed strained, higher pitched. Miriana mechanically did what he told her to do, washing every part of herself while he continued to stare.

  After washing herself, he ordered her to pick up her clothes off the shower floor and squeeze the water from them. She hung them over the shower door and reached for a towel. But the man was too fast. He snatched the towel off the towel bar and dangled it out in front of her. Then he dropped it to the floor. A smirk showed on his face.

  He crooked a finger at her, beckoned her toward him. Miriana couldn’t move. She stood frozen in place, her arms wrapped around herself. He reached out, grasped her hair, and jerked her forward, crushing her body against his.

  “Dry yourself,” he ordered, sitting back in the chair, “and get in bed. It’s time.”

  Miriana bent and snatched up the towel. While she wrapped it around herself, she noticed the daylight that made it past the bathroom curtain was fading. It would be dark soon. That thought made her feel even more frightened. The man had returned to the chair in the bathroom door opening. He just sat there, staring. She tried to tighten the towel around her. He stood up and calmly ripped it away. He grabbed her by the hair again, jerked her head back, an
d slowly ran the tip of his knife over her face, neck, breasts, stomach, crotch. She stiffened, then began shaking uncontrollably.

  Vitas felt ecstatic – her fear, her smell, the texture and color of her skin, her supple body, all made him delirious. He lifted her and carried her almost tenderly to the bed.

  He took one of Miriana’s nipples between two fingers and squeezed it, hard. She slashed at him with her nails, raking the side of his face. She kicked him in the gut.

  He was exhilarated. That’s more like it, he thought. But he had to teach her who was boss. He swung his fist and struck her head. “Uh,” she moaned, then crumpled on the bed.

  Vitas tried to rouse her, but she didn’t move. He’d hit her too hard. “Shit, shit, shit!” he cursed. He gagged and retied her to the bedposts and tossed the bedspread over her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  In his hiding place under the cabin floor, Danny heard the door slammed, the sound of the car engine starting, and the noise of tires on the shell driveway. When all was quiet, he opened the trapdoor and climbed back up into the cabin.

  The woman still lay on the bed, gagged, with her hands and feet tied to the bedposts. Danny noticed new cuts and swellings on her face.

  He gently touched her shoulder. “You awake?” he asked.

  The woman groaned; her eyelids flickered.

  “Hey, lady, you awake?”

 

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