by Joseph Badal
Vitas drove to the street paralleling the Danforths’ street. He found the house directly behind their residence – the second one in from the corner.
He got out of the rental car and casually walked down the side of the second house and across the backyard. He gripped the top of the five-foot high cedar fence separating the backs of this property and the Danforth residence and pulled himself up. He rolled over the top of the fence, grunting loudly when he scraped his injured leg on the top of the boards, and landed on the Danforths’ lawn. He cursed at the pain and quick-limped across the grass to the patio. He found the French doors open, but the inside screen door locked.
With a switchblade, he easily pried open the simple lock. The knife put back into his pocket, he drew his 9mm pistol, and stepped into the empty kitchen. There was no one in the first floor rooms. Then he noticed the sound of water coursing through the house’s pipes. He slowly climbed the thickly carpeted steps to the second floor. At the top of the staircase, he heard the faint sound of splashing. After checking the other rooms on the second floor and finding no one there, he turned back toward the bathroom.
Water ran from the hot water spigot into the tub. The bath was beginning to ease the knotted muscles in Liz’s back. The soreness accumulated in a day of gardening, and the tension of the past few days, was ebbing away. Eyes closed, she luxuriated in the sensation, in the peace of the moment.
Then a creaking sound came from the hall outside the bathroom. Her eyes popped open. She shook her head as though questioning her fearful reaction – the sudden thumping of her heart and the tightness in her throat. After all, the old frame house tended to creak and groan. But she sat up when another creaking noise sounded. She was now alarmed. If it were Bob, she would have heard the front door slam.
A man stepped into the bathroom, a smile on his face. He was pointing a pistol at her, but she couldn’t look away from his face. The scar, the sick smile, the white eye, the gold tooth.
Liz’s stomach contracted into a tight ball. She started to scream while she scrambled to get out of the tub, but only managed a squeak before the man’s hand clamped over her mouth. He pushed her down, pressing her head under water.
She clawed his arm while her feet thrashed in the water. But he was too strong. She couldn’t get away. Then he pulled her up by the hair.
“Are you going to be good little girl?” he asked, mockingly, his accent heavily Slavic.
Liz drew in one breath, then retched.
“I asked you question,” he said, his hand clutching her hair, shaking her.
“Answer or I will see how long you can hold breath.”
Liz lashed out at him with her hand, her nails extended.
The man sidestepped and slammed his free hand down on her shoulder, forcing her underwater again. This time, she was sure he would drown her. She felt faint, disoriented when he finally pulled her up. She gasped for breath. Nausea assaulted her and she coughed up soapy water.
“Get out of tub,” he ordered, dragging her up by her hair.
Liz staggered out of the tub and groped for a towel. But he reached it first, stepped back two paces, and held it out at arm’s length. When she hesitated, he waved the pistol at her, motioning her to come toward him. Liz covered herself as best she could with her arms. The man stepped back farther, holding the towel just out of reach.
“You must be Mrs. Danforth,” he said. “Stay vhere you are. Let’s see vhat kind of toy Mr. Danforth plays with.”
Liz turned sideways, hunching over, covering herself again with both arms and hands.
“No, no,” he said, wagging his finger at her as though she were a naughty child. “No cheating; drop arms.”
Liz stifled a sob and bit her lip to keep it from trembling. “Who are you? How do you know my name?”
“Here are rules,” he said. “I ask questions; you answer questions. Now drop arms, or I vill put bullet in you.”
Her whole body shook with anger and fear. “Go to hell!” she said.
Still smiling, the man took two steps forward and struck her left shoulder with the gun barrel. An electric shiver of pain coursed down the length of her arm. Then it went numb and dangled uselessly by her side, exposing her breasts
“You see, I can make you do vhat I vant. You must decide how much pain you can stand. Now drop other arm.”
Liz obeyed.
He placed the muzzle of the gun on her breastbone and slid it down between her breasts, then moved it lower, to her stomach, to her crotch. He rested the muzzle there for several seconds, then moved it up again and poked it into the underside of her chin.
“Where is husband?”
That accent. He sounds Russian, or . . .. “He’s on his way home right now,” Liz said. She thought Bob would be late as usual, but hoped the lie would scare the man away.
He surprised her by saying, “Good. Ve vill give him great velcome.” He dropped the towel on the floor and lifted Liz’s bathrobe off a hook on the wall. “Put it on,” he said. “Ve vill have nice little chat until husband gets here.”
Feeling just beginning to return to her arm, Liz snatched her robe and slipped into it with her back to him, tying it tighter than necessary, as though to protect herself. Then she remembered Bob’s pistol in his bedroom wardrobe. If she could only get to that pistol.
Vitas grasped her arm and shoved her roughly from the bathroom, through the hall, and into the bedroom. She jerked out of his grasp and moved toward the wardrobe, but the man was too fast. He tripped her and snatched her off the floor with one hand as though she weighed nothing. He tossed her onto the antique four-poster bed, pulled a chair to the side of the bed, stared at her, and then glanced around the room. He returned his gaze to the bed and the nightstand. He lifted a Lladro figurine from the stand and ran his thumb over its smooth surface. He smiled at Liz, then threw the figure at the far wall.
Liz whimpered at the sound of the shattering porcelain.
“I like vhat I saw back in bathroom,” he said. “You must exercise. Not bad for woman your age. I bet husband loves your body. How about it, does husband love to fuck you?”
Liz felt a wave of revulsion. Bile hit her throat.
“Remember rules, Mrs. Danforth. I ask questions; you answer questions. Does husband like fucking you?”
“Go to hell!”
“Ah, a fighter! I love woman who fights back. It makes everything much more . . . rewarding.”
“What do you want?”
“There you go again, asking questions. But I guess telling vhy I am here vill not do any harm. But first, tell me your name. If I am going to tell you my deepest secrets, I must know your name.”
Liz refused to answer.
“Do not make me angry, Mrs. Danforth.”
“Elizabeth.”
“Elizabeth. A good name. Okay, Elizabeth. Vhy am I here? The answer is very simple. I am here to kill husband.”
Liz’s hand flew to her mouth.
“It is not that I vant to kill husband,” he continued calmly. “It makes no difference to me who I kill. It is just job. Mr. Danforth offended my employer, who is not man who takes offenses lightly.”
“Who’s your employer?” Liz asked, an icy feeling spreading through her.
Vitas blurted a laugh. “Very important man in Yugoslavia.”
Liz’s mouth dropped open. “What? That makes no sense,” she protested.
“But it does, dear Elizabeth,” Vitas said. “It makes all sense in vorld.”
She saw the man look at the photographs hanging on the bedroom wall and walk over to one of Michael in his Army uniform. “Your son is quite handsome, Elizabeth. I recognize him. How old is he? Twenty-five, twenty-six?”
Liz’s throat muscles and tendons constricted. A bilious taste invaded her throat again. Nausea overwhelmed her. “My son?” she said, a plaintive anguish etching the two words. “What do you mean, you recognize him?”
The man shot her a cockeyed look, as though he might hit her for ask
ing another question. But then he said, “I have seen your son, Elizabeth. Vith Miriana Georgadoff. They seem friendly.”
“How do you know?” Liz asked.
“Oh, I have vatched their little romance blossom. First, here, night of your party. Then in restaurant in Georgetown. And then at motel in Fayetteville. They do make handsome couple. But it vould be big mistake to get hopes up for grandchildren. I vill see that never happens.” Vitas laughed heartily, scratching the side of his head with the pistol barrel.
“My goodness, do you run out of questions, my dear?” Vitas laughed again. “Ve are having such nice conversation, I think I vill tell you whole story. Vould you like that, Elizabeth?”
Liz couldn’t control her trembling. A sense of evil seemed to envelope her.
“I follow Gypsy girl to Fayetteville,” Vitas said, “vhere I see your son. You know, Gypsy girl was my guest for few days.”
“You’re the one who took Miriana.”
“Right,” Vitas said. “But I make mistake. The bitch escaped, just vhen I vas about to enjoy myself. Such a tight body. And those breasts . . . gorgeous. I am very upset about losing her. It is no fun just beating and torturing voman unless I get to fuck her, too. And then kill her, of course. You vill see vhat I mean after I take care of your husband. You and I vill have some fun. You vill have to make up for my loss of the Gypsy. Afterwards, I vill return to Balkans and find your son. I know his Army unit went to Macedonia.”
Liz’s trembling escalated. But it wasn’t just her own fear of what this maniac would do to her driving it now. It was also visceral hatred and anger. Like hell you’ll hurt Michael, you maniac, she thought. She looked away from the man for an instant, hoping to divert his attention, and then grabbed the alarm clock off the nightstand and threw it at him. When he ducked, she jumped off the bed and flung herself at him.
The man leaped out of the chair and easily evaded Liz’s charge. She crashed into the dresser, but turned on him again. He slammed the pistol against the side of her head.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Bob drove the winding streets of his neighborhood, feeling exhausted after fighting traffic and taking a longer route home because of an accident on I-95. When he turned onto his own street, he saw the parked car and recognized Bart Newcombe, the CIA employee Jack had assigned to watch his house. He stopped in the middle of the street next to the car, lowered his passenger side window, and said, “How ya doin’?”
“Everything’s fine, Mr. Danforth. Coupla cars came by. I’m waiting for a callback on the most recent one. The DMV’s computers are down, so I haven’t heard anything yet. I checked on your wife about an hour ago.”
“Thanks! I’ll bring something out for you to drink.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
Bob pulled into his driveway and parked next to Liz’s Tahoe, and for the thousandth time told himself to clean out the garage so they could park the cars inside.
The sound of a door slamming brought her partially alert. The room spun around her. She tried to scream but something was stuffed in her mouth. Her hands and feet were bound to the bedposts with Bob’s neckties. She lay naked, spread-eagled and helpless.
“Honey, I’m home,” Bob yelled.
Oh, God! Don’t come up, she wanted to scream. Go outside. Get the man guarding the house. Call the police. Do anything, but don’t come up here!
Bob went through the rooms at the back of the house. He looked out at the fenced backyard. No Liz. Her car was in the driveway, so she must be upstairs. Passing through the living room, something glistening caught his eye. Water ran across the ceiling in a beaded procession and streamed down one of the walls, soaking the carpeting.
“Liz!” he yelled, racing up the stairs. Maybe she’d fallen in the tub. His shoes squished on the water-soaked carpeting outside the bathroom. He threw open the bathroom door. The water was running, the tub overflowing, but Liz wasn’t in it. He turned off the spigot and stepped out of the bathroom. The door to their bedroom was almost completely closed. Liz never closed that door, unless they had houseguests.
Bob felt a surge of adrenaline. There was a gun in the house, but it was in his dresser on the other side of the bedroom door. He turned around and went to Michael’s old room at the other end of the hall and grabbed a baseball bat that had been leaning in a corner there for years.
He ran to the master bedroom and threw himself against the door. It slammed back, but hit something softer than the wall, something that went “oof.” He swung around the door, holding the bat above his head.
Vitas bent to pick up the 9mm the door had knocked from his hand. Just when his fingers touched the pistol grip, a bat smashed into his left arm with incredible force. Despite the shock, he grabbed the weapon with his right hand and rolled with it, at the same moment ducking another swing of the bat. He came up on his knees and aimed the gun.
“Drop it,” he said through clenched teeth, his left arm hanging at his side.
Danforth hesitated, then dropped the bat on the carpet and backed away. His wife moaned and Danforth turned to look at her. Vitas loved the way Danforth’s face turned gray at the sight of his bound, gagged, and naked wife.
“Sit down,” Vitas ordered. “On floor. Now!”
When Danforth hesitated, Vitas stepped forward and kicked him in the groin. While Danforth fell, groaning, Vitas shook his injured arm to get feeling back into it. When he felt his hand tingle, he flexed the fingers and placed the pistol on the foot of the bed. He needed to tie up Danforth while the man was still incapacitated. He jerked Bob’s arms back and tied them with the belt from the woman’s bathrobe. Then he retrieved the pistol.
“All right, Danforth,” he said. “I vant to know about General Karadjic’s abduction. Who gave order for mission? Who carried it out? Your sweet little Olga could tell me only so much.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Danforth protested.
“Answer me or I vill cut your lovely little Elizabeth.” Vitas put the gun on the nearby dresser and took the switchblade from a pocket. He pressed a button to open the blade and laughed at the look of desperation in Danforth’s eyes.
“I came up with the plan to kidnap Karadjic,” Danforth said. “The people who grabbed him were military. I don’t have a clue who they were.”
“Now, now, Danforth, I know better. I spent hours vith Olga Madanovic. You remember Olga, don’t you? What a luscious creature she was. But her heart gave out. Spoiled my fun.”
“You bastard!” Danforth growled. The words rushed out like air escaping from a balloon.
“This is not really time for compliments, Mr. Danforth. I vant name of man who led Marine unit into Kosovo. Olga told me you vere along on mission. You must know Marine leader’s name. Answer me now, or I start cutting Elizabeth.”
“How am I supposed to remember the name of some kid I ran into in the middle of Albania?” Danforth said.
“You are fucking vith me!” Vitas dragged Danforth by the back of his jacket around to the side of the bed, so he could see his wife. He used his knife to cut a strip from the woman’s robe and bound Danforth’s ankles. Then Vitas bent over the bed and ripped the gag from the woman’s mouth. With just the tip of his knife, he cut her skin-deep from her navel to her pubic area.
At first, the woman didn’t react. Then the pain and the sight of her blood seeping along the fine incision must have hit her. She screamed.
Danforth struggled against his restraints and yelled, “Don’t!”
Vitas smiled while looking at the blood leaking onto Liz’s abdomen and dripping down her side. He reached over and slid a finger along the blood trail, then sucked on the finger, smacking his lips. “Isn’t this fun?” he asked.
A feral sound came from Danforth, making Vitas laugh. He tossed the knife on the bed between Elizabeth’s legs, walked over to where Bob lay on the floor, and said, “I am going to enjoy your wife, and you vill have the pleasure of vatching. Then I vill kill you. And, when I get bac
k to the Balkans, I vill find a way to murder your precious son.” He punched Danforth in the face and watched him fall backwards. He kicked Danforth’s leg but got no response. The man was unconscious. Vitas then stuffed the gag back into Liz’s mouth and walked down the hall to the front bedroom. He stepped to the window and parted the curtains a few inches. The man in the car was still parked out front.
Liz desperately pulled on the ties around her wrists and ankles while the man was out of the room. One of the ties around her wrist began to rip. Straining again, she felt the fabric tear some more. Scrunching her fingers together to make her hand as small as possible, she tried to yank it free. It wouldn’t come. She raised her head. Bob lay motionless on the floor.
Come on Liz, she thought, you can do it. Try harder! She jerked her arm with all her strength and felt her hand pull free. She reached over with her now-free hand and loosened the knot to free her other arm. Once again she glanced in Bob’s direction. His eyelids were fluttering.
Liz sat up and grabbed the knife. She sliced through the ties holding her ankles. Squishing sounds came from the hall. The man was returning.
She rolled off the side of the bed and crouched against the wall. When the man stepped into the room, she launched herself at him and plunged the knife into his thigh until it hit bone, then wrapped her arms around his leg and sank her teeth through his pants into his calf.
The man bent, grabbed her hair, and violently yanked her head back. “You bitch! You will pay for that.”
He lifted her off the floor, one hand clutching her hair, the other around her neck, and threw her at the bed. She landed facedown on the mattress.
He wrapped his hands around her ankles and pulled her back off the bed. She felt her nose break when her face hit the floor.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
In the car outside, the cell phone squawked. Agent Bart Newcombe pushed a button on the hands-free console and a frantic voice filled the inside of the vehicle. “Bart, are you there?” the voice shouted.
