CHAPTER SIXTY
The Serb leader’s face appeared dark and menacing. His eyes looked red, satanic. He glared at the aide approaching the other side of his desk. The man stopped in mid-stride.
“I gave you an order,” the leader said, his words unnaturally constrained, as though someone were choking him with a rope. “I told you to bring that sonofabitch Artyan Vitas to me. Where the hell is he?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. President,” the aide said, his face flushed with fear. “He . . . Mr. Vitas is . . ..” The man’s Adams apple bobbed and his hands began to quiver.
“Speak up, you imbecile.” The leader picked up the brass base to his pen set and hurled it across the room, narrowly missing the aide’s head. The man dropped to the floor, cowering, his arms covering his head in anticipation of further missiles coming his way.
“Stand up, you sniveling dunce,” the President screamed.
The aide scrambled to his feet. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He rubbed his hands together, all the while staring at the floor, an eye cocked in case he became a target again. “Mr. Vitas is dead. The doctor says he died of rabies.”
The President hesitated. He couldn’t believe what he’d been told. Artyan Vitas couldn’t be dead. The man was indestructible. But he knew his aide was telling the truth. The sniveling idiot didn’t have the guts to lie to him. Besides, if Vitas were alive he would have been here by now. “How appropriate,” the President said coldly. “He always was a mad dog.” A short, bitter laugh escaped his lips. “Well, don’t just stand there. Bring that fat-assed General Plodic to me.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
“Morning, Captain,” Sergeant Major Luther Jewell said. “How ya feelin’?”
Michael sat on the side of his bed in the almost empty, giant hospital tent, holding his breath and slowly tying his bootlaces. He looked up at Jewell and grimaced. “Like I just played four quarters against the Washington Redskins – without pads.”
“A little sore, huh?”
“Yeah, just a little,” Michael said, groaning as he stood up.
“Jeez, Captain, you sound like my old granpappy.”
“I feel like your old granpappy, Sergeant Major. But it could’ve been a lot worse. Now tell me what you’re doing here. It can’t be just a get-well visit.”
“Colonel Sweeney wants to see you. He knows you’re being released and wanted me to escort you to his tent.”
“Well, lead the way. But take baby steps.”
Jewell chuckled and set out toward the headquarters tent with Michael walking stiffly beside him.
When they reached Sweeney’s headquarters, Michael waited just inside the entrance while Jewell walked across the enclosure and said a few words to Colonel Sweeney. The Colonel looked at Michael, smiled, stood up, and walked toward him. Michael met him halfway and came to attention. He started to salute, but he found he couldn’t raise his right hand all the way up to his forehead.
Sweeney saw the grimace on Michael’s face. “We will dispense with the military courtesy until you’re fully recovered,” he said with a smile.
“Thank you, sir. I don’t even remember doing anything to my arm. I got aches where I didn’t know I had muscles.”
Sweeney laughed. “The surgeon tells me you’re going to be fine. Just need a couple weeks of rest.”
“The only way I’ll get any rest is to get away from the field hospital. They checked for signs of concussion, cleaned up about a hundred cuts and abrasions, and hooked me to an IV for dehydration. That was bad enough. Now they poke me, prod me, and, every time I fall asleep, they wake me up to take my blood pressure or give me a pill, or something.”
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EVIL DEEDS
Mystery / ThrillerEvil Deeds is the first in a 4-book series that follows the Danforth family from the kidnapping of their 2-year-old son in Greece in 1971 to present day. The book (and series) is a roller coaster ride of action and suspense. This book, as with all o...
