EVIL DEEDS

EVIL DEEDS, PART I, Chapters 45-47

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

 

It took the doctor at King George Hospital in Thessaloniki less than an hour to clean and dress Bob’s wound and administer antibiotics. It took another four days for Bob to recover from an infection that could have cost him his leg. Liz and Michael barely left his side the entire time.

George Makris never made it out of the hospital alive. His wounds were too severe; he’d lost too much blood.

Bob exulted over the return of his son but, at the same time, agonized over George’s death. The man had given his life to save Michael. He thought long and hard about what he could do for George’s family, to rehabilitate George’s reputation. He discussed it with Liz. She was the one who came up with the idea.

Bob and Liz stood on a raised platform next to George Makris’ parents, before a phalanx of television cameras and reporters. They read from a prepared statement, telling about George’s kidnapping years ago, his return to and arrest in Greece, the treatment he’d received by Greek authorities, his role in trying to find Michael and in rescuing the Greek infant they’d brought back from Bulgaria, and, finally, his death. Bob also revealed the Bulgarian Government’s part in kidnapping Greek children. The story made headlines in the Greek papers and was highlighted on all the Greek television stations. It burst on the international press like a 10-megaton hydrogen bomb.

Bob had been ordered to keep his mouth shut about his and George’s little excursion into Bulgaria, and about Bulgarian involvement in child kidnappings. The woman from the U.S. Embassy in Athens had explained that divulging what he knew would be politically naive and could be damaging to Bob’s military career. The press conference had been in violation of that order.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Stefan Radko sipped the raki from the glass in his hand. He stared at the television screen with an intensity that made his eyeballs ache and his brain fuzzy. The American Army officer read from a piece of paper and told the world about his son’s kidnapping, about the death of a man named George Makris, and many other things. The words the American spoke barely made an impression on Stefan. The man’s comments about how Makris was shot in an orphanage filtered through Stefan’s anger. He knew he had shot and killed the man, and that made him feel good for a second or two.

He concentrated on the American’s face, memorizing every feature. “Robert Danforth,” he said over and over again. “Robert Danforth, the man who murdered my only child, Gregorie. Robert Danforth, you will die a horrible death.” He pointed a finger at the television screen. “I will live to see you dead.”

Stefan finished the remainder of his drink and poured another measure of the strong Turkish alcohol. He continued staring at the television.

Vanja entered the room. “Were you talking to someone?” she asked.

Stefan swallowed half his drink. His eyes still glued to the television screen, he said, “A dead man. I was talking to a dead man.”

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Two days after the press conference, Bob limped across the carpet, came to attention, and reported to Colonel Gray, who sat on the other side of a desk, bracketed by the American flag and the unit flag.

“Christ, Bob, take a seat,” Gray said. He took a deep breath and grimaced as though he had a sudden pain. Exhaling slowly, he pulled open his desk drawer and removed a bottle of antacid tablets.

“Damn ulcer,” he said. He poured water from a carafe into a glass, popped two tablets into his mouth, and washed them down with a swig of water. Bob waited while the Colonel took another deep breath.

“Well, your trip into Bulgaria ruffled a few feathers,” Gray said. “But that press conference really did it.” Gray looked uneasy, almost sick.

“Yes, Colonel,” Bob said. “I hope I haven’t caused you any trouble.”

Gray waved a hand. “Nothing I can’t take care of. But I’ve got orders for you.” Gray paused and cleared his throat. An apologetic look crossed his face. “I’m damned pissed off about this, Bob.” He reached across his desk and handed Bob a sheet of paper.

Bob read the document, then looked over at Colonel Gray. “This is a request from me to resign my commission and be discharged, Colonel, I–“

“That’s right, Bob. The Army decided your trip to Bulgaria wasn’t in the best interests of the military services. Disobeying the order to keep your mouth shut was a foolish thing to do. You’ve got forty-eight hours to pack up. You’ll be honorably discharged at Fort Dix, New Jersey.”

Bob realized his mouth was hanging open. He slammed it shut. He felt as though he would choke. When confident he could speak without his voice croaking, he said, “What if I refuse to sign, Colonel?”

“Then you’ll be the oldest Captain in the U.S. Army. They’ll never promote you. I’ve already tried to stop this, Bob. The decision’s been made.”

“This hurts, Colonel,” Bob said, his face feeling flushed. “The Army was going to be my career.” Bob clenched his jaw and lasered his eyes at Gray. “Colonel, I’d do the same thing all over again. Even knowing this would happen.”

Gray smiled at Bob. “So would I, Bob.”

“I guess I’d better go home and tell Liz,” he said. “Am I excused, sir?”

Gray stood and came around his desk. Bob also got up and came to attention. “At ease,” Gray said. “I want you to know I don’t agree with the Pentagon’s decision. The Army needs officers like you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Bob said. “Looks like I’d better start thinking about another career.”

Gray reached into his shirt pocket and extracted a business card. “This man asked me a bunch of questions about you. He seemed impressed with what you did, going into Bulgaria, bringing back the little girl.” He handed the card to Bob.

“Cultural attaché? What does he want?”

“He wants to talk to you about a job.”

“Sir, if the Army doesn’t want me, I doubt the State Department is going to feel I’m diplomatic material.”

Gray smiled at Bob. “For your information, that cultural attaché business at the Embassy in Athens is nothing but a front. He’s CIA.”