EVIL DEEDS, PART II, Chapters 15-20

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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

At sunset on Sunday, Olga again sat next to the Gypsy girl on their usual park bench. She briefly wondered if the girl really understood the risk, but quickly forced the thought from her head. That wasn’t her business. The mission was all that counted.

“Here’s the deal,” Olga said. “No negotiations, no changes. Take it or leave it. You understand?”

The Gypsy girl nodded.

“The money will be placed in your Swiss account after you do as you’re told,” she said.

“That was not our deal,” Miriana exclaimed, her voice rising. She kneaded her hands in her lap, scrunching the fabric of her dress between her fingers. “We want the money up front. We–”

Olga saw fear in the girl’s eyes. “Tough shit,” she said. “You do the job, first.” It was time the girl understood who was boss in this matter.

Miriana visibly gulped. “What do you want of me?” she asked. “What must I do to earn this money?”

“I’m going to tell you slowly, and I want you to repeat it – word for word. I want no misunderstandings or screwups. Your life . . . and mine . . . could depend on it.”

Miriana leaned forward and stared raptly at Olga. She listened to the blond woman’s whispered instructions. Her eyes grew bigger and bigger while Olga talked.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“One of these days you’re going to knock the door right off its hinges,” Liz said when Bob walked into the kitchen. Her voice displayed mock irritation. It was just part of their normal daily routine.

Bob paused. “Sorry. I can’t seem to close it softly. I’ll try to remember next time.”

“No you won’t,” she said, feigning anger. Then she turned from emptying the dishwasher, a glass in each hand, and gave Bob a kiss. “What are you doing home so early? The last time you came home unannounced was two years ago, when you were being sent off on some cockamamie mission to some godawful third world country in Africa.” Liz laughed at the absurdity of her comment. But then she noticed the frown on Bob’s suddenly reddening face.

“Bob, don’t tell me you’re going into the field,” she said. Her heart lurched. “That’s crazy! You promised that wouldn’t happen again.”

He hunched his shoulders and spread his arms. “It can’t be helped.”

She scowled.

“Calm down, honey. Getting upset isn’t going to change anything.”

She put the two glasses down on the kitchen counter. “Goddamit! What’s wrong with the Agency?” She stared at him, stepped into his arms, and began to cry. “Oh, Bob,” she said. “Not after all these years. Not now.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Two days later, Bob arrived in Belgrade on a commercial flight from Toronto, Canada. He took a cab from the airport to the Hotel Belgrade. After doing a quick inspection of his room, checking for listening devices and cameras, he reached between the bed’s mattress and box springs and found the 9mm and two fully loaded magazines Stan “Q” Bartell had arranged to be put there. After removing another magazine from the pistol and checking to make sure the chamber was empty, he tested the trigger pull. Satisfied, he replaced the magazine and put the weapon back under the mattress.

Deciding to reconnoiter the hotel, and to establish his cover as a reporter, he went down to the hotel bar, figuring that’s where he’d find members of the press contingent. He chose a guy sitting by himself at the bar, a laminated ID badge on his vest, sipping a drink.

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