Evil Deeds (Bob Danforth 1) by Joseph Badal Page A

be best if you didn’t know our schedule,” George interjected.
    “Look,” Meers said. “I want to help you. If you tell me when you plan to cross the border, I can arrange to get a message to the Bulgarian Secret Police through one of our double agents. Tell them a saboteur will try to cross into Bulgaria – at some entry point far away from Petrich. It would distract, maybe draw away some guards from your area.”
    “We’ll reconnoiter the crossing point while it’s still light,” Bob said. “We’re leaving–”
    But George cut him off. “We’re starting out early in the morning, the day after tomorrow,” he said.
    “I’ll set things in motion,” Meers replied. He stood and looked down at Bob and George. “You guys don’t have a hope and prayer, you know?” Then he walked away from the table and disappeared around the corner.
    “Why’d you lie to Meers about when we’re going across?” Bob asked. “Don’t you trust him?”
    “I believe he’s on our side. But what he doesn’t know can’t hurt us.”
    They found Liz sitting on the living room floor surrounded by backpacks and an assortment of gear.
    “Did you get everything?” George asked.
    Liz picked up a sheet of yellow notepaper and read off the list. “The camouflaged clothing is over there,” she said, pointing toward the couch. “Black grease paint, ropes, a grappling hook, flashlights, a first-aid kit, and two .45 caliber pistols – all this stuff on the floor will go in the packs. One of the pistols is yours, Bob. Will Spence dropped the other one off about an hour ago. He never asked one question about why you wanted it. ”
    Bob knelt down next to Liz and kissed the top of her head. “Thank you,” he said.
    She gave him a quick smile. “I’ll fill the canteens and make sandwiches in the morning. I put the money Mom and Dad sent in your backpack – ten thousand in large bills. My father said to tell you something.” She dropped her voice to a lower register: ‘‘ ‘You tell Bob that good, hard American currency can sway the mind of even the most dogmatic Communist.’ ”
    “What’s this?” Bob asked, lifting a small, soft-sided bag from the top of one of the open backpacks.
    “That’s for Michael,” she said.
    Bob unzipped the bag and saw one of Michael’s shirts, a pair of shorts, underwear, sandals, two cans of juice, and a teddy bear.
    That night, Bob dreamed he heard Michael: “Daddy, Daddy!” But he couldn’t find his son. Gone! Gone! “Michael, where are you?” Bob called in his dream. A strange woman held his son and Michael called her “Mama.” Then he saw wave after wave of young men – Soviet soldiers – marching in Red Square, wearing high-brimmed Russian Army hats and carrying AK-47 assault rifles. They yelled in cadence, “Down with the American dogs; death to Robert Danforth.” Michael, now a tall young man, marched in the middle of the front row of soldiers, yelling the loudest.
     

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
    Katrina Vulovich tried to force from her memory the obligatory visit to her fat boss’ Sofia apartment – his lying on top of her, sweating and grunting. She owed him for giving her the job at the orphanage. If she didn’t service him on demand, she’d find herself back in the fields of a government collective farm.
    As she walked back to her parents’ apartment in the center of the Bulgarian capital to pick up her little Andreas, she talked to herself, her hands moving as though she were gesturing while talking to another person. She ignored the stares of passersby. “What choice do I have? I have to let him fuck me. It only lasted thirty minutes, but it seemed like an eternity.” She shivered. “That fat, stinking body!” she said. “Things will be better as soon as I have Andreas in my arms.”
    Her mother answered her knock on the apartment door.
    “Ah, Katrina, it’s you.”
    “Hello, Mama. And how is Andreas?”
    “No problems. Papa has been playing with him on the