by Joseph Badal
“How’s the father doing?” the officer asked.
“He’s tough – a lot tougher than I would be under similar circumstances. But being here must give him some hope.” Zavitsanos turned to walk back to Danforth.
“You know we’re wasting our time here, Inspector,” the officer said to Zavitsanos’ back.
Zavitsanos spun around. “Kopane! The last thing we need around here is that attitude.”
The officer’s face reddened. “Yes, sir.”
The Inspector walked away. Bad attitude or not, he thought, the policeman was probably right.
CHAPTER NINE
Janos Milatko stirred. Something off in the distance wasn’t right. Pounding. Loud. Insistent. He came awake. Three rapid knocks, followed by a pause and then two knocks spaced around a three-second pause told him all he needed to know – it was someone from his clan. Janos picked up his watch off the nightstand. Three a.m. He glanced at his wife. Still asleep.
Janos slipped out of bed and padded barefoot across the wood floor of his tiny Athens apartment. He opened the door a crack and saw his uncle, Stefan Radko, the last person he expected or wanted to see. Stefan started to push his way in but Janos put a finger to his lips and pointed out into the hall.
“What do you want, Uncle?” Janos asked, after stepping into the dimly lit hall and closing the door to a crack behind him.
“I need your help,” Stefan said. “Vanja and I have to get out of Athens.”
“I left the family life, Uncle,” Janos said. He hated that his voice quavered. “You know that. I want nothing to do with you or your schemes.”
Stefan’s smile was like a knife. “I wonder what your sweet little Greek wife would do if she found out you were Rom.”
Janos’ shoulders drooped.
“All you have to do is drive Vanja and me up north, just across from Petrich. I know your delivery route takes you to Thessaloniki and Kavalla in northern Greece. So you take a little detour, drop us off near the Bulgarian border. Then you can be on your way. And I will never tell a soul about being a Gypsy.” He clapped Janos on the arm so hard the young man fell back against the doorjamb.
Janos looked at Stefan’s bushy eyebrows and full mustache. They made him appear almost diabolical. He remembered stories he’d heard while growing up about his uncle. Stefan was a legend and an outcast. Some called him a Gypsy hero; others thought him the most ruthless man in all of Romany.
“I have to drive a shipment of televisions north this morning. My truck is already loaded.”
“Then let’s leave now, nephew. No point in putting off the inevitable.” Stefan raised his hand as though to slap his nephew again, but Janos flinched and ducked away.
Janos sighed. “Okay! Wait downstairs; I need to get dressed.”
“Sure, whatever you say.”
Stefan walked away down the hall, whistling softly, as though he didn’t have a thing to be concerned about.
“Malaka,” Janos cursed.
Stefan ordered his nephew to open the panel truck’s overhead door. When Janos did so, Vanja stepped out of an alcove in the adjoining building, carrying a child bundled in her arms.
“What the hell is this?” Janos exclaimed. “You said it was just you and Vanja. Whose kid is that?”
Ignoring Janos’ outburst, Stefan said to Vanja, “Take the boy into the back of the truck and lie down behind the boxes. Keep him quiet.” Vanja complied, and Stefan pulled down the overhead door and latched it in place. Then he turned toward Janos, grabbed him by the front of his jacket, and pulled him to his chest. “Listen to me, you gutless prick. You are not to ask any questions.”
“Ye . . . yes, Uncle Stefan.”
“Good. Now put your ass behind the wheel and get on the road.”
CHAPTER TEN
By sunrise, Bob had, to no avail, helped search hundreds of vehicles.
“We’ll have a riot on our hands if we don’t speed this up,” Zavitsanos was saying to his men. “Traffic is increasing. There must be five hundred vehicles backed up now.”
“The cars are easy to search,” one of the policemen answered. “The trucks are the problem. What if we just inspect the cargo area of every third truck? That should move things along faster. Besides, who would be dumb enough to be on this road with a kidnapped child? The news of the roadblocks has been on radio and television for hours.”
Zavitsanos glared at the man. He wasn’t in the mood to make any concessions that might let the kidnappers slip through. But common sense told him the man was right. They couldn’t slow down the country’s economy. He kicked at a stone lying just off the road shoulder, propelling it against the side of one of the police cruisers. He saw despair on Bob’s face but knew he had no choice. “All right, do it. Every third truck. But if you think a driver or passenger in any truck is acting suspiciously, I want the vehicle searched.”
Zavitsanos stood off to the side, behind a police van, away from prying eyes, and feeling as though his whole body was dissolving. He watched Danforth scurry from vehicle to vehicle, a manic father wired with fear and adrenaline. Danforth was trying to look through the windows of every truck the Greek officers ignored. He frantically tried to make up the difference. What a terror! Zavitsanos thought. To lose a child. He set his jaw, narrowed his eyes, and stepped away from the vehicle. He’d help the young American as much as possible, even though every cell in his body told him the boy would never be found.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Don’t you have a radio in this goddamn truck?” Stefan asked.
Janos pointed to a portable tape recorder on the seat between them. “I’m taking a night class in German. I listen to language tapes during my trips. I don’t need a radio.”
“Always trying to learn something new, eh, Janos? Trying to improve yourself. If you’d used your brains and worked with me, you wouldn’t be driving a fucking truck.”
Janos didn’t respond.
Suddenly, Stefan sat up in his seat and stared ahead. “Slow down,” he ordered.
Janos brought the truck’s speed down to forty kilometers an hour. “Looks like a traffic backup,” he said. “Maybe an accident.”
“Turn this thing around,” Stefan yelled.
“Where?” Janos said. “There’s a chain-link fence in the middle of the highway, in case you haven’t noticed. And there are vehicles right behind us.” He paused to look in his sideview mirror. “Including a police car.”
Stefan pulled a pistol from the inside pocket of his leather jacket and placed it on the seat under his right thigh. “Okay, here’s what we’ll do. If there has been an accident, no problem. If it’s something else – like a roadblock–”
“They’re after you, aren’t they?” Janos interrupted. “They’re looking for the little boy!”
In a calm, but menacing voice, Stefan said, “You are in this thing all the way now. If we get caught, I’ll tell the police you were in on the kidnapping from the beginning. Do you really think they’ll believe a Gypsy could be innocent of anything? Stay cool and keep your mouth shut. I’ll do the talking.”
Janos sat behind the wheel, sweating, inching his truck forward. It took forty-five minutes to reach a turn in the road that allowed them to see the police cars up ahead.
“Shit!” Janos exclaimed, “It is a roadblock.” He drummed the steering wheel with his fingers and beat a tattoo against the floorboard with his left foot.
“We’re dead.”
As they neared the front of the line, Janos noticed the cops searched only some of the trucks – every third one. He counted back to his own truck. One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three. He was a number three.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Bob shielded his eyes against the light from the rising sun. He knew he couldn’t keep this up much longer. Lack of sleep and the emotional strain of the last twenty hours had taken a toll. His eyes burned and his head felt as though a dagger was embedded in each temple. He continued to throw himself into the vehicle search
es, crawling over and around the cargo in the back of every third truck. But it drove him mad to think his son could be hidden in the windowless cargo bays of one of the trucks not being searched.
“Where are you heading?” the officer asked Janos.
“Thessa . . .” Janos began. His voice broke and Stefan finished answering.
“Thessaloniki,” Stefan said. “My nephew has lost his voice. Too much yelling at last weekend’s match between Panathenaikos and AEK. You young men and your football.”
Stefan laughed. The policeman just stared back.
The cop waved at Janos to get out of the truck’s cab. “Open the cargo bay,” he instructed.
Stefan gripped the pistol under his thigh, just when a second police officer, armed with an automatic rifle, stepped onto the passenger-side running board. Two other armed policemen stationed themselves in front of the vehicle.
Janos looked at his uncle for guidance. All he received in return was a granite look that sent chills up his spine. He opened the door and stepped down to the road. After walking to the rear of his truck, he unlatched the cargo door and began lifting it. We’re doomed, he thought.
Zavitsanos sat sideways on the front seat of the borrowed police cruiser, his feet planted in the road, listening to the man from headquarters speak over the radio. When the man finished, Zavitsanos released the venom he felt. “I’ve already cut back to inspecting only every third truck. We search only every fifth one, we might as well close the damn thing down.”
Then he listened for a while again.
A few seconds after headquarters stopped talking, he spat, “Yes, sir.”
Zavitsanos dropped the radio microphone onto the car seat and stood up. He looked down the line of traffic, then concentrated on the first truck in line. “Scata!” he yelled. He slammed the car door shut and walked to the policeman standing on the truck’s passenger-side running board.
“Spiro, let this one through. We search only every fifth truck.”
“But, Inspector, we–”
“Just shut up and do what I tell you,” Zavitsanos said, turning away.
The cop stared after Zavitsanos, then glared at Stefan and spread his arms out. “You can pass through.” The cop jumped down to the street and walked to the rear of the truck where he repeated Zavitsanos’ instructions.
“Spiro, the fucking door is already open. It will only take a minute to look inside.”
“Fine,” Spiro said, “I’ll go tell Inspector Zavitsanos you disagree with his order.”
“Goddammit!” the second cop cursed. He turned on Janos and barked, “Close the door and get this thing out of here.”
Janos pulled the cargo door back down and locked it in place. He went around the side of the truck, stumbling on fear-weakened legs. He continued to the driver’s door, sweat pouring off him. After climbing behind the wheel, he started the engine, feeling as though his heart would fail as the truck idled.
“You can’t do that! We’ll miss Michael for sure,” Bob shouted. “It was bad enough to let two out of three trucks pass. We might as well go home now.”
Zavitsanos took a moment to respond. “I’m sorry, Captain Danforth,” he said.
“Goddammit, man!” Bob grabbed at the Inspector’s lapels. “This is my son you’re talking about. Michael!”
Michael rubbed his eyes with his bunched fists. He heard shouting. He looked for his mommy, but it was so dark. Someone in the corner . . . who is it? Is it Mommy? Oh, it’s the lady with the red scarf. A thin ray of light came through a crack in a wall and shined on boxes stacked to the ceiling.
I don’t like it here. I’m hungry.
Maybe the lady has something to eat.
“Michael!”
He heard his name clearly. That’s my daddy.
Then the room he was in began moving.
“No bye-bye, Daddy!” he cried.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Bob woke bathed in sweat, barely able to get his breath. He looked at the alarm clock beside the bed. Four o’clock in the afternoon. He’d slept for less than three hours since Zavitsanos had dropped him off back at the house. He looked for Liz, but she wasn’t there. His heart leaped against his rib cage. Panic sluiced through him as he rushed from the bedroom.
He found her in Michael’s room, sitting in the rocking chair, illuminated by a ray of late afternoon sun sparkling with dust motes. Her hand moved Michael’s favorite toy – a black rocking horse. Bob knelt in front of her. “Everything’s going to be fine, Liz,” he said, knowing his voice betrayed how little confidence he had in his own words. He took her hands in his. “We’ll find Michael, I promise.”
Liz didn’t speak. She stared into space, no emotion showing, and began to hum Rock-A-Bye Baby.
He dropped his head into her lap. First his son, now his wife. Had he lost them both? There wasn’t much that could make him cry, but since Michael’s kidnapping he’d cried a lifetime of tears. His tears now dampened the cotton of Liz’s gown. Then he felt her hand on his head, stroking his hair.
Bob’s heart lurched with hope. She’d finally responded. He raised his head and looked at his wife.
“It’s okay, baby,” Liz said. “I’ll take care of you. You don’t need to cry. You never have to cry when Mommy’s around. You know that, don’t you, Michael?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Turn here,” Stefan Radko told his nephew Janos two miles from the border, pointing at a dirt road leading into a forest. About a mile up the road, he ordered Janos to stop.
“This is where we get out, nephew. I’m sure you’ll be sorry to see us go.” Stefan laughed as though he had just heard the greatest joke in the world. He slapped Janos on the shoulder. “Quite an adventure, eh boy!”
Janos slumped over the steering wheel, staring at the dashboard.
Stefan laughed again, then violently poked a finger into Janos’ arm. “You keep your fucking mouth shut, you understand?” When Janos did not respond, Stefan grabbed the young man’s arm and squeezed until Janos grunted from the pain. “Did you hear what I said?” Stefan growled.
“Yes, Uncle Stefan,” Janos whimpered.
“You’d better keep quiet. Or I’ll track you down.”
Stefan opened the truck door and jumped to the ground. He walked to the back of the vehicle, rolled up the rear door, and whispered hoarsely, “Let’s go, woman.”
A shuffling sound came from the front of the cargo area, and then Vanja peered out at him from between two rows of boxes.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“What do you care?” Stefan spat. “Let’s go.”
The sleeping boy in her arms, Vanja lowered herself to a sitting position on the back of the truck bed, then dropped carefully to the ground. Stefan made no attempt to assist her. He closed the back door and, without a word, set off on foot through the trees. The sun was now low in the sky. They would have to wait until after midnight to try to cross the border into Bulgaria.
Janos watched his passengers in the sideview mirror. He felt a chill go through him when they seemed to disappear in the dense forest. Oh, God, he thought. What have I done?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The drugs the doctor had prescribed for Liz kept her listless and mostly silent. They helped her construct a shell around herself that Bob couldn’t penetrate. Nothing he said seemed to reach her. The blank, lifeless look in her eyes scared him.
He needed to feel his family around him. He went to the hall closet and pulled out a box of home movies and a movie projector. He selected a reel he’d taken a few Sundays before and threaded it through the projector. After closing the shutters to darken the room, he flipped on the machine, and looked at the images of Liz and Michael that popped up on the living room wall. His wife and son stood in the kitchen doorway, silhouetted against early-morning sun bathing the patio and the yard beyond. The weather had been perfect – warm, but not hot. He knew how much Liz loved her mornings with Michael.
“Swing, Mommy, swin
g,” Michael said.
“Okay, baby,” Liz responded. “As soon as Mommy finds her sunglasses, we’ll go play on the swings.”
The next scene showed Liz and Michael facing each other, lazily swinging back and forth on the glider. White Dog lounged on the terrace, basking in the sun.
“Look at the bird in the tree, Michael,” Liz pointed. “It’s a robin.”
“Wobbin,” Michael repeated and pointed with a pudgy finger.
“Do you know that one over there?” Liz said. She pointed out a bird perched on a bush.
Michael showed a confident smile and said, “Wenn.”
“Good boy,” Liz exclaimed.
Michael began singing some indecipherable tune, hamming it up. The sound of his voice coming from the projector filled the room and Bob’s eyes brimmed with tears. He stared at his son’s image and felt an ache penetrating his entire being.
Then movement in the hallway startled Bob. Liz suddenly stumbled into the living room, frantically looking around. He stood and moved toward her. She turned to Michael’s image on the wall, staring, frozen in place. Then she rushed to the wall, her hand raised to touch Michael’s face. But she blocked the projector’s lens, obliterating her son’s image. She backed away and stared at the wall.
“Michael, it’s Mommy. I’m here, sweetheart.” Then she began to sob.
Bob reached his wife and held her until she stopped crying. “Take it easy, Liz. We’ll get our son back,” he said, stroking her face. “But I can’t do it without you.”
Liz’s eyes grew wide in the light from the projector. Bob thought he saw a brief hint of lucidity, but then she seemed to fade back to the demented vacuum she’d been occupying since Michael was kidnapped. She grabbed the front of his shirt. “What can we do?” she said, panic in her voice. “What can I do?”