by Joseph Badal
“Why don’t you try calling the Pentagon again? They could get him to call us.”
“They’re working on it. We call again and we’ll look like frantic parents.”
“We are frantic parents!” Liz shouted.
“Jack’ll know what to do,” Bob said, putting his arms around his wife.
Liz again paced the length of the den and back. “That sonofabitch!” she said, clenching her fists and shaking them in the air. “How could he be back in our lives again? We should have told Michael about Radko years ago.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
“What do you mean, he killed your son?” Sokic said, trying to keep a neutral expression on his face.
Stefan waved away the question. “Long story,” he stammered. He tried to stand, but his head started spinning and he fell back to the ground. “Life plays strange . . .,” he said, his words drifting off. He sat silent for several seconds, shaking his head as though to clear the fog that had settled over his brain, then said, “A man kills my son and now his son wants to take my daughter from me. I will kill Michael Danforth before he steals Miriana from me.”
“We’ll help you, Mr. Radko,” Sokic said, taking his arm and helping him to his feet.
Leaning against Sokic, Radko mumbled, “How will you help me? What can a bunch of ragged-ass Kosovars do to help me?”
“Show us where to find him,” Sokic said. “We’ll take care of everything. You don’t have to worry.”
“What can you do to Danforth? He’s a soldier and you’re a bunch of farmers.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll make sure he doesn’t take your daughter away from you.”
“Sounds goo--” Stefan’s knees seemed to turn to jelly and he collapsed into a sitting position. In the glow of the fire, Sokic saw Stefan’s eyes roll just before he sagged completely to the ground, curled into a fetal position, and began snoring.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Jack slowly drove up the road, his mind still in turmoil. He remembered Bob telling him the story years ago of Michael’s kidnapping. The way Bob had spoken the name Stefan Radko then, the hatred in his voice, had imprinted the Radko name in Jack’s memory. Should I tell Mike about Radko? Jesus, Jack thought, Bob and Liz must have had a reason to keep the facts from the boy. And now Michael had fallen in love with Radko’s daughter.
“Why don’t we check over there?” Michael said, bringing Jack back to the present. He saw Michael pointing in the direction of a campsite near the road. Jack steered the Jeep over to it. The shapeless mounds on the ground around the dying fire turned out to be blanket-covered refugees. One man still sat up, smoking a cigarette. In answer to Jack’s questions, he told them in broken English that he had not seen any old Gypsy wandering around during the last few hours.
“Mike, this is the proverbial needle in a haystack,” Jack said, pulling the vehicle back on the road.
“Yeah, I know. But let’s go on for another mile or two.”
They followed the meandering road north, stopping at fires along the way to ask about Stefan; but no one claimed to have seen him. They were about to give it up when Michael pointed to one more small fire on a hillside off to the right. “Someone’s up in those trees,” he said.
Jack stopped the Jeep and walked with Michael up the hillside toward the fire. A man started down the hill toward them, silhouetted against the light from the fire. Something about the way the man carried himself alarmed Jack. Erect, confident, the man moved almost cat-like toward them.
Jack dropped behind Michael, slipped his hand under his jacket, and released the safety on his pistol. Then he moved again to Michael’s left side and walked next to him.
The man approaching them said something in what sounded like Serbo-Croatian.
“Do you speak English?” Michael asked.
“Yes,” the man said.
“We’re looking for an old man named Stefan Radko. He wandered off from the refugee camp near Kumanovo. Have you seen him?”
“We have seen many old men, but none have told us their names,” the man said. “What does this Radko look like?”
Michael noticed the man spoke English in a stilted, very formal way – as though he’d had language training, but no real practice in an English-speaking country.
“About my height,” Michael said. “Maybe a little lighter than me. White hair. Dark skin. Large mustache.”
“If we meet him, we’ll tell him you’re searching for him,” the man said.
Jack and Michael returned to the Jeep. When Jack turned the vehicle around, he noticed the man still stood where they’d left him.
“Who were they, Dimitrov?” Sokic demanded.
“Some American officer and a civilian – probably one of the relief workers. They were looking for this piece-of-shit Gypsy,” he said, kicking dirt on the prostrate Stefan.
Sokic rubbed his chin, walked in a circle around the fire. “Did you see the officer’s name on his field jacket?”
“No sir, it was too dark.”
“All right, get some sleep. We leave in a couple of hours. I want to find Danforth before it gets light. This old Gypsy is going to make our job much easier.”
“You seemed tense back there,” Michael said. “Something wrong?”
“Oh, probably just paranoia. Did you notice anything about that guy?”
Michael tilted his head to one side. “Well, now that you mention it, he seemed cocky for a refugee, you know, confident, not scared like the others I’ve seen. Not at all nervous about our showing up this late at night.”
“Uh-huh. Anything else?”
“I don’t know, but I felt like the guy lied about not seeing Mr. Radko.”
“That’s what I thought, too. You should come back in the morning with one of your platoons and check him out again.”
“It’s a long drive back to the base, then to Kumanovo,” Michael said. “Why don’t you spend the night at the base? It’s too late to drive me back, then go to your hotel in Kumanovo. My roommate’s out in the field, so you can use his bunk.”
“I’ll take you up on that, Mike. I don’t think I could stay awake driving back to Kumanovo by myself.”
As they approached the gate to the 82nd’s base camp, Michael said, “I wonder what happened to Mr. Radko.”
Jack cringed.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Bob looked at his desk clock for the hundredth time. Four p.m. He pressed the intercom button. “Jeannie, have we heard from Jack Cole?”
“No, sir, nothing yet.”
“Would you try his hotel again. It’s midnight in Macedonia. He’s got to be in his room by now.”
She soon buzzed him back. “Kumanovo is on line two.”
Bob snatched the receiver from its cradle. “Hello!”
“This is the Alexandria Hotel,” a man said in heavily accented English. “How may I help you, sir?”
“This is Bob Danforth. I–”
“Ah, yes, Mr. Danforth,” the man said, obvious pique in his voice. “You have called three times before. Mr. Cole has not yet picked up your earlier messages.”
“None of them?”
“Correct. Mr. Cole has not returned to his room.”
“You’re sure?”
First a slight pause on the line, then, “Mr. Danforth, I make it my job to be sure of such things.” Then the man’s tone became louder as he said, “Please be assured I will have Mr. Cole call you as soon as he returns.”
“I’m sure you will,” Bob snapped, hearing the implied, Don’t call us, we’ll call you. He hung up the phone, opened a desk drawer, and took out a bottle of antacid pills. He popped a couple after swiveling his chair around to gaze through the window at dark gray storm clouds hovering above the woods just beyond the CIA compound.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
After alerting Captain Danforth at the U.S. Army base and watching the Captain and the man named Cole drive off in a Jeep, Attila ran north along the road toward Serbia. His head hurt from the crush
ing strain of panic surging through him. What had happened to Babo? What would he and Mama do if something had happened to Babo? He also felt anger toward his father. Why had he gone out so late? This was a war zone. But then he felt guilty about his anger. Tears came to his eyes and his throat constricted. How could they survive without Babo?
Stopping at every camp, questioning one person after the other, he’d traveled miles before he realized he was on an impossible mission. Babo could be anywhere. He would never find him in the dark.
He stood in the middle of the road, sweat pouring from his brow. He wiped his face with his shirtsleeve, then turned back to the south. Maybe Babo is already back at the refugee camp. Attila had a sudden rush of elation. Yes, he’s probably already in bed, fast asleep. And I’m running around in the dark like an idiot. He gave a little laugh.
But the elation disappeared as rapidly as it had come. Who was he kidding? Attila knew that was just wishful thinking. His father might have been robbed by refugees and dumped in some ditch. Or maybe Serb guerrillas had murdered him. Attila looked around him. There seemed to be figures lurking behind every tree, in every shadow. He again wiped his sleeve over his face, this time removing tears along with sweat.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Captain Sokic and his men buried all their nonessential gear in a shallow hole and covered it with leaves and dead tree branches. Instead of the array of luggage his men had carried earlier, they now hefted only backpacks containing weapons, ammunition, water, and emergency supplies.
Sokic roused Stefan with a sharp kick in the thigh.
“Wha . . . what was that?” Stefan cried. Groaning, he sat upright. He rubbed his thigh. Then he dropped his head into his hands and shook it, as though trying to figure out where he was.
“Get up, old man. We have some distance to cover before it gets light.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’re going to take us to your friend Danforth.
“Are you going to kill him?”
Sokic frowned and raised his hands, palms out. “I’m insulted. Do we look like murderers to you?”
The six men set off from the campsite at a brisk walk. When Stefan couldn’t keep up, he was carried piggyback-style by one of the soldiers.
Hungover and exhausted, Stefan fell into a half-sleep, despite the jarring ride. Suddenly, however, he was shocked awake by being dropped like a sack of grain. The lights of the refugee camp were just ahead.
“Where’s the 82nd Airborne’s encampment?” Sokic demanded.
Stefan pointed to the left of the refugee camp. “You see the lights shining there? The two camps adjoin one another. But there is no way you’ll get past the guards and into the Army camp.”
“Radko, we have no intention of entering the Americans’ camp. You’re going to bring Danforth to us.”
“How?”
“Easy,” Sokic said, faking a tolerant smile. “You’ll give the sentries a message for Danforth. That you want to see him. That it’s an emergency.”
“And why do you believe he’ll come out to see me?” Stefan asked.
Sokic snorted. “Remember,” he said, “he wants to impress his girlfriend’s father. I think he’ll come running.”
Stefan nodded. “Then what?”
Sokic patted Stefan on the shoulder. “You need not worry about a thing, my friend. We’ll take care of the rest.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
“Halt!” a voice shouted.
“Don’t shoot,” Radko called out.
“Hands above your head!”
Radko complied while he walked forward. He stopped again within a few feet of the gate. The American soldier at the gate held a rifle leveled at Radko’s chest. Another soldier frisked him.
“He’s clean; no weapons,” the soldier said after patting him down. “What are you doing here?”
“I have to talk with one of your officers,” Radko said, lowering his arms.
“What’s so important at this hour?” the soldier demanded.
“It is an emergency,” Stefan said. “I must talk to Captain Danforth.”
“That’s the ‘Charlie’ Company Commander,” the soldier who had frisked Stefan said to the other one, who lowered the barrel of his rifle.
The second guard said, “No way I’m bothering an officer at this time of night because some bullshit old fart claims he’s got an emergency.”
Radko shrugged. “I’ve got information about Serb guerrillas in the area. I’m sure Captain Danforth will be pleased to hear that you did not think my information was important.”
The two guys eyed one another and then one said, “Send someone over to Captain Danforth’s tent.” Then he took Radko’s arm and led him to a bench under a wooden canopy, just outside the gate. “Wait here,” he told him.
Michael jerked awake as he snatched his .45 from under his pillow. The soldier who had shaken him by the shoulder jumped back three feet and hit his head on a dangling lantern.
“Jesus,” the young man gasped, “don’t shoot, sir. I called from outside your tent, but you didn’t respond.”
“Step outside,” Michael said, keeping his voice low so he wouldn’t wake Jack, still asleep on the other cot.
“Ruiz, sir, Delta Company, 2nd Battalion,” the soldier said once they were outside, never taking his eyes off Michael’s pistol. “I’m on guard duty. Got a message for you. Some old guy just came to the front gate and said he had to talk to you. Said it was an emergency. Something about Serb guerrillas.”
Michael lowered the gun. “Don’t worry, Ruiz. I’m not going to shoot you. But next time you might want to yell a little louder.”
“Yes, sir! You scared the beejesus out of me, sir.”
“What’s this old man’s name?” Michael asked.
“Radko. Said his name was Stefan Radko.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s still at the guard shack, waiting for you to come out,” Ruiz said.
“You get back up there and make sure he doesn’t leave. I’ll be right there.”
Michael quickly dressed in his fatigues and boots, strapped on his pistol belt, and slammed his .45 into the holster.
Jack stirred when Michael moved to the tent entrance. “Something up?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep.
“It’s nothing,” Michael said, as he closed the flap behind him. “Everything’s okay. Mr. Radko’s out by the gate. I’m going out to meet him.”
Jack leaped from the cot and shouted, “Michael, wait!” The roar of a Jeep engine drowned his words.
“Damn!” Jack exclaimed. “Damn!” he said aloud again. He dressed quickly and began to run the two hundred yards to the front gate. But before he could get halfway there he saw, in the glare of the guardhouse security lights, an elderly man getting into Michael’s Jeep. He yelled, but Michael was revving the noisy Jeep, and now moving away.
“Mr. Radko, where have you been?” Michael was unable to disguise his irritation. “We searched all over for you.”
Stefan hung his head. “I found a dice game and wound up drinking too much. I passed out. Made it back to your gate. Could not walk another step. Guess I am getting too old to be out so late.”
“What’ about the Serb guerrillas you mentioned to the guard?” Michael asked.
“I need you to–”
“Hold it! What’s that?” Michael said. Pointing ahead. Something lay in the road ahead – half on, half off the road surface. A body! He hit the brakes, stopped a few feet short of the body, and jumped out of the Jeep. He reached inside his field jacket for his pistol, ready to pull it if necessary. He bent over to see if the person was alive.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
“Get the duty officer up here,” Jack snapped at the gate sentries. “I got a feeling Captain Danforth’s in trouble.”
“Sir,” one of them said, “I can’t bother the duty officer just because you got a feeling.” Not friendly at all.
Jack clenched his fists There was
no time to waste.
His shoulders slumped in apparent defeat, Jack took several steps away from the gate. When he walked behind one of the sentries, he wrapped his arm around the man’s neck and pulled his own pistol from inside his jacket. “Drop your rifles now, or I’ll blow your pal’s head off,” he told the others.
They stared at him – wide-eyed, open-mouthed. “Boys, you got three seconds before I make mush out of this man’s brains. DROP YOUR WEAPONS!”
Two of the soldiers looked at the third soldier – the one with the Sergeant’s insignia. Jack noticed the steel-hard look on the Sergeant’s face and knew this one could be trouble.
He cocked the hammer on his pistol and pressed it against the temple of the soldier he held. The man grunted from the pain. “Don’t fuck around!” Jack shouted. “I’ll shoot this man and then take out the three of you before you can react.”
The guards looked at one another, looking embarrassed and uncertain about what to do. Finally, one of them lowered his weapon to the guard. The others followed suit. They all placed their hands on their helmets.
“Good boys,” Jack said. “Who’s got the keys to the HUMVEE?”
“They’re in the ignition,” one of them said. He sounded as though he couldn’t wait for this crazy man to take the vehicle and leave.
“Okay, lie down on the ground,” Jack ordered. This time they obeyed without hesitation. “You, too,” he told the man he held. “When I’m gone, call the duty officer and tell him a nice man stole your wheels and went off after Captain Michael Danforth.”
Before leaving, he tossed their weapons into the brush behind the guard shack.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Michael bent down, rolled the body over, and immediately froze. He knew he’d made the mistake of his life. The pistol aimed at his stomach and the smile on the man’s face told him everything.