Free Evil Deeds (Bob Danforth 1) by Joseph Badal Page B

blood away from the upper left side of his chest.
    “How bad is it?” George asked weakly.
    “Pretty clean wound,” Bob said. “I think we’ll be able to stop the bleeding with a pressure bandage.”
    Liz opened the other rear door and got in next to George. She opened the first-aid kit and went to work on him.
    Bob watched Liz patch up George. “Are you okay?” he asked George.
    “I’ll be fine if you can find me a couple of pain killers and a bottle of Ouzo as a chaser.”
    “It sounds like he’ll live,” Liz said, smiling at George.
    “We’d better get him back to our place,” Bob said.
    “He should see a doctor,” Liz suggested.
    “Call Meers when we get to your place,” George said. “He’s sure to know a doctor who will keep his mouth shut.”
    While Liz sat with George in the backseat, Bob got behind the wheel and floored the accelerator, sending sand shooting off the spinning rear tires. He glanced at Liz in the rearview mirror. She was sitting quietly next to George. My innocent little wife is getting tougher by the minute, Bob thought. It gave him no pleasure.
     

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
    Katrina Vulovich sat in a rocking chair in a corner of the nursery, the sleeping American child in her arms. Her heart felt as though it would leap from her chest. She loved this boy with every fiber of her being. He was the son she always wanted.
    “Andreas, my little boy,” she whispered, “how beautiful you are.” She brushed the hair away from his forehead and lightly kissed him. “You are different from all the others. They will become workers in the Communist system. Drones to operate the machines, work the fields. Maybe one or two will go into the Intelligence Service or the Army and become heroes of the State. But you shall become greater than them all. Yes, you will, my son.”
    Katrina wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. She felt disoriented – as though she was moving in her mind from one place to another. Children stolen from their families surround me, she thought. And now I’m taking this boy with me to visit my parents in Sofia. If I’m found out, I’ll be sent back to the fields – or executed. But I can’t help it. This is my son. How could I leave him behind with these orphans? He isn’t an orphan. He’s my flesh and blood, my son.
     

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
    “When are we going after this guy Radko?” Liz asked, spitting out the Gypsy’s name as though it was a curse. She stared at George, seated across the dining room table, surgical tape around his chest, holding a clean pressure bandage in place under his arm. Bob stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders. The remnants of lunch lay on plates scattered around the table.
    “We’re not,” George said. “At least, not yet.”
    “Why not?” she said, her eyes wide, her hands flexing with impatience. “He’s the best lead we’ve got.”
    “I agree,” George said. “But even if we track him down, do you think he’ll admit to taking your son, or any other children for that matter? And if we question Radko, the first chance he gets he’ll contact the Bulgarians. If that happens, they’ll close down Petrich and move all the children to another location. We’ll never find Michael.”
    “Then we go to Petrich,” Bob said.
    “As soon as Meers briefs us on everything your Embassy knows about the area around Petrich. God forbid, the Bulgarians are planning military maneuvers along their southern border just when we decide to cross over. If we can meet with Meers tomorrow, you and I might try to cross the border the day after tomorrow – late at night.”
    Liz leaped to her feet, forcing Bob to jump back. “You’re not going without me,” she snapped.
    Bob put his arm around her. “Liz, it makes no–”
    She shrugged away. “You macho idiots get one thing straight. If my son’s in that damn orphanage in Bulgaria, I’m going there with or without you!”
    In the sudden silence after her outburst, George