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

a walk with me?” Liz finally said.
    Makris gave her a slight, uncomfortable smile. “Yes, I’d be happy to, Mrs. Danforth.”
    Liz caught a look from Bob that seemed to say, What the hell are you doing? She barely shook her head in response.
    “Do you live here alone, George?” Liz asked when they had walked the one hundred yards from the house to the shore.
    “No, Mrs. Danforth. This is my parents’ home. They are both working in the olive grove, where I would be if you weren’t here. They should be returning to the house soon. I would like them to meet you.”
    “If I’m going to call you George, I expect you to call me Liz.”
    “Sorry, Mrs. Danforth . . . uh, Liz,” Makris said.
    “Meers makes you nervous, doesn’t he?”
    He hunched his shoulders and looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “How did you know?”
    “A guess.”
    “I will never again trust anyone from any Intelligence agency. I was kidnapped on the orders of the Communist Intelligence types. Can you even imagine what it’s like to be six years old and taken from your father and mother? I’m not discounting your own son’s kidnapping. But there is a big difference between being six and two, like your son. I remembered everything about my parents, this home, my friends, my school. Everything. Even when the Bulgarian teachers – brainwashers, really – told me my parents gave me up, convinced me they didn’t love me anymore, I still remembered everything about them. At your son’s age, he won’t remember you or his father after two or three months.” He looked at Liz and gave her an apologetic look when her expression turned anguished.
    “I’m an only child. My parents were in their early forties when I was born. I was the child they thought they’d never have. Now that I’m back, I spend nearly every waking hour with them – in the olive grove, in the house, at church every morning, at the market. I catch them staring at me as if they don’t believe I’m here.”
    Makris stopped at the edge of the water and sat in the sand. Liz dropped down, too, and hugged her knees.
    “And what Greek Intelligence put me through, after my arrest here, was just as cruel. I was the hated Communist, the spy who wanted to undermine Greek civilization. It got even worse when they found out I was born Greek. My abduction as a child, the brainwashing I endured, made no difference to them. They treated me like the worst sort of scum – a traitor. They beat me, told me my parents didn’t want to see me. Tell me, Liz, is one side any better than the other?”
    Makris didn’t wait for Liz to answer. “I have nightmares nearly every night. I tried to tell people around here what happened to me, but no one believes me. Some sympathize, but most just think I’m crazy. I can’t get a job. I have no future. No woman sees a future with a traitor who’s also crazy.” He suddenly stood up and walked ten yards down the beach. He stopped and turned back toward Liz. “How old do you think I am?” he called.
    “I know how old you are,” Liz said. “I’ve seen your file. You’re thirty, almost thirty-one.”
    “How old do I look?” Makris demanded.
    Liz knew she needed to answer truthfully. His prematurely gray hair and worry lines around his mouth and eyes were obvious. But it was what she saw in his eyes that told her his soul had aged at least as much as his body. “You look a lot older than that, George.”
    He just nodded his head.
    Liz got up from the sand and brushed off her skirt. She caught up to Makris and continued walking with him. She sat next to him on a rock outcropping and stared at the sea. She listened to waves lapping against the shore, to a fisherman’s oars slapping the water in the distance.
    “Tell me about your kidnapping,” she said.
    “I remember that day like it was yesterday. My father had taken us to visit my grandparents in Drama, about halfway between Thessaloniki and the Turkish border. One afternoon, we