The Spy Devils

by Joe Goldberg

  The leading question technique.

  Peter felt the air chill to the level he could imagine the model airplanes needing to have their wings de-iced. Gilbert leaned further back in his chair.

  “Now where did you hear that? This is a classified KRT program. Limited access and distribution.”

  Bridger leaned forward and put his elbows on top of the desk clutter.

  “So, there is a product named Hillcrest. Tell us.”

  “I did not say that—I—I didn’t say that. Who are you?”

  “Just looking for answers. The kind of answers I need answered.” Bridger’s friendly smile didn’t hide the seriousness of the need for an answer.

  Gilbert nervously looked at Peter. His chair squeaked as he shifted his body weight.

  Peter could tell Gilbert was not prepared for Bridger. Who could be?

  “What’s going on, Gilbert?” Peter asked calmly.

  “Your bosses seem to be pretty worried about it. I’m trying to help everyone solve the puzzle. It’s all about Kirkwood in the end.”

  Mutual interest.

  Peter could tell Gilbert was thinking. Bridger was silent, then he did another switch. Steady. Non-threatening.

  “You made Hillcrest. We know it is your creation.” A definitive statement of fact.

  Gilbert was visibly shifting in his seat. He rubbed his palms together like he was crushing a walnut between them.

  “No. What? I cannot say anything about this without approval from above. The whole thing has become…become…complex...but it is NOT my invention…if there was one. I can’t talk about it.” Gilbert let his eyes roam around his office.

  “It is simple,” Peter joined in, calmly. “I was asked by Jessup, MacBride, and Kirkwood to look into the death of MacLean.”

  “Even Chapel green-lighted Peter’s task, right, Peter?” Bridger said, keeping his eyes on Gilbert.

  “Yes, he did. He was particularly interested in helping to get the briefcase back. Worried, really.”

  Gilbert’s shoulders started to slump in surrender to the questioning.

  “If you need to call someone to verify it, go ahead. Call Chapel.” Bridger pointed to the phone.

  Gilbert’s furrowed brow and puffy lips told Peter he was deciding whether to let them in on whatever Hillcrest was.

  He is near the finish line.

  “Maybe I will call Benton in security,” Gilbert said. He leaned forward like he was going for the phone.

  “No—,” Peter started.

  “No, go ahead. Let’s call him,” Bridger interrupted. “You can verify all of this. What’s his number?” Bridger pointed to the desk phone. Gilbert hesitated, then pulled his trembling hand back.

  “The 10th floor asked you to find it?” he asked, looking beaten.

  “Yes.” Peter and Bridger said together.

  Gilbert sighed and shook his head as he exhaled the air slowing through his nose.

  “What is going on, Gilbert?” Bridger asked.

  26

  Latin for Guard

  Kirkwood Research Technologies

  “Come with me.”

  They followed Gilbert out the door and to the right. He led them to another door at the end of the corridor. It took a few seconds for Gilbert to navigate the fingerprint, voice, and retinal biometric systems. He punched in one final authentication code. The door clicked open. Once inside, they started down a long set of steps. At the bottom were bright walls of white and glass accented with the low hum of machinery.

  There were two rooms across from each other—each about the size of a tennis court. The left room was filled with metal racks of equipment, workstations, wires, tools, and a half dozen casually dressed men and women. Desks, conference tables, and chairs were lined in a T-pattern, forming narrow aisles like a maze.

  The room to the right was opposite in appearance. It was so bright it looked as if was on fire. It was white from the tile floor to the high air circulating ceiling pipes. The room was empty except for long tables with computers and workstations spaced every few feet.

  “This area has the best security in the world,” Gilbert said. “We have gone back to the Stone Age, or pre-1980, which is mostly the same thing. This floor is totally off the grid. No wireless. No internet. Nothing connected. We communicate by courier. I have a dedicated STU-3 secure phone in my office down here. No darned hackers can hack something that isn’t linked to anything. It may not be efficient, but it is secure.” He looked around the room with satisfaction. “No one is getting anything from my shop unless they dig a hole from China.”

  “Gilbert. Tell us. What is Hillcrest?” Bridger said, suddenly standing so close to Gilbert their shoulders were touching. Startled, Gilbert put a few inches between them. Bridger stayed awkwardly close.

  “For me, it isn’t important what Hillcrest is. That, I will not divulge. What is neat is what it’s in.”

  “What?” Peter snorted with a confused laugh.

  “Explain yourself, Gilbert,” Bridger said.

  “Yes.” Gilbert scurried with excitement to a door. When he walked in, Peter saw a marginally cleaner clone of Gilbert’s office upstairs. Gilbert went behind the desk and sat in a beat-up wooden chair that squeaked when weight was applied.

  Gilbert sat forward, chattering with excitement.

  “We are developing some exquisite technology—beautiful research with neat stuff. Well ahead of the Russians and Chinese combined.” He stopped. “The government asked for KRT to help in making it harder to steal.”

  “Who in the government?” Bridger asked. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know, but I thought it was spooks. CIA-types. NSA. DoD. Others?” He looked at Bridger with a “which are you?” expression.

  Gilbert reached under his desk, unlocked a cabinet, and set an odd-shaped silver briefcase on top of the desk. He sat back with the look of a proud father. They waited for him to explain. Nothing.

  “This is Hillcrest?” Peter asked.

  Gilbert sighed. “Hillcrest, the thing I will never tell you about, goes IN the case. For me, it is the case that is the unique tech.” Gilbert ran his fingers on the case like he was caressing his child. “I call it Custos. That’s—”

  “—Latin for guard,” Bridger said, walking around the desk, forcing Gilbert to slide his chair away a few inches.

  Peter looked at Bridger, who looked at Gilbert.

  “Yes, that is correct,” Gilbert said.

  “This case—which I am going to call Hillcrest for simplicity—this is the same case George took to Ukraine?” Bridger asked.

  “Yes, but it is Cu—”

  “I know,” Bridger cut him off, “but whatever we call it, Hillcrest is inside?” Bridger added quickly.

  “Yes, sure, but what’s inside is irrelevant.”

  “Irrelevant? How can it be irrelevant? Isn’t that the whole point?” Peter said, too loud for the small room.

  “Yes, well, sort of. Hillcrest is impressive, blah, blah, sure. The case is a masterpiece.” Gilbert caressed the case with his hands. “The exterior is chromium, the hardest metal on the Mohs scale, plated over titanium. Strong. Light. Its interior is entirely RF-shielded with copper, steel, and aluminum. You can’t see in with x-rays, CT scans, MRIs…any of them. It is basically a built-in Faraday Cage. Access is through a unique combination of biometric and authentication controls. Even more advanced than into this room. See this panel?” Gilbert pointed to the raised panel on the side of the case. “It controls multimodal biometrics—face, iris, palm vein, voice. Big deal, you say?”

  “Is it a big deal?” Bridger asked to keep Gilbert on his roll.

  “Of course it is. The miniaturization and mobility of the technology are Nobel-worthy. The FAR/FRR numbers, the false acceptance rate, false rejection rate, are near zero. Zero! In any environment. It is spoof proof against unauthorized intruder attacks. A unique authentication code must be entered within a certain time limit. In the commercial world,” he pointed to
the case, “this is a multimillion-dollar product. Multi. Multi.” Gilbert paused. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  “Oh?” Peter looked at Bridger, who was looking at the case.

  “You’re thinking, forget the biometric stuff. Steal it. Take it to the shop and cut it open with a laser or plasma torch. Boom! You have what is inside.”

  “Well, that had crossed my mind,” Bridger reached to touch it. Gilbert slid it away.

  “Unauthorized access triggers an internal self-destruct mechanism. There is a thin layer of C-4 with a detonator in the lining.”

  “Well, boom, that is explosive information. Dynamite!” Bridger said with a chuckle, pulling his hand away.

  “Yes, that is a good one, Arnie!” Gilbert laughed. “I appreciate a good pun. You don’t want to be standing nearby when this goes off. Oh, it has GPS inside that cannot be shut off. If someone steals it, we have a locator signal.”

  “It has GPS?” Bridger asked, glancing at Peter.

  “Yes, with a boosted signal, accelerometers, barometers, magnetometers, and a few more secret sauces I won’t discuss.”

  “Then where is it?” Peter asked.

  Gilbert sighed and bit his pink lips in a look of embarrassment.

  “I don’t know. It disappeared in Kyiv. The GPS could not be turned off, so it is either destroyed, or it is in a very, very, very, RF-proof location. If it comes out, we can pick it up. I hope.”

  “So, let’s recreate this. MacLean took a case just like this?” Bridger asked.

  “Yes, exactly.”

  “And a complex combination of biometrics is pre-set to one singular user?”

  “Correct.”

  “And he took a case only he could open?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you helped him program it for his biometrics?”

  “Naturally.”

  “Of course.” Bridger moved over toward the case, forcing Gilbert to step back against the wall. “He is dead. Are you telling me it can’t be opened, ever?”

  “No. I didn’t say that.” Gilbert’s head turned to keep his eyes on the visitor.

  “That means you built a backdoor into the access protocols or secure token access.”

  Gilbert sat in stunned silence. He put his hands on the case and slid it to his lap.

  “Who are you, Arnie?”

  Bridger smiled at the question. It was the question asked by every target of the Spy Devils.

  “How does that work?” Bridger answered the question with one of his own.

  “That’s one of my trade secrets.” Gilbert took the case and locked it back in the cabinet.

  Bridger looked at Peter. “Hey, do you mind if I get a private word with Gil here? I just need a minute.”

  “Sure.”

  Bridger closed the door behind Peter.

  A few minutes later, it opened and the men came out. Gilbert looked like he wanted to get into one of the space models in his office and disappear.

  “Everything okay?” Peter said as the men climbed the stairs.

  “Never better,” Bridger answered.

  Gilbert didn’t.

  They climbed the stairs in silence and moved through the door onto the main floor. The silence continued as Gilbert escorted them to the exterior door. Bridger stopped and turned to Gilbert.

  “What's the difference between an introverted and an extroverted engineer? An introverted engineer looks at his shoes when he's talking to you, an extroverted engineer looks at your shoes when he's talking to you.”

  Gilbert’s cackling laughter echoed down the hall until the security door slammed shut behind them.

  Later that night, Bridger sank exhausted into the overstuffed chair in his luxury suite at the Ritz. He was happy to see the hotel staff had replenished his supply of nuts and chocolates in his complimentary gift basket. He grabbed a handful of nuts and tossed a few into his mouth.

  It had been a good day. The time with Peter was well-spent. He looked to be an okay guy. Dependable. Skeptical of authority—which made him smart. Gilbert had been very forth-coming. He got all he needed from him.

  There was one loose end that Peter dropped at lunch that he needed to address. Letting out a sigh, he picked up his phone and dialed.

  “Why Chapel, May?” he asked before she could say a greeting.

  “Hello, Trowbridge. It is always good to hear your voice.” May Currier blew on her tea. She was sitting on her patio, enjoying the night air of her large backyard. The Potomac rushed by just on the other side of the tree line.

  “May?”

  “Oh, yes. Danny is an integral part of this operation.”

  “How integral?”

  “Very.” She took a sip. Still too hot.

  Bridger let silence be his answer.

  “You are exasperating. He is assisting the Kirkwood company with their issues with the Ukrainians.”

  “Which issues?” Bridger knew she wouldn’t say, but by asking he might get some inkling of what she was thinking. If not, at least he knew it pissed her off.

  “All of them.” She tried her tea one more time. It was just the right temperature. “Danny will call if it comes to the point you are retrieving the Hillcrest material, he will be the one you will give it to. He will take it to Kirkwood.”

  “Well, then. That is nice to know.” Bridger closed his eyes and absorbed the tone of her voice, the cadence of her words, and the words she was using.

  “Goodbye, Trowbridge.”

  Lovely, he thought. This is already messed up and it hasn’t even begun for real.

  27

  Kill the Devil

  Taipei, Taiwan

  Li Chu, the covert MSS Bureau X assassination team leader, remained bunkered in his Shida/Guting neighborhood apartment safe house eating pineapple cakes and drinking Long Dong Lagers. Before he sequestered himself in this section of Taipei, he told his few remaining men to stay concealed.

  For the last two days, he searched the internet and monitored the media for any coverage of his men's deaths.

  Aided by the exposure from the Spy Devils, Taiwan media were pushing conspiracy theories so fast on the captured men's identities and intentions that they were causing a traffic jam on Taiwan’s internet superhighway. Comparing the similarities to other incidents in countries in the region during the last year, Chinese assassins were at the top of the list.

  Li Chu noticed the Taiwan government had not released anything on the two men found dead in the Taiwan National Police headquarters' basement cells. That would be a scandal.

  Dressed comfortably in jeans, AC/DC t-shirt, and sporting a new black beard, Li Chu looked out the large window. He waited for the inevitable encrypted communication from Deputy Minister Chen. It would undoubtedly read something like: Your mission is over. Return to Beijing. You will be reassigned. Li Chu knew what that meant: You are a political embarrassment. Come back to Beijing so we can shoot you in the head.

  Going back was not an option.

  Killing the leader of the Spy Devils was his only mission.

  A buzz on his encrypted phone brought him back to his current situation.

  “Yes?” he answered.

  “Where are you?”

  Li Chu stood out of view and scanned out the large window to the street activity five stories below. Students with backpacks and shoppers with bags were moving along the crowded sidewalks. Cars. Trucks. Scooters. Regular people going about their business. No hit-team. No rifles on roofs across the street. No apparent threats.

  “I am safe,” was all he said.

  “I understand,” Chen replied. “I will be knocking on your door in ten seconds. I have two of my security men with me. You are not in danger. Please do not shoot me.”

  Li Chu tossed the phone and snapped away from the window like he had been hit by lightning. He pulled his T75 out of the waist of his jeans. He pointed it down a short hallway across the room at the door. Crouching low, he stepped to one side to avoid being directly in the way of
any bullets that would come from the direction of the door. With his eyes focused and gun leveled, he stuffed an extra magazine of ammo into one pocket. He felt his knife folded in the other.

  A soft knock came. Then again.

  Li Chu regulated his breathing and calmed his nerves. He would kill anyone that came through the door if they had a gun in their hand.

  Another knock. The knob wiggled with a slow metal squeak.

  “I am unarmed. Please unlock the door.” When Li Chu didn’t answer, Chen whispered again. “I will have my men move away.” Li Chu heard some voices and footsteps. A few seconds later, he heard, “They are gone.”

  Li Chu kept his weapon ready as he walked across the room, unlocked the multiple door locks, and stepped to the side.

  It opened a few inches. A set of hands came through the crack. Raised. Empty.

  When Chen’s head appeared, Li Chu put the gun to his temple, grabbed his shoulder, and pulled him in. Chen glanced at Li Chu with a look of impatience.

  Li Chu kept the gun against Chen’s head like it was glued on.

  “Wait.” Li Chu locked the door with his free hand. Chen ignored him and walked into the living area. “Stop!” Li Chu shouted.

  Chen stopped in the middle of the room next to the coffee table. His demeanor was all business in his black suit, white shirt, and narrow, striped tie. A thin smile was on his lips.

  “If you shoot me, you will not hear the good news,” Chen said, making sure his jacket was on straight.

  Good news? Li Chu moved so his back was against the wall keeping his body away from the window.

  “What good news?”

  Chen sighed and shook his head. He looked around the room, then turned toward Li Chu.

  “I will get directly to the issue. The Standing Committee of the State Council has terminated Bureau X. The global exposure of your failures has been too great. There are too many considerations in jeopardy with the scrutiny. It is their consideration that the risk is not worth the reward. I am to recall you to Beijing. You and your remaining associates are to be reassigned within their original organizations, but, truthfully—much like your missions—you will be arrested for causing embarrassment to the CCP and then disappear.”