by Joe Goldberg
“Right,” Demon replied.
“Be careful, okay?” Bridger said with genuine concern. The fatigue was getting to him. His mind was not focused, and his emotions were too close to the surface. He looked at Peter, who was still clutching the bag, his eyes half-closed and his head resting against the window.
“Have you heard where the meeting is?” Snake asked.
“I don’t know. We are on an SDR. I’m contacting Chapel. I’ll send a message when I know. Get someplace and be ready to move.”
Bridger did not like the idea of going anywhere blind. Operationally, he would always have the team check the location in advance. A Devilbot would be in the air. They would know the in and out. He had none of that.
“Can I get some coffee while he is Beast hunting? I saw a place near here,” Imp asked.
“I want some, too,” Beatrice said.
“I could use a bagel…with a schmear,” Milton added.
“You all suck,” was Imp’s response.
“Get to work. Demon, let me know,” Bridger said, then cut off the call.
“Your team is insane and irritating at times,” Peter said, lifting his head off the window.
Bridger’s phone gave out three electronic beeps. He let out a tired sigh when he saw the ‘M’ caller ID.
Reluctantly, he hit the answer and speakerphone buttons.
“I’m a little busy, May. Can I call you back?”
“No, and can you ever be polite?” she asked.
“That was polite.” He checked his mirror for any familiar cars. He took the next right turn, looking to see if any followed.
“You have it?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” she answered, then said nothing else.
“What do you want, May?” He checked his mirror and did a quick lane change—which drew angry honks from several cars. He turned the car down a side street.
“I just wanted the update—” she paused, “—and to see how you are doing.”
Bridger’s face creased with a look of confusion.
“How am I doing? You are calling at this moment to ask me how I am doing? Well, I have a headache. Probably because I’ve only eaten protein bars for the past two days. I need some sleep. I smell. That’s how I am doing. Thanks for asking.”
“Well, that was quite informative,” she said tersely.
Bridger could tell she was annoyed. He felt better.
“What is actually going on, May?”
“Call me later.” She ended the call without another word.
Bridger didn’t know what to make of May calling, and he was way too tired to think about it. The long day had turned into two long days. Knowing there was a chance it might be ending soon invigorated him.
His Signal phone application identified a secure group call. He punched the speaker button.
“Beast is dead! Beast is dead!” Demon’s voice yelled out of the phone. “Shot dead in his room.”
There was a pause, then gasps and shouts as the other Spy Devils reacted to the news.
“Quiet!” Bridger shouted and shook his head. “How?”
Bridger jerked the Skoda across a lane of traffic and stomped on the brakes. It lurched to a stop. He jammed the transmission into park.
The Hillcrest case bounced off the dash and hit Peter in the face. He felt a trickle of blood roll from his right nostril.
“What the hell, Bridger?”
“What did you say? Say that again!” Bridger shouted.
“Dead. He must have six holes in his chest. It is hard to tell—it is a fucking mess. There’s blood everywhere, but—I don’t think it is all his. There is too much. Looks like some guy’s brains are splattered on the wall. Not his. Spent brass. Beast’s knife is covered in blood. I think he took out—three of them.”
Demon saw a small pulpy clump of flesh at his feet. He bent over, picked it up, took a close look, and rubbed it between his fingers. “I think he cut some guy’s balls off.” Demon flipped the mass on the floor like he was tossing a used tissue.
“No other bodies?” Bridger asked.
“Nope, and I don’t think any of them walked away. Hang on. I see something in Beast’s mouth. Hang on. There is a note. In his mouth.”
“A note? What does it say?”
“What the fuck?” Demon said.
“What does it say, Demon?” Bridger barked.
“It says ‘A gift for the Devil.’”
Bridger’s hands gripped and twisted on the steering wheel, causing a squeaking sound of flesh on plastic. He turned his head and looked out the side window.
“What?” Peter looked at Bridger.
Bridger waved his arm to silence him.
“Execute your exfiltration plans.”
“What about Beast?” Demon asked.
Bridger hesitated this time. Thinking was a struggle. He blinked hard once and let out a breath.
“I have to get rid of this case and talk to Chapel. Call the Olegs. They can help with Beast’s…body. And get out of here. I will contact you when we are moving.”
“We need to watch you! Let’s get the bots in the air. We can pull off and have them over the location in twenty minutes,” Beatrice shouted through her sobbing.
“No. Execute your plans. I want you out of here.”
“Fuck that,” Snake said, just before he hit the off button.
Bridger shifted the transmission into drive and pulled the car back into traffic. Peter wedged the case between his legs and grabbed the door handle.
Bridger had lost a Spy Devil, something he had never experienced before. They were built to be invisible. He had failed and didn’t know how or why. He wanted to get this over with as soon as possible.
The card in Beast’s mouth was meant for him as a warning. Payback for some operation, perhaps. But who knew the Spy Devils were there? Who knew anything about Beast being a Spy Devil?
It is a short list. A very short list.
The ding of Bridger’s phone interrupted his internal dialogue. He saw the bright letters D.C. contrasted against the black screen.
“It’s Chapel, finally.” The message contained only an address. “Look this up,” he told Peter, showing him the screen.
Peter punched the address into the navigation system on his phone.
“It’s in Lebedevka Village. Across and along the river. Looks like a thirty-minute zigzagging drive through mid-morning Kyiv traffic.”
Peter’s directions led to a narrow tree-lined road that paralleled the river. The address was the last house on the road—a three-story brick mansion with large windows on a wooded lot. A driveway, bound by low stone walls, snaked through the trees and came to an end at a set of red brick steps leading to the front door.
“Nice digs,” Peter said.
Bridger didn’t answer.
“I missed it,” he whispered, “I can’t believe I missed it.”
“What?” Peter asked. “Missed what?”
“Damn it! I was distracted by—. I lost my fucking focus,” Bridger said, with a pound of his fist against the steering wheel.
“What?” Peter shouted.
“This is an ambush.”
Bridger slammed his foot on the accelerator, causing the vehicle to fishtail on its worn tires. Suddenly, the road came to an abrupt dead-end at piles of tree stumps, dead brush, and construction debris.
A cloud of gravel and dust rose as Bridger hit the brakes, reversed, and backed into the driveway. He gunned it forward back on the road, finally pointing the Skoda in the right direction.
They didn’t see the car until it was too late, so they had no time to brace themselves.
The Renault Logan came out of the brush on the left side of the road. It smashed the Skoda like a javelin hitting right behind the driver’s seat. The car went airborne. The right-side back quarter-panel crushed into a tree on the other side of the road. It spun to the left and pivoted slowly on its nose like a ballerina on pointe until it keeled over and sta
rted a rapid slide on its left side down the hill toward the river. The momentum slowed as it pinballed off tree trunks and stumps until it stopped.
It was a total wreck. Steam hissed from the awkwardly bent radiator angling out of the engine. Fluids leaked. The familiar smell of gas mixed with the scent of pine needles. The wheels slowly rotated with creaking sounds.
Bridger couldn’t tell what was worse. The ringing in his ears? The pressure behind his eyes? The dizziness? The tacky sweat all over his body? Or the feeling he was about to barf? Glancing down, it looked like his left wrist was completely fucked up. A blurry image entered his head of his hand jamming into the steering wheel.
His hazy vision picked up the outlines of bodies moving toward him.
He stood but fell before he could take a step—then it was dark.
When Bridger woke up, his ears were ringing like a bell choir. He shook his head and squeezed his eyes tight. He saw his hands were zip-tied to the arms of a chair. His feet, which he couldn’t see, and couldn’t move, must have been bound the same way. His left wrist looked like a bruised eggplant.
“Peter?”
He looked up and squinted his eyes, hoping it would help bring things into focus. No Peter to the right. He twisted back to the left and saw Peter slumped in a chair. He looked bruised and maybe had blood seeping from a large cut across his forehead.
A shape in front of him started talking.
“He is alive,” a voice said in Chinese.
Bridger concentrated his eyes on a Chinese male of average height. Dark straight hair. Dark eyes. Wide cheekbones.
“I know you speak Chinese,” the shape said.
Bridger did his best to focus. It was hard enough to form a thought in English. Now he tried to formulate a reply in Chinese.
“Yes, I do. A lovely language,” Bridger said in Mandarin.
“I understand you are Bridger. The leader of the Spy Devils. And this is the spy from the American company,” the voice said.
Bridger remained silent. Then it came to him—through the pain and the fog of a possible concussion.
They had been captured by Dragon Fire.
45
What is in the Case?
Lebedevka Village, Ukraine
“What? Who am I?” Bridger asked, using English this time.
“I will call you Bridger unless you want to tell me your real name.” Li Chu switched to English, too.
“I know who you are, too, Li Chu.”
Li Chu was just as described by the Dragon Fire men as Bridger was interrogating them. A military presence and the familiar look of an assassin. Bridger thought the man needed a shave and looked as tired as Bridger felt. He wore jeans and a tight leather jacket with—a Springsteen t-shirt underneath?
“My name is Jack. Jack Nicklaus,” Bridger said.
“Jack. Your name is Jack? Right…Jack,” Li Chu said with a scoff. He held up the Devil Stick and examined it. “We found this in the vehicle. I am not sure how it works. Like this, Jack?”
He touched it to Bridger’s chest. Pain exploded through a body already in pain as a crackling sound echoed in the room.
“Ouch! That hurts!” Bridger said, forcing a mocking grin.
Li Chu seemed perplexed by Bridger’s reaction. He touched Bridger again.
“You need practice,” Bridger said, immediately after the shock stopped. Then he looked at Li Chu and puckered his lips into a kiss shape. He pantomimed blowing a couple of kisses.
Bridger could see Li Chu was totally mystified by his reaction.
“Tell me the nature of your organization, the names of the members of your team, and where we can find them. Who do you work for in the CIA?”
“Are you still employed by the MSS? I thought they would have lined you up and shot you by now.”
Answering a question with a question. An annoying tactic. And it pissed off Li Chu.
Where are we? How long was I out?
Li Chu knocked Bridger’s chair over with a shove of his foot. Unable to cushion his fall, Bridger hit the floor hard on his right side. Li Chu kicked Bridger in his stomach. Bridger gasped in pain and worked to suck air back into his lungs. The man behind Bridger put him upright. It allowed Bridger to analyze the room.
It was a massive rectangular living area with a vaulted ceiling. He guessed thirty by forty feet. The wall he faced was mostly all glass. Sheer white curtains covering floor to ceiling windows. A sliding glass door. On the other side of the glass doors and windows were a large brick patio, trees, and glimpses of a river reflecting sunlight.
On his left was a carpeted sitting area. Two large couches. A table with a few magazines on it. A large flat-screen television was anchored to the wall. On his right was a fireplace surrounded by bookshelves. He faced a dining table that was turned the long way to the wall. One chair was on the other side. Two were moved out of the way. Two were occupied by Peter and Bridger.
Peter was still unconscious to his left. His chin was down. Saliva dripping from his mouth. Blood drying on his face. In the window’s reflection, he counted two men behind them and one over by the door.
Then he saw the Hillcrest bag on the dining table a few feet away. That’s when he got the idea.
Although it might hurt a little.
“Your strategy to expose us in the media was brilliant—and a death sentence, as you knew,” Li Chu said
“Thanks, buddy. Hey. How does it feel to blow the brains out of your elite team? What was it? Seven? No, eight times, wasn’t it? And thanks for the positive and constructive feedback. It is always welcomed.”
“Who do you work for?” Li Chu shouted through clenched jaws.
The yelling made the front of Bridger’s head throb.
He is getting pissed off. Let’s see how far I can take this. I need him to make a mistake.
“Who do I work for? Myself.” Bridger painfully rolled his neck. “No, really. I made you an international star. It has been my pleasure to ruin your life in doing so.”
Li Chu walked behind Bridger. He leaned down to whisper into his ear. A sign of control.
“You were able to locate us. How?” Li Chu asked in a hissing tone.
Bridger typically would have ignored the obvious interrogation technique, but he decided to go along with it. Bantering about spy tradecraft could be fun, plus it stretched the clock.
“Actually, that is a good question.”
Bridger knew the intel came from May. It was good information that led to them tracking air and hotel reservations, car rentals, and movements of the enemies the Chinese had targeted for assassination. Without it, finding the Dragon Fire team would have been impossible—as impossible as trying to find the Spy Devils.
So how did Li Chu find us? Why did he kill Beast?
Beast. The physical pain caused by the ambush had temporarily made him forget the mental pain caused by the news that someone had killed his man. The chance that the someone was a few feet from him re-energized Bridger and refocused his plan. He had to keep control.
The moment will come. It always does. Usually just once, and only for an instant. I have to recognize it and be ready.
Bridger ran his tongue along his teeth and felt blood stuck to some of them.
“How did we locate you? I call it good old fashioned espionage by us and bad tradecraft by you. You were sloppy.”
Li Chu pondered the appraisal of his tradecraft. He started a small pattern of pacing a few steps, then turning. Repeat. Repeat. He shook his head.
“No. No. We were not.”
“Okay. To be fair, we had some good intel. Great intel. You didn’t stand a chance. The MSS has been penetrated, and they have been reporting on you like a 24-hour news channel.”
Li Chu walked to the patio door. He thought about this as he looked over the patio and yard. “That is more likely. Who?”
Bridger was peering out the window, too. The midday sun was glaring off the glass. Bridger had an idea—a guess. If he said the name and was
wrong, no harm to him. The problem he had at this moment, zip-tied to a chair, being interrogated by a Chinese assassin in Kyiv, was if he was right, and he was reasonably confident he was, he wasn’t sure of the ramifications. Right now, it was best to say nothing.
I will deal with that later. I have to kill this guy first.
Li Chu grabbed the bag.
“What is in this case?”
“I got no problem telling you. It’s called Hillcrest,” Bridger said.
Do it.
“What is it? Bio-weapon? Gold? A suitcase nuclear weapon?”
Open it and find out.
“Open it and find out.”
Li Chu unzipped the bag, reached in, pulled out the case, and set it on the table.
You just made the mistake.
46
The Stuff Dreams are Made Of
Lebedevka Village, Ukraine
“Say, I might have missed it. Who gave you this address?” Bridger cocked his head and painfully raised his eyebrow. “We both know you couldn’t find out for yourself. So, who helped you?”
Li Chu jammed the Devil Stick into Bridger’s chest. He spasmed and gripped the chair with his purple left wrist, sending even more pain through him. The sweat rolled off his face as his eyes leered at the man.
“Admit it, you made too many mistakes. As we say, you sucked,” Bridger poked Li Chu with a laugh.
Li Chu waved the weapon in Bridger’s face. The glare of anger in his eyes.
“I am not the one tied in the chair.”
“I can’t argue with that.”
It was Li Chu’s turn to laugh. “You will soon be ruined, and we will be gone, with this.”
Good. Good. The case. Keep going, idiot.
“Jack, I must thank you for one thing. You have shown me the value of social media as a powerful weapon.” Li Chu stood in front of Bridger with his mobile phone camera pointed at Bridger’s face. “I planned on killing you, but I think you value your anonymity more than life. The secret and mysterious Spy Devils.” His voice was filled with sarcasm. “When we are done here, I will send your image to the world and make you as famous as you made us. So, I will kill you, so to speak, as you killed us.”
