The Spy Devils

by Joe Goldberg

  With Bridger’s punch, Bleeder fell back against the wall as more blood pumped from the cuts. He recovered quickly. When Bleeder saw Bridger immobilized in pain, his swollen left arm at his side, he torqued up his right leg and hit Bridger in the left arm and side with a powerful roundhouse kick. Bridger saw it coming at the last instant and slipped his body on an angle to lessen the blow.

  Bridger grunted as the air was forced from his lungs. He saw Bleeder pull his arms back to set up strikes to his head. Bridger was still holding Bleeder’s gun by the muzzle in his right hand. When Bleeder came in for the kill, Bridger swung his hand up, hitting Bleeder under the chin with the butt of the gun. When he fell back against the wall, Bridger stepped in and speared Bleeder in the throat twice with the gun grip. Bleeder grabbed his throat, wheezing as he slid to the floor.

  Bridger figured he had about ten seconds before any Dragon Fire re-enforcements arrived. He checked the gun to make sure it was working and loaded. He flattened his chest against the wall, crouched, and held the gun out with his right hand toward the lower part of the door. In a few seconds, he heard the quick steps of a man approaching.

  The MSS man ran through the door holding his gun chest-high with both hands. Bridger shot him in the right knee as he passed, sending bone and blood flying. The man screamed, spun forward, and fell to the floor. He rolled onto his back, reaching for his missing knee. Bridger stood above him, aimed, and mechanically fired one round into the man’s face.

  Bridger turned, slid left, pointed the Makarov through the door, and emptied the magazine down the hallway. When the slide locked back, he dropped it, picked up and checked the dead man’s weapon, and turned toward the opening Peter stumbled through thirty seconds ago. As he walked by Bleeder, he fired three 9mm bullets into his chest.

  Passing from the dim smoke-filled room to the bright sunshine nearly made Bridger’s concussed head feel like it wanted to explode off his shoulders. He managed to keep one eyelid open enough to make his way across the debris-covered brick patio. At the edge, he fell over a knee-high brick wall onto the grass and rolled a few feet down a slight incline.

  Peter was there. He was flanked on one side by Demon, a 1911 in one hand, a large knife in the other. Snake was on the other side. He had a Devil Stick and a Sig Sauer P226. Beast’s Sig, Bridger noticed.

  “You look like a bad night in Tijuana,” Snake said.

  “I’ve had worse,” Bridger gasped. He turned to Peter, who was crouched low beside him. Tears were rolling down his red cheeks. “You okay?”

  Peter nodded.

  “You did good, Peter.”

  Suddenly the soft whirl of two Devilbots flew over their heads. At about twenty feet above the ground, they held stationary at the corner of the house.

  “Beatrice says we have visitors heading our way,” Snake said. “She says we should duck.”

  As they lowered behind the wall, they glimpsed four men moving cautiously around each side of the corner of the house with weapons raised. Then they heard the two cracks. Followed a few seconds later by two more. The Devilbots whirled straight up like they were pulled on a string.

  They looked over the wall and saw four men lying on the patio. Three looked dead. One was crawling in the last desperation of a dying person trying to hold onto life.

  Demon looked at Bridger. “Rule Number One is suspended until further notice,” Bridger said, malice in his voice.

  Demon smiled. He stood up and stepped over the wall. His 1911 aimed at the man, he walked over and stood over the dying Dragon Fire.

  “No!” the man shouted, holding out his hand like it could block a bullet.

  Demon stopped and lowered his pistol. “

  Xie xie!” The thankful man dropped to the ground gasping for breath. “Xie xie.”

  Demon raised his arm and fired twice into the top of the man’s head.

  “That’s for Beast.” He turned and walked back to the wall.

  “Would you have let him shoot me?” Peter was trying to wipe his face as he held his hand over his cuts. Blood leaked from between his fingers.

  “You want to discuss that now?” Bridger looked at the pained face of the corporate spy. “To be honest, I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” He paused, then smiled. “Yes, I think I would have.”

  “Milton says more cars are heading this way,” Snake said, as he lifted his Stick. They turned to try to see the road through the trees. Two black SUVs and a van were moving fast up the road toward the house.

  “Should we go?” Snake asked, his eyes scanning the area around them.

  Bridger’s attention was on the vehicles.

  Eight large and well-armed security guards flew out of the van and took up protective positions from the SUV’s doors to the house. One opened a door, and a distinguished-looking man with gray hair and a bright tie stepped out. Danforth Chapel spoke a few words to another person in the car. The second man, an intense, professional-looking Chinese man, stepped out.

  The man looked around, then he and Chapel turned and walked toward the front of the house and out of sight. In a few seconds, they could see the men walking through the debris of the destroyed room.

  “Chapel. And that must be Chen.” Bridger said through gritted teeth.

  49

  Where is the case?

  Lebedevka Village, Ukraine

  When Chapel walked into the mess left behind at the safe house, it was more than what he expected, but he was not concerned.

  He considered himself an optimist, but he was also a pragmatist. Random chance. Holes in preparation and planning. Blind luck. Bad luck. Bad faith. Those and more were sure to rear their ugly heads without warning. He knew regular intelligence officers dealt with the uncertainty as part of a life working in espionage.

  But this was his world. Corporate intelligence. Risk management. His reputation was continually on the line on a global scale. Chapel was worried whenever he spoke to a client in distress of losing their business. Losing business was not acceptable. He would manipulate them until they agreed to remain with his firm and even expand his service offering.

  He would not lose anything today.

  It had to be done, he knew. Chapel actually felt some sympathy for Bridger and his Spy Devils. Chapel had to make sure Li Chu was at the safe house when Bridger arrived. There was a risk. It was a messy ad hoc plan to begin with—help Chen by using the Spy Devils and the case as bait to draw out the renegade Li Chu and his Dragon Fire team. Get Hillcrest to Chen so he could get it to China. The variable of Bridger’s survival was factored in—and the calculation didn’t hold out much hope for him.

  Chapel was impressed with May’s motherly intuition. It was much more powerful than his calculations. She said they could rely on Bridger’s ingenuity to survive. His body was not in the room, as he expected. It seemed she was right.

  Dead MSS officers were everywhere. A hunk of wood jutting from the eye of one man. Bullet holes in others. He was looking for Peter, but he must have escaped with Bridger. That damaged one of their potential spin scenarios.

  Kirkwood Employee Killed While Selling American Secrets to China.

  The files left in Peter’s office and downloaded to his computer should be enough to back that up. Kirkwood would pay Chapel Communications for support to push that narrative. It could still work if he was alive. A win-win.

  “Where is the case?” Chen was kicking the rubble, spreading dust all over his black shoes and suit.

  Chapel surveyed chunks of scorched metal and mutilated bodies scattered around the room.

  “There.” He pointed at a dead man. “There.” He turned again and waved his hands in semi-circles around the room toward another dead MSS officer. “There. I think there. No engineer was good enough to Humpty Dumpty these men back together again.” He patted Chen on the back.

  “But the case is not here. It is supposed to be here,” Chen proclaimed.

  “It is here. Just in little pieces. Don’t worry. We will take care of y
ou, but it will take a few days. Agreed?”

  Chen nodded.

  Bridger and Peter sat on the ground across the Dnieper River with their backs against one of the rental cars. Using a military first-aid kit, Snake was tending to his boss's wounds. He had already closed up and bandaged the corporate intel officer's injuries. Standing next to them, Imp held an iPad showing the Devilbot feed. Milton and Beatrice had positioned the drones on an angle to see into the room.

  When they were paddled across the river in a small fishing boat, Bridger gave a brief account of the meeting, the deal he struck with Ira Bondar, and the events that led to them being ambushed.

  “You royally fucked up,” Demon said in disbelief. “You.”

  “I was distracted,” he confessed to them.

  “You? Distracted? That—” Imp’s voice set up for one of his juvenile snarky comments. Bridger looked up and gave Imp the do not fuck with me at all look. Imp went back to his monitoring activity.

  “Thanks for the rescue,” Bridger said.

  “You are lucky we never listen to a word you say,” Demon said.

  “I was counting on it. And you picked up the GPS location of the Hillcrest case?”

  “The Imp did,” Snake replied.

  “You are welcome,” Imp said.

  “We had bots in the air searching when we picked up the signal,” Beatrice added, keeping track of her Devilbot controller.

  Milton was doing the same but added with his Alabama drawl, “We had them there in about fifteen minutes.”

  “The rest is Spy Devils history—including your fuck up,” Demon said to complete the story.

  “I appreciate that.”

  Bridger pulled his bandaged wrist away from Snake. He motioned Imp to give him the iPad showing the camera feed from the drone. Resting it in his lap, he saw a perfect view across the river into the house. Bridger hit a key on his phone and put it to his ear. On the screen, he saw Chapel reach into his pocket and take out his phone.

  “Hello, Bridger.”

  “Are you enjoying the view?”

  “A little messy.” Chapel replied, walking to the opening in the wall. “It is good to know you are not dead. So, how are you?”

  “I’m unhappy, to be perfectly honest, thanks for asking. I probably have a broken wrist, but I am confident my golf game won’t suffer.”

  “You seem to have survived. I don’t think I can say the same for Hillcrest.”

  “No, sorry, if that was your plan. Blowing it up seemed like the thing to do at the time. Especially after Li Chu and his goons ambushed us at the same safe house you sent us to—the safe house where we were supposed to meet you.”

  Bridger saw Chapel scan his eyes across the river. He was uncharacteristically silent.

  “Sorry if I ruined your plans,” Bridger said.

  “There are always alternatives, as you have proven today.”

  “Oh. Hey. Thanks for the recommendation to Ira Bondar. She has significant daddy issues.”

  “Viktor has been a disappointment—for everyone. Mistrust is such a toxic feeling, especially within families.”

  “How about mistrust with the MSS guy next to you?”

  Chapel kept up his scanning.

  “George lost trust with all of us. He made it even more toxic with his threats of exposing his Chinese activities. If he would have left it alone, none of this would have happened. He would have gotten his share for his efforts, and my friend Anton would not have been poisoned—by Viktor.”

  “Did you know the case was empty?”

  “What? No? Empty?” Bridger could sense and see Chapel was surprised at this new information. No deception. “No, I did not. Makes the effort to retrieve this case not worth it.”

  “Wish I knew.” Bridger saw Chen looking around the room behind Chapel. “Beast is dead. Did you know that?”

  Bridger heard silence and watched Chapel walk further onto the patio. Chen followed. He looked at the four dead Dragon Fire men.

  “Beast? Dead? I am sorry to hear that. I truly am.”

  Bridger paused and absorbed Chapel’s response. He saw the same tone and look of surprise as he had with the empty case—shock, mixed with sincerity.

  “Did you have anything to do with it?”

  On the screen, Bridger saw a slight shift of Chapel’s shoulders. He scratched the back of his neck as he walked in short, slow strides.

  “No, not at all. Never. I have no idea what happened to him, whatsoever. Believe me, Bridger. I did not,” Chapel added with a quiet, remorseful sound.

  Is he lying?

  “I am about to raise holy hell and release the Devils on whoever was responsible.”

  “Do you need me to do anything? Arrange transport of the—his remains?”

  “No, I appreciate that. We have it taken care of,” Bridger said.

  “I promise I will look into Beast.”

  “You do that. You look into it. It won’t make a difference whether they know we are coming or not.”

  Bridger read the tone of resignation as he witnessed a slow nod of Chapel’s head.

  “My only mission is to find out who killed Beast—and kill them.”

  Bridger disconnected the call.

  “Let’s go.”

  Chapel looked at his phone. Seeing the call was over, he dialed his pilot.

  “I will be there within the hour.”

  Chen walked over and stood in front of him.

  “Yes? Minister Chen, how can I help you?” Chapel asked.

  “Where is Li Chu?”

  50

  Research

  Jacob Kirkwood Boardroom

  “We’re busy. Very busy.” Jessup was irritated and checked his watch once. Then twice. “You have five minutes.”

  Peter was wondering why he wasn’t fired on the spot for not having Hillcrest with him. He expected Benton to laugh all the way to escorting Peter out the door.

  “Peter, your head. It is injured.” MacBride looked at the bandages and bruises over his eye.

  “Are you alright?” Kirkwood asked.

  “Yes, just something I picked up in Ukraine.” Peter flashed a quick look at each of the senior executives.

  Peter had landed in Chicago aboard Bridger’s plane at 4 a.m.

  After a shower and some fresh clothes, Peter took one last look at his notes. During the flight back, he used his analytic skills to dissect the MacLean and Kirkwood documents he received from Sandy Boyd. Combining his own research, financial, and news reports, he culled through every bit of information, looking for the patterns.

  Once Peter figured it all out—or as much as he could with what he had—he debated whether he should inform the FBI and SEC. Should he raise his suspicions of economic espionage by the Chinese, or the falsification of Kirkwood’s earnings? Or should he wait and see what happened? Essentially, keep quiet and do nothing.

  His conclusions were rock solid—Peter had no doubt of that. If he went through with his presentation, he knew the shit was going to hit the fan. He didn’t want the company to lay off any of his colleagues due to a scandal he exposed.

  He called Marilyn at 8 a.m., telling her he needed to meet immediately with MacBride, Jessup, and Kirkwood “regarding the Ukraine assignment.”

  The executives were sitting around the boardroom table in the exact locations where, two weeks ago, Peter had been given this assignment by the same men. Peter gave them his report, ending with the news that Hillcrest was destroyed.

  “Well, that is certainly quite a story,” MacBride said.

  “Yes, it is. The case being destroyed makes its recovery moot,” Jessup said.

  “And the funds?” Kirkwood inquired.

  “I do not know,” Peter answered.

  “Well, that is very disappointing. I was counting on you,” Kirkwood said.

  “Well, thank you, Peter. We need to discuss our next course of action, so if you will excuse us,” Jessup said in a completely condescending way, dismissing Peter like a
child.

  Decision time had come.

  “I looked into Kirkwood regarding Ukraine and other issues.”

  “Why?” MacBride seemed surprised.

  “It’s not unusual to do an analysis of your own company.” Peter’s answer was professional, not defensive. “I do it from the perspective of the competition. You see, then we can see how the competition views us. Maybe make some assumptions on what they think we might do and in reverse, what they might do. So—," Peter leaned over and read from his prepared notes, “—I used the same process for all the activity since George MacLean arrived. I wanted to know.”

  Peter picked up on their nervousness. Kirkwood’s cheeks were lava red. Jessup pursed his lower lip out and in. MacBride was rubbing his thumb and middle finger together as fast as a hummingbird’s wings.

  “Does this have a point?” Peter saw Jessup put on his lawyer’s face.

  Peter flipped open a folder and read from his notes.

  “Kirkwood was part of Nigeria's supply contracts for Abuja’s massive metro rail public transport system. Kenya. Senegal. Ghana. Oil and infrastructure deals.” Peter’s head hurt, and he pulled the paper closer to his face to read it better in the dim light.

  “In Latin America, we won deals for the oil refineries in Costa Rica, the hydro projects in Argentina, roads, ports, and railroads in Peru, Brazil, Venezuela, and hell, pretty much across the continent. Quite a run. A firm named Mourning Dove Investments was not involved in any contracts before George MacLean’s arrival. Can’t find them anywhere. Now, Mourning Dove is a factor in—well—everything.”

  “That is not a secret,” Kirkwood said, as his hue stabilized at stop sign red.

  Jessup was ready to pounce.