The Spy Devils by Joe Goldberg (top rated books of all time .TXT) 📕

of those two. Make them all disappear—and clean the blood off my bricks.”

He walked through the front door and slammed it closed behind him.

15

Lomina Street

Belgrade, Serbia

Reds and blues flashed in the darkness against the buildings of Lomina Street. A dozen white-and-blue Serbian Police cars crammed into the street soon after 2 a.m. when the calls came into the police station about gunshots and a body lying in the street. Blinding floodlights burned into the darkness like a welder’s torch below, illuminating a yellow ‘Hostel 40’ sign. Police guarded the barricades on both ends, where curious citizens strained to see what was going on.

Goran made certain that was as close as anyone got.

“National security. BIA authority,” Goran told the furious police officers who instantly complained up their chain of command. They protested to their Deputy Minister Assistant, who woke up and informed the Minister of Internal Affairs. He called down to his other direct report, the Director of the BIA, and told him to take care of whatever was going on.

Bridger’s plan was simple. It required Goran to perform a few easy tasks.

Bridger told Goran to expect his call about securing the area around a drugged Nikola made up to look dead. If Goran could help spread the needed rumors, he could have Nikola when Bridger was done with him.

He could do what he wanted with him.

In less than thirty minutes, Goran was in complete control. He had six trusted men keeping the onlookers away from the body. It looked from a distance like he was wearing a blue blazer. It looked like there were dark stains on the blazer. Stains of blood, they whispered to each other.

Photographers with long-range lenses were snapping photos from the rooftops.

Whispers were already moving through the crowd that the dead man was a Serbian—a mafia assassin, perhaps.

Rumors were also growing that a second dead man was inside a nearby building.

While most of the Spy Devils slept or guarded the safehouse, Bridger and Beast sat in the kitchen and watched B92’s morning news replay video from the events on Lomina Street.

“Goran did a good job keeping the reporters and people away from our fake dead guy,” Beast said before he sipped his dark coffee.

“Yes, he did,” Bridger said. “So far, so good. Nikola played his part well, both alive and…well...alive last night.”

“It helped that Demon had a gun to his head and blasted him with gas.”

Bridger smiled.

“It is all in the details.”

When Demon stuck his M1911 against Nikola’s head the night before, the Serbian slowly lowered his weapon.

“All clear,” Demon said.

Beast pushed Nikola against the wall and reached into the man’s pockets until he found his mobile phone.

“Ready,” he said. He raised the phone and took two pictures.

The images showed Bridger motionless in a puddle of blood. Makeup made him look like he had been shot in the head at close range. Blood. Bullet holes. Blank, pale face.

Beast looked at the screen and showed them to Beatrice, who nodded her approval.

“All clear,” Beast said.

Bridger’s body went from corpse to alive as it let out a deep breath.

“Thank god he didn’t want video,” Bridger said as he got on his knees. “I’m not sure I could have held in the death breath much longer. Damn, I hate contacts.” He placed his hand under each eye and popped them out.

When he rose to his feet, he took the phone from Beast and looked at the images.

“A work of art, Beatrice.”

He stepped toward Nikola, who was still against the wall with a gun to his head.

“Send these to Serge. No note,” Bridger said, as he handed him the phone.

Nikola paused, but when he felt the extra pressure on his temple from the M1911, he did as he was told.

Beatrice started to wipe the makeup off of Bridger’s face.

Beast walked to a small slit in the wood covering the window and looked down Lomina Street. Although Snake’s counter-surveillance determined none of Nikola’s men had been following, Beast took a sentry position, just in case.

“Imp?” Bridger yelled.

The response came from out of the dim light in the rear of the store.

“You’re dead, Grim Reaper. You can’t boss me around anymore.”

“Don’t make me kill you,” Bridger replied.

“Okay…well…assassin-boy didn’t contact his team in the last half hour. No one knows he is here.”

They were inside the entrance door to a boarded-up retail shop. The space was small and derelict. A dusty L-shaped counter protruded from the wall a few feet beyond where Bridger’s head was lying in a pool of blood moments ago. The rest of the square-shaped space ran twenty feet to a back wall and door to a service hall and storage. Fresh cut chains and broken locks were on the floor near a rusty metal exit door.

“Beast?”

“All clear on the street. A few people walking by. I see Snake down the block.”

“Bad tradecraft, Nikola,” Bridger said, as he wiped a makeup removing cloth over his faux bullet hole. He dropped it into a baggie as Beatrice handed him another. “I was hoping for that.”

“Do we need him? Can I kill him?” Demon asked.

Nikola’s eyes widened slightly as Bridger seemed to contemplate the question. “You know the plan. We still need him.”

“Son of a bitch,” Demon grumbled, as he removed the gun from Nikola’s head. Nikola’s body released tension just as Demon landed a left hook flush into his face. Nikola fell to the floor like a bowling pin. His face splatted and bounced into the pool of fake theatrical blood that had passed as the contents of Bridger’s head a few moments before.

“What? He ain’t dead,” Demon said to Bridger in his defense. He holstered his Kimber and picked up his Devil Stick. Flipping the dial, he held the end to the groaning Nikola’s face and released a thick dose of the Milton Gas. His body trembled, stiffened, then went limp.

“This guy is made of concrete,” Beast said, as he grabbed the man’s feet. Demon curled his arms under Nikola’s shoulders. As they shuffled backward,