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

Weapons. Your Swiss bank accounts have sufficient funds for you to live well.”

Nikola didn’t answer at first, then nodded.

“I thought so. So, all you need to do is tell me all about the deal Serge is about to complete. Most urgently, I want to know where the meeting is and when. You are free the moment we are done. In fact, for the trouble and inconvenience we have put you through, I have opened a Swiss account in your name for one hundred thousand dollars. All yours,” Bridger brushed his hands together.

Nikola sighed and looked at him again.

“It could be many places,” Nikola said. Bridger knew this was his test to see how his jailer would react. Bridger was prepared.

“I just want to do this the easy way. You get out, get richer, and that keeps us from running around listening and surveilling. Alternatively, I could keep you locked in here,” Bridger sat forward and kicked an iron bar, “and let you starve to death where your body will rot away and get eaten by rats. Or, we tell Serge where you are when we are done. He comes in and shoots you. Your body will rot away and get eaten by rats right here. Maybe he saves the bullets and decides to burn the whole place down, right on top of you.

“Doesn’t matter to me how he does it.” Bridger shrugged his shoulders, sat back in the chair, folded his arms, and smiled at Nikola.

Nikola stood and held out his hand.

“Two hundred thousand dollars.”

“Fair enough,” Bridger said as he shook Nikola’s hand.

19

Chanel N°5 Parfum Grand Extrait

Kyiv, Ukraine

Having been labeled a loser by his family and friends the entire forty-two lonely years of his life, Pavlo sat in his apartment and channeled his considerable skills to worlds where an utterly alone male could relate: The internet. Computers. Hacking. Trolling adult dating sites. Pornography.

It started with computers—the refuge for a child seeking isolation from the terrifying world surrounding him. Computers didn’t tease him for being smart. Didn’t nickname him “The Fat Rabbit” because his appearance featured a round frame and large ears or the impression he was always about to run scared. Computers didn’t bully him daily during school. Didn’t lock him in a dark closet when they came home stinking of cigarettes, beer, and women every evening. Didn’t beat him with a belt or scream that he was a worthless mistake.

Technology put power in his fingertips, unlike anything he had ever imagined.

Apple and Microsoft were his parents. HP and IBM were his siblings. Google. The deep and dark webs, TORs. Software holes—they were his best friends.

At the Ukraine Standard Bank, he had found a human family in Viktor and Ira Bondar—Ira mostly. She recognized and accepted him for what he was—a genius. So, when Ira Bondar—she is so beautiful—called him at noon and told him to meet her at his office, he didn’t have to move. He was usually there.

One of the happiest memories of his life was the day eight years ago when Mr. Bondar rescued him from a wasted existence as a part-time technician in the bank’s computer support center. Pavlo was given his own basement office and all the equipment he would need for any task he was asked to complete. Pavlo would work directly for Ms. Ira. He was overjoyed, and Ms. Ira gave him many secret projects over the years.

She recognized his powers. She needed him. He would do anything for her. Anything.

Through eyeglass lenses so smudged with fingerprints it was hard to see out the other side—he waited. A wall of technology hummed behind him. Four massive flat-panel monitors glowed in front of him.

He made himself presentable by covering his meaty frame that looked eight months pregnant with a dark pair of pants and a gray shirt. He spit into his pale hands as he stooped to see his reflection in a monitor, trying to flatten his rat’s nest of brown hair.

Pavlo was ready when she arrived that afternoon. His body petrified harder than a fossil when he unlocked and opened the gray metal safety door of his basement hideaway.

She looks as if she has just stepped out of a piece of cameo jewelry.

He did not know that Ira had spent her time since her father poisoned Vlasenko at breakfast regaining her composure. It wasn’t only her vanity that caused her to spend an hour reapplying her makeup—red lips and nails—and picking out the right Nicolas Ghesquière designed Louis Vuitton dress—a tasteful dark blue knit.

Pavlo did not know or care, for that matter, that she was manipulating him.

“Oh, Pavlo. Thank you for being here!” She strolled toward him, placed a hand on his shoulder, and pecked at his stubble-covered cheek. She stepped back, leaving a trail of Chanel N°5 Parfum Grand Extrait in a cloud by his face.

The blood ran from his head, leaving him dizzy.

“Ah…umm…errr,” was all he could force out of his lungs. As always, his hands started to quiver whenever he experienced the thrill of being in a room with Ira.

She maneuvered around the perimeter, looking at the machines, brushing her long slender fingers across a keyboard and the back of his chair. The scent of her perfume trailed behind her every step.

“I could never understand how these machines work.”

“That’s why you have me!” He couldn’t contain his pride.

“Yes, yes, it is. We are fortunate.”

“How may I help you?”

“We very much need your help with this.” She walked by him and placed a large dark bag on his computer table. He hadn’t even noticed it. He unzipped the bag and removed an oddly-shaped silver briefcase.

He had not seen anything like it. The briefcase had what appeared to be various unmarked security systems across the top. An alphanumeric keypad. Some sort of biometric scanner. Or was it two? Three?

“This is very unusual,” he said.

“Can you get it open?”

“Yes,” the sounds shot from his mouth before knowing if he could.

“You are always here for me.” She moved to within smelling