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

distance. “You cannot talk about this to anyone. You cannot take it out of this room. Understand, Pavlo?”

“I’m…I…no one.” His mouth was dry.

She moved past and picked up a random sheet of paper and pretended to look at it. Then she stopped and looked over her shoulder at him. It felt to Pavlo like she was looking directly into his heart.

“I wanted to thank you again for taking care of the American money so expertly.” Honey dripped from every word. Red lips pursed.

“You are most welcome. It was not too difficult,” Pavlo said, letting some pride stick to his words.

Pavlo found the process of making hundreds of millions of dollars vanish intellectually stimulating. It required details on international banking regulations and the kinds of financial minutia that even a genius like Pavlo didn’t possess.

Kirkwood Credit Corporation transferred the first five hundred million dollars of digital cash from the JPMorgan Chase New York main branch to the Bondar-owned bank in Cyprus through bank clearing systems in two equal installments. In Cyprus, the banker passed the funds through a dedicated server to a clone at the Ukraine Standard Bank in Kyiv. Once data was extracted, the network was disconnected. The computer was broken into pieces and tossed into the bank’s furnace.

Pavlo knew more than most that nothing electronic was ever secure, and his ability to hide the business of the bank was a testament to that. The cyber capabilities of the American, Russian, and Chinese intelligence services, private companies, and even the basement-dwelling hacker-sphere were dangerous. No Bitcoin in “the cloud” wealth was allowed on his private networks.

From his bunker, Pavlo created multiple layers of untraceable investment accounts in offshore banks. Automated trades on global financial exchanges sold the securities and repatriated the monies as dollars and euros into Bondar family private accounts in Cyprus and Kyiv.

A significant portion, one hundred and eighty million dollars, was directed to the private cash accounts of the Bondar network of influence—judges, businessmen, politicians, and a private army. Some monies found their way to non-existent people, businesses, and organizations that were, in reality, nothing more than an address and bank account. Dry-cleaners. Florists. Bakeries. Trucking. Mobile phone stores. Charities.

Pavlo made the money disappear in less than a week.

“Wonderful,” Ira said, brushing her hands slowly along her hips, seemingly to straighten her dress. “I was afraid it would be difficult.”

“I will do everything I can.” Pavlo began to sweat and hoped he could control the feeling in his pants.

“Tell no one, not even my father. Understand?”

Pavlo looked surprised.

“Pavlo?”

“Not your father. Not Mr. Oleksandr?”

“No. Only me.”

“Good.” He realized how that sounded. “I mean, I am sorry,” he blurted out before he could stop himself. Pavlo did not like the son who regularly violated his bunker sanctuary, demanding he transfer money to his personal accounts. He reminded Pavlo of the bullies who tormented his youth. Oleksandr was not a worthy brother to Ms. Ira.

She just smiled.

“Thank you, Pavlo.” She kissed him lightly on each cheek. Traces of red lipstick were left on his skin. She stepped back and lightly punched him on his fleshy chin. “Remember, don’t tell anyone.”

She was out of the room in three long strides, leaving behind invisible vapors swirling for Pavlo to savor.

Looking at his reflection in a monitor, he carefully wiped a tissue on his cheeks to capture as much of her cosmetic as possible. Convinced he had it all, he gingerly removed a tin box from his desk, set it down in front of him, and unlocked it. Neatly organized inside were a piece of ribbon, a leather glove, an empty Chanel perfume bottle he found in the trash, and dozens of crumpled, lipstick-stained tissues. Cautiously, he set the tissue inside. He re-locked the tin, placed it back in the drawer, then closed and locked the drawer.

Although he had never experienced it himself, Pavlo imagined the warm sensation that spread over his entire body when she kissed his cheek was the same sensation other people felt when they made love.

Inhaling deeply to capture the fading aroma of her visit, he looked back at the strange silver case.

He would get it open. He had to get it open.

He would never let her down.

20

Na Cosku

Belgrade, Serbia

“Two cars. Coming up fast on Krunska Street,” Beatrice announced over their comm system. She looked at the screen displaying the infrared camera feed from the Devilbot. “One block away.”

Through his night vision binoculars, Bridger watched the two black SUVs turn onto Beogradska Street and stop. At 2 a.m., the central streets of Belgrade were empty. He and Demon were half a block down from the intersection crouched behind a billboard on a sloping grass hill. It provided a good view of Na Cosku, The Corner Restaurant.

Bridger watched the light-enhanced images of two men exit the first car. Two more men got out of the second car. Bridger caught a glimpse of one man carrying a case as they walked in the restaurant.

“That’s Serge and the Chinese, right on schedule,” Bridger whispered. “He is always punctual, bless his soul.”

Nikola had told the truth. The meeting was scheduled for the next day. He gave the place, location, and who was supposed to be in attendance. Bridger appreciated that. Nikola had earned his freedom as part of the deal—eventually. A dose of gas from a Devil Stick left him unconscious in the safe house cage. Snake, unhappily, was on guard duty.

Bridger had eaten at Na Cosku—the small Mediterranean and Asian cuisine restaurant located in the heart of Belgrade. It was long and narrow with carved wood trim and pale-yellow walls. White table cloth-covered tables lined the street side of the interior under the wide windows.

At the far end of the restaurant was a private room with an opaque stained-glass window. Pictures and small mirrors hung on the walls. On one side, a stuffed red leather couch ran wall to wall under a large ornate mirror. Rectangular dining tables lined the couch.

Taube had chosen well for his clandestine meeting,