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

Standard Bank. The building was fortified against intrusion. Armed guards patrolled 24 hours a day. Electronic detection and warning systems were installed on every door, window, and hallway.

The office was his sanctuary from the chaos outside the windows.

“We are not without problems, father,” Ira proclaimed.

“Old news, Ira. The ministers inside the RADA are pressuring me to increase the already substantial monies we pay them. I expect they will move on our shipping assets. That is an annoyance at most.”

Viktor’s Ukraine Investment and Holding Company paid bribes to the ruling government, judges, and local officials to protect his businesses and control people. After the last presidential election, Bondar was not surprised to be the target of the anti-oligarch corruption reforms within the government—which he thought was ironic since most of the RADA was controlled by other oligarchs like himself.

Ira wasn’t convinced.

“The disruption to our mining operation is a significant problem for all businesses. Several of our transactions run through the subsidiaries.” She stared out the bullet-proof windows at the night glow of Kyiv. “The situation in Serbia and the cancelation of the asset sale is a disaster. We are under even more pressure. We needed those funds. We should cut their heads off.”

“You only know the world I created for you,” his words were slurring now. “You were born with a seat at the table, a feast in front of you. You have never had to shoot a rabbit to fill an empty stomach. Or fear getting caught when you steal bread from a starving person because you are starving more.”

He picked up his glass, examined the amount of liquid inside, and took a drink that emptied the remaining contents. He set the glass down with a loud thump on his desk.

He continued, his arms gesturing in the air around him.

“You mourn for ‘Uncle Anton,’ but I know he was behind the government attacks on our businesses. His death is good for us.”

She turned her face away from him to hide the pain he had inflicted on her by killing the old man. She loved Uncle Anton as much as her father—maybe more. Vlasenko showed her respect. Her father gave her lectures. Her finger-nail clicks were more rapid and louder.

“Unless we take precautions, we are vulnerable. If they pressure these businesses, they will pressure others. At least send our men to protect the shipping warehouses.”

He scratched the three-day growth on his chin. Filled his glass with more Beluga Gold Line and sipped. He did not comment on her suggestion.

“Where is your brother? I have not heard from him. I suppose he is gone again and calls for money.” No answer came. Bondar shook his head and sighed with the resignation reserved for a father to his son. “He is a total disappointment.”

“I will find him.”

She saw the sadness in her father’s sagging and tired eyes. Ira spent her life protecting Olek from their father. He considered her brother a waste—she understood that. Since Oleksandr was not interested in the business, their father equated that with weakness.

Ira’s mobile phone started to buzz. She picked it up, looked at the caller ID, and pushed the answer button.

“Yes?” She listened for less than a minute, then hung up without another word. “The Office of the Prosecutor General has signed the warrants. They are coming after our facilities in Odessa.”

He finished his drink and poured another.

“What do you plan to do?” she asked.

“Kill them. Ignore them—it does not matter. I am Vik-tor Bondar.”

He swallowed the vodka, leaned backed in his chair, and closed his eyes.

“Father? Father?” Ira stared at her father, who had already started to snore.

She shook her head in disgust as she dialed a number on her phone. It was answered on the first ring.

“Get your men ready.”

22

Nom De Guerre

Chicago, Illinois

In his luxury suite at the Ritz-Carlton in downtown Chicago, Bridger sank into an overstuffed chair, wondering if this was going to be interesting or a pain in the ass. He munched some nuts from the complimentary gift basket provided by the hotel. Extra-large cashews. When those were gone, he would start on a large box of gourmet chocolates.

He felt pretty good about himself on the flight back from Serbia aboard his private plane. Not only because he was killing off his second fine bottle of an Italian Sangiovese, but the mission was a success. In. Out. No injuries. No exposure.

The rest of the Spy Devils had split up and departed Serbia by plane, train, and car. They would leave Europe from various locations using their true names like any other traveler.

Bridger’s pretty good feeling ended when his mother sent a secure text telling him to divert to Chicago immediately. When he probed May for more info, her brief reply said he would get more details when he was in Chicago. He was flying into an operation blind. That was unusual.

Bridger looked around the expensive suite. He had been living the good life all his life—well, adult life. Although his mother was a secret government employee, she had married well—purposely he assumed.

He knew his father, Stanley Hall, was a successful early tech pioneer. When he suddenly died, he left his little boy a thirty-seven-million-dollar trust fund. Half was his when he turned twenty-one. The rest three years after he graduated from college.

When the time came, she told him he should only use it for operational purposes. No fancy car in college. No taking friends, especially girlfriends—she frowned upon them—on vacations to Cabo. No gambling or other vices—except golf.

“When you get operational, then you can have some toys.”

He did as he was told—pretty much all of the time.

When the right time came, he used his money to establish his cover company Hubbard Park Investments, and subsequently, the Spy Devils. Hubbard gave him cover for status and action to run his Spy Devils operations. Trow Hall was free to travel. He could meet a wide variety of people. He could open international satellite offices. He could establish a network of independent companies