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

a succinctly crude but surprisingly accurate way. We are the fuckers who fuck with the people who fuck with other people.”

“Catchy.”

“He thinks so.” Bridger sat back, keeping his eyes on the company man. “For the sake of some transparency, I will say we don’t usually help U.S. companies. Never, actually. This is an unwelcomed exception, in all honesty.”

Peter absorbed the comments. “Why me?”

“I don’t know. Your good looks and charm?”

Charles, their waiter, appeared at the table, introduced himself, explained the specials, and took their order. Streak for Bridger. Salad for Peter. Both declined desserts. Charles nodded and retreated.

“Say, Peter. I was wondering. Has anyone mentioned China or the word Hillcrest?” Bridger grabbed a flat bread from a basket and took a bite.

“China? Hillcrest?” Peter was confused. “No. Nothing like that.”

“Figures. Ask about it. See what happens.” Bridger sat back and folded his arms across his chest. “Now, tell me everything that has happened so far. Who asked you to do this, etc.?”

Peter took ten minutes to explain the events of the last few days. He listed off the Kirkwood executives and what they asked him to do.

“Danforth Chapel is involved, also,” he added.

“Chapel?” Bridger asked.

Peter flinched at a ding signaling he had received a text message. He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and checked. It was from Sandy Boyd.

“It is from an internal Kirkwood source I have on the executive floor,” Peter said to Bridger. “She is looking for any messages and documents that might be useful.”

“Good job, Peter! What does it say?” Bridger happily rapped the top of the table with his fingers.

Peter squinted at the screen. He read out loud.

Peter: I recalled something. Not sure if interesting. George was desperate to see Gilbert Street before he left. He had me call and tell him to get the case ready. He was taking it to Ukraine. They met before he left. Will send more soon.”

Peter set his phone on the table. With his elbows on the arms of the chair, he interlocked his fingers in front of his chest. Bridger could tell he was thinking—he was biting the inside of his lip.

“Well, I know where I need to go next,” Peter said, as he slid his phone back into his pocket.

“Where?”

“A group inside Kirkwood. KRT stands for Kirkwood Research Technologies. It is a classified, limited access, Applied Research team. It means MacLean stopped there before he left. I want to know why.”

“Sounds like my kind of place. Let’s get going. Time is fleeting.”

“But you can’t get in. As I said, it is a secure facility.”

Bridger laughed. “No problem. I make a living getting into secure facilities. It is a trademark of the Spy Devils.”

25

The Mole Hole

Kirkwood Headquarters

Clinton, the thick-necked security guard, was dressed in a black shirt with the familiar Kirkwood gold “K” on his chest and a Smith and Wesson M&P 9 in a black leather holster around his waist. He checked the flat screen to make certain Peter’s name was on the limited access employee list.

“Here you go, Mr. Schaeffer. Good to see you again,” Clinton said, handing Peter his badge.

“Thanks, Clinton.” Peter took the badge and concentrated on keeping his hand from shaking. He felt sick to his stomach and was sure his face was as white as a wedding dress.

He could not believe the man with him looked calm—almost bored.

“Identification?” Clinton asked the stranger in his imposing security voice.

The man handed over his license and government identification. The guard took it and looked at the screen. Then he looked at the document—then the screen again. He handed them back.

“Thank you, Mr. Palmer. Have a nice day.”

Peter didn’t realize he had been holding his breath. He let it out slowly as the metallic sound of a lock releasing granted access through the secure door. It opened quickly and closed behind them just as fast.

Their feet clicked on the pale green tile floor, but acoustic foam tiles covering the walls and ceiling quickly swallowed the sound. They reached an identical set of stairs and secure door on the other end in less than a minute—the secret entrance to The Mole Hole.

“How the hell did you do that?” a shocked Peter whispered, feeling the blood rush back to his face.

“I told you. I am cleared. Relax, will you? You were so pale, I thought you had died. Just do whatever you do. I will do the rest,” Bridger said.

“But—"

“Stick with the plan.”

During the ride over, Peter was adamant Bridger would not get into KRT. Peter was sure he would be discovered trying to bring in an unauthorized person. He would be detained, arrested, fired, or all of the above.

“I can’t be the first visitor to this place,” Bridger said, when they pulled into the parking lot.

“No, but they are pre-approved. The first guard will catch you.”

“No, he won’t. I have been pre-approved. Have some faith.”

“What about security cameras? They record everything.”

“I think they will discover a malfunction about the time we are there.”

As they approached the next door, he had to admit Bridger was correct on all counts, so far.

“Could you have picked a worse alias?” Peter said, holding his right hand on a biometric pad attached to the wall by the door.

“It is perfect. Who would use such a known name if they wanted to avoid attention? And what? You don’t like Arnie?”

A warm red glow turned calm blue on the display under Peter’s palm.

“Access granted” appeared in block letters across the top of the screen. In a few seconds, there was a sustained buzzzz on their side of the door, followed by a hard, metallic click. Peter pushed the door open and waved at the armed security guard eyeing him and his guest. They walked into a division few within the company knew existed—Kirkwood Research Technologies or KRT.

Kirkwood Research Technologies was born in 1938 during the simmering days leading up to World War II. Twentieth-century industrialist and visionary founder Jacob Kirkwood clandestinely assembled engineers from all disciplines—electrical, mechanical, and chemical.