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

KRT had complete autonomy to experiment, develop, build, succeed, and fail.

KRT was hidden below an unremarkable two-story building fifty yards to the east of the Kirkwood headquarters. Since the group worked in a windowless subterranean home, where they rarely came up for air, those that knew about their existence christened their workspace The Mole Hole. The engineers were understandably referred to as “Moles.”

The present-day interior of KRT was unlike any other unit at Kirkwood. They had a sleeping room, video games, fake plants, and a full kitchen. There was a guard station to the left and a wall of lockboxes next to that. Another imposing cipher-locked door covered in red warning signs was across from the guard station.

NO ELECTRONICS BEYOND THIS POINT.

NO CLASSIFIED CONVERSATIONS IN THE BREAK AREA.

Peter walked up to the guard and entered his name and social security number into the computer, which tagged the time and date. The guard gave him a look and handed him a label with his name and picture on it.

“Here you go, Mr. Schaeffer. Please wear this at all times.”

Bridger gave the guard the same info.

“Welcome to KRT, Mr. Palmer. Please wear this at all times.”

“Thank you.” Bridger took the label, peeled off the back, and slapped it on his chest over his heart.

“And please remove all electronics and place them in the lockboxes.”

They nodded, turned, and took the few steps to the small numbered boxes lining the wall. The boxes had a key with an orange grip with an elastic band in them. Peter opened one door and tossed in his cellphone and car remote. Bridger set his phone next to Peter’s. Peter slammed the box shut, twisted the key in the lock, pulled it out, and wrapped the elastic band around his wrist.

Peter heard a click and turned to see the secure door to his left start to open.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Gilbert Street, Vice President, Kirkwood Research Technology, shouted the words with excitement. The King of the Moles. The cheery triple “Hey” was Gilbert’s signature greeting and part of the charm that drew and kept a loyal staff of engineering geniuses. They had a motto: A day without three “heys” is a day without sunshine.

“Hello, Gilbert.” Peter walked toward him, hand extended, preparing for the energetic pumping that was certain to come when you were greeted by Gilbert.

“This is Mr. Arnold Palmer. He is from—the government.” He pointed to Bridger with his free hand.

“Which one?”

“No comment!” Bridger laughed as he shook Gilbert’s hand. “Call me Arnie.

“Hey, if you don’t tell me you don’t have to kill me! Right, Arnie? A friend of Peter is a friend of mine. Come on in.”

Peter saw an irritating ‘I told you so, why were you worrying?’ look in Bridger’s expression.

Gilbert held the heavy metal door open, and they walked into the most secure area in Kirkwood. Just inside the door, a red warning light rotated from the ceiling, casting a strobe firework effect across the area. It was an alert—uncleared personnel in the area.

Peter was sure Gilbert’s parents never had to buy him a Halloween costume. He was a human-sized owl, but still half a foot shorter than Peter. His perfectly round head was accented by pointed tufts of fading black hair above each ear. Gilbert’s sharp beak-like nose separated puffy smooth cheeks. Thin lips formed a line below the beak. A head angled out of slightly stooped shoulders as if the owl was sitting in a tree scanning the forest for his next mouse dinner.

They walked down a long beige hallway lined with a few doors, discarded or broken chairs, desks, metal filing cabinets, and trash.

“I like what you have done with the place, Gilbert. It looks like a Goodwill Store barfed in here,” Bridger said as they closed ranks to dodge the debris.

“I have been meaning to complain to the front desk about the maid service. Just haven’t gotten around to it.” Gilbert rapidly snorted air in and out like a donkey’s hee-haw, as his head bobbed with each blurt.

Gilbert opened a door on the right near the end of the hallway. They walked into his office.

It was small—much smaller than a vice president was entitled at Kirkwood. It barely fit a recycled metal desk, two torn hand-me-down guest chairs, a few overstuffed bookcases, and two cabinets with combination locks on each drawer. Any free surface was covered with space memorabilia. Detailed models of a timeline of NASA rockets. Mercury. Gemini. Apollo. Space shuttle. Lunar landers and Mars rovers. A two-foot-long model of the International Space Station hung from the ceiling tiles by paperclip and string tethers.

Diplomas on the wall showed he held Master’s Degrees in Electrical and Computer Engineering and Mechanical Engineering. He was as smart as they come at Kirkwood.

“So, what can I do you for you, gentlemen?”

“We don’t have a lot of time, so tell us about Hillcrest,” Bridger said.

Peter saw that just mentioning Hillcrest struck a nerve. Silence, followed by more silence.

“Hillcrest? What do you mean?” Gilbert asked.

He was talking too fast, Peter thought.

“Gilbert. I need you to answer some questions Right now,” Bridger said with all seriousness. “Hillcrest.”

Peter knew a little about interview techniques. He learned them during his brief time in CIA training. He had adapted them to use in his intelligence collection at Kirkwood. It was exciting to see them put into play by an expert like Bridger.

Control was necessary, he knew. There were a few dozen methods with unique names—bracketing, flattery, confidential bait, assumed knowledge, and denial of the obvious—that were meant to appear like any normal conversation between two people. In actuality, they were there to manipulate.

“I know about it, Gilbert. Hillcrest. I know it is important, but I am not sure I have all the details, exactly,” Bridger started.

Feigned ignorance.

“Where did you hear about that? I’m not saying—”

“I heard it might be related to the death of the CFO. Any ideas?”

The leading question technique.

Peter felt the air chill to the level he could imagine the model airplanes needing to have