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

their wings de-iced. Gilbert leaned further back in his chair.

“Now where did you hear that? This is a classified KRT program. Limited access and distribution.”

Bridger leaned forward and put his elbows on top of the desk clutter.

“So, there is a product named Hillcrest. Tell us.”

“I did not say that—I—I didn’t say that. Who are you?”

“Just looking for answers. The kind of answers I need answered.” Bridger’s friendly smile didn’t hide the seriousness of the need for an answer.

Gilbert nervously looked at Peter. His chair squeaked as he shifted his body weight.

Peter could tell Gilbert was not prepared for Bridger. Who could be?

“What’s going on, Gilbert?” Peter asked calmly.

“Your bosses seem to be pretty worried about it. I’m trying to help everyone solve the puzzle. It’s all about Kirkwood in the end.”

Mutual interest.

Peter could tell Gilbert was thinking. Bridger was silent, then he did another switch. Steady. Non-threatening.

“You made Hillcrest. We know it is your creation.” A definitive statement of fact.

Gilbert was visibly shifting in his seat. He rubbed his palms together like he was crushing a walnut between them.

“No. What? I cannot say anything about this without approval from above. The whole thing has become…become…complex...but it is NOT my invention…if there was one. I can’t talk about it.” Gilbert let his eyes roam around his office.

“It is simple,” Peter joined in, calmly. “I was asked by Jessup, MacBride, and Kirkwood to look into the death of MacLean.”

“Even Chapel green-lighted Peter’s task, right, Peter?” Bridger said, keeping his eyes on Gilbert.

“Yes, he did. He was particularly interested in helping to get the briefcase back. Worried, really.”

Gilbert’s shoulders started to slump in surrender to the questioning.

“If you need to call someone to verify it, go ahead. Call Chapel.” Bridger pointed to the phone.

Gilbert’s furrowed brow and puffy lips told Peter he was deciding whether to let them in on whatever Hillcrest was.

He is near the finish line.

“Maybe I will call Benton in security,” Gilbert said. He leaned forward like he was going for the phone.

“No—,” Peter started.

“No, go ahead. Let’s call him,” Bridger interrupted. “You can verify all of this. What’s his number?” Bridger pointed to the desk phone. Gilbert hesitated, then pulled his trembling hand back.

“The 10th floor asked you to find it?” he asked, looking beaten.

“Yes.” Peter and Bridger said together.

Gilbert sighed and shook his head as he exhaled the air slowing through his nose.

“What is going on, Gilbert?” Bridger asked.

26

Latin for Guard

Kirkwood Research Technologies

“Come with me.”

They followed Gilbert out the door and to the right. He led them to another door at the end of the corridor. It took a few seconds for Gilbert to navigate the fingerprint, voice, and retinal biometric systems. He punched in one final authentication code. The door clicked open. Once inside, they started down a long set of steps. At the bottom were bright walls of white and glass accented with the low hum of machinery.

There were two rooms across from each other—each about the size of a tennis court. The left room was filled with metal racks of equipment, workstations, wires, tools, and a half dozen casually dressed men and women. Desks, conference tables, and chairs were lined in a T-pattern, forming narrow aisles like a maze.

The room to the right was opposite in appearance. It was so bright it looked as if was on fire. It was white from the tile floor to the high air circulating ceiling pipes. The room was empty except for long tables with computers and workstations spaced every few feet.

“This area has the best security in the world,” Gilbert said. “We have gone back to the Stone Age, or pre-1980, which is mostly the same thing. This floor is totally off the grid. No wireless. No internet. Nothing connected. We communicate by courier. I have a dedicated STU-3 secure phone in my office down here. No darned hackers can hack something that isn’t linked to anything. It may not be efficient, but it is secure.” He looked around the room with satisfaction. “No one is getting anything from my shop unless they dig a hole from China.”

“Gilbert. Tell us. What is Hillcrest?” Bridger said, suddenly standing so close to Gilbert their shoulders were touching. Startled, Gilbert put a few inches between them. Bridger stayed awkwardly close.

“For me, it isn’t important what Hillcrest is. That, I will not divulge. What is neat is what it’s in.”

“What?” Peter snorted with a confused laugh.

“Explain yourself, Gilbert,” Bridger said.

“Yes.” Gilbert scurried with excitement to a door. When he walked in, Peter saw a marginally cleaner clone of Gilbert’s office upstairs. Gilbert went behind the desk and sat in a beat-up wooden chair that squeaked when weight was applied.

Gilbert sat forward, chattering with excitement.

“We are developing some exquisite technology—beautiful research with neat stuff. Well ahead of the Russians and Chinese combined.” He stopped. “The government asked for KRT to help in making it harder to steal.”

“Who in the government?” Bridger asked. “What is it?”

“I don’t know, but I thought it was spooks. CIA-types. NSA. DoD. Others?” He looked at Bridger with a “which are you?” expression.

Gilbert reached under his desk, unlocked a cabinet, and set an odd-shaped silver briefcase on top of the desk. He sat back with the look of a proud father. They waited for him to explain. Nothing.

“This is Hillcrest?” Peter asked.

Gilbert sighed. “Hillcrest, the thing I will never tell you about, goes IN the case. For me, it is the case that is the unique tech.” Gilbert ran his fingers on the case like he was caressing his child. “I call it Custos. That’s—”

“—Latin for guard,” Bridger said, walking around the desk, forcing Gilbert to slide his chair away a few inches.

Peter looked at Bridger, who looked at Gilbert.

“Yes, that is correct,” Gilbert said.

“This case—which I am going to call Hillcrest for simplicity—this is the same case George took to Ukraine?” Bridger asked.

“Yes, but it is Cu—”

“I know,” Bridger cut him off, “but whatever we call it, Hillcrest is inside?” Bridger added quickly.

“Yes, sure,