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

find a lost or stolen article believed to be in the possession of your father. Since we have no idea where to look, we thought you could help us.”

“I don’t know anything, and I won’t help you.” The mask puffed in and out, outlining Olek’s mouth. Bridger smiled.

“You will, soon enough.”

He heard Olek whine like a fearful puppy.

Bridger stopped to look out the windows that made up the top half of the suite's curved sides. The blinds were raised, offering a panoramic night view of the Cypriot coast off Limassol that glowed a few kilometers in the distance. The lights cast streaks of color on the dark surface of the Med.

“What a view. You have found something here, Oleksandr. I mean, this is paradise. I had forgotten how lovely Cyprus is.”

Cyprus may be lovely, but it was also a problem for Bridger. The Cyprus Chief of Police, who had assisted him on many mutually beneficial covert deals over the years, died of a massive heart attack one year ago. To do anything, he needed the complete cooperation of the local police.

His friend in Cyprus was dead—but he did have a friend in Greece.

30

Drunk, On Drugs, and Dancing

Off the coast of Cyprus

Even in his mid-seventies, Yannis Taskas was a large man in stature, personality, opinion, thirst for red wine, and appetite. He also was an expert craftsman in intelligence as a retired forty-year spy in the Greek National Intelligence Service, the Ethniki Ypiresia Pliroforion. Upon retirement, in the shadows of the Acropolis, he became an expert craftsman in his family’s small jewelry shop tucked down one of the narrow streets in the Plaka neighborhood.

When he learned he was going to run an operation in Cyprus, Bridger immediately called his old friend.

Bridger liked Yannis, and Yannis felt the same about the young man. “You will make a great spy someday—like your mother,” he would often prophesy when he left their apartment each night. Years later, one call to him that included the phrase “I need a favor” was enough.

“Yassou, hello to you, and you always need a favor. I am always glad to help my old friend. What can I do for you?” The voice was deep and sincere.

Bridger explained in general terms what he needed in Cyprus. Specifics were not necessary or expected. Yannis knew better, and even if he asked, the answer would be silence. It was enough that they had trust and the knowledge they would assist each other without question.

Money was a different matter.

“It just so happens that I am distantly related through my blessed mother to many people, even in Cyprus—including the new Chief of the Cyprus Police. He is a third cousin, or fourth, I forget. Oh, and he is a malaka. Quite a dick, as you might say.”

A loud snort resembling a laugh came through the phone. Bridger smiled on his end of the conversation. In the decades he had known Yannis, he ended up being related to just about everyone who had a drop of Greek blood in their veins.

“Can you make the call?”

“In the area of…compensation?” Yannis asked.

“Fifteen thousand dollars,” Bridger offered.

“Thirty thousand,” Yannis countered.

“Twenty-five,” Bridger countered the counter. Yannis would have been offended if he didn’t. Yannis was a former spy, but he was also a good businessman.

“You are a good friend, but cheap. I accept your meager offer.”

They said farewell as the transaction was completed.

When Bridger, Demon, Snake, and Beast landed at Nicosia International Airport, Cristos Zacharias, the new Chief of the Cyprus Police, had a car waiting for them in a secure area away from the main passenger terminals.

“Hello, I am Chief of Police Cristos Zacharias,” he said in lightly accented English. He bowed from the shoulders.

The clean-shaven man was wearing a neatly pressed official blue uniform and collar insignia of the police chief. Freshly cut black hair with gray temples sat under his saucer-shaped blue police chief hat. A row of service ribbons ran across his chest on the upper left side of his uniform. Shiny silver buttons ran along the front and on his sleeves.

Chief Zacharias listened carefully as Bridger explained what was needed.

“We shall go. All is ready. Yannis speaks highly of you. May we discuss my fee?” They settled on thirty-five thousand dollars. It was too much, but Bridger needed to pay for the Chief’s immediate help, complete silence, and a down payment on a possible long-term relationship.

In the car, Zacharias explained to Bridger that Oleksandr Bondar was easy to find. He was a frequent visitor to the Guaba Beach Bar in Limassol. When they arrived at the location, Olek was right where the Chief of Police said he would be—in the bar, drunk, on drugs, and dancing. A few hours later, Olek led them straight to his boat.

“I want to talk to my father,” Olek whimpered through the mask. “You don’t know who you are dealing with.” The hood was plastered to his head from his sweat. “He will send men to come here and chop you up and use your bones as firewood.” He was shouting now.

Bridger walked over and lowered his mouth next to where Olek’s left ear should be.

“Yes, Olek, I do know who I am dealing with,” he whispered. Olek shot to his right, losing his orientation, which caused him to tip over onto the floor with a thud. Bridger stood. “I will share a secret with you. I actually know something about your father. I am not certain you want to call him. You might not like what you hear.” Bridger stretched his arms over his head and arched his back.

“He will hunt you and kill you. He is my father.” His comments lacked conviction. The puffing inside the hood grew quicker.

Bridger walked aft to the open glass doors that separated the enclosed lounge from the open-air sun deck. He took in a deep breath of the salty air. “I never was much for the sea, but this is relaxing.”

“Go fuck yourself. When my father finds out—”

“There