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

“Peter, sometimes, truth is stranger than fiction—and riskier. You are involved in a very serious situation. I am certain you are aware of that. You should be cautious.” Chapel’s face morphed from a look of trusting best friend to the scolding school principal.

“Um. I don’t—? Cautious? Of what?”

“Very cautious. People’s lives and livelihoods depend on your professionalism,” Chapel said, one hand coming up to brush his bright orange and yellow tie. Without another word or change of expression, Chapel stood and walked back to his office.

Peter searched his brain for any idea of what Chapel meant. Peter was wide awake for the rest of the flight until they landed at Boryspil Airport in Kyiv. When the plane finished its taxi to the private jet terminal, Chapel came out of his office. Peter stood, not knowing what to expect.

“Here we are, Peter! I don’t believe you have been to Kyiv before, right?” Chapel said all bright and happy. His demeanor gave no indication of the dire warning he issued just a few hours ago.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Then I hope you have the opportunity to get a chance to enjoy this historic city.” Chapel led Peter to the open door and the steps.

“I hope so, too.”

Peter descended the steps into the Kyiv night. A blue-and-yellow carpet led from the jet to the entrance of the building. Chapel followed him down.

“Peter. I shall leave you here, as I have an urgent meeting at the Ministry of Defense. My staff will see you through the immigration process.”

“Oh, okay. Thank you for the ride.”

“Anytime, Peter. Anytime.” Peter watched Chapel walk a few steps toward a waiting black SUV, where a security guard held the door open. The engine was running. Chapel turned and looked back. “Say hello to the boys and happy hunting.”

He smiled and entered the car. The guard closed the door and ran around to the other side. In three seconds, it sped away.

Peter was alone—but not for long.

39

It Sucks to be Pavlo

Kyiv, Ukraine

Based on a photo provided by Imp taken from Peter’s Facebook page, Snake intercepted Peter when he walked in the main hall of Boryspil Airport.

“Bridger,” was all Snake said.

Peter nodded and followed. Traffic was light, so it was easy for Snake to check for surveillance on the drive to the warehouse. Peter dozed.

The interrogation of Pavlo was over when Peter arrived. The Spy Devils were sitting around a cluttered industrial-sized rectangular table in the middle of a windowless room. Wires from a table full of electronics ran out the door in the direction of humming generators.

The Spy Devils had taken over a deteriorating building near the port. Discarded boxes and fading labels revealed it had once been a canning and shipping facility for fruits and vegetables. Graffiti covered the walls. Mounds of trash and discarded drug paraphernalia covered the floor.

“Come over. How was the trip?” Bridger asked Peter.

“Chapel’s plane is pretty nice,” Peter said as they shook hands.

“Yes, I know. It’s a Bombardier Global 7500. Nice ride. What I meant was, what did you best friends talk about?”

“Not much. Just warned me to be cautious. Like my life depended on it. He says hello, by the way. He liked your info from Cyprus. Said nice things.”

“He is such a sweetheart.” Bridger was still not thrilled Chapel was involved. “I assume he stuffed it into his pocket.”

“Yes,” Peter nodded.

“Like always. He will take credit for it. He always does.”

“He is the new point of contact,” Peter said, rubbing his tired eyes.

“Yeah. I heard.” Bridger said, making sure the sarcasm was obvious. “We are on a tight schedule, so this has to be quick.” Bridger waved his arm around the room. “You met Snake. These are most of the famous Spy Devils. Everyone. This is Peter. He works for Kirkwood.”

Peter nodded at the people around the table. It felt surreal to Peter. They looked like normal people. A man. Woman. A kid. The Snake. Only one not normal-looking was the older mean-looking guy who was pacing. He looked scary. It was hard to fathom that they were a celebrated group of spies he had been following on social media for years.

They looked tired and showed it in their posture and red eyes.

“How’s business?” Bridger asked Peter. “Tell us. Anything more from your sources?”

“Not much.” Peter briefed them regarding his conversations with Kirkwood management. How they wanted to take him off the assignment. Chapel offering to act as a point of contact.

“Interesting,” Bridger said. “They tried to drop the whole thing, did they? I need to think about that. Anyway, we have been busy, too.”

Bridger gave Peter a quick sketch of Pavlo’s interrogation. As he did, they watched a split-screen monitor showing Pavlo getting dressed on one side and Tinka’s now empty room on the other.

“Aren’t you excited? We are almost there,” Bridger said, clapping his hands and looking at Peter with a smile.

Peter was horrified by what he saw and concentrated on keeping a neutral face.

“I’ll believe you. I feel sorry for him,” Peter said, as he watched a trembling man struggle to tie his sweatpants.

“Why?”

“He looks—abused.”

“Abused? Not at all,” Bridger said, without displaying any remorse. “He works for a mob thug who, in some way, killed your CFO. He helped them steal money from your company. I don’t care about him at all.”

Peter kept his eyes on the man struggling to put on some shoes. “What happens when they find out he gave us the case?”

“They can cook him,” Imp said from the other end of the table. “They can cut him up and barbeque him for all I care. It sucks to be Pavlo.”

“You want him cooked just because you are jealous,” Snake said.

“Jealous?” Imp said, his voice rising in disbelief. He pointed to the screen. “Of that?”

“Him!” Milton pointed to the screen.

“It worked like a charm, fool,” Imp said indignantly.

Peter looked at Bridger. “That’s Imp. Whiz-kid geek. Touchy. The other is Milton. Engineering genius.”

Imp’s trojan virus buried in Theo’s email should have