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

Peter, and Pavlo a clear view of a rear door into the bank.

The light of dawn was starting to define the shape of the bank.

A narrow drive passed by the plaza connecting Dilova Street to a parking area in the rear. On the other side of the alley was a six-story building that took up the entire corner of Dilova and Velyka Vasylkivska Streets. A low building was attached to the Ukraine Standard Bank in the rear, which led to Bondar’s five-story Ukraine Investment and Holding Company building.

“This, ladies and gentlemen, is a poor place to run an operation. Cramped. Limited access. Security guards not too far away,” Bridger said. “In espionage parlance, this location sucks.

“Demon?” Bridger asked.

“We are in a don’t park zone a block down the street. Can’t see shit,” Demon said, with more gravel in his voice than usual. “Should we proceed on foot?”

“Imp, tell me what you see.”

“I don’t see anything on the cameras I can access,” Imp added. “You are in the blind where you are parked. I will blink the cameras as you move. I don’t hear radio chatter…and I could use some coffee.”

“Milton?”

“Beatrice has it in the air. Nothing on IR. The closest images of guards are to your north, near the building in the back. They seem to be stationary. This is a good time.”

“Snake?”

“Yeah, I’m scootin’ not shootin’,” Snake answered.

“Beast?” Bridger said into his comm system. “Beast?” he repeated louder a few seconds after he didn’t receive an answer. “Beast, are you there?”

Still no answer.

“If he is asleep, I am going to kill him,” Demon barked.

“Maybe his comms are out,” Snake said.

“Or in the can,” Imp suggested.

“Our comms, don’t ‘go out,’” Milton said with slight irritation.

“Demon. You see him in the restaurant?”

“I don’t have a good angle to see anything. Want me to check?”

Mistakes were in the air—Bridger could feel them. Lack of time forced compromises to his normal planning process. His senses were hyper-alert as his eyes swept the windows of the surrounding buildings—cars in the lot, pedestrians, and the entrances to the area. His ears listened for sirens, revving engines, or Imp yelling a warning. Even his sense of smell was checking for strange odors.

“No. Let’s get this case, then figure it out where the hell Beast is.” He was worried about Beast, but they had a mission and time was short. “Gotta love espionage,” he said with confidence. He took one more look out the window. “I’m going inside. Stay here,” Bridger told Peter.

“But—?” Peter started to protest.

“You are staying,” Bridger said. He looked over his shoulder at Pavlo. “Pavlo. You are coming with me. Do you see anything out of the ordinary?”

“No, but there will be guards soon. We should get inside,” Pavlo said quickly, like he was running out of air.

“Yeah. I agree. I don’t want to sit here. Here we go,” Bridger announced.

With his Devil Stick in one hand, Bridger got out of the car, walked to the rear passenger door, and let Pavlo out. He took a firm grip on Pavlo’s arm with the other hand and started toward the back entrance to the bank.

The rear door was forty feet away, about ten feet in from the alley. Above the white metal safety door was an industrial light that was still on and a security camera that Bridger hoped was off. Next to the door attached to the wall was a silver metal box.

“Okay, get us in,” Bridger told Pavlo.

Pavlo flipped up a lid on the box to reveal an alphanumeric pad. His hands were shaking so much he missed the numbers and had to start over twice.

“Relax, Pavlo. Open the door,” Bridger said with a friendly pat on the back.

Pavlo steadied his hand and pushed five buttons. A click signaled his success. Bridger pulled the door open, and they stepped inside.

Bridger poised his Devil Stick for a possible attack. He kept Pavlo in front of him as Pavlo led them downstairs to an unmarked subterranean door. A small yellow bulb in a metal cage cast dim patterns of light and shadows along the walls and across the door.

“Where are the bank security guards?” He could feel Pavlo shaking.

“Normally, upstairs sleeping off the salo and kovbasa they stuff themselves with every night. This is off-limits to them, by order of Ms. Ira. This is my space,” he said. Bridger appreciated the mixture of pride and vanity in the little man’s voice.

“This is my door. The room is RF-protected. No radio signals.”

“Yeah. Imp was thrilled to hear that. Open it.”

With quivering hands, Pavlo keyed a code into another security lock.

As they stepped into the room, Bridger saw motion and instinctively grabbed Pavlo by the collar and pulled him closer. He raised the Devil Stick, prepping for a fight. Bridger waited. He swiveled to look behind him, then to each side.

Then he saw her. A gorgeous woman with blonde hair and azure eyes sitting in a padded desk chair rotating slightly right and left. She was in a red dress that did not reach her knees. On her feet were black leather boots that did. On the floor next to her, Bridger saw a silver case—just like the one Gilbert had shown to them in KRT.

Pavlo gasped and sank to his knees. The collar of his sweatshirt tore away, leaving a handful of material in Bridger’s hand.

“Ms. Ira! I am…I am…they took me…I am sorry!” He gasped out each word, then started to cry even harder. He brought his hands to his face and bent over at the waist like he was prostrated in prayer.

“It is fine, Pavlo. You have done nothing wrong. Do not worry. Please stand up,” she commanded, like he was her pet dog.

He stayed on the floor—the buzz of computers, air conditioners, and Pavlo’s sobs filled the air. She took in a breath and let out a sigh, shaking her head at Bridger in a ‘what can I do?’ look.

“Hello, Mr. Bridger. I am Ira Bondar. I would like to discuss a