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

“Peter. A moment.” Chapel stopped him with a grab of his arm. “I believe you left out many details that you have come to know. True?”

“Yes. I did,” he said, nodding. “I just wonder how much technology we have given to China in return for new business deals? How much have we been inflating revenue to strengthen the stock of the company?”

“Peter, you should be very careful about what you think you know and to whom you convey your feelings.”

Chapel put his hand on Peter’s shoulder. This time it wasn’t friendly pats. He felt the fingers tighten deep into his skin. Then he let go. Peter’s heart was beating through his chest as he watched Chapel stride through the door on the other end of the room.

“Remember, the comment about truth being stranger than fiction? On the plane?”

“Yes, I do,” Peter answered.

“You should have listened better.” Chapel turned and walked across the boardroom. He exited through the door to the CEO’s office.

Peter stood. Chapel’s warning was clear.

Peter knew too much.

51

Wrath of the Devil

Kyiv, Ukraine

The two Mercedes’ luxury sedans' license plates indicated they were diplomatic vehicles registered to China's Embassy in Ukraine. They were parked mid-block, half on the sidewalk and half on Pavla Skoropads'koho Street. Their flashers blinked red in the dark Kyiv night. The meaning was clear: stay away.

The drivers leaned on the hood of the second car, chain-smoking cigarettes. A pile of butts collected at their feet on the red bricks. Street kids knew enough to stay away from the pair but had no fear of hassling the well-dressed people walking up the sidewalk. It was only midnight, so there was plenty of darkness left to hassle unsuspecting tourists.

They were on the street outside Skybar—one of the more elite and trendy nightclubs in a city known for elite and trendy nightclubs. Situated atop a building in the fashionable Arena City area, Skybar’s panoramic view, dance floor, music, drinks, and food attracted crowds of tourists, locals, and VIPs.

Bridger was ready. No more Peter Schaeffer. Kirkwood, secret cases, or corporate intrigue. He didn’t need May to give him a mission. He had one, and that mission was to find out who killed Beast and kill them. He was ready to unleash the wrath of the Devil on those responsible.

The Spy Devils are the ones who fuck with people. Not the other way around.

No Spy Devil had ever been killed. The risk was inherent in covert operations. It’s hard to avoid a few scrapes when combating the most dangerous and corrupt humans or organizations on Earth. The Spy Devils didn’t know it, but Bridger always calculated the risk versus reward equation to avoid a dead Devil. This mission from May had forced him to rush.

It had killed Beast.

Every member of the Spy Devils had a ‘Death Folder’ containing contact info and a series of potential cover stories depending on where they worked in Bridger’s covert business network. Bridger knew Beast had some family in New York. A mother and sister. An ex-wife and daughter. It was Bridger’s duty to inform them—something he had never done before.

He was providing personal security for a client that can’t be named, sorry. You should be proud. A brave man.

Seared in his brain was a list of people who might have killed Beast. Tonight, he was going to make that list shorter.

Neither Chinese driver felt the danger coming. However, they simultaneously felt the fifty thousand volts of the Taser prongs when they hit them at the base of their skulls. They rattled on their feet for three seconds, then collapsed straight down to the sidewalk. Demon and Snake slid off of the Mercedes’ roof and landed next to the men.

Releasing the wires, they jammed the weapon into each man’s eye and pushed the stun gun trigger. The electronic clicking kept time with the bodies quaking. To make certain the Chinese guards were obedient, they rotated the handle to the switches that controlled the aerosols. They stuck the end under each man's nose and released an airborne fentanyl and pepper spray mix. Their bodies arched as their heads rolled back. Then they stopped moving.

“Anything?” Bridger pinged Imp, who was in a stolen Toyota Camry nearby.

“Clear on all frequencies. Now I need you to plug in the doohickey I gave you into the China guy’s little comm gizmo.”

Bridger complied.

He was grateful that the massive doses of painkillers were finally working. In a few seconds, Bridger heard, “Okay. We own the bitches. I will knock them out of their systems as you move. Go have fun in the nightclub full of naked drunk girls. I will sit here in a car that smells like donkey piss.”

As Demon and Snake locked the men in the Mercedes, Bridger walked toward a frosted glass side entrance door to the building a few feet from the cars. The door opened slightly, and a watermelon-sized head peered out.

“Hello, Yaroslav.”

“Mr. Bridger. It is good to see you. I did not know you were in Kyiv.” The bald-headed security guard, dressed in a black T-shirt, jacket, and pants, was as large as a city bus. He swung the door open and let the men in. They entered into a small hallway that led to a fire door ten feet away. To their left was an elevator.

“Just for the day. How is your little boy, Yaroslav?”

“Not so little anymore. He is twelve now, big as a bull.”

“Twelve? My goodness. Time is an angry beast. It just keeps moving on. Here.” Bridger pulled packages of American baseball cards from his black windbreaker. “Give these to him.”

Yaroslav took the little packages into his massive hands. “Thank you, sir. He will enjoy these.”

“There are some Chinese men here?” Bridger asked, his head flexing up to the ceiling.

Yaroslav glanced toward the frosted glass door where he knew the diplomatic cars and the drivers were on the street. “Yes. Upstairs. The important man and several others. They come often. They are very arrogant with our security men