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

looked right and saw Chen in an intimate area separated from the masses by a line of couches. Beyond them, out the huge window, was a view of the city. Seated to his right was a blonde. To his left was a red-head. Two brunettes sat across from him on a short couch. Bridger’s mind wandered for a moment, thinking that the only thing the beauties had in common with the Chinese master spy was a taste for champagne. The evidence was the empty bottles covering nearby tables.

Two gray suits sat on colorful square ottomans on either side of the couch. They faced outward, their eyes scanning the crowded room.

Bridger walked along the outer wall to avoid the crowd. Snake and Demon fanned out to flank the sitting area. Beatrice and Milton weaved through the couches, tables, chairs, and people, closing the twenty feet without any suspicion from his security—until it was too late.

Milton and Beatrice each pulled out a mini-Devil Stick, extended it to its six-inch maximum length, and sprayed each MSS man in the face as they walked by. The guards froze for an instant, then fell out of their chairs to the floor. The couple walked to the line where other patrons were waiting for the elevator.

Chen reacted, but it also was too late. Demon and Snake blocked his escape.

“Ladies,” Bridger said, handing each two hundred dollars, “Good-bye.” They did not hesitate. They hurriedly collected purses and coats and disappeared into the crowd.

Bridger sat next to Chen.

“Hello, Minister Chen. You might not know me—”

“I know who you are,” the man said calmly through thin lips.

“Good,” Bridger smiled back.

Chen looked over his shoulder at Snake and Demon. When he looked back, Bridger had a Devil Stick pointed at his nose.

He released a cloud of spray into Chen’s face. They let him fall to the floor.

52

Mr. Nice Guy

Kyiv, Ukraine

“Minister Chen.” He waited, then shouted, “CHEN!”

Even with administering an extremely low dosage of spray, over an hour later Chen was still under its influence. Bridger pondered how it was possible that Chen’s black hair was still shiny and combed, despite being drugged, dragged from a club, and tossed in the trunk of a car. He tapped Chen on his cheeks like they do in the movies to wake someone from a coma.

“Want me to smack him?” Demon said. He and Snake were leaning against the wall behind Bridger. Bridger ignored the offer.

“What…I…am…” Chen slurred. His eyes were glassy. His head was circling like a cement mixer. His dark suit and white shirt were splotched with streaks of grime.

They were back at the same warehouse, sitting in the same chair, behind the same metal table where they had broken Pavlo. Now it was Chen’s turn. Chen’s hands were also shackled to the table in front of him. The lights were on—not quite as bright—but enough to get good lighting for the cameras recording the interrogation. Even at 2 a.m., the room was hot. No windows. A broken ventilation system.

Bridger needed answers. Getting those answers was complicated by several factors out of his control. First, time mattered. He did not have the luxury of interrogating the person in a friendly, casual manner.

Second, Chen was different. This was an experienced MSS master spy seated across the metal table. Chen would know how to draw out his responses, which played back into the time issue. Chen wasn’t a robotic killer whose greatest skill was pointing and shooting. As an experienced espionage officer, Bridger knew Chen would resist as long as he could—perhaps totally. That was not acceptable. If he didn’t cooperate and provide helpful answers right away, Bridger would be forced to resort to alternate means to extract what he wanted.

Finally, the Chinese embassy and MSS would be out searching for their diplomat. They would alert Ukrainian security, and the streets would quickly fill with law enforcement. They needed to get this over with before an army of armed men smashed through the door.

“Minister Chen. Usually, I offer snacks. I’m considerate and polite, but not today.” Bridger’s head shook. “Not today. Not with you.”

Bridger sat down and winced when he wiggled his left arm in its sling. He wasn’t sure if his wrist was broken or if it was a bad sprain. Snake, the Spy Devil’s designated medic, had done his best to keep Bridger moving—mostly with painkillers.

“I would like to know if you killed my man.”

“You…making…error.” Chen’s eyes spiraled like pinwheels as he tried to focus on Bridger.

“I would like to know if you killed our man,” he repeated.

“What are you—” Chen then attempted to stand, not realizing his hands were bound to the table. Snake moved behind him. Ready. Just in case.

“Who killed my man?” Bridger said with the same tone.

“I…do not know…what you are talking about.” His breathing was already irregular. He sucked in air between words.

Bridger tapped Chen with the stun gun setting on his Devil Stick. He jerked and twisted off his chair, falling to his knees—his hands kept him from getting all the way to the floor. Snake grabbed him and shoved him a little too hard back onto the metal chair. Bridger let it go.

Larger beads of sweat rolled down Chen’s cheeks, soaking the collar of his shirt.

“That was the lowest setting.” He held the Stick to Chen’s face. “I have your attention now?

“Do what you want…I have nothing to tell you.”

Bridger sighed.

Tough man.

Without a word, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a rusty pair of pliers.

“What are you…doing?” Chen sputtered as he saw what Bridger was holding.

“Hell yeah!” Demon said, walking toward Bridger to take the tool.

“Chen. There comes that time in a mission when I get pretty sick and tired. That time is right now.”

Before he could react, Bridger quickly extended his arm and firmly grabbed the end of Chen’s left index finger with the head with the pliers’ gripping jaw. He squeezed.

Chen screamed. When he tried to pull away, Bridger squeezed harder.

“Son of a bitch!” Demon said, clapping his