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

this Beast, for what you did to Olek. I do not grieve for him.”

“You killed him, yourself, then met me to make a deal to destroy your father?” Bridger was genuinely shocked. “I will admit to being surprised.” He looked at Bondar. “That is quite an industrious daughter you have. Tell me, Ira, how did you find him? Chapel, or Chen?”

“Neither. We did it ourselves. I recognized him sitting outside the bank,” Olek bragged from his corner of the room. “Your shitty group of spies were sloppy.”

“Shut up, Olek, you fool,” Ira hissed at him.

Bridger looked at Olek. Then to Demon.

“Just bad luck,” Demon said, from his position guarding the door. “It happens.”

Bridger stood. He looked around the room and turned toward the door. “Well, our business is complete. I will leave you to resolve the family issues.” He saw Demon go on alert.

Bridger turned around. Bondar had the Tula tucked under his right armpit, pointed at Bridger’s chest.

“Come now, Viktor. You can’t kill me,” Bridger said.

“You are a devil.”

“You don’t know how much I appreciate the kind words. But, you see, you won’t kill me because I have all your money, known or hidden. If you kill me, it will vanish. If we leave here unharmed, I will consider letting you have some of it back.”

“You are a liar.”

“There it is, Demon. I am being called a liar, and I think I am the only one here who has told the truth.” Bridger shrugged his shoulders. “Let me explain. It started with that delightful gentleman, Theo Giannokis, the one with the exquisite taste in pajamas, like yourself. He provided us access to quite a lot of your financial data there. Quite a lot. Then I asked my new employee Pavlo to give us the whole enchilada, as they say. You forgot to change the access codes and techie stuff when you let him go.”

Bridger tossed up his good hand in the air. He walked toward Ira and stood over her. She glared back.

“That was a mistake. So, I took it. I couldn’t resist the temptation. Kill me, and you lose all your money. Of course, if you want some of your wealth back—you could, you know—do me a favor. Earn it, if you know what I mean.”

Bridger stood looking at Ira for another moment. Bridger turned and walked to the door.

“Burn in hell,” she snarled at him.

Then he stopped and looked at Bondar. The Tula was still aimed at him.

“Thank you, Ira. Consider my offer, Viktor. It is only good for—” Bridger checked his watch. “—a few more minutes.”

They walked out of the room. Snake followed as they moved to the elevator.

A few seconds later they heard the sound of a rifle being fired.

“I’m glad they worked out their issues,” Bridger said as they stepped into the elevator.

55

We Win And They Lose

Kirkwood Headquarters

Peter found it difficult to settle back into his corporate intelligence routine.

Less than a week ago, I was blown-up and running for my life. Now I’m back in my ergonomic chair staring at my computer.

His immediate task was the hundreds of unanswered emails in his inbox; each, he knew, was a person who wanted him to do something for them. It all seemed irrelevant after the events in Ukraine. Childish. He wanted to ‘select all’ the emails and just delete them.

Click. Out of inbox. Out of mind.

There were a few things on the bright side.

First, he had not heard from Bridger, which had only re-fueled his apprehension.

Second, he was reading all he could about Viktor Bondar's arrest for the murder of his daughter. Unfortunately, it was only superficially covered in the U.S. press. In Ukraine and many countries in Europe, it was big news. As much as the people wanted to see Bondar's fall, their hopes were dashed when he was set free by judges he had bribed for years. Bondar was rumored to have fled to Geneva.

“Hope you have secured your files.” Peter jolted when Benton’s mocking baritone voice reverberated around his office.

“Miss your daily dosage of donuts this morning, Benton?” Peter shot back.

“Upstairs, asshole. Boardroom. Let’s go.”

Peter entered the Jacob Kirkwood Corporate Boardroom a few minutes later.

Inside, painted by the lamp’s glow, CEO Samuel Kirkwood stood with his hands laced behind his back. His head was tilted up toward the life-sized oil portrait of his father. Bold strokes and use of color formed the aura of strength and leadership in Jacob.

“Hello, Peter.”

Ever the gentlemen, Kirkwood approached him with his hand extended. Peter did the same, and they exchanged a quick handshake. Peter felt the moisture on the palms of Kirkwood’s hand. Kirkwood indicated that Peter should take the chair at the table by the CEO’s seat.

Peter walked to the spot and gingerly lowered his sore body to the padded seat. The cushion let out a low rush of air. The room was warm, the lights were low, and the chair was really comfortable. It took all the concertation he had not to just put his head on the table and nap.

Peter expected Kirkwood to sit. Instead, he stood behind his chair, gazing across the room.

“I am glad you are back and safe. Danny has kept me informed of your exploits on behalf of the company. It was, well, um, exciting, and dangerous. It’s wonderful. I greatly appreciated it.”

Peter winced as he nodded his bandaged head. “Thank you.”

“Peter, you know this company was built by my father, Jacob. His father Benjamin and his father, Wilbur. All the greatest minds of the time. Now, it is my time.” He started to walk in measured slow steps around the room, examining all the paintings and pictures. He stopped and peered at a large watercolor of the first Kirkwood headquarters. A three-story all-brick building on a crowded Chicago neighborhood street.

Peter saw Kirkwood’s head scan the picture from top to bottom.

“I spent time here with my grandfather.” He moved to the next picture and looked at it. Without turning to Peter, he continued. A Kirkwood has been