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

shoulders were slightly stooped. The hands she still tried to hide were mostly tight skin over protruding blood veins and bones. She was getting old.

“Yes. No matter what, but you knew that before you came in,” May answered.

“I knew it. I just didn’t want to believe it. You picked a double-agent operation with Chen over your son and the Spy Devils. It almost cost me my life. And Peter Schaeffer, too. It cost Beast his.”

“It is a hazardous profession.”

“Chapel was your channel to Kirkwood and the Chinese—to us.” He glanced at the motionless body crumpled on the floor to his right.

“Danny is a man with power connections in all sectors—and with me, of course.”

She started to reach for her cup. This time her hands were steadier.

“Why attack Peter Schaeffer at his home?” He was tapping the Devil Stick up and down on his thigh. He saw that she noticed.

“I had nothing to do with that,” May said, just a little too quickly. “That was an internal Kirkwood decision.” She looked him in the eyes to show she was not deceiving him. “It was rather impulsive what you did to Kirkwood. They might not recover. Classic Bridger. You always were impulsive, no matter how much I tried to train that out of you.” She forced a smile as she changed the subject.

“You can fire me.”

May’s face displayed slight exasperation with her son.

“I am sorry about Beast,” she said, after a moment of silence.

He still had to notify Beast’s family. He dreaded it. He planned to open an account and shift a few million to help support his family. “He had a generous life insurance policy.” It was something.

“What’s on your mind, Trowbridge?” She looked at him.

Bridger could practically see true maternal instincts on her face.

He wasn’t exactly sure what was on his mind. Perhaps it was betrayal by his mother. Perhaps he was just tired of the espionage game. Maybe he could get out and live a more normal life. Get married. Have kids. The things real people do. Swap the Spy Devil life for the Peter Schaeffer life.

Live as Mr. Trowbridge Hall.

Bridger knew what was eating at him.

He knew he had to give May the case. She knew it too and that made it worse. If he analyzed the situation from her perspective, her decision was the correct one. Chen becoming the head of the MSS would be an intelligence coup of immense proportions. The intelligence would be immeasurable. Maybe change the history of the world.

Who was he to ruin that? He was expendable.

He stood, Devil Stick in hand, regarded her, and turned. He left the case by the chair. He stepped over Chapel, walked toward the door, then stopped.

“Don’t call me. Deal?”

She let out a sigh and reached for her tea. Steady hands brought the cup to her mouth this time. She grimaced.

“It’s cold.” She set it back on the saucer. “I was just talking to—"

“Nothing for at least a month. A year would be better,” Bridger interrupted with his demand.

She stood up and followed him.

“You are joking.”

“Call it what you want, but don’t call,” he said as he reached for the front doorknob.

“I can’t—” She saw her son’s face. “Alright. I promise. One month.”

“I will hold you to that. Don’t make me come back here.” His face was serious—the Stick was poised in her direction.

He opened the door and started to leave. Then he stopped and turned back to her.

“Oh. And happy birthday—mother.”

He disappeared into the darkness.

.

61

One Month

Abaddon, West Texas Hill Country, USA

Bridger told the Spy Devils to get lost until he called and that he didn’t know how long that would be.

It took two solid weeks for him to decompress. He locked his phone away in the control room. He rode around his vast property in a UTV for hours, enjoying the sun and fresh air. He watched the sun set and rise. He tried fishing—too boring. He rode horses and helped Luis and his team with some ranch maintenance.

Bridger watched as little news as possible. He saw a story about the disappearance of the Chief of the Cyprus Police. Bridger knew where at least Demon spent part of his time off.

Bridger let his arm heal enough, so by week three, he could get out on his golf course and try chipping and putting. He was awful, but it didn’t matter. He was golfing.

The rest of the time, he spent sleeping, reading, and eating lots of steaks perfectly prepared by Luciana.

And by the end of week four, he was bored to death.

At precisely the one-month mark, and while he stood on the green of the 17th at TPC Sawgrass, three chirps in his earbuds cut into The Marshall Tucker Band singing “Can’t You See.”

“Yes, May,” he said.

“It has been a month. Time to get back to work.”

“I said a year.”

“Bridger, try not to be disrespectful, like usual. I have a rather unique operation for you, unlike anything.”

“More unique than the last one?”

“Yes, it is,” she answered.

“That is hard to believe.”

“I will send the details to the Dropbox,” she said, just before the call ended.

He tugged his cap tighter on his head to block the blinding sun from his eyes. He bent over and placed a golf ball by a worn brass marker with blue lettering. He rubbed it between his fingers before he put it in his pocket.

“More unique than the last one,” Bridger repeated.

He set his feet, lined up a putt, and tapped the ball. It curled and dropped into the cup ten feet away.

“Good,” he said.

THE END

Author’s Note

Why so much time between books?

My first novel, Secret Wars: An Espionage Story, came out in 2014. That’s a long time ago. Well, it isn’t for lack of writing. I started a sequel to Secret Wars, but I was convinced to stop a quarter of the way in. Agents want contemporary action books, I was told.

Scrap the sequel? Okay, but what should I write?

How about a corporate intelligence thriller? I worked in that field for years and