The Spy Devils by Joe Goldberg (top rated books of all time .TXT) đź“•
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- Author: Joe Goldberg
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He did hear the thud when the shell went through the bridge of Fuhan’s nose and out the back of his head. Blood, brains, and debris splattered onto the side of Li Chu’s face. With muscle memory instinct burned into him during his training, he spun and dropped like a rag doll back into the brush.
Li Chu felt the burn of the bullet on the right side of his head above his ear like a thousand bees were stinging his face. Blood seemed to be everywhere. His body was on fire. He was certain he was going to faint.
But the adrenalin kicked in, as did his warrior senses. He didn’t have time to contemplate what happened to his team. Instead, he willed his body to move. His hands clawed at the grass. His feet propelled him forward in short hops like a rabbit. Blood filled his eyes. The ringing in his ear brought on dizziness. He was moments away from vomiting and passing out.
Li Chu thought he heard a motorcycle and then buzzing. When he realized the buzzing was closing in on him, he got up. He ran through the trees and bushes, his arms lashing out in front of him against the obstacles like he was holding invisible machetes.
When the sound was over his head, Li Chu planted his feet and jumped into the muddy water of the irrigation canal. The water on his skin and wounds gave him a moment of peace. It was four feet deep, his mind calculated. Deep enough for him to keep under the surface. Then his lungs started burning. He stuck his feet and hands into the muck on the bottom of the canal, clawing to find rocks and debris as handholds to help him stay under and move with the current.
After a minute, begging to pass out to stop the pain, he raised his head out of the brown water to eye level. Nothing was following him. He raised a few more inches and took in a lungful of air. Then let the current float him away.
Milton and Beatrice flipped the Devilbots into auto mode. In seconds, the drones fired on the Dragon Fire men. They had no chance to save themselves. Seven were dead within eight seconds. Mostly center mass shots—a few to the head.
The scooter screeched to a stop next to the door of the first van. Snake put four bullets from his Glock-19 through the window and into the Dragon Fire man’s head. Snake hit the throttle on the scooter. The back wheel smoked and fish-tailed as he rounded the slight curve. He drove straight at the other van.
At ten yards, he swung his leg over and dismounted the moving scooter on the run—like a movie cowboy jumping off their horse in a hurry. The scooter kept going. It exploded into the front of the van, jerking it back as debris sprayed along the street.
Snake had his Glock-19 up in firing position, but his momentum made him stumble as he fired. His first shot was high and to the left. The stunned Dragon Fire man opened the side door. Snake was able to steady himself. His bullets went into one side of the man’s brains and out the other.
“That’s two.” Snake folded his arms to cover the weapon as he walked away from the wreck. “No issues.”
“We have a crawler. Southside,” Imp announced.
Milton put his Devilbot into dive mode to ram the man, but he had jumped into the water by the time it arrived.
“He is in the water,” Milton said. “Do you want me to follow?”
There was no answer.
Beast threw the door open—pistol up and ready. Bridger glanced out, then heard a strange clanking sound of metal breaking.
He turned to see Peng, in a full panic, running toward the open door. In total fright and still taped to the chair, he stood up with enough force to break the hinges holding the chair seat to the back. Mmmmmmmmm came from his taped mouth. He stumbled toward the door on wobbly legs, which had not fully recovered from the gas. Behind him, pieces of the chair stuck to his body like Superman’s cape.
What the fuck? Bridger thought as he watched the man try to run. It was a surreal moment he hadn’t anticipated.
Then Demon shot Peng.
Peng was thrust forward and landed prone in the doorway. A neat hole was in the chair behind his right shoulder.
“Damn it, Demon! Damn it!” Bridger shouted as he knelt to check on Peng. “I told you not to kill him.”
“He ain’t dead. I put it through his shoulder joint. That arm may not work for a while, if ever, but he won’t die from that. At least, I don’t think so.”
Bridger wasn’t sure who he was more furious with—Demon for shooting Peng or Peng for running.
Bridger stood.
“Don’t. Die. You. Dumb. Son. Of. A. Bitch.” With each word, he raised his foot and stomped hard on Peng’s chair. Peng moaned with each blow. Blood started to pool.
“See if you can stop him from bleeding out,” he said to Beast. “Everyone, start your exfiltration plans.”
Each Spy Devil had a process in place to quickly leave wherever they were. The logistics were set up by the many travel agencies in the Spy Devil’s covert network. Each Spy Devil would move by different modes of transportation, in different directions and on different dates, in an alias, then true name.
Bridger reached toward his ankle and pulled his knife from its holder. He pointed it at Bai and stepped to him, his eyes and face filled with rage.
“Whoa there, Bridger. What are you doing? Remember Honduras,” Demon said.
Bridger raised the knife, and in a swiping arc of his arm, cut Bai free from the chair. He grabbed him and yanked him to his feet, the blade now under the frightened man’s chin.
“Let’s go,” he hissed through clenched teeth.
Bridger’s fury had him dragging Bai faster than his feet could move.
“Is this Li Chu? Is this Li
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