by Joe Goldberg
“All yours,” he announced.
He replaced the radio, then flipped open a box on the wall between the sundeck and lounge. He reached in and put an on-board phone to his ear. “Captain Andre? Yes. You can return to the marina. Thank you.”
The engines increased power. The bow of the yacht turned to point in the direction of the lights of Cyprus.
Behind the yacht, another set of engines roared from the darkness. An oval circle of light hit the surface of the sea, swinging back and forth in quick searching arcs until it found an inflated orange tube supporting a hooded head.
“Help! Help!” The weak voice pleaded against the sound of the engines.
The grey SAB-12 Class patrol boat, marked by the blue-and white-sign identifying it as Marine Police, followed the beam and maneuvered near the floating man. Beast, dressed in a police uniform, extended a hook, caught Olek under the armpits, and hauled him up onto the deck like a tuna. His skin was pale, and he shook uncontrollably.
Beast untied the mask and yanked it off. Olek vomited water, dinner, and drugs across the deck. He wretched and gasped, then vomited again. This repeated three more times until he was empty.
“Greetings, my friend. I am Chief of Police Cristos Zacharias, and you are under arrest for possession of narcotics,” he said politely, as he steadied himself in the swaying boat. “You will be pleased to know you will be spending much time as a guest of the people of Limassol in our modern facilities.”
The boat turned and followed the distant lights of a yacht that was cutting through the water in the direction of the marina's lights—in the direction of Bridger’s next victim.
32
100% Silk Pajamas
Nicosia, Cyprus
He felt the playful tug on his ear. He wiggled a little and sighed.
“Go to sleep, Spiros. Tomorrow is a busy day,” Theo said, just above a whisper as he rolled over, his eyes still closed. The sensation of the silk pajamas sliding on his skin made him sigh another contented breath.
Another tug on the ear. This time a little firmer.
“Ouch. Spiros, that hurt. Stop it!” he said, this time swatting at his ear. As he did, a hand clamped his wrist and twisted it just enough to stop his arm in mid-air like a petrified flamenco dancer.
“Ouch! What are you doing?”
Theo opened his eyes, expecting to see Spiros’ tussled blonde hair, Mediterranean suntanned skin, and blue eyes. Instead, his arm was frozen in place by the gloved tentacles of a monster dressed in black. A cap on his head, tinted glasses, and a dark cloth over the lower part of his face. In his other hand was something that, in the moonlit room, looked like a club.
Theo gasped in panic.
He saw Spiros sitting up on the other side of the king-sized bed, terror in his wide eyes. Theo looked at a black menace holding his lover by his silky curls with one gloved hand while the other was pressed against his smooth bare chest.
“Take what you want. Leave us alone.”
“Mr. Giannokis. Theo. May I call you Theo? I am so sorry to wake you,” said the American-accented demon whose death grip sent lightning bolts of pain through the soft tissues of the banker’s arm.
He tried to break free of the grip, but the fingers held tight onto his wrist. He was sure the bones would break if this monster closed his claw. He whimpered in pain.
“Does this hurt? Let’s make a deal. I will let go of you if you promise to sit still and listen to my proposition. Agreed?”
“Who are you? What–” Theo felt his wrist turn, forcing his elbow and shoulder into a position like a broken chicken wing.
“Let’s try this again because I think you might not be all the way awake yet, and I don’t want there to be any miscommunication. I am sure in your banking business, clarity plays a tremendous part in a successful transaction. So, let’s aim for clarity, shall we? Should we ask your friend here? Spiros. What do you say?” Bridger looked at Spiros. “Think Theo should listen?”
Spiros was shaking like a bowl of pudding. Demon, dressed in black like Bridger, pulled Spiros’ hair and, as he started to scream, his other hand clapped over his mouth and nose, cutting off the shrieking completely. His face started to go beet red.
“Stop. Stop!” Theo begged. “I understand.”
With a nod from Bridger, Demon took his gloved hand off the skinny man’s face, who immediately sucked air through his nose and mouth. Bridger let go of Theo’s arm, who rubbed and shook his fat flipper as if to make sure it was still attached.
“So, we have a deal?” Bridger waited until the man nodded. “Good news for all.” Bridger reached down and rubbed the bright floral-patterned material of the man’s pajamas between his gloved fingers.
“These are nice pajamas. Italian?” The man nodded. “100% silk?” A few more quizzical nods. Bridger looked at the large “G” ornately embroidered in white thread on the pocket. “And a stylish monogram. Nice. I’m more of a sleep in the buff kind of guy. Occasionally gym shorts and the odd shirt, but if I was into pajamas, by golly, I am going to have to get the name of your tailor.”
“What—what do you want?” Theo asked, bewildered on how to react to the man who had invaded his house.
Bridger inspected the pajamas once more.
“I’m sorry. That’s fair. I wake you up from a good night’s slumber, and I have not explained why. My mistake,” Bridger said with a realistic amount of sincerity in his voice. “Down to business. I want all the information on the holdings of the bank of the Viktor Bondar estate. Account numbers. Bank statements.” Bridger said as he stuck a finger in his ear, cocked his head. “Hold on.” He concentrated on listening to the voice on the other end. “Yes, sorry, thanks, almost forgot. My associate says we need IP addresses, routing numbers, server locations. All that techie stuff.”
Bridger waved his hand in the direction of the door, signaling Theo to move.
“I can’t do that. The Bondars own this bank.”
“Oh, Theo, we both know you can. You have the reputation of a quite capable financial mastermind. Let’s give it a try, shall we?” Bridger gestured again.
Imp’s quick research had revealed that Theo Giannokis, President, Private Credit Bank of Cyprus, was more capable than most and less scrupulous than the rest of the Cypriot financial community. His knowledge of the banking system's mechanism and, more importantly, ways to avoid any pesky regulations in the system, made him quite popular among the Russians, Ukrainians, and other groups partial to using Cyprus for illegal transactions.
The Bondars acquired the pieces of the shattered Cyprus bank in the fire sale aftermath of the European debt crisis. With the collapse of the Cyprus banking sector, the Bank of Cyprus was more than happy to sell off the “bad” asset. This coincided with the revelations of Cyprus’ role in the money laundering of Russian and other international assets, forcing a series of new laws to combat the issue. The bank was poison.
Through “loans” secretly channeled from their Ukraine Standard Bank system, Bondar brought in the capital, deleveraged and disposed of non-core assets, and turned the bank into a functioning financial institution. The re-branded Private Credit Bank of Cyprus rose from the ashes.
It was the Bondars’ private, secure, money laundering black hole.
“Viktor Bondar—” Theo said again.
“Yes, I know it is Bondar’s bank,” Bridger said, as if everyone already knew the secret. “Oleksandr Bondar told us. Quite a nice young man, once you wash away the disagreeable outer layers of an obnoxious spoiled brat.”
“Mr. Oleksandr Bondar? You spoke with him?” Theo looked up at Bridger’s covered face.
Bridger looked at Demon, who immediately grabbed Spiros by the back of his bare neck, pulled the naked man halfway out of bed with one arm, made a fist, and cocked his arm, ready to punch him.
“Should we make Spiros less pretty? That would be a shame.”
“No, don’t,” Theo screamed.
“Then you need to pick between Spi
ros or Bondar. Now! Five. Four. Three—"
Sweat rolled down Theo’s pudgy face, making wet spots on his pajamas.
“Spiros! Yes, Spiros. Stop!” Theo shouted.
“Son of a bitch!” Demon growled with a mix of frustration and disappointment. He dropped Spiros on the bed like a rock.
“Good choice. You don’t want to upset him,” Bridger said, looking from Theo to Spiros to Demon. “Let’s go.”
Theo got out of bed one leg at a time, adjusted his floral pajamas, glided his feet into slippers, and walked out of the room into the dark. Bridger followed.
“Get up!” Demon commanded. Spiros stood immediately. Naked. “Ah, Jesus. Cover up, will you? I don’t want to see that. No one should.” Spiros put on a silk thigh-length robe—decorated with multi-colored seashells—and tied it around his waist. Demon grabbed Spiros by the ear and twisted it like a parent scolding an unruly child. “Move it, or I will snap you.”
The banker lived in a two-story villa in the Souni district of Limassol. In the dark, the moonlight detailed an interior of modern European designs and furnishings. They walked single file on the cold wood floors down the stairs and into a large living room. Theo’s slippers flapped on the hardwood floor, sending thwap sounds echoing off the walls.
“This is a nice place. You are doing well, Theo.”
Bridger and Theo walked to a cherry wood desk supported by thin aluminum tube legs. On the desk was a computer. Picture windows ran across one entire wall, providing a night view of the mountains and the sea. Around a glass table in the center of the room were a couch and two lounge chairs. Modern paintings of random circles and broad dark lines hung on the walls.
Demon tugged Spiros’ now purple ear and pointed him to the couch. Spiros understood the command and obeyed immediately.
“Let’s get this done,” Bridger said.
He was standing over Theo, who sat at his computer now. From the glowing screen, he could see Theo’s pink fleshy hands were shaking over the keyboard.
“Please wait, I have to—”
Without warning, Bridger touched the Devil Stick on the silk between Theo’s shoulder blades. The shock forced the banker to squeal like a castrated pig. When he tried to stand, Bridger put his palm on the top of Theo’s head and guided him back to the chair.
“Sorry about that. I really am. But come on, that was nothing—the lowest setting. A mosquito bite is more painful. I can make it much worse.” He paused for effect. “Now, take a deep breath and get started.” He leaned down and whispered in Theo’s ear. “If not, I will have my friend beat Spiro’s gorgeous face as raw as tartare—in about ten seconds.”
Theo instantly started clicking the mouse.
“I am in the system. All the files are here. Not everything, but most are all right here,” he panted after a few seconds, as he pointed to the glowing screen.
Bridger handed a USB stick to Theo. “Copy all of them and write down your passwords and access information. Open a document. I want to see it.” Bridger took a picture of the screen with his phone. “Go on, finish.”
Bone tired, Bridger turned and looked out the window. The slightest sliver of light was visible on the far horizon. Then he turned, checked out Theo’s progress, walked to the couch, and sat down next to Spiros. Demon rotated his position and stood by the banker, who was still tapping furiously on the keyboard.
Bridger crossed his legs, put the Stick across his lap, and put his arm on the back of the couch, resting it behind Spiros’ head. Bridger tapped the frightened man on the knee. With a squeal, he jerked away with Bridger’s touch. Theo’s head twisted in the direction of the noise. The pace of the clicking increased.
“Spiros. What I know about computers and software you could fit inside a golf ball. Hacking into this system would have taken way too much time. But I do know about people. Do you like computers?”
Confused, Spiros mumbled in a tenor voice, “Yes, I do.”
“People are a weak link, Spiros. People don’t have security software or applications, and if they are weak, you can’t upload a software patch. You can’t fix people.” Bridger stood and walked back to Theo and put his hand on his shoulder. The banker flinched. “So, Theo is the malware in the system they not only can’t fix, they don’t even see.”
“Let’s delete them when we are done,” Demon said.
Theo stopped typing and looked over his shoulder at Bridger.
“No. I said we would not harm you.” Bridger pointed a finger at Demon that read, shut your mouth. “Theo, do you have anything to eat? I am starving.” Bridger asked.
“What? No.”
“Beast is here,” Demon said, his hand at his ear.
The front door opened, and Beast walked in, no longer dressed as a Cypriot police officer, but with his face covered in a mask and glasses like his fellow Spy Devils.
“How’s our baby?” Bridger asked.
“Wet and babbling like a baby in the basement of the police station,” Beast said. “You guys really messed him up.”
“He deserved it.”
“Anything to eat here? I’m starving.” Beast looked around the room, then moved toward what he figured was a kitchen.
“If you find anything, bring me some,” Bridger said.
“I am done.” Theo let out a sigh as he sat back in his chair. He looked from Bridger to Spiros.
“Excellent.” Bridger took the USB drive from Theo and handed him another. “We are almost done. Who is Pavlo?”
“How do you know of Pavlo? I mean, I—” It was too late, he’d already messed up, and he knew it. Bridger knew it too. He looked at Theo with a smile.
“Now, Theo. Please,” Bridger started to point at Demon, who rose in anticipation until Theo interrupted.
“No, wait! Yes, I know of Pavlo. He is my contact in Kyiv for all Bondar transactions, but I have never met him! Only emails. Not even on the phone. He is a stranger. I can’t help you. That is all I know.”
“This is where you are wrong, Theo, my friend.” He slapped his hand down on Theo’s silk pajama-covered shoulders and squeezed his neck. Theo cringed.
“I want to know everything you know about Pavlo. Every. Little. Thing.” Bridger’s hand grew tighter with each word.
Bridger looked out the window. The thin line of light had grown broader and brighter over the eastern Mediterranean. He looked at his watch, his other hand still firmly attached to Theo’s soft neck.
“Then I need you to send him an email, with the document on that USB attached. And after that, I promise I will not ask you another favor.” His fingers dug further into Theo’s neck. His shoulders curled to get away from the pain. He maxed out his grip in the soft flesh, then let go. Theo sighed with relief.
One minute later, the message was sent.
“Excellent, Theo! I do have to admit. I lied. I have one more favor to ask of you. I think this would be a wonderful time for you and Spiros to take a vacation for two weeks. No, make that a month. Starting,” Bridger looked at his watch, “right now.”
“But I—”
Instantly, there was the sound of fist meeting flesh and a high-pitched scream. Theo turned to see Spiros on his knees with his hands covering his face, spouting blood through his fingers onto the carpet. His screams were matched by Theo, who tried to get out of his chair to attend to his companion. A hand on the silk pajamas stopped him.
“The-o?” Bridger said with a malevolent smile.
“We will leave today!” the banker said.
At 5. a.m., on the drive to the airport, Bridger sent a Signal secure email with the attachment of the document picture to Peter.
“Some ammo for the bosses. Prepare to come to Kyiv. I will send the details. It is time for the barbarians to storm the gate.”
He hit send.
“You are on your own from now on,” Bridger said to Beast, who, as usual, was driving.
“Yep. I have my flight and hotel reservation.”
“Okay. The rest are in
the Baseinaya Street safe house. We will be at the other site. You know to keep away. Contact the Olegs and spin up the logistics for the remote location. Then you are on your own for the surveillance.”
“No worries.”
But Bridger was worried. They were moving fast, without his typical preparation and control of the variables. He didn’t like it, but his choices were limited.
“Keep your head down and send me your updates as usual.”
“Okay, mommy,” Beast answered.
Then three electronic beeps from his phone filled the car. He knew May had sent a text message. Bridger didn’t want to, but he checked it anyway.
Status?
He didn’t answer.
Then more beeps and a text.
Status?
Bridger turned his phone off and closed his eyes.
He wasn’t in the mood to be nagged. He was in the mood to raise some hell.
33
Plausible Deniability
Great Falls, Virginia
“He isn’t answering,” May said, tossing the phone on the end table next to her couch. She picked up her half-empty second glass of wine and took a sip.
She looked around the library of her home outside Washington, D.C., along the Potomac River. She loved the beautiful view through bullet-proof glass. There was no place else she needed to be. She could do all her work from this room. She had secure communications to the Agency and a security detail patrolling the perimeter of the grounds.
“Are you surprised?” Danforth Chapel replied from the guest chair on the other side of a solid oak coffee table.
“I think he could give me the courtesy of an update. I am his boss.”
“I am not sure Bridger sees it that way all the time. I think he sees you mostly as the interfering elderly mother.”
Her eyes narrowed with real anger.
Call her a senior, and she would retort with the cliché, ‘you are only as old as feel.’ Call her elderly, and only self-control would keep her from playing darts with her perfectly manicured and razor-sharp fingernails into the unsuspecting offender’s eyes.