The Spy Devils

by Joe Goldberg

  “Okay. We will leave when you are in position. See you soon.”

  “Roger. I will enjoy my morning coffee.”

  Imp looked up. “Can I put in an order?”

  The phone was silent.

  “Jesus, what does it take to get a little coffee around here?” Imp let his complaint be heard as he turned back to look at his glowing laptop screen.

  “Snake, I want you on a scooter,” Bridger said.

  “How about the Devilbots?” Milton asked, his face lighting with the hope that he could release his toys.

  “Keep one over the bank and the other one handy, just in case. I don’t know where the safe house is yet. When I do, I will let you know.”

  Beatrice patted Milton’s arm as he wiggled in his chair, unable to hide his delight in hearing the positive response.

  Not knowing the safe house location irritated Bridger.

  “Demon, you take the Toyota and run counter-surveillance to the bank. Imp, you ride with Demon. Find a spot on Dilova Street and get your eyes and ears on that bank. We will take the Skoda. Milton and Beatrice. You load the bots into the van and leave. Where are you setting up?”

  “There is a parking lot for a skate park south of the nearby sports stadium secluded in some trees,” Milton reported. “We scouted it out yesterday. There wasn’t much pedestrian or car traffic. I am sure there is nothing at this hour.”

  “Good. Get a Devilbot in the air right when you arrive. There won’t be much time.”

  “Got it,” Milton said.

  “Beast should be nearby in support if anything happens. Imp, you have Pavlo’s information on the bank security and layout?”

  “Yes, but getting surveillance into his little RF-protected ferret den will take a few minutes. He has disabled all computer cameras and sound. I am blind there.”

  “Pavlo stump you again, Imp?” Milton asked.

  Imp ignored the comment. He hit his keys hard like the finale of a Beethoven piano concerto. Then he slammed his laptop closed and tossed his hands in the air. “Done.”

  “I want everyone alert. This is ripe for mistakes. Peter, Pavlo, and I will get the case. I call Chapel, get the address, and head to the safe house. When I get the address, I want you on your horses checking it out. We hand over the case to Chapel. Then we get the hell out of here and go on vacation.

  “Everyone ready? Beast, we are on our way.” Bridger disconnected the call and pocketed his phone. He put on a baseball cap, some glasses, and darkened three days of stubble he had grown.

  “Put these on.” He tossed Peter a floppy worker’s cap and a pair of tinted sunglasses. “Not great, but should be enough for this.”

  Bridger picked up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. “Just your average spy disguise.”

  “Why him?” Demon asked. He pointed his finger at Peter like a gun.

  “Relax. Peter is the client, sort of, so he can be in on this. And barring any problems, we are home tomorrow morning.”

  40

  The Day

  Kyiv, Ukraine

  At 5 a.m., Li Chu’s driver backed the Renault Logan onto the sidewalk and wedged it between a tree and some scooters. Across the street was the Ukraine Standard Bank—the bank of Viktor Bondar.

  He told his man to turn the car off. The heat would have been nice, but idling exhaust and dashboard lights could give away their position. His Chen-supplied rookie Dragon Fire men had lost Pavlo and the woman hours ago at the bar—inexperience, coupled with the rain and darkness—worked to his opponent’s advantage.

  Today is the day I will get him, he thought.

  Li Chu knew the Spy Devils would arrive soon with Pavlo in tow. It was what he would have done, but he knew the Spy Devils were CIA—and the CIA always make their plans too elaborate and challenging. It was what Americans did. Make things hard.

  His goal was simple—capture and kill the leader of the Spy Devils. He decided to retrieve the mysterious case that everyone seemed to be seeking. Why not take advantage of it? He wondered what was in it. He would use whatever it was for whatever he decided whenever he decided. Or, maybe he would sell it and go independent and provide his services to those in need of a Chinese assassin.

  His plan was fluid. Surprise and violence were the best tools at his disposal. The other, more palpable tool, was vengeance. Vengeance for destroying Dragon Fire. Vengeance for forcing him to kill members of his team.

  Three of the new men were on scooters positioned at the main intersections around the bank. Two were on foot, strolling separately along the streets. Two were in a car, waiting for a signal to use the vehicle to block the north exit onto the street. One was next to him in the driver’s seat. He wanted snipers on the building’s roofs but feared another encounter with the drones that killed his men and chased him in Taiwan.

  Whatever happened, whoever came out of the bank with a case, would be attacked. Li Chu wanted to take Bridger alive. He wanted to interrogate him—before he killed him.

  Li Chu couldn’t suppress the nervous tension he felt throughout his body. His men were unproven, but they were still MSS officers for what it was worth in these days of incompetence and self-preservation. He had never used the 9mm Makarov PM Chen had left for them. When he distributed the favored weapon of the Russian Spetsnaz units to the men, he wished they could spend a few days practicing at a range. Instead, they had a few hours before they went operational.

  Totally unacceptable were the portable Motorola 2-way digital radios Chen left for their communications system. But his options were limited. He had distributed burner mobile phones to the men, but texting and calling were awkward in the middle of an ambush. He reset the frequency and privacy codes to reduce the odds of someone listening to any conversations. He ordered them to use phones first and radios only as needed. His radio was powered on and rested in the cup holder of the center console.

  “Mr. Li Chu, are you there?” said the American-accented voice.

  Li Chu couldn’t help but flinch at the unexpected words cutting the silence within the car. Momentarily staring at each other with perplexed expressions on their faces, Li Chu and the other MSS officer in the car quickly regained their composure. Raising their Makarovs to the windows, they flipped off the safeties and slid down in the seats. The Chinese assassins turned their bodies to scan in all directions for movement. In the dim light of the street lamps, the only shapes visible were the nearby buildings, cars, and scooters.

  “Mr. Li Chu. Are you there? My name is Danforth Chapel. Perhaps you have heard of me? I would like to make a proposal. Please respond.” The voice paused. “I would like to provide you some information to assist with your planned action this morning. Please respond. We need to discuss this before they arrive. Which will be soon.”

  Li Chu looked at the driver, then turned his head to look at the bank. Lights came on in the restaurant across the street. He used the added light to look for any threats. People were in the building, but nothing seemed out of place.

  He knew the name Chapel. Everyone in the world did. The fact he was calling on a radio at this time was incomprehensible—almost. There was only one answer. Li Chu picked up the radio with his left hand. His right hand still held the Makarov pointed toward the window.

  He depressed the push to talk button.

  “Yes?”

  “Good. Good. I know these radios are not very secure, so I suggest you provide me a number of a disposable phone, and we can discuss my proposal. Deal?”

  Li Chu gave his phone number and set the radio back in the console. It rang two seconds later.

  He pushed the answer button.

  “Yes?” He said slowly. He listened, then replied to each question. “Yes, I do. Why?” More silence. “Text me the address.”

  He stared at the blank mobile screen for a moment, set down his phone, and keyed his radio.

  “Cease surveillance immediately. Meet at the address I will send.” He put the radio on the car seat. The Makarov went back
into its holster. A moment later, after sending a group text to his team, the Renault Logan rolled off the sidewalk onto Dilova Street.

  Today is still the day.

  Danforth Capel slid his phone into the breast pocket of his Gieves & Hawkes suit. He felt at ease in the familiar communications center on the lower floor of The Danforth Chapel Company, Ukraine headquarters. He looked over at Chen, whose faced displayed a rare moment of worry.

  “Are you concerned, Minister? I think that went quite well. The frequency, channel scanning, and location software enhancement worked to perfection. Our message has been delivered, and all elements of the situation are under control.” Chapel sat back in his chair, brushed his hand over his tie, and smiled.

  “Yes, but now we are at the moment when we do not control much of the next events as they occur. Li Chu is a motivated and intelligent man. It will not take him long to conclude who assisted in his being located,” Chen said.

  “Today is a busy day. I could use a drink.” Chapel stood. He patted Chen reassuringly on the shoulder as he walked by. Chapel opened the door, stood back, motioned with a slight bow of his shoulders, and waved, indicating that Chen should go first.

  “Yes, thank you.” Chen stood and walked toward the open door.

  “Minister Chen,” Chapel said in a soft voice. The man stopped, and Chapel saw his face had regained its traditional expressionless appearance. “No matter which direction destiny takes us, it will not matter. For us, our position is secure, and we will prevail either way. You are safe. For others, sad to say, this is their last day on this earth.”

  Chapel followed Chen out the door.

  41

  Fade to Black

  Kyiv, Ukraine

  Olek had spotted Beast the previous day. He had just returned from Cyprus after Ira arranged for Olek’s release. When Olek’s driver turned off Dilova Street heading to the Bondar residence behind the bank, he had just enough time to do a quick glance—then another. He spotted a familiar face sitting on a bench under a tree in the small brick plaza outside the bank entrance.

  “I saw him,” he told Ira.

  “You are sure?” Ira held up a grainy photo taken by the Cyprus National Police captain of a bearded man in a police uniform. “Him?”

  “Yes, but now he has no beard. But he is one of them. He was there when…I was tossed into...”

  A clean-shaven Beast checked into the cramped three-story hotel using his alias as a U.S. salesman for an abrasives company. Given the hotel’s location near several businesses and financial institutions, and with the added benefit of being away from central Kyiv's congestion, it was a popular hotel for foreign visitors. It was also adjacent to the Ukraine Standard Bank and the Bondar residence building behind it.

  He requested a third-floor room with a street view. The enclosed restaurant that was literally built on the sideway provided a perfect spot for static surveillance.

  At 5:50 a.m., Beast gathered up some newspapers he purchased the day before, stuffed them under his arm, and headed to the restaurant that would open in ten minutes. Imp’s plea for coffee did not fall upon deaf ears. Beast was exhausted and could use a pot of anything black to clear his head. Plus, he was starving, and the desk staff promised a pretty good morning buffet of breads, cheeses, fruits, cereals, and meats.

  The buffet was to Beast’s left as he entered the rectangular dining area. Three rows of two- and four-seat white tables and chairs ran the length of the room. Windows covered the three sides facing the street in front and the sidewalk to the left and right.

  When he arrived, there were already a few men in suits sitting at tables drinking coffee. Beast plopped his papers on a table next to the windows facing the street and sat, making sure the spot had the right sightlines to the entrance of the bank. The dim light of dawn started creeping up the horizon.

  Before he stood to get his coffee, he felt the unmistakable metal of a gun pressed against the back of his neck.

  “Do not move,” a deep, heavily accented voice said. Beast placed it in central Europe. Not Ukraine. Maybe Serbian. He saw the reflection in the windows of two other men standing in sentry positions. Suppressed pistols were pointing at him. “Keep your hands raised, or we will just shoot your head off.”

  “This must be a mistake,” Beast said. He felt the gun press harder.

  Beast could tell that all three were some sort of soldier. Fit and hard men. It figured to be a pretty even fight.

  The Serbian reached under Beast’s jacket. He took the Sig Sauer P226 from his Kydex holster. He pulled Beast’s pager-sized secure radio transmitter and receiver off his belt. The man tucked the P226 in against the small of his back, powered the radio system off, and shoved it in his pocket.

  He sure knows a lot.

  “Follow him.” The Serbian waved toward a smaller man who had a tough, weathered face. The Serbian was behaving like the leader, and to Beast, that made him the most dangerous of the three.

  He will be the hardest to kill.

  Beast was slow to move and felt the push in the middle of his back from the third man. Beast kept his hands up at chest level like he was doing push-ups against a wall. He turned and stared into the blank, empty eyes of a person who killed automatically—like a robot.

  They led him to a narrow set of stairs at the end of the ground floor hallway—Tough Face. Beast. Robot. The Serbian.

  “Up,” the Serbian commanded.

  Beast complied. He didn’t see any other guests in the halls or on the stairs. No staff or other people coming in or out.

  They took control of the hotel just to get me.

  As they reached the top of the stairs, they exited on the third floor and started down the narrow hall. Carpets and walls were decorated in beiges and gold. Beast’s room was halfway down on the right.

  Advantage me.

  Beast made it a habit to memorize his surroundings.

  His room was long and narrow with slightly outdated European-style laminate furniture. A rectangular shape—maybe fifteen by twenty. Two twin-sized beds were pushed together on the wall to the right. Along the wall to the left of the door was a tall dresser—a place to hang clothes. Six feet from the foot of the bed was a wooden desk with a chair. The bathroom door was between the desk and the wall opposite the door, which had two windows that looked over Dilova Street.

  Some hazy light of dawn crept into the room.

  At the door, Tough Face stopped and held out his hand. Beast looked at him. Tough Face shook his hand.

  “Ah, I get it.” Beast took his plastic key card from his front pocket with his right hand. When the man took it with a quick grab, Beast hooked his thumb in his nylon belt.

  Tough Face grumbled something unintelligible, turned, and slid the key into the slot. A green light blinked as the latch clicked. The door swung into the room to the right. He put the card in the slot on the wall to the left. The lights kicked on. Beast felt Robot shove the gun in his back again.

  This is it.

  Beast moved his right hand to his buckle and, with a short unseen upward motion, grabbed the black rectangular buckle from the belt, exposing a four-inch blade. He thrust it into the kidney of Tough Face and twisted. The man screamed and tried to jerk away, but Beast grabbed the man’s jacket with his left hand and tossed Tough Face into the dresser to their left. Beast spun left and down with the momentum to get out of the line of Robot’s fire.

  Robot hesitated for less than a second, but it was enough. Robot managed to fire off two rounds with a suppressed thwomp thwomp. He missed Beast. Two holes appeared in the far wall.

  Beast reached up and grabbed the front of the man’s jacket with his left hand. With his right, he brought the razor-sharp knife up and, with all his strength, jammed it into the man’s groin. The razor-sharp blade easily cut into the soft tissue of the scrotum. Sliced through his testicles and punctured his penis like shish-kabob. He screamed and dropped his gun as his hands automatically reached to his damaged crotch.


  Blood exploded onto the floor, covering Beast’s hand. Twisting the knife deeper into Robot, Beast launched into the howling man, driving him backward into the Serbian, pinning him against the wall. Beast landed two solid left hooks to the jaw of the Serbian before he could get his Glock aimed at Beast.

  Beast jumped back into the room and landed on his back by the bed. The knife ripped out of Robot’s body, effectively castrating him. The dazed Serbian ricocheted off the wall and tripped over the crying Robot.

  Beast heard a thwomp, and his right quad immediately started to burn. He looked to his right. Tough Face was kneeling four feet away in a small puddle of blood—his gun in his wavering hand pointed at Beast.

  He hoped to find Robot’s dropped Glock, but he couldn’t see it. Beast instinctively tossed his knife at Tough Face. The metal buckle knife was coated with blood, causing his hand to slip off as he threw it. The blade struck Tough Face sideways in the forehead. It wasn’t lethal, but it was enough of a distraction.

  Tough Face recoiled, sending his next shot into the ceiling. Beast rolled and jumped toward Tough Face as best he could through the pain in his leg. They smashed into the desk, and Beast dropped his weight on top of him. He reached for the gun, jerked it up, twisted, and pointed the end of the suppresser under Tough Face’s chin. Beast jammed his finger into the trigger guard and pressed.

  Tough Face lost parts of his tough face as the 9mm bullet traveled through his chin, jaw, tongue, teeth, the roof of his mouth, nasal cavities, and left eye. It exited out his forehead, sending his head back with a violent jerk. Blood, bone, and tissue splattered over the wall and Beast’s face. He felt the bits of goo in his eyes and mouth and started to spit them out as he gripped the gun and rolled onto his side to face the door.

  The Serbian had recovered and was stepping into the room over the moaning Robot. He turned and fired blindly in Beast’s direction. Beast felt pain in his left arm and shoulder. He grasped the handle of the Glock in his blood-soaked right hand. Through blurred vision and still spitting Tough Face’s face out of his mouth, he fired off four shots into the Serbian’s head and chest. He fell dead against the bed.