The Spy Devils

by Joe Goldberg

  “Now that is bad news.” By sending Bridger’s image to the world, he would seriously harm Bridger’s entire life and the Spy Devils' operational activities—maybe permanently.

  “That would be disappointing,” Bridger said a few seconds later, with the pain still pulsating in his chest. When he recovered, he fixed his eyes on the Chinese assassin. “Why did you kill my person?”

  Li Chu looked genuinely confused.

  “What? I haven’t killed anyone. As I said, I do not plan to kill you either, Jack.”

  His spinning head didn’t help him sort out the confusion caused by Li Chu’s comment. Would there be a reason for the leader of the Dragon Fire to lie to him? Spite. Hatred. Okay, that he would accept. But he didn’t show any of that.

  “Right. You didn’t touch him. Is that what you are saying?”

  “I am not a liar. I would not deceive you. I hate you as an enemy, but I can respect you as an opponent. Let’s not be petty.”

  “I appreciate that, buddy. I’ll send you a card for your birthday.” Bridger tried to wiggle his numb fingers.

  Li Chu gave him a quizzical look, not exactly sure what to make of this man secured to a chair. He continued with his interrogation.

  “Where am I?” A weak voice. Peter. His face was pale and damp. Blood dripped from a cut over his left eye.

  “Peter. You are alive.” Bridger winced in pain as he turned his head.

  “What have I missed?” Peter spit some blood from his mouth, then he looked around the room.

  I just need to keep delaying. When the time comes, we make our move.

  “Well. The Chinese are about to kill us. No, he isn’t going to kill me. I am not sure what he plans for you. I think that sums it up.” Bridger’s tone was between mocking and serious as he stared at Li Chu. “Does that about cover it?”

  “I’m…well…that is…not good.” Peter struggled against the restraints. Then he stopped and straightened his body in a moment of recall. “Hillcrest?”

  All eyes turned to the sunlight-splattered silver case lying on the table.

  “What is in it?” Li Chu said to Peter.

  “I hope it is lunch. I am hungry.” Bridger shrugged his shoulders as much as he could. “He would know better than I. He works there. But if you are asking my thoughts, I would hazard a guess it’s ‘the stuff that dreams are made of.’” Bridger let his Humphrey Bogart impression, one he always thought was pretty good, bounce inside Li Chu’s head.

  He could see by the blank expression Li Chu did not recognize the voice or the famous line from The Maltese Falcon.

  “What is that…stuff of dreams?” Li Chu stepped away from the table.

  Bridger shook his head, amused. “It was a bird. A movie. Forget it.” He waited for the next jolt. It didn’t come. Instead, he enjoyed the stupid look on Li Chu’s face.

  Li Chu pointed to the table.

  “Isn’t it curious that all of this is about getting something we know nothing about?” He held it up in front of Bridger.

  Be alert, Peter.

  “Isn’t that the definition of espionage?” Bridger asked. “How often do we ever know what it is about, or more interestingly, what will be the result of all our work? You think your side is right. I know my side is right. So what? We deceive and plot and target and act, then move on to the next more important thing. Like this case. What were you doing—what, a few days ago—before you even knew this existed?”

  “Jack. Open it.”

  Li Chu moved the case back in front of Peter.

  “Jack?” Peter was confused. “I don’t know how, either.”

  Peter seemed to be more in control. Bridger could see some fuck you in his attitude.

  “I have been told it cannot be opened, or the contents will be destroyed. But I have been told there is a way.” Li Chu swung the case in front of Peter, then Bridger, then Peter again, as if it would magically give him the solution to the puzzle. “Open it!”

  “I don’t know how. I don’t!” Peter said.

  Li Chu reached for the Devil Stick. Peter recoiled as much as he could in the chair.

  Bridger looked at the irate man, then at Peter.

  Perfect. Now is the time.

  “I do,” Bridger announced in a matter-of-fact tone.

  Peter and Li Chu stopped immediately, like their batteries had suddenly run out.

  “What?” They said simultaneously, looking at him with disbelief.

  “I can open it. What else do you want to know?” He said it with a sigh like he was bored talking about the subject.

  “How can you open the case without harming the contents?” Li Chu asked.

  “Yeah. How can you open the case without harming the contents?” Peter was shocked. “Since when?”

  “Since whenever.” Bridger stared into Peter’s eyes, hoping he could comprehend his role in Bridger’s plan.

  Come on, corporate spy.

  “I am not a fool,” Li Chu said.

  “Well, I disagree, but that still doesn’t mean I can’t open the case.” Bridger smiled.

  Li Chu looked at Peter disbelievingly. “Can he get in?”

  Peter met Bridger’s gaze.

  Back me up. We can get out of this.

  “If Jack says he can, he can,” Peter said, with a shrug.

  Then Bridger saw it— behind Li Chu–a few feet on the other side of the glass door. The Devilbot was hovering and pointed straight at Bridger.

  It’s time to fuck with this fucker.

  47

  A Thin Metal Device

  Lebedevka Village, Ukraine

  “It is in my backpack, which was in the car.”

  Li Chu motioned to his man by the door, who turned and left the room.

  “Is there a reason why you didn’t tell me about this?” Peter still had his eyes turned to Bridger.

  He’s a little miffed.

  “Nope. Just never thought about it.”

  The guard returned a few minutes later, holding a backpack. He handed it to Li Chu, who impatiently dumped the contents on the table. A plastic bag containing a ball of tangled power cords. Power adaptors. USB sticks. Pads of paper. Loose change. A few open rolls of antacids—each half gone. An assortment of pens. Golf balls.

  Frustrated, he held it out to Bridger.

  “Where is it?”

  Bridger looked at his wrists. Then at Peter. Then back at Li Chu. Then he saw the Devilbot pull away from the windows and out of his sight.

  “Don’t we all want to see what this has been about? We have been chasing, dodging, and whatever else for days, and for what? You won. You got us. You got him. Way to go!” He flinched toward Peter. “If you want my help, cut us loose.”

  “No. Tell me where it is and how to use it.” Li Chu snapped his fingers in the air. Bridger felt the cold metal of a gun on the back of his neck. He didn’t react at all. In fact, to Li Chu’s surprise, Bridger showed more annoyance than anything.

  “Really?”

  This was the critical moment. Bridger had to irritate the hell out of his captor one more time. If not, the chance of getting out was slim and none, and slim just left town.

  Bridger continued.

  “It goes like this. If you kill me, you still can’t open it, because I am the only one who can, and so on and so forth. Then you will realize I am right and threaten to shoot him,” Bridger nodded toward Peter, “and I say fine. You were going to kill corporate spy boy anyway, and if you do, I am definitely not going to help you open it. And, to be totally transparent, which is all the rage these days, he doesn’t mean anything to me. You will be doing me a favor.” Bridger gave no indication he was lying as he ended with a broad smile.

  “Thanks. I love you, too.” Peter frowned.

  “Then, as poor Peter here bleeds out on the floor, you will threaten to beat me up and torture me, which you know won’t work, at least not for many hours, or days. So why not cut us loose? We can all work together to look inside this pain-in-the-ass case
.”

  There was a moment of silence as Li Chu considered the logic of Bridger’s argument. He gestured to the guard, who cut the zip-ties from the arms and legs of both men.

  Each man immediately rubbed their sore muscles and checked their wounds. Peter rose slowly from his chair, grasping the back to steady himself and get his balance. He touched the wound above his eye with his fingers. They came back stained with blood.

  Bridger winced as he pulled his left arm up with his right and tucked it into his shirt for support. He rubbed his right hand through his wet hair. After a few seconds, he shuffled around the table to face the room. He saw the guards were still close, their guns out and pointed in their direction.

  “It’s here.” He picked up an eleven-inch-long travel power strip. It had space for three plugs on each side and four USB ports on the end. An eighteen-inch cord extended from one end. Then, he dropped it. “I need some help.” Bridger looked up at Peter.

  Peter looked at Li Chu, who nodded approval. Peter walked around to stand next to Bridger. That gave Bridger time to get a better view of the room.

  The couch is six feet away. Two big steps. One chair in the way.

  “Pull the cord out of the end of the adaptor,” Bridger instructed Peter. “Grab each side of the power strip and pull in opposite directions.” Peter did as he was told. “Good. Slide it open and separate it into two halves. Drop the lighter half. Shake the other one upside down. Catch what comes out.”

  Peter caught a thin metal device that looked like a small television remote. It had a screen, some buttons of various sizes and colors, and a touch biometric pad.

  “Here,” he handed it to Li Chu.

  Li Chu looked it over, holding it the long way, turning it in his hands cautiously. Front. Back. Sides. He stopped on the side with an alphanumeric pad under a display panel, which ran the silver device’s length. In the lower-left corner was a larger red button with the universal circle and line symbol signifying an on/off switch. Li’s Chu’s thumb hesitated over the red button. He thought, then moved his thumb to the side.

  “How does it work?” Li Chu stepped closer, his head twitched from the device to Bridger and back. He handed the passkey to Bridger.

  Bridger seared his eyes at Peter with a ‘here it comes, be ready’ expression.

  “I like you, Li Chu. We are a lot alike, I think. Perhaps under different circumstances, we could be friends. Do you play golf?” No answer. “Ah well. Say, I want to make certain of one point. You did not kill any of my people or leave a little message for me to find. Correct?”

  “What? I told you. No.”

  “Thanks for that.” Bridger smiled back.

  Bridger shoved the contents of his backpack on the floor with his right hand and moved the passkey device. Li Chu was to his left side. Peter on his right. The three Dragon Fire men were across the table at various distances.

  “Once it is powered on, a timer starts to count down. Something called a…bypass authentication code…appears, and we have ten seconds to input it perfectly—no mistakes, none—or it shuts down. Permanently. Then it self-destructs. Then boom!”

  “How?” Li Chu looked at the device like it was going to bite him.

  “Yeah, how do you know this?” Peter asked.

  “Later.” He said to Peter. He looked at Li Chu. “That’s all I know. I didn’t get the manual. You want to do it?” Li Chu stepped back. “Yeah, I figured.”

  Bridger turned to Peter, who shook his head. “No way.”

  “Cowards.” Bridger leaned his legs against the table to steady himself. “Peter, when I say so, count down the time.” Bridger took a deep breath. “Well, if we want to see this, here we go. Now.”

  He pushed the red button. The screen blinked to life and glowed amber. A quick beep from the case startled them. The keypad and display on the case also lit up. On the token, a 12-digit random alphanumeric bypass code appeared.

  “Holy shit,” Bridger said.

  “Ten. Nine. Eight—” Peter counted.

  A digital tone filled the room as Bridger pushed each key.

  “Crap. Crap.” Bridger’s hand trembled.

  “Seven. Six. Five.”

  “Crappy crap.”

  “Four. Three. Two.”

  He pushed the last three keys as fast as a woodpecker.

  “One.”

  With the push of the last symbol, each device released the same tone. Silence followed. The case access panel lights glowed green, which was followed by a few soft clicks.

  Relief hung in the air as they stood for a few seconds looking at each other. For the moment, curiosity had overcome animosity. Together, they were going to see Hillcrest.

  Bridger saw the three Dragon Fire men move toward the table.

  Li Chu glanced at the others. He reached his hands to either side of the case. His thumb and forefinger gripped the corner as he slowly lifted the silver top.

  The room was silent.

  The case contained dark gray impact foam with the center cut out in the shape of a square—nothing else.

  “It’s empty.” Li Chu’s eyes went from the case to Bridger, then to Peter.

  Peter reached his hands into the case and tried to pull the foam out. It was attached. “How can—what is going on? Where is Hillcrest? What is it?” He couldn’t take his stunned eyes off the empty case.

  “Empty!” Bridger broke out in a loud laugh. “That Gilbert is something else.”

  He kept his eye on the token as his right hand grabbed Peter hard around the elbow. The display blinked and a digital count down appeared.

  Five…four…

  Bridger turned and pushed Peter as hard as he could toward the couch. Li Chu and his men hesitated.

  Three…two…Bridger wrapped Peter in a bear hug and jumped. The momentum carried them over the couch, landing on the carpet between the couch and coffee table. The Dragon Fire men raised their guns, wildly firing at the diving men.

  Li Chu saw the countdown on the passkey and leaped away.

  One.

  48

  Chapel and Chen

  Lebedevka Village, Ukraine

  When the detonator was triggered inside Hillcrest, it set off a small charge within six ounces of C-4 explosive material lining the metal case. That charge set off the chemical reaction decomposing the C-4. Gases expanding at over twenty-six thousand feet per second sent a force through the metal case. The destruction was instantaneous.

  Bridger’s ears were ringing so bad he thought his head had exploded. It took a few shakes of his head to get enough of his senses back so he could scan the situation in the room.

  Most of the glass wall was gone. The ceiling over the explosion had partially collapsed into the four-inch deep, circular hole in the floor. The force of the exploding C-4 had blown the couch against Bridger and Peter, scooping them to the wall like a shovel, the burning and splintered furniture slamming them against the far wall. The cracked television fell off its mountings onto the floor by their heads.

  Peter was next to him on the floor, coughing and covered in white dust. All the glass windows and doors leading to the patio were shattered. Broken tables, chairs, and debris were scattered around the room. Dust and smoke from small fires swirled in the air. He grunted as he used his body to tip it back and leaned against it to steady himself as he stood on wobbly legs.

  The metal Hillcrest case had become red hot shrapnel and sliced into the men like porcupine quills. The smoke was too thick to his left, so he couldn’t see what happened to Li Chu. The Dragon Fire man nearest to the explosion, the one who liked to stick a gun against his neck, was dead. What was left of his front was red and pulpy, looking more like a well-tenderized steak at the meat counter.

  The man who stood behind Peter was alive. He was about five feet in front of Bridger, on his hands and knees, groaning, full of holes that were dripping blood and pieces of his head onto the floor like melting candle wax. He was missing most of his scalp, and it looked like a chunk
of his right arm was gone and a few fingers on his left hand.

  Through the smoke to his right, Bridger saw the sentry by the door bent over at the waist, looking at the floor, shaking his head. He was bleeding like a fountain from gashes in his neck, chest, and legs, but Bridger considered him as operational.

  Bridger had to decide who to kill first. Should he risk turning his back on the nearby Scalpless as he goes for Bleeder as the more imminent threat? Does he have time to take out Bleeder and get to Scalpless before he recovers and shoots Bridger in the back?

  Bridger flashed his eyes down to look at Peter’s face. It was white with shock. Blood was flowing from another cut on his head. He was still coughing as he inhaled the smoked-filled air.

  “Get out of here,” Bridger yelled into Peter’s ear. Bridger grabbed Peter’s arm, dragged him over the smoldering couch, and shoved him toward the shattered wall of glass. He stumbled over the wreckage and fell. “Get the hell out!” Bridger yelled again. Peter stood and stumbled through the opening onto the patio.

  Bridger picked up the broken leg of a wooden chair and took a step toward Scalpless, who was trying to stand. He swung the wood up like an uppercut, slicing Scalpless across the face. When he hit the floor groaning, Bridger raised the chunk over his head like a knife and swung down hard, jamming it deep into Scalp’s right eye socket.

  Without waiting, he turned to the man by the door.

  Bleeder was upright and looking at what Bridger had done to his colleague. He reached for the Makarov on the floor at his feet. Bridger took three large steps to close the distance between them. As Bleeder raised his weapon with his right hand, Bridger threw his right arm up, grabbed the Makarov by the muzzle, and twisted it outward to stay out of the line of fire and loosen Bleeder’s grip.

  He hit Bleeder with a left across his jaw. That was when he was reminded of the earlier trauma to his left wrist. The rush of adrenalin and numbness was not enough to cover the paralyzing waves of pain that rolled up his arm and through his body. His eyes filled with tears, and he felt his knees go weak.