by Joe Goldberg
Finally, the Chinese embassy and MSS would be out searching for their diplomat. They would alert Ukrainian security, and the streets would quickly fill with law enforcement. They needed to get this over with before an army of armed men smashed through the door.
“Minister Chen. Usually, I offer snacks. I’m considerate and polite, but not today.” Bridger’s head shook. “Not today. Not with you.”
Bridger sat down and winced when he wiggled his left arm in its sling. He wasn’t sure if his wrist was broken or if it was a bad sprain. Snake, the Spy Devil’s designated medic, had done his best to keep Bridger moving—mostly with painkillers.
“I would like to know if you killed my man.”
“You…making…error.” Chen’s eyes spiraled like pinwheels as he tried to focus on Bridger.
“I would like to know if you killed our man,” he repeated.
“What are you—” Chen then attempted to stand, not realizing his hands were bound to the table. Snake moved behind him. Ready. Just in case.
“Who killed my man?” Bridger said with the same tone.
“I…do not know…what you are talking about.” His breathing was already irregular. He sucked in air between words.
Bridger tapped Chen with the stun gun setting on his Devil Stick. He jerked and twisted off his chair, falling to his knees—his hands kept him from getting all the way to the floor. Snake grabbed him and shoved him a little too hard back onto the metal chair. Bridger let it go.
Larger beads of sweat rolled down Chen’s cheeks, soaking the collar of his shirt.
“That was the lowest setting.” He held the Stick to Chen’s face. “I have your attention now?
“Do what you want…I have nothing to tell you.”
Bridger sighed.
Tough man.
Without a word, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a rusty pair of pliers.
“What are you…doing?” Chen sputtered as he saw what Bridger was holding.
“Hell yeah!” Demon said, walking toward Bridger to take the tool.
“Chen. There comes that time in a mission when I get pretty sick and tired. That time is right now.”
Before he could react, Bridger quickly extended his arm and firmly grabbed the end of Chen’s left index finger with the head with the pliers’ gripping jaw. He squeezed.
Chen screamed. When he tried to pull away, Bridger squeezed harder.
“Son of a bitch!” Demon said, clapping his hands together in frustration. “That’s my job.”
Bridger just stared at Chen. Chen met Bridger’s stare with one of his own. Sweat was bubbling off his skin, but he remained motionless.
“Tell me everything, or I crush this finger, then the next and the next, until I hear the truth,” Bridger said slowly, as he tightened the pressure on the plier handles. Chen winced as his nail cracked. The end of the finger immediately started to turn red.
“You want…truth…call your…mother,” Chen said, his voice a mix of pain, resolution, mocking, and anger.
Bridger released his hold on the pliers, which hit the table with a loud clang.
“What did you say?”
“Call…your mother. She will be…interested in my…well-being,” Chen panted in short breaths, but sounding more to Bridger like the professional intel officer that he was.
Bridger looked at his phone, and as if she was listening, three electronic chirps filled the room. An ‘M’ appeared in the caller ID. He picked it up and answered.
“Just calling to see how I am doing, May?” He didn’t hide the pleasure in his voice.
“You can be so insufferable. Please do not harm Mr. Chen or any more of his security guards.”
“Oh. You are late to the party. Unless you have more, we are all out of security guards.”
“Don’t be annoying. Is Minister Chen with you?” Exasperation laced her voice.
“Yep. We were negotiating on how many fingers Chen will lose before he decides to talk.”
“May I speak with him?”
“Nahhhh. I don’t think so.” Bridger picked up the pliers and started to tap them on the table. Tink. Tink. Tink. “How long has he been a source? Or is he a target—or both?” She paused. That moment confirmed it. “If I don’t get the answer I want, I will return him to you in pieces, starting with one finger at a time.”
Silence. Sigh.
“He is the most significant penetration of the MSS. Ever. Deputy Minister Chen is positioned to rise to the highest levels of the Chinese government. Procuring Hillcrest is the accomplishment he needs to ascend to the top. If that happens, the MSS would be run by a CIA asset.”
Bridger sat back. He wasn’t often stunned, but that news stopped him cold. He looked at Chen, who sat with a pleased thin-lipped smile on his face.
“Wow. That is significant. I guess he is so significant he was worth risking my life?” Tink, tink, tink went the pliers.
“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic. Choices had to be made to save the operation—a very important operation that has been years in the making. The only reason you are even involved was Bondar went off schedule. You would have made the same decision.”
“The Devils were years in the making, too—if that matters.” He tossed the pliers on the table, sending a disturbingly loud clang through the small room.
“I had every confidence you would successfully extricate yourself. My confidence seems well-placed.”
“But he didn’t get the case. I am sure Chapel told you that. I blew it up and almost got blown up, too—thanks for asking.”
“Yes, he didn’t get the case.” Her voice sounded as tired as Bridger felt. “But there are always alternatives in a complex operation. You know that.”
“I don’t know. I also know that Beast is dead.” He hadn’t entirely accepted that Beast was gone. He closed his eyes to lock in the emotion. Bridger’s mouth turned bone dry. He sucked some saliva and swallowed. “Who killed him? Do you know?”
“I heard. That is sad news. Bridger. But I can assure you that Minister Chen had nothing to do with that.”
“Maybe not. Maybe yes.”
“He didn’t, believe me,” she said calmly.
“Believe you? That’s funny coming from you.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Beast is dead.”
He hung up. He had his answer.
They cleaned Chen as best they could and packed him in a stolen Kia Sportage. With a bag over his head, they drove around Kyiv, then let him out on a corner outside Holosiiv Park.
When they drove away into the drizzle of the night, Bridger was confident of one thing—he knew where to find the person who killed Beast.
53
Who Killed Beast?
Kyiv, Ukraine
Bridger checked his watch.
A few heartbeats before 2 a.m.—just short of twenty-four hours since they gassed and released Chen.
Twenty hours since Bridger and the Spy Devils added an important asset to the team. They had stopped by Pavlo’s one-room apartment and offered the former Bondar employee a temporary position as an expert on the Bondar financial structure and building security. With very little cajoling, Pavlo accepted.
He had constructed a plan, but the borderline impromptu scheme he came up with was a little rough around the edges. He was preparing to wing it—one last time.
It would be another ninety seconds before the new Spy Devil team of Pavlo and Imp, which Milton had already begun to call ‘Pimp’—to Imp’s displeasure—turned on the lights in the residence.
Bridger gave the Spy Devils four hours to eat and get some sleep.
He tried to do the same, but it was difficult. It was hard to comprehend the revelation about Chen being a double agent run by May. After four hours, they went back on the attack.
Getting into the residence was simple.
The Pimp team had disabled the security systems and locked the security panic doors, effectively sealing off Bondar’s securit
y guards. Snake had placed the portable mobile phone jammer on the roof. Milton and Beatrice had the Devilbots up. One on overwatch, the other doing close-in surveillance outside the windows of the residence floor.
Bridger sat in the shadows at Bondar’s wooden desk, admiring the enormity of it. It was impressive, he thought. Bigger than the Oval Office. He tried not to be too juvenile with the “compensating for something” cliché.
The den covered one-quarter of the top floor. The light coming through the windows illuminated deep blue carpeting. Massive wooden doors. Two deep green leather high-back guest chairs, with curved mahogany legs, were opposite him. Bookcases and tables mirrored each other. A sitting area occupied the space to the right of the door. On top of an ornate Persian rug were a long gray couch, matching chairs, and a glass table.
In the other far corner from the desk was a square black game table with four chairs around it. A fully stocked built-in bar was in the corner behind the table. A door next to the bar led to a bathroom. He had taken advantage of the facilities when he arrived an hour ago.
Somewhere in the darkness, a clock ticked.
Covering the walls were pictures of Bondar with people—some he recognized. Businessmen. Politicians. Charities. There were even two U.S. presidents. Bridger realized that nowhere in the sea of narcissism was a picture of any member of his family. Bridger noticed a worn rifle hanging on the wall behind the desk.
He checked his watch and covered his eyes just as all the lights in the rooms blazed on.
Bridger sat back in Bondar’s comfortable desk chair and waited.
Twenty seconds later, Demon opened the door. Bridger watched all the Bondars—Viktor, Ira, and Olek—shuffle through it, startled and half asleep. Demon stayed inside the room. Snake closed the door and stood outside. Demon leaned his back against it, the Devil Stick in his hand. Bridger saw the large knife attached to his belt. His hand was on the handle.
“Olek! I wasn’t expecting to see you.” Bridger waved his good hand and smiled. “This is a surprise, a welcomed surprise. You don’t look too worse for wear.”
“Who? What—” Olek sputtered, dressed only in a pair of neon green boxers.
When Ira came into the den, she took a few steps toward the bar area. Perhaps, Bridger guessed, she thought she could make a break for the bathroom or out the main door.
“Ira,” Bridger said warmly.
As he approached, arms out like he wanted to hug her, she looked puzzled. Even in the middle of the night, she was stunning. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail. She wore a sheer knee-length satin white robe tied around her waist. It was distracting.
“It is good to see you again. I am glad you are here. You found Olek! That was fast. Well done. Please, sit with him.”
“What are you doing here?” she asked with malice in her voice.
“I will explain, but for now, please sit.” This was spoken as a friendly command. She hesitated. “Sit, Ira,” he said firmly.
She flinched in a way that suggested she was not used to being ordered where to go. Eventually, she walked to the sitting area and took a corner spot in the furthest part of the couch. She grasped the corners of her robe and pulled them to her lap.
Bridger turned to Bondar, whose face was red—registering a shade somewhere between seething and irrational hatred.
“Viktor. It is nice to finally meet you. I am—well, they call me Bridger—perhaps Ira, or Olek, have mentioned me? Or Danny? I lead a group called the Spy Devils. Perhaps you have heard of us?”
“Fuck you,” Bondar’s hands were balled into fists. His body seemed coiled and ready to strike.
“Are those silk?” Ignoring the comment, Bridger walked forward and rubbed the sleeve of Bondar’s black pajamas. “Why, they are! I saw a pair like this recently—they were on a Mr. Theo Giannokis in Cyprus. Do you know him?”
Bondar’s expression was now confused. The actions of the man who had invaded his private sanctum—this Bridger—made no sense to the oligarch. He sucked his cheeks in, causing wrinkles to crack across his face. He looked over his shoulder at Olek, who turned his head toward Ira, and closed his eyes.
Bridger continued.
“So, Viktor. If you would, this is your office, please.” Bridger motioned to the desk chair.
“What do you want?” Bondar shouted.
“Calm, Viktor. Please. I will explain everything. I don’t want to keep you up a REM cycle longer than needed. My goodness, what I wouldn’t give for a good night’s sleep. I once had some sheets in Cairo—well, perhaps later. Please. Sit.”
He seemed confused. He hesitated, looked in Demon’s direction, then went around the desk and sat.
“Wonderful.”
Bridger rotated a guest chair in front of Bondar so he had a better view of the sitting area. He removed his arm from the sling and rested his throbbing left wrist on the desk.
“That is more comfortable. So, let me get to business so we can all get back to bed, as I promised. I am here to find out who murdered my man, who we affectionately called Beast. Olek, you met him. He was the person who fished you out of the Mediterranean, off the coast of Cyprus. Remember?” Bridger turned to Bondar and chuckled. “You should have seen him. Bobbing and splashing. Quite a sight.”
Bondar glanced at Olek as he rolled his chair closer to his desk.
“Oh. Viktor, don’t look for your very nice Makarov. I removed that and all the other weapons. Except that.” Bridger pointed to the gun above Bondar’s head. “Is that a Tula? I haven’t seen one of those in years. Was that yours?”
His face was chiseled tight.
“I killed my father with it,” he said with a threatening chill.
“May I?”
Not waiting for an answer, Bridger stood up and walked around the desk. He reached up and grabbed the rifle off its hooks with his right hand. Walking back to his chair, Bridger admired the weapon. Bridger saw the threatening look as he fondled Bondar’s precious keepsake. “This is a classic.” He placed the rifle on the desk next to him.
“Back to business.” Bridger re-positioned his tired body in his chair and slapped his knee with his good right hand. “Oh. The panic button you are pushing under your desk will not be answered. Pavlo and my man Imp turned off all the security alarms and access. We will not be disturbed.”
Bondar and Ira’s heads spun to look at Bridger.
“Didn’t I tell you? I must be tired. Pavlo has come to work with us. He was quite eager—not surprisingly—being unceremoniously fired. Such a waste of talent to dismiss him so abruptly. He is quite a unique lad. Incredible tech skills. We will take advantage of them. Hell, we already have!”
Bridger looked directly back at Ira, then Bondar. Discomfort radiated from their bodies at the news of Pavlo’s defection.
“So, I pose the question. Who killed Beast? My list has grown short. All that remains,” his face turned malevolent, “is the Bondar family. I am going to cross Olek off the list. The only thing he kills is his own brain cells.” Chuckle and smile. “That leaves Ira and you, Viktor.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Bondar said defiantly. “I want you out of here.”
“As you might suspect, I have given this some thought.” Bridger sat forward with his gaze fixed on Bondar’s unblinking eyes. The silence lasted for five, then ten, then fifteen seconds. A clock clicked time as the tension grew. Bridger’s stare went uninterrupted. Finally, he spoke. “No. No, I don’t think you know anything.”
Bridger turned to look at Ira with eyes that conveyed one meaning—vengeance.
54
You are a Liar
Kyiv, Ukraine
“Do not look at me. I have no idea, either,” Ira said matter-of-factly, as she clicked the red paint off her left index finger with her right thumb.
Bridger looked back at Bondar, then back to Ira.
“Oh, Ira…and I thought we were friends. At least business partners. I thought we had a deal. Should I tell your f
ather about our last conversation?” Her face went pale, then flashed to red as he kept his eyes on Ira. “You see, Viktor, your daughter and I have met before, did you know that? Just a few days ago in Pavlo’s room in the basement of your bank. Ira was kind enough to let us in—unharmed I might add. We had a brief but worthwhile conversation.” His eyes shot to Bondar, looking for a reaction. “I enjoyed it.”
Bondar looked at Ira. Bridger wondered if she was too terrified to talk. He could sense the waves of panic emitting from her. Her complexion was flusher than a poker hand.
“We discussed—,” Bridger started as he looked over at Ira, “—you. It seems that she is not happy with you, Viktor, about anything. Family. Business. But she is quite riled about the killing of a man named Uncle Anton.” He turned back to Bondar. “Does that name mean anything to you?”
“What—” Bondar started.
“What were we supposed to do? She asked me to leak some very unsettling information about you. Arms dealing. Extortion. Bribery. Blackmail. Murder. An impressive list. Did I forget anything, Ira?”
“I have no idea what he is talking about. He is a liar.”
“Is that right?” Bondar asked. It was a question from a cold, iron-fisted businessman. Not a father.
“No, he is a liar.” It was the voice of someone feeling real fear for the first time.
“Well, she gave me the case from Kirkwood as payment. Did you know that Viktor? We went through all this effort to get it, and Ira just hands it to us. I hope you didn’t have plans for it. I sort of blew it up, the reason for my sore arm here, but we don’t have time to rehash that story.” Chuckle and smile. “What should I do with the information you gave me, Ira?” He pointed. “Viktor, you will find copies in the folder in front of you. I hope you don’t mind. I am keeping the originals.”
Bondar hesitated, opened it, and flipped through the contents. Every few pages, he would glance up at Ira or Bridger. When he was done, he closed the folder and sat back.