The Spy Devils by Joe Goldberg (top rated books of all time .TXT) 📕

The tacky sweat all over his body? Or the feeling he was about to barf? Glancing down, it looked like his left wrist was completely fucked up. A blurry image entered his head of his hand jamming into the steering wheel.

His hazy vision picked up the outlines of bodies moving toward him.

He stood but fell before he could take a step—then it was dark.

When Bridger woke up, his ears were ringing like a bell choir. He shook his head and squeezed his eyes tight. He saw his hands were zip-tied to the arms of a chair. His feet, which he couldn’t see, and couldn’t move, must have been bound the same way. His left wrist looked like a bruised eggplant.

“Peter?”

He looked up and squinted his eyes, hoping it would help bring things into focus. No Peter to the right. He twisted back to the left and saw Peter slumped in a chair. He looked bruised and maybe had blood seeping from a large cut across his forehead.

A shape in front of him started talking.

“He is alive,” a voice said in Chinese.

Bridger concentrated his eyes on a Chinese male of average height. Dark straight hair. Dark eyes. Wide cheekbones.

“I know you speak Chinese,” the shape said.

Bridger did his best to focus. It was hard enough to form a thought in English. Now he tried to formulate a reply in Chinese.

“Yes, I do. A lovely language,” Bridger said in Mandarin.

“I understand you are Bridger. The leader of the Spy Devils. And this is the spy from the American company,” the voice said.

Bridger remained silent. Then it came to him—through the pain and the fog of a possible concussion.

They had been captured by Dragon Fire.

45

What is in the Case?

Lebedevka Village, Ukraine

“What? Who am I?” Bridger asked, using English this time.

“I will call you Bridger unless you want to tell me your real name.” Li Chu switched to English, too.

“I know who you are, too, Li Chu.”

Li Chu was just as described by the Dragon Fire men as Bridger was interrogating them. A military presence and the familiar look of an assassin. Bridger thought the man needed a shave and looked as tired as Bridger felt. He wore jeans and a tight leather jacket with—a Springsteen t-shirt underneath?

“My name is Jack. Jack Nicklaus,” Bridger said.

“Jack. Your name is Jack? Right…Jack,” Li Chu said with a scoff. He held up the Devil Stick and examined it. “We found this in the vehicle. I am not sure how it works. Like this, Jack?”

He touched it to Bridger’s chest. Pain exploded through a body already in pain as a crackling sound echoed in the room.

“Ouch! That hurts!” Bridger said, forcing a mocking grin.

Li Chu seemed perplexed by Bridger’s reaction. He touched Bridger again.

“You need practice,” Bridger said, immediately after the shock stopped. Then he looked at Li Chu and puckered his lips into a kiss shape. He pantomimed blowing a couple of kisses.

Bridger could see Li Chu was totally mystified by his reaction.

“Tell me the nature of your organization, the names of the members of your team, and where we can find them. Who do you work for in the CIA?”

“Are you still employed by the MSS? I thought they would have lined you up and shot you by now.”

Answering a question with a question. An annoying tactic. And it pissed off Li Chu.

Where are we? How long was I out?

Li Chu knocked Bridger’s chair over with a shove of his foot. Unable to cushion his fall, Bridger hit the floor hard on his right side. Li Chu kicked Bridger in his stomach. Bridger gasped in pain and worked to suck air back into his lungs. The man behind Bridger put him upright. It allowed Bridger to analyze the room.

It was a massive rectangular living area with a vaulted ceiling. He guessed thirty by forty feet. The wall he faced was mostly all glass. Sheer white curtains covering floor to ceiling windows. A sliding glass door. On the other side of the glass doors and windows were a large brick patio, trees, and glimpses of a river reflecting sunlight.

On his left was a carpeted sitting area. Two large couches. A table with a few magazines on it. A large flat-screen television was anchored to the wall. On his right was a fireplace surrounded by bookshelves. He faced a dining table that was turned the long way to the wall. One chair was on the other side. Two were moved out of the way. Two were occupied by Peter and Bridger.

Peter was still unconscious to his left. His chin was down. Saliva dripping from his mouth. Blood drying on his face. In the window’s reflection, he counted two men behind them and one over by the door.

Then he saw the Hillcrest bag on the dining table a few feet away. That’s when he got the idea.

Although it might hurt a little.

“Your strategy to expose us in the media was brilliant—and a death sentence, as you knew,” Li Chu said

“Thanks, buddy. Hey. How does it feel to blow the brains out of your elite team? What was it? Seven? No, eight times, wasn’t it? And thanks for the positive and constructive feedback. It is always welcomed.”

“Who do you work for?” Li Chu shouted through clenched jaws.

The yelling made the front of Bridger’s head throb.

He is getting pissed off. Let’s see how far I can take this. I need him to make a mistake.

“Who do I work for? Myself.” Bridger painfully rolled his neck. “No, really. I made you an international star. It has been my pleasure to ruin your life in doing so.”

Li Chu walked behind Bridger. He leaned down to whisper into his ear. A sign of control.

“You were able to locate us. How?” Li Chu asked in a hissing tone.

Bridger typically would have ignored the obvious interrogation technique, but he decided to go along with it. Bantering about spy tradecraft could be fun, plus it stretched the clock.

“Actually, that is a good