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

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