The Spy Devils Joe Goldberg (books for 20 year olds TXT) 📖

the table. Bondar reached into his pocket and came out with a small orange. He smiled and handed it to the old man.

“Thank you, my boy.” He took a big bite and started his noisy chewing process.

Ira finally spoke. “May I ask, Minister Chen, why was the American killed?”

Chen pondered his answer for a moment, then said, “He was becoming a problem and needed to be removed.”

“But you didn’t have to drop him ten stories. You could have killed him in a less public way,” Ira countered.

“No, they needed to make it public.” It was Bondar. He turned to Chen. “It was a warning sign—to us. We shouldn’t cause any problems—or we will be removed too.”

Vlasenko coughed, then coughed again as an orange river of saliva and foam rolled from his mouth.

“Uncle Anton! Are you choking?” Ira screamed as she turned and beat his back with her hand.

Vlasenko’s body started to jerk forward, hitting the table. His mouth tried to suck in air, but his rapid short gasps signaled he was suffocating. His eyes were wide and glazed. His face turned a deep reddish-purple. His boney wrinkled hands clutched his chest. He started to shake. Ira tried to get her arms around the man, but his small body seized so violently she could not get a grip.

“Father, do something!”

She looked up to see her father putting the last bit of pastry in his mouth, disinterested in what was happening a few feet away. She shot a look at the man from China who also made no move to help. His face revealed no emotion.

Vlasenko suddenly went still. His hands dug into his chest over his heart. He seemed to rise from his chair for an instant. He toppled over to his right and hit the floor, curled in a ball at Bondar’s feet.

With tears in her eyes, Ira knelt by the body, looking from the dead man to her father in disbelief.

“Get up, Ira. Take your seat,” Bondar said in a tone as calm as if he was asking her to pass the salt.

“You killed him!”

“Get a hold of yourself and take your seat,” he commanded.

She fought to regain her composure. She stood, straightened her skirt and blouse, wiped the tears from her mascara-smudged eyes, and sat.

“I have seen the effects of a high dosage of cyanide many times,” Chen said.

“You see,” Bondar said, “I can send warning signals too.” He pointed to Vlasenko. “This man was my friend. My mentor for decades. You can do your business with me now. Only me.”

Chen nodded, pushed his chair back, and stood up.

“I believe we have completed as much business this morning as possible.”

“I will walk you to the car.”

Bondar and Ira also rose and escorted Chen through the house to the front entrance. Bondar nodded to the two uniformed Bondar Battalion-1 security men, who nodded back. They grabbed the handles of the massive mahogany double hung doors and swung them open. Chen, Bondar, then Ira stepped out to the wide V-shaped brick paver area that flared out from the entrance to the driveway twenty feet away.

Chen didn’t stop when he saw six crumpled bodies that were once Vlasenko’s security detail dead on the ground. The rain had ceased. Through the thinning clouds, a glare reflected off pools of blood under the bodies.

“I am afraid Anton’s driver will not be able to drive you back to Kyiv,” Bondar said, indicating the large black SUV. A torso was hanging partially out of the open passenger door, trickling blood from what was left of his head like a tipped over champagne glass—the result of a point-blank shotgun blast.

“I will have my driver take you.”

He pointed to another identical SUV parked behind the one containing the body. As they walked to it, the driver opened the door.

Chen stopped before he sat and turned back to Bondar and Ira.

“That is greatly appreciated,” Chen said emotionlessly, as if seeing death was second nature to him. “It was a pleasure meeting you.” He bowed to Ira. Then he turned to Bondar. His tone was as casual as if he was discussing the weather. It had a chilling effect.

“I was wondering if the people who took that case also retrieved the biometric passcode device? You see, it is an extraordinary case. Without George MacLean alive, or the proper and specific passkey authentication, the case cannot be opened safely. You should tell that to whoever has it—if you know them. Good-bye. Zai jian.”

Chen got in. The driver closed the door.

“Do pobachennya.” Bondar said goodbye and closed the door.

Bondar and Ira stood and watched the car drive away.

He spun to Ira, his eyes about to erupt with anger. “Do we have that? That device he is talking about?”

“They only gave me the case,” she said.

“Absolute incompetence.” Bondar balled his hands into fists. “Find a way to open it.”

“I will.” She stepped closer to her father. Her eyes darkened and turned cold as a deep cave. “You killed Anton! Why? Why?”

Bondar released his curled fingers and waved his hands through the air in the same dismissive manner Vlasenko had a few moments before he poisoned the old man.

“He would have done the same to me.”

Her high heels ground into the brick pavers as she turned and marched away.

Bondar glared at the two guards who had escorted them out of the house. Standing four feet away, they froze in terror when they saw the absolute look of death in his eyes. He reached around his back, grabbed the grip of the Makarov 59 EG, and put two bullets into each man’s chest before they could take their next breath. At that range, the 9x18mm bullets went entirely through their bodies. The already dead men fell back and hit the wet bricks with a splat.

He walked between the bodies and fired the last rounds from the magazine into each man.

“Get rid of Anton’s security men, the cars, and get Anton out of my dining room.” He shouted to no one in particular. “Get rid