by Andrew Watts
He turned to Renee. “You want a beer?”
“No, thank you. I’m still nursing my wine cooler.”
She really did look beautiful tonight. “You know, I’m a lucky guy.”
“Trust me, I completely agree.” She winked. He laughed.
He turned and marched up the grassy bowl that surrounded the amphitheater. The deep bass notes of a cello mixed with rich violin filled the air. Max weaved his way in and out of the patchwork of blankets and concert patrons.
All the while keeping an eye on his mark.
His handler was a man by the name of Caleb Wilkes—a veteran of the CIA who had built a career running agents in various parts of the world. While Max was happy to take Renee out to Wolf Trap on a nice night like this, it was Wilkes who had asked him to be here.
Max had been conflicted about working for the CIA after all that had happened last summer. It wasn’t that intelligence fieldwork was an undesirable occupation to him. Quite the contrary. Max had spent over a decade under a nonofficial cover for the Defense Intelligence Agency and hadn’t left of his own accord. The higher-ups had forced him to make a career change based on their needs, without asking his opinion, and without being transparent about the circumstances. Because of that, Max would probably always be leery of trusting men like Wilkes, a senior operations officer who pulled the strings from the halls of Langley. But as an experienced operative, Max knew better than to completely trust anyone, including his new handler. The world of international espionage was littered with the graves of the trusting and gullible.
Wilkes understood Max’s reservations. With his experience and social stature, Max wasn’t a normal asset. He was special, and Wilkes had to treat him that way.
Wilkes had given Max a few months without contact after the Fend Aerospace incident last year. At which point he had begun paying Max regular visits. The two usually met for beer or coffee in the Georgetown district of Washington, D.C. Max was getting his MBA at Georgetown University. Wilkes often worked out of Langley, so at first, he attributed the meetings to the convenience of “being in the neighborhood.”
Max knew better—he had recruited and run agents himself while he’d worked for the DIA. He knew that Wilkes wouldn’t waste his time paying social calls unless there was something to be gained. By the third “friendly happy hour,” Max told Wilkes to cut to the chase.
Max was a valuable agent, and Wilkes wanted him on his team. Max came pretrained and experienced, having honed his skills in Europe and the Middle East. And he certainly had access. Max’s family wealth and network allowed him to recruit assets and gather information that other agents just couldn’t. He was expected to eventually take a job at his father’s aerospace company after he finished his MBA, furthering his stature.
But Max wasn’t just skilled and reliable; he also had the most sought-after motivation a handler could ask for. It was Max’s sense of national duty and his continued desire to serve and protect that motivated him to participate in the program. Max was serving his country for patriotic reasons. And perhaps for the excitement of the game. Turning foreign assets and uncovering terrorist networks could be an intoxicating thrill, as long as you didn’t get burned in the process.
But there was still a level of apprehension—a feeling of slight betrayal after the way Max had been forced out of the DIA and wrongly implicated in a crime last year. The way Wilkes didn’t fully divulge all of the details of the operation until it suited him. That pesky trust issue.
So the two men had come to an understanding. Wilkes would reach out to Max when he had work, and Max might sometimes decline, based on the situation.
Tonight, Max had been called up for the first time.
“I need you to keep an eye on someone. It’s critical.” Wilkes had said.
Abdul Syed, officially a Pakistani diplomat operating out of the embassy in D.C., was actually under the employ of the ISI. Wilkes was working with FBI and CIA counterintelligence to monitor Syed’s activities, but that was proving difficult. Abdul Syed was adept at losing surveillance. He’d lost them each night for the past several weeks. But something about tonight would be different, Wilkes had told Max.
“We’ve received intelligence that Syed is going to make contact with one of his American agents. But he won’t do it if he sees his tail. I need you to be there instead. Watch Syed. See who he meets.”
Unusual circumstances. An intriguing assignment. FBI counterintelligence was supposed to have several men who would keep an eye on Syed. Wilkes was expecting Syed to give them the shake. This Syed fellow must be quite a talent, to do that. FBI counterintelligence were some of the best in the business. Why did Wilkes want Max doing this, instead of someone else? Probably because he wants it to be unofficial. But why?
And how did Wilkes know where Syed was going to be? He wouldn’t give Max the answer to that, but somehow, Wilkes knew.
The Pakistani intelligence officer was a mere fifty yards away from Max and Renee’s spot on the lawn of Wolf Trap. He was sitting alone, listening to the serene music, looking about as pleasant as someone getting a root canal.
It was crowded, and Syed could be planning to communicate with any of the thousands of spectators now listening to the concert. Maybe he already had, Max thought. After all, he hadn’t seen Syed enter. It had taken Max fifteen minutes to spot him. Renee thought he was crazy, moving their sitting spot on the lawn twice. She’d thought it had something to do with his obsessive need for perfection. Like how he kept all his belongings meticulously clean and organized.
But that spot had given Max a perfect view. And the moment he’d seen Syed get up and walk to the top of the half-moon-shaped lawn area, heading towards the row of concession stands, Max followed.
Chapter 3
Max walked towards the concession stand, scanning the crowd, using his peripheral vision to observe anything that might be out of the ordinary. The habits of an intelligence operative who had spent more than a decade hiding in plain sight. Syed was now pretending to talk on his cell phone, but Max could tell he was really just looking for surveillance himself. Walking one direction for a few moments, then circling back, scanning the crowd like a pro. Max needed to be careful not to be spotted.
Syed was brown-skinned, with dark bushy eyebrows. He wore gray slacks and a buttoned short-sleeve shirt, with a bright white Washington Nationals cap on his head, which Max found to be a comical addition.
Max approached the window of the snack bar and ordered a beer, paying in cash and receiving a large plastic cup foaming to the brim. Cold and tasty. Perfect on a warm summer’s night. Turning around to face the amphitheater, he observed Syed walk past him and out through the concert exit.
Hmm. No one else was leaving yet, so Max couldn’t just follow him without being obvious.
The exit gate was a chokepoint. A great way for Syed to be sure that he was clear of coverage before he tried to communicate with his agent.
Max had a decision to make. Follow him out, or wait? Spook him and any illicit activity could be called off. Maybe it already had been. Maybe he’d spotted Max and that was why he’d departed. The thought bothered Max. But then, through the covered entryway, past the bare metal turnstiles and roundabout blacktop driveway, Max saw the Pakistani man slow his step.
Max stayed put, half-concealed by the entrance structure, sipping his cold amber beer, eyes locked on to his target. Syed loitered across the rounded drive just outside the gate. The Pakistani man came to a stop near a park bench that rested in a mulched garden. A grove of trees swayed overhead.
Then the crowd erupted into loud clapping and whistling, and Max could hear the chatter of people rising from their spots on the lawn to leave. The concert had ended. Shit. Syed was still just standing there. Waiting. Soon throngs of people headed through the exit turnstiles, racing each other to get to their cars in the parking lot.
A flash of panic hit Max as the empty area filled with people and he momentarily lost his quarry. Lines forming
at the restrooms and exits all served to block his view. A bottleneck of foot traffic formed at the concert gate. Max maneuvered, poking his head around the crowd and trying to keep eyes on his mark.
A gap in the crowd lined up perfectly. Just for a moment. But that was all it took. A split-second line of sight from Max to the park bench, and that was when it happened.
Syed moved fast.
To the untrained eye, it would have looked like nothing more than bending down to retie his shoe, or perhaps brush a speck of dirt off his pant leg. Max knew better. Syed had been standing near the park bench. When he’d dropped down low, his hand had gripped the front of the bench seat, his knuckles going white as he’d pressed down. Then he’d stood up and begun walking away, towards the parking lot. From this far away, Max could just barely make out a round white object on the wooden bench seat.
A thumbtack? A sticker? Whatever it was, it was a signal.
Max’s heart beat faster as he realized that the timing had been precise. The wooden bench was now surrounded by departing concertgoers. The signal could be meant for any one of them. Max would just have to hang out and wait to see who came and sat at the bench. If the agent was really good, Max might not even pick him up.
“There you are.” Renee interlocked her arm with his. “Were you going to come back to me? I got our blanket. I’m ready if you are…” Looking up into his face, seeing his expression, she whispered, “What’s wrong?”
He kept his eyes on the bench, nudged her forward, and began walking. “I need your help. Please follow me. This is important.”
Frowning in confusion, she said, “Of course.”
He threw his half-drunk beer into the trash—normally an unforgivable sin—and they walked out with the crowd. Max took out his phone and led Renee under the grove of trees on the mulched area behind the park bench. He positioned Renee so that the Wolf Trap sign and entrance were behind her…along with the bench. The crowd would be directly in front of him as they departed the concert area.
“Let me take a few pictures of you. Stand right…here.”
“Really, Max?” She sighed and forced a smile for the camera.
“Really.”
She arched one eyebrow, hands on her hips, but then gave up and smiled for the camera.
One minute of picture taking later, Max caught his fish.
White male, forty to fifty years old, medium height, medium build. Every cop’s favorite description. The man’s eyes were staring in the direction of the bench. His gaze hovered on the thumbtack for two beats too long. Maybe he was trying to determine the color? Maybe he just wanted to confirm that he really saw his signal. Either way, it was sloppy tradecraft.
And a total break for Max.
Max slid his phone into his pocket and began walking, placing his arm around Renee and bringing her with him. He whispered, “Do me another favor? Get the car and drive around to the exit.”
“Max, what’s going on?” she whispered back.
“It’s okay. I’ll find you and meet you there. If I don’t get to the car before you leave, just park on the side of the road outside after the traffic cops let you out.”
“What? Max, I don’t understand. It’ll be dark soon. Why are you—”
“I just need to check something. Please.”
Renee took the keys and headed towards their car.
Max kept his distance following the man, still keeping a lookout for Syed or anyone else who might be watching. The man who had observed the signal stopped at a silver sedan in the parking lot a few moments later. Max walked by the man as he fumbled for his keys. Max had placed his phone on video mode and was holding it casually by his legs, lens facing outward, positioned to capture the license plate, and then angling it up to record the man’s face.
After passing by, Max continued walking towards his own vehicle. When he found Renee a few minutes later, she was waiting in the long line of cars for the exit. Max hopped in the passenger seat and threw on his seatbelt.
“Can you please tell me what we’re doing now?”
Technically Max had completed his assignment. But if they followed the agent, it was possible they might learn more information. Max liked being thorough.
He turned to face Renee. “We’re following someone.”
“Who?”
He scanned the line of cars and located the target vehicle. About twenty cars in front of them. If Max was lucky, both cars would be let out together before they stopped traffic again.
“Who are we following?”
“Actually, I don’t know his name.”
The cars began moving towards the T-intersection, a traffic cop standing there with orange-lit cones.
“Go left.”
Renee turned. “Which car is it?”
“About five ahead. Silver sedan. See it?”
“Yes.”
For the next ten minutes, they traveled through the suburbs of Vienna, Virginia. Lots of colonial homes with finely manicured lawns, barely visible in the summer dusk.
Renee did well. She kept her distance from the silver sedan and drove past without asking when the car stopped abruptly on the gravel shoulder of the Creek Crossing Road.
“What do we do now?”
“Turn into this next neighborhood and park.” Max was squinting out the rear window, trying to see in the dark.
After they parked, Max said, “You stay here. I’ll only be a second.”
Max crept along the side of the road, walking towards his target’s parked car, headlights momentarily blinding him as cars sped by. He could feel the rush of air from the traffic. The gravel of the road shoulder crunched beneath his feet. This was poor surveillance technique, following his quarry into an unknown area by himself like this, but it was the best he could manage right now. He had texted an update to Caleb Wilkes while they were driving but had yet to hear back.
Max crept up to the silver sedan parked on the shoulder and peered inside. Empty. He turned to his left. Ten feet away, a paved path led from the road down into the woods. A buzzing streetlight above was just bright enough that Max could make out the words “Foxstone Park, Fairfax County Park Authority” in yellow lettering on a maroon wooden sign.
Max followed the path, careful to walk slow and quiet, listening for the sounds of footfalls or the snaps of breaking twigs. Instead, he heard only the summertime calls of insects and a bubbling brook somewhere off to his right.
The park wasn’t big. The distant yellow windows of surrounding homes rising high all around told him that. Maybe a few football fields in length. One football field across, tops. Lightning bugs glowed every few seconds, giving the woods a magical feel.
A shoe scraped along pavement up ahead. Max’s heart raced as he held his breath, straining his ears to listen.
Bzzzt. Bzzzt.
In his pocket, his phone began nonstop buzzing. Shit. He reached down and squeezed to silence it. Probably Wilkes, but he couldn’t risk a look. The light would give away his position if the buzzing hadn’t already. He cursed himself for the rookie move.
A whitish-blue face lit up maybe twenty-five yards ahead, and Max froze. It was the face of the man Max had seen looking at the dead drop signal at Wolf Trap. He had just turned his own phone on and was looking at the screen. For a moment, Max wondered why he would do something like that. He was ruining his night vision, for one. And if he was supposed to be here for a meeting or to pick something up, why would he need to look at his—
A deafening crack echoed through the forest, and the man’s head exploded.
Renee was already nervous, waiting in the car with the engine turned off. She was checking her watch and staring in the rearview mirror, hoping to see Max’s reflection as he walked back to her. She knew this had something to do with his past life. His time in Europe as an intelligence operative for the DIA would always be a part of his identity. She had known he was speaking with Caleb Wilkes about doing work for him. But she had secretly hoped that nothing would come of it
.
While Renee had once worked for the CSE, Canada’s version of the NSA, she did not share the same gung-ho mentality as her beau. She didn’t like guns. She preferred nonviolent resolution to conflict. And she didn’t concern herself with politics or worry much about international affairs.
That being said, Renee wasn’t naïve. She knew how the world worked, and that there was a need for men like Max. She just didn’t want him to get hurt trying to be some sort of heroic knight. Or whatever he thought he—
Renee heard what sounded like a gunshot and froze. Then she flung the car door open. Her heart raced as thoughts of the worst flooded into her mind. She stepped out onto the sidewalk and slammed the door shut.
Had Max been shot? What if Max had shot someone? Don’t be stupid. He didn’t have a gun. Did he?
Renee looked both ways on the sidewalk, tapping her foot. She had to do something. She reopened the door, leaned into her car horn and pressed down. The loud noise echoed through the night. Dogs in a nearby home, already agitated by the gunshot, barked louder in response to the horn.
She slammed the door closed behind her again and sprinted towards the parked car.
She stopped in her tracks as a tree branch cracked and someone ran out of the woods ahead of her. The dark silhouette of a man outlined by distant car headlights. The figure stopped at the sidewalk, a good ten or twenty yards away. Renee’s stood in place, her heart stuck in her throat.
“Max?”
The figure didn’t move.
But it wasn’t him.
While Renee couldn’t make out his face, this man had a shorter frame, and he carried some sort of long bag—like one of her old field hockey stick bags from college—slung over his shoulder.
The hair on the back of Renee’s neck rose as the man stood inspecting her from the shadows, silent and motionless. Perhaps deciding what to do. Renee was about to run when, in an abrupt motion, the man reached down, picked up a mountain bike which had been lying in the grass, and pedaled away.
