by Andrew Watts
Renee had started off after college in one of the big multimillion-dollar corporations. Now they were her competition. They didn’t see it that way. They didn’t know she existed. But she had a book of business. About six figures a year. Nothing to scoff at, but it could dry up in a heartbeat. And she always felt the pressure.
And loneliness. And guilt. She was thinking about seeing a psychologist or a psychiatrist—whichever one didn’t give you medicine. She didn’t want medicine. Just someone to tell her how to get her life back on track. Maybe a life coach? No. She had read that many of them were people who’d been laid off.
Renee kept telling herself that in another year or so, things would finally change for the better. She would get a new big contract and would have more time to get things done. It would be easier then. She would then read more, work out more, and travel more. She would call up her best friends from college and demand that they go hike the Appalachian Trail with her. She had so many adventures that she wanted to have, before she grew too old, and before her life began to fade away into memories.
Memories.
It was funny how strong some of them could be, when they came back and slapped you in the face. Renee hadn’t thought of Max in quite some time.
“Who was that on the phone?”
“No one, Mom.”
“It didn’t sound like no one.” Renee’s mother came to visit every six months or so. And whenever she did, she always gave Renee advice that she didn’t want.
“Just an old friend, Mom.”
“A boy?” Nosey.
“The friend was male, yes.”
“Does your old friend have a name? Tell him to take my daughter out. She needs a man in her life.”
Renee walked into the living room, where her mother was knitting and watching a home-buying show with the volume down low.
“Enough, please,” Renee said.
“You’re much too young and pretty to give up on men now.”
“Mother.”
“Well, I’m only saying. What happened with the nice man who took you out tonight? You came home early.”
“He’s a client. I won’t be seeing him again.”
Her mother looked up from her knitting. “Well, that’s a shame.”
“I’m going to my room, Mother. I need to get a little work done. What are your plans tomorrow morning—do you need the car? I have something in the morning.”
“No, dear. I’ll be fine. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
Renee went into her bedroom and sat on her bed, bringing her computer onto her lap. Time to find out what Max Fend had been up to over the past few years, and what kind of trouble he was in.
7
Four Days Before the Fend 100 Flight
The next morning, Renee was there waiting for him in the lobby of the hotel, a laptop resting on her knees, and a cup of steaming coffee lying on the hotel rug next to her chair. She put the computer down next to the coffee and stood, extending her hand.
“Hello, Max.”
A quiet, steady voice. That same lovely French Canadian accent. She’d changed her hair up a bit. It was shorter. And he saw that she’d added a long flower tattoo that wound down her milky-white leg.
“Renee. It’s good to see you again.” A quick embrace.
“Why don’t we go somewhere we can talk, Max?”
He took her back to his room.
Max and Renee sat on two opposite ends of the room’s ugly couch.
She began. “You’re in trouble.”
“How much do you know?”
“As much as I could find out, before speaking in person. I looked at everything I could get my hands on last night after you called.”
Renee held dual Canadian and US citizenship. She had always been very good with computers in college, but while there, she had mostly been concerned with playing field hockey. The tech companies had come at her hard her senior year. She had gone to work for a cybersecurity firm after graduating.
When they’d last seen each other at a reunion party in 2008, Max had asked her about her job. She had been coy, saying only that she worked for a small Canadian firm. Max knew how to spot a lie. The answer had piqued his interest, and he’d used his resources to look into Renee’s work the following week.
Max was surprised to discover that Renee had gone to work for Canada’s Communications Security Establishment in Ottawa for a few years. The CSE was Canada’s version of the National Security Agency. From what he could decipher, she was one of their cyberwarriors. Then she’d left and had gone to work for herself…probably about the same time she’d met her ex-husband.
Max had thrown her name into his little black book spreadsheet.
“Are you guilty?” she asked.
“Of what, exactly?”
“The FBI thinks that you gave some foreign cybercriminals access to your father’s company network. This allowed them to steal information”— she looked down at her notes—“something about an autonomous test flight. I haven’t read up on that yet. But I’m sure you are more than familiar.”
“Well, to answer your question, then, no.” He shook his head. “I’m not guilty of that.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What are you guilty of?”
“Good looks. A voracious appetite for life.”
She tried not to smile. “I’ve missed you. But you don’t need to put on your little show for me. Remember, I know who you really are.”
“And who’s that?”
She shrugged. “Not this act that I’ve read about.”
They stared at each other for a moment. Each trying to unmask the other.
Max shrugged. “I hate it when my reputation gets ruined.”
“If you were the little brat the gossip columnists make you out to be, I wouldn’t be talking to you. But I knew you before you went away to Europe and got put in the magazines with your shirt off.”
“You saw those?”
“Oh, yes. Quite the heartthrob to the tweens and moms who read that sort of thing.”
“Moms and their daughters have always loved me. What can I say?”
Renee didn’t respond.
“I checked you out. Your work in Europe seemed...”
“Interesting?”
“Controversial.”
“What do you want to know?”
“How did you get involved with all those people?”
“Which ones?”
“Max, the things I read about…the FBI file says that you’ve been mixed up with several groups…well, they aren’t the types of people I would expect you to know.”
Max leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Let’s get this out of the way now, because you’ll need to know. Renee, when I was in Europe, I wasn’t just a consultant. That was a cover. A nonofficial cover.”
“What do you mean, a nonofficial cover?”
“Intelligence agencies have two types of operatives. Ones who are official government employees…and ones who aren’t. The official cover agents are the ones who work in the State Department or some other section of government. But really, they serve multiple masters. You might have seen news stories about how Russia will send home several of our diplomats, claiming that they’re spies. And then we send home several of their diplomats, claiming the same thing. Those people are under official covers. They get diplomatic immunity. Protection.”
“Wait, are you saying that you worked for the intelligence community?”
“Yes.”
“As in…like…you were a spy?”
“Yes, Renee. I was an illegal. I had no diplomatic immunity. And my posting was unrelated to any government agency.”
“You were a spy, Max. I’m still trying to wrap my head around this.”
“I understand.”
She blurted out, “I worked for the CSE. In Canada.”
He laughed at her expression. As if she’d been holding it in for years and had finally found someone she could admit it to.
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“I mean, the work was pretty boring. Nothing like being a spy. I was trapped in a windowless room all day for a few years. But it was all super hush-hush.” The words flew out of her mouth, like she was trying to match confessions.
Max smiled. “Actually, I know.”
“You know?”
“I’m familiar with your professional background. That’s part of the reason I’ve reached out to you.”
“Hmm. And I thought you missed me.”
“I do.”
Her voice was excited. “So who did you work for? The CIA?”
“DIA. The Defense Intelligence Agency.”
“Since when?”
“Pretty soon after I left college.”
“That long?”
Max nodded.
“So is that why you were running around with all those bimbos in France? It was a cover.”
“Some of those bimbos meant a lot to me…”
Renee rolled her eyes. “Fine. Maybe we should just get down to business, shall we?”
Max said, “Very well. I want you to come work for me. I want to hire you. I need help. Someone with your talent. Someone I can trust. And someone who won’t turn me in, because they believe me when I say that I’m innocent.”
Renee pursed her lips, not speaking.
“I understand if you have to say no. But you saw what the FBI thinks. Someone’s after me.”
She cocked her head. “How long would the contract be for?”
“Until this mess is cleared up.” Max smiled, his wide, charming smile.
“Yes, well. If you want me to drop everything and come work for you, you’ll need to make it worth my while.”
“Nothing is off the table.”
“What’s the pay?”
“I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but I’m painfully wealthy.”
“I am aware. Although last time I checked, those who are running from the law face problems when accessing their bank accounts.”
“I’ve got my own stash under the mattress. Turns out Grandpa was right after all. Besides, if you do your job well, I won’t be running from the law for long, right? How much do you make now, annually?”
She told him.
“Consider it tripled. Next?”
She tried not to look too pleased, which was difficult. She said, “I will need job security. You’re on the run. If I help you, and we’re caught, I’ll be considered an accomplice.”
“Doubtful.”
“That they wouldn’t consider me an accomplice?”
“No. That we would be caught.” He winked.
“You’re almost famous. Your father is famous. What happens when people start finding out that it was you racing out of Washington on a Ducati racing bike yesterday?”
“It wasn’t a racing bike, it was the model—”
“Max.”
“We won’t be caught. We’ll just need to move fast. And send what we find to the Feds. There seems to have been a dreadful misunderstanding, is all.”
“I know, but still. You can’t very well expect me to leave my other contracts on a whim like this without knowing that I’ll be taken care of. I’ve got a life, after all.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes to give you peace of mind. But we can’t stay here. If you decide to help me, it will require travel. I don’t yet know who or what I’m up against. So I think that it would be best if we…if we were able to disappear for a few days. Is that possible for you?”
Renee thought for a moment. “My mother is in town. She won’t be happy, but I can tell her that I have a work trip. Yes, Max, it’s possible.”
Max nodded. “So, are we good? You’ll agree to help me?”
She pretended to think about it. Truth be told, she wanted nothing more than to get away for a few days. This sounded like interesting work. And a good friend was in need. Beneath Max’s wild act, she knew that there was a decent man there. She had to help him.
“Alright. Let’s get started.”
“Let’s.”
“Tell me your story, Max Fend. And let’s try to figure out who might be after you.”
Max recounted the last twenty-four hours. He had given her hints on the phone last night, but this was more in depth. It took him about fifteen minutes to catch her up. Most of it she was already aware of, having made the connection that he was the one who had escaped law enforcement the previous day. But she did stop him several times with questions.
“Wait. You said you were going to go to work for your father? At his company?”
“Yes.”
“So you don’t work for the DIA anymore?”
“Correct.”
She looked at him in disbelief. “So when did you stop working for them?”
“Last year.”
“So if you’re no longer in, how were you able to escape law enforcement in D.C. like you did?”
He smiled. “That’s the other part of the mystery. I don’t know who set me up, and I don’t know who helped me escape. But I have my suspicions.”
Her jaw dropped open. “So you’re saying that you didn’t know the people that rode the motorcycles with you out of D.C. before you took part in all that?”
“They obviously planned it, but I didn’t know it would happen. I recognized one of them. He was MI-6, I believe.”
“British intelligence? Like James Bond?”
“Yes. I met him in Europe several years ago. An operation I took part in there. But I don’t know the man’s name. Just the face.”
“So you think MI-6 broke you out of the FBI’s custody? That’s insane.”
“Technically, I wasn’t in custody at the time.”
She gave him a questioning look.
“They hadn’t placed me under arrest. I voluntarily went in to answer questions. Although, I’m pretty sure that they were about to arrest me. The guy outside my window was yelling and reaching for his gun. Never a good sign.”
“If they didn’t think that you were guilty then, they certainly must think you are guilty now.”
“Because of the car chase?”
“Yes.”
“Well, OJ was still presumed innocent after his car chase.”
“I don’t think that should be your standard of excellence, Max.”
“You’re probably right. See, I was smart to hire you.”
“So why did you run?”
“MI-6—if that’s indeed who they were—leads me to believe that there was more to come in terms of evidence against me. The man who helped me to escape warned me not to let myself get taken into custody. He informed me that someone was trying to set me up. Knowing that I was innocent, his advice seemed of high quality. Plus, I tend to believe folks like that.”
“Folks like what?”
“Spies with elaborate motorcycle escape plans.”
“Ah. Them.”
“Someone’s set me up to take the fall in this Fend Aerospace hacking thing. I wasn’t even aware of a problem. Some sort of network intrusion involving Russian hackers. My father must have known, though.”
“And he didn’t tell you?”
“No, actually. It’s very unlike him to keep things from me, but perhaps he didn’t think I needed to know. But the people who helped me get away implied that there was more incriminating evidence to come. So—I would like you to help me find out who did it, and why they did it. Can you do that?”
“I can certainly try,” Renee said.
Max held up his phone. “The MI-6 team gave me a phone number. I’m supposed to call it at six p.m. tonight.”
“And who will you be speaking with?”
“A woman. A member of their team, I presume. They said it was someone who would be able to help me out.”
“Let me be there when you make the call,” Renee said. “I’ll set some analytics software up. Perhaps we can learn more about who’s on the other end.”
“Excellent. Thanks.” He stood up. “Renee, there’s something else that I’ll need he
lp with.”
“What?”
“Do you know a good bakery around here? I’m famished.”
8
Fend Corporate Jet
30,000 feet over Atlanta, Georgia
“Mr. Fend, we’ll be landing in another forty minutes,” the stewardess said.
“Thank you.”
The stewardess disappeared back towards the front of the aircraft.
Charles sat across from Maria Blount. Her red hair was pulled back. She had been discussing the hacking incident. He hadn’t told her anything about Max. Charles thought that it was best to keep that to himself for now.
“Should we work with the FAA to postpone the Fend 100 flight?” Maria said.
Charles shook his head. “No.”
“But if…”
“This is only going to increase the pressure on us, I’m afraid. If we don’t put on a good show next week, the different stakeholders might get spooked.”
“But the cybersecurity investigators said that they weren’t able to penetrate all of our firewalls.”
Charles looked out the window of the jet as he spoke. “You went over the data they stole. What do you think?”
Maria looked glum. “They have the Fend 100 aircraft blueprints. Those alone are worth a lot to us. But they weren’t able to access the servers that held the AI program.”
“So? What’s your prognosis, doctor?”
“If our aircraft design gets into competitors’ hands, that would be bad. And Wall Street will punish us if we don’t secure the FAA’s NextGen contract. That’s the most important thing to us now. We need that government contract finalized.”
Charles tapped his fingers against his armrest. “Our corporate cybersecurity experts tell me that these hackers are like Somali pirates. They’ll seize our precious information and hold it hostage for an indefinite period. Or like you suggested, sell it to the highest bidder. We can’t postpone the Fend 100 flight. If we delay that flight, we give the hackers and our competition more opportunity to hurt us. Delaying the Fend 100 flight would delay the finalization of the NextGen contract with the FAA—or worse, put it in jeopardy.”
