Glidepath

by Andrew Watts

  “That would be awful for the company.”

  “Yes, it would.”

  “So what do you want to do, Charles?”

  “We need to ensure that we improve our cybersecurity efforts. The FBI tells us that the hackers attempted to steal our AI technology, but they were unsuccessful. Fine. But they also warned us that they would keep trying. I want you to make sure that we are improving all of our security. Under no circumstances will we allow someone to steal the Fend 100’s AI program.”

  “I understand. Who would do this sort of thing?” Maria asked.

  Charles continued to look out the window. “The leeches of the earth. The Fend 100 flight must go off without a hitch. The sooner that happens, the less vulnerable we will be.”

  The stewardess walked back down the aisle. “Mr. Fend, you have a phone call, sir.”

  He thanked her and walked to the front of the jet, where the corded satellite phone was plugged in.

  “Hello?”

  The voice on the other end was one that he hadn’t heard in quite some time. “Hello, Charles.”

  Charles closed his eyes, tightening his grip on the phone. “I had hoped that we were finished.”

  Charles could see Maria trying not to be too obvious in her attempt to eavesdrop on the conversation.

  The voice on the other end said, “We were finished, Charles. We were. But it seems that our old friend has renewed his interest in you and your company. And now there is another consideration, I’m afraid.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Your son.”

  9

  Camp Peary

  Near Williamsburg, Virginia

  The fact that Max Fend had been working for the CIA wasn’t a problem, per se. But the fact that Max had lied about it to the FBI during their investigation—well, to Jake Flynn, that was a problem. Maybe that was standard procedure for them. Flynn didn’t know. But he needed to find out.

  Flynn drove down early in the morning. He could have gone to Langley. But if Langley was anything like the FBI headquarters, Flynn preferred to stay as far away from there as possible. The farther away you get from government headquarters, the more people smile, and the looser their lips become. Although he wasn’t quite sure if that would apply in this case.

  The Farm, as it was known, was the CIA’s training ground near Williamsburg, Virginia. Officially, the place was known as the Armed Forces Experimental Training Activity, or Camp Peary. The land was owned and run by the US military. But much of the base was used to train officers in the CIA’s Directorate of Operations. He’d had to get special permission from both the FBI and CIA to gain access to the base. His interview was set up with someone the CIA thought would best be able to help him out.

  The CIA man’s name was Caleb Wilkes. By the looks of it, he was in his late forties. Maybe early fifties. Thinning gray hair. Suit jacket with no tie. Top button undone.

  “You comfortable? Can I get you anything?”

  “No, I’m fine, thanks,” replied Flynn.

  Wilkes closed the door and sat down across from Flynn. “We were surprised that you called us asking about Max. Mind if I ask what led you to believe that he worked for us?”

  “Sure. I’m looking at Max Fend as part of an ongoing investigation into Fend Aerospace. When I was looking at Max Fend’s background, I came across his Defense Department security clearance form. He worked for the DoD for a few years after college. So I talked to his contact that he had listed on his security clearance for when he worked at the DoD.”

  The CIA man listened but didn’t speak.

  Flynn went on. “So the guy gets talking, and he tells me that he thinks that they get a few people a year stashed there by CIA’s personnel department, awaiting further assignment. He said he thought Max was one of them, but couldn’t be sure. The more I thought about it, the more his job overseas seemed like a good cover for CIA employment. I think the fact that we’re both sitting here tells me that I’m warm.”

  Wilkes nodded. “Is that it? Anything else I need to be aware of? You understand the sensitivity here. If there’s a way that we can improve our process, I’d like to get that feedback.”

  The CIA man’s voice was impassive. Flynn wondered if he already knew about Max Fend fleeing in a car chase yesterday.

  Flynn said, “That’s it.”

  “And the reason you’re investigating Max Fend? What’s his connection, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “We’re just looking into a recent Fend Aerospace incident, involving their automated flight system.”

  Caleb Wilkes stayed still. “I see.”

  Flynn flipped open a small notepad and clicked his pen. “Mind if I take notes?”

  “Actually, I’d rather you didn’t. This is a courtesy discussion. And I’m afraid it will be a short one. Normally we never discuss former employees, but we’ll make an exception to help aid your investigation. You see, Max Fend actually didn’t work here for very long. Your friend at the DoD was probably right. I’m afraid that we do stash people there—and in various other jobs within the government—while we’re running background checks. We can’t be too careful.”

  “So you’re confirming that Max did work for the CIA?”

  He held up a finger. “Yes, but not for long. He washed out of the program.”

  “Why?”

  “Performance. He just wasn’t up to our standards, I’m afraid. But I implore you—keep this to yourself. We don’t normally provide information on anyone who has been to this school, and that includes washouts.”

  Flynn lowered his voice a little. “You mind if I ask you a question? Is this place really what everyone says it is? It’s really a spy school?”

  Caleb smiled. “It’s not exactly a well-kept secret. They have many books and TV shows about it. But most of them aren’t very accurate.” Flynn noticed that he didn’t really answer the question.

  Flynn nodded. “But you are sure that Max Fend never worked for the Agency beyond being here?”

  “Correct.”

  “And how long was he at this…school?”

  “I would have to check the record again. Sorry. I only glanced at it just before you arrived. I think it was a matter of weeks. Maybe a month, tops. It’s quite rigorous training.”

  The FBI agent tapped his pen against his blank notepad.

  “And to be clear, Fend is no longer employed by the CIA?”

  Caleb Wilkes’s smile looked fake now. Annoyance in his eyes. “Again, that’s correct. He’s no longer with the Agency.”

  “Why did you guys recruit him, if he wasn’t up to your standards?”

  “We recruit a lot of people. Sometimes you don’t know who can handle the pressure until you put them in the cooker. A lot of them don’t make it through. But we funnel most of those to other CIA roles, if they’re fit for those types of assignments. It would be a waste not to. Security clearances are expensive, and take a long time.”

  “But you didn’t do that with Fend?”

  “What? Send him to another CIA role?”

  “Yes.”

  “No. Not with him.”

  “Why not?”

  “He wasn’t suited for other roles.”

  “Why not?”

  “He just wasn’t.” Wilkes’s eyes narrowed.

  “When’s the last time you spoke to Max?”

  “Years ago. Just before he left our employment.”

  “And what exactly is your position here?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “How is it that you remember Max Fend so well if he was only here for a month, over a decade ago?”

  Caleb tapped his temple. “Memory like a steel trap. It’s a gift.”

  Flynn wasn’t getting anywhere. He decided to take a chance. “Can I ask you a question? Did you happen to see that motorcycle chase—the one in D.C. yesterday?”

  “Of course,” Wilkes said. “It’s been all over the news.”

  “What did you think of it? Like, as
in, what is your professional opinion?”

  Wilkes stared at Flynn for a moment and then said, “It was a competent group. Professionals. They were able to evade law enforcement in one of the most highly secured areas in the world. Then they disappeared. I couldn’t have planned it better myself.”

  Flynn stared into Wilkes’s eyes. His investigative instincts were colliding with his sense of interagency propriety. The FBI agent in him won out.

  “Did you plan it?” He watched Wilkes’s face carefully during the response.

  Wilkes laughed. “No. I definitely did not. While I said that I couldn’t have planned it better, and that might be true, I would like to think that I’d have planned it differently.”

  “How so?”

  “I wouldn’t have made the escape so…public. That’s against everything we teach here. If we make the news, we’re doing something wrong.”

  “So you think the people who did that wanted Max to make the news?”

  “Perhaps.” He shrugged.

  “Do you know if Max Fend ever worked for any foreign governments? Foreign companies? Or acted as a foreign agent in any capacity?”

  “No, I told you. He was only here for a month.”

  “What about after the CIA?”

  “You are asking about what Max Fend went on to do after his time here? That, I wouldn’t know.”

  While this CIA guy may have been a well-trained liar, Flynn had been a federal investigator for over twenty years. He had a great built-in lie detector, and he was pretty sure that Wilkes’s last answer was a whopper.

  “Look, Wilkes, I’m just trying to make sure he wasn’t involved in anything that I need to investigate further. We had an incident at Fend Aerospace that involves billions of dollars in technology. And there’s evidence of foreign interference—as in industrial espionage. It might even have national security implications. There are foreign nationals who’d love to get their hands on that technology.”

  “And you think Max Fend was helping them? The son of the owner of the company?”

  “You’d be surprised how often family is involved in crimes against each other.”

  Wilkes said. “No, I wouldn’t, actually. But look, I’m sorry. I just don’t have anything for you. I’ve told you all I know. Max Fend did not work for the CIA.”

  Flynn rubbed his chin. “Alright. Between me and you, I thought it was a long shot anyway. I see no reason to keep digging. Thanks for your time.”

  “Of course.”

  They stood, and Wilkes walked him out to his car.

  “I appreciate your help today.”

  “No problem. Always glad to help the FBI.”

  Special Agent Jake Flynn drove west along I-64, towards Richmond. From there he would take I-95 north and head towards the FBI’s Manassas office. Flynn planned to make a quick stop there before catching a flight to Jacksonville in the afternoon.

  He went over the interview in his mind, getting more and more frustrated as he replayed it. Flynn had met guys like Wilkes before. Spooks. Some of them really thought they were better and smarter than everyone else. Like they were the only real cowboys, and everyone else in law enforcement was just pretending.

  Guys like Wilkes thought they had license to manufacture a false reality when it suited their needs. It became hard to tell what was real and what wasn’t. They were good at it. After all, it was what a professional spy did for a living.

  If the CIA had Wilkes teaching at the Farm, he probably had decades of field experience. Every lie he told was likely mixed in with just enough truth to convince Flynn to believe him.

  But Flynn couldn’t believe everything he had just heard. He didn’t believe that BS line about having the memory of a steel trap. What kind of asshole says something like that? Wilkes had a certain level of familiarity and interest in Max Fend that was way more than he should have had. There’s no way a guy like Wilkes would have wasted his time talking to the FBI about some washout. Max Fend was more than Wilkes was letting on. Flynn could feel it.

  His phone rang. He looked down at the caller ID. Steve at the DNI’s office. Perfect timing.

  “Jake, it’s Steve.” His voice sounded funny, like he didn’t want to talk too loud.

  “Hold on, let me pull over.” Flynn pulled off at an exit and parked in a gas station. “What’s up?”

  “I looked into what we had been discussing yesterday.”

  “Yup. And?”

  “Something isn’t right.”

  “Really? Can you go into it?” He didn’t want to say the name if it was that sensitive.

  “In person.”

  Flynn looked at the clock. He would have to forego his planned stop at the FBI’s DC field office in Manassas.

  “I’ve got to catch a flight this afternoon, but I’ve got a little bit of time. Can you meet me for coffee? I can be up there in a few hours.”

  “Text me when you get here.”

  The drive took two hours. I-95 was backed up around Dumfries, but no more than usual. They ended up meeting at a little coffee shop in Springfield, Virginia.

  Steve said, “So I checked the personnel file for Max Fend—or I started to, anyway.”

  “And?”

  “The system that the DNI network uses will trigger alerts if I look at things I’m not supposed to. But I know this much: he worked for one of the intel agencies. If Max Fend had never worked in the intel world, I wouldn’t have found anything on him. But there’s definitely a DNI personnel file on Max Fend.”

  “What was in it?”

  “I don’t know. But I could see the classification level of the file. And in this case, it was above what I’m allowed to access. Way above.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m afraid if I dig any further it’ll trigger an audit on me. We don’t want that. I’ll get in trouble…or get both of us in trouble.”

  “Let me ask you this—would you have seen that file if he’d worked for the CIA for a month and then washed out of their training program?”

  Steve thought about it and then shook his head. “Nah. I don’t think so. The file would have looked different, or there may not have even been one for him.”

  “Okay. Listen, Steve, I just came from Camp Peary. I met with a guy down there who represented the CIA. He just completely denied that Max Fend ever worked for them. He said he was in training for a month, and then washed out.”

  “That’s what they told you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That seems strange, considering the classification of his personnel file.”

  “Yeah, I’m not buying it either.”

  Steve said, “Well, maybe he just works for another agency.”

  “What do you mean, like who?”

  “A lot of the agencies have spies, Jake. It’s not just the CIA out there in the field, you know.”

  “But the guy down at the Farm said—”

  “Jake, I gotta tell ya, in my experience—a lot of these CIA field agents are like politicians, but with different motivations. You can tell when they’re lying by whether their mouth is moving or not.”

  “You think he would lie to an FBI agent conducting an investigation on one of his men?”

  Steve shot him a skeptical look. “Come on, man. You know how it is.”

  Flynn sighed. “Well, what can I do?”

  “Let me talk to someone else at my work. It’s okay, I’ll be careful what I say. And he’s trustworthy. If I find anything else out, I’ll call you. It might be a few days.”

  “Call me whether you find anything out or not. I want to know.”

  “Got it.”

  “Thanks, Steve.”

  “You bet.”

  Flynn looked at his watch. He needed to be on a plane to Jacksonville soon.

  10

  Max and Renee stopped off at her home so she could speak to her mother and grab her things. Max waited in the car for ten minutes until she was done.

  They ate the
ir breakfast in the MarieBette Cafe and Bakery in Charlottesville, Virginia. The place was crowded with a mix of locals and University of Virginia students. Max had a penchant for good French pastries, and MarieBette made some of the best ones he’d tasted in the States.

  “I have a house in Georgia. I’ll fly us there this morning. It’s out of the way. No one will see us. We’ll make our call at six tonight and see what we can find out. And you’ll have time to do your thing.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Max wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood. “Okay—I’ll wait in the car. If you don’t mind paying? I’d prefer as little interaction as possible.”

  “Sure.” Renee closed her laptop and placed it in her bag. She ordered two cups of coffee to go and a few more croissants, and paid for their food.

  A few minutes later, they walked through the Signature Flight Support building at Charlottesville Albemarle Airport. Max wore his aviator sunglasses and kept his head facing away from the man behind the counter, who was paying much more attention to the cling of Renee’s shirt than to Max. That was fine. If the FBI questioned him later, he would be that much worse of an eyewitness.

  Max untied the plane and threw the chocks back inside the storage compartment, along with their travel bags. He got into the cockpit and helped Renee strap her seat belt on and plug in her headset. Then he went through his checklist.

  He held open the aircraft door, yelled, “Clear prop!” and started up the 315-horsepower engine.

  Max checked the weather one last time on his phone. Severe clear all the way down to Brunswick. He called ground control and began to taxi, holding short of the runway. He then told the tower that he was departing to the south using visual flight rules, and they cleared him for takeoff. Max smiled to himself as he saw Renee tense up out of the corner of his eye, her thighs flexing and her hands grabbing the seat as the aircraft vaulted forward down the runway.