by Andrew Watts
During hour two, the door opened up and a towering man entered. The look in his eyes told her everything she needed to know.
He watched her for a moment before speaking, his eyes examining every inch of her. “My name is Mikhail. What is yours?”
She didn’t respond.
He said, “They want me to find out what you were doing with your computer. They say that you erase everything on it. I say, no problem. You will be good to Mikhail. You will tell me what you were doing, and then maybe we let you go?”
Her lip began to quiver, so she bit into it. Her voice was hushed and hopeful. “I was just sending my husband an email. I forgot to bring my phone and...”
He slapped her hard across the face.
The force of the impact sent her onto the floor. Her left ear rang. She placed her hand against her cheek. She could feel it swelling up. Involuntary tears streamed out of her left eye.
Mikhail spoke in a casual manner. “So we will try this again. You tell me truth this time, yes? Then I don’t hit you. Or, you can lie to me again, and I hit you. That is how we do this. Yes?”
Renee began to cry.
Mikhail clicked his tongue. “Oh, my pretty little girl. Do not cry. Mikhail will take good care of you.”
The large man knelt down over her. She was still in a crumpled heap on the cold floor. Mikhail’s thick fingers stroked her cheek and then wandered downward. Caressing her satin dress. His thumb and fingers cupping her breast as he looked into her eyes. She could smell the stench of his breath.
The movement was so fast. He gripped her by the arms and brought her back to a standing position. Then he tore her dress at the seam, pulling it down so that it began to reveal her body.
Mikhail smiled, nodding his approval. “Yes. You will tell Mikhail everything. Yes?”
She looked away and nodded. Tears streaming down her face. “Okay.”
A knock at the door.
Mikhail yelled in Russian, a clear annoyance in his tone. No reply. He frowned and went over to the door, cursing.
He opened the door and found himself staring at Max Fend’s silenced pistol. The unconscious body of a guard on the floor behind him.
Max eyed Renee, her cheek red and swollen, her dress torn and half hanging off her. Max turned back toward Mikhail and fired two shots into his chest. The big Russian fell backwards into the lower bunk and then collapsed on the floor, a shocked expression of pain on his face.
Max turned and grabbed the other Russian in the hallway, dragging him into the room.
Renee began sobbing and started hugging Max.
“I’m so sorry, Max.”
Max closed the door almost all the way and held a finger over his mouth. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Calm down. We need to get out of here.”
She wiped her tears away with her arm and tried to pull her dress back up over herself. “Any ideas?”
A single, prolonged horn sounded throughout the ship.
Renee said out loud, “What was that?”
“One long horn blast—it means the ship is departing the port. The yacht is leaving.”
Renee felt a rumble in her feet, and the sway of the deck as it began motoring away from the pier.
“Let’s go. Follow me, and be quick about it. Don’t make a sound.”
Renee did as instructed, walking down the carpeted hallway. They wound through the ship’s passageways, and she began to wonder where he was taking them. Then Max opened a watertight doorway and motioned for them to go in.
The two of them entered into a cave-like room at the aft end of the ship. Renee realized they were in some kind of boat-launching chamber. A pool of dark water took up most of the center of the room. Two small Sea-Doo watercraft were tied up on either side of the pool.
Max smacked his fist against a red button on the wall, and a spinning yellow light came on. The huge aft wall separated, revealing the dark ocean outside. The lights of Key West were in the distance.
As the rear doors opened up, the pool water began whirling and sloshing around, the ocean water now seeping in.
Max spoke quickly as he untied one of the Sea-Doos. “Get in, they’ll find those two guards soon.”
Max and Renee jumped in. As Max started up the Sea-Doo watercraft, Renee said, “How were you able to—”
“Charlotte.”
“She let you on board?”
“She wasn’t here. I called her. But she’s in Jacksonville—she did, however, tell me the name of the company that was catering here tonight.”
“So you snuck on with the caterers?”
Max put the Sea-Doo in reverse and they began drifting backward. “There isn’t a lot that five thousand dollars in cash won’t solve.”
“How did you know where I was?”
“I found one of the guards and persuaded him to tell me.”
They backed up into the black ocean, rolling on the wake of the yacht. When the Sea-Doo was about fifty feet behind the yacht, in open water, Max took the throttle out of reverse and put it into neutral. They floated there for a moment, Renee’s hand on his shoulder. She stood in back of him, watching the massive vessel sail away.
“They have my computer and purse,” she said.
“Was your ID in there?”
“No. And I wiped the hard drive—but they’ll still be able to tell what information I was accessing from their own network. If they’re any good, they’ll probably figure out what we were up to.”
“It won’t matter. We got what we needed, right?”
“I think so, yes.” She placed her body close to him as he ramped up the throttle, speeding over the waves and back toward the shore. She was shivering.
Max and Renee made it to a quiet dock and tied up the Sea-Doo. They walked to the street and hailed a cab back to their rental place. They quickly grabbed their personal items and then had the driver take them to the airport. The cabbie was happy to take a break from ferrying around the drunks who stayed until close.
Max started up the Cirrus while Renee paid for the FBO fees. He kept looking around. It was a dumb idea to leave the Cirrus at the Key West airport. And it might have been dumber to go back to it. Morozov’s men had seen them fly away in Georgia, so they knew that they used a small plane. There weren’t very many general aviation aircraft at Key West, relatively speaking. Not when compared to cars.
But he wanted to get away quick, and Morozov’s goons were all out on that yacht. He hoped.
16
One Day Before the Fend 100 Flight…
The sun rose shortly after they took off from Key West. Max decided they would land in St. Augustine. It had a small airport, and it was close to his father’s home in Ponte Vedra.
They flew north along the beach. Lots of heavily trafficked airspace, but a pretty view.
“Are those sharks?” Renee asked through her headset, looking down at the turquoise waters near Miami.
He did an S-turn in the aircraft so they could get a better view. They were only at five hundred feet, and some surfers waved up to them. There was a school of sharks swimming a mere fifty feet away.
Max said, “Yeah. Pretty wild, huh?”
“Oh my God. Should we warn those people?”
“Nah. They’ll be fine.”
“Are they always that close?”
“A lot of the time, yes. Usually people don’t realize it, but sharks are always around.” He looked at her.
“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you where I was going. I was only trying to help. I thought that I could…”
He shook his head. “I appreciate what you were trying to do. Just promise me that you won’t keep secrets from me anymore.”
She pursed her lips and nodded. “You saved me. I don’t know what that man would have done.”
Max glanced at her and then looked back ahead, flying the plane. “It’s done now.”
She didn’t say anything else about it while they flew. She put her head down on the seat and fell asleep.
&
nbsp; Renee slept most of the way. They were passing Daytona when she awoke.
“You okay?”
“Yes. I’m fine.”
“So you were able to tap into the yacht’s computer network?”
“I was. I transferred a lot of data off the ship. But I’ll need time to analyze it.”
“How much time?”
“A day at least.”
Max said, “We’ll find a place to lay low near St. Augustine. You can work there. But the Fend 100 flight is tomorrow. You’ll have to work quick.”
Renee nodded. “You said you were going to warn your father. What did you intend to do?”
“I’ll need to set up a private meeting with him. My guess is that he’s being watched closely by law enforcement, in case I show up. I won’t be able to contact him through normal means.”
“I may be able to help,” Renee said.
“How?”
“Think of a way to get him alone. Is there anyone he would meet by himself? Someone he hasn’t seen in a while? Someone who, if they called, it would be unusual?”
Max thought about it for a moment. “Yeah. My aunt.”
“Now, is there anywhere that this person and your father would go by themselves?”
Max said, “Yeah. Yeah, I think I have an idea. But you’ll have to make the call. Do you have a way to make it look like it’s from a different number or location?”
“Come on. Challenge me.”
He laughed.
They landed at St. Augustine, and Max pulled his hood over his head, waiting out in the parking lot until Renee finished paying and then pulled up with the rental car. They were getting into a routine.
He again waited in the car while she paid for their motel, making sure to get a first-floor exterior entrance. Max was exhausted once again after flying all night. But he couldn’t sleep. They flipped on the news, and the coverage was a mix of stories about the upcoming G-7 conference and the Fend 100 flight.
Renee had started the shower. The door to the bathroom was open. Max tried to give her privacy, concentrating on the TV as articles of her clothing began to grace the floor of the hotel room.
“Do you want me to leave the shower on?”
“Sure,” Max said, biting his lip as he stole a glance of naked flesh.
She walked out of the bathroom with a white hotel towel wrapped tightly around her, and a look in her eye that he hadn’t seen in some time. Renee slowly walked over to where Max sat on the bed.
Renee never said a word. She just reached down, her soft fingers curling around his neck and pulling his head close to hers. She kissed him. A long, wet, deep kiss.
Max could feel his heart beating harder in his chest. She reached for the remote and shut off the TV, her towel loosening around her.
The hot shower continued running, steam filling the room.
They met at the Seven Bridges restaurant in Jacksonville and sat at a secluded strip of the bar. It was 1 p.m. on a weekday. Not many people were in the restaurant.
Wilkes bought a round of IPAs. That got their tongues loosened up enough that it didn’t take long to get into the meat of the discussion.
“You said Max Fend wasn’t in the CIA.”
Wilkes sipped his beer. “He wasn’t.”
Flynn tilted his head, a skeptical look on his face.
“What? He’s not,” repeated Wilkes. “He was in the DIA.”
Flynn frowned. “The Defense Intelligence Agency?”
Wilkes nodded.
“Is that really your excuse for lying to me? You purposefully misled me.”
“I didn’t.”
Flynn thought about getting up and walking out. This guy had some nerve. Instead he took another drink of his beer. “Then what’s your interest with Max Fend?”
“The DIA and the CIA often work closely together on things. We actually train our clandestine operatives at many of the same schools. Sometimes we transfer folks between agencies. Sometimes we recruit folks from the other agency for a specific program.”
“So you were recruiting Max Fend for a program?”
“Maybe. It’s not something that I can talk about,” Wilkes said.
“What can you talk about?”
“I think you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t think Max Fend is working with the Russians. And I don’t think he allowed anyone to intrude on the Fend computer network.”
“Then why did he run away from us last week?”
“Don’t know.”
“Did you break him out?”
“No. I’m looking into what’s happened as well. It wasn’t my people who helped Max escape Washington, D.C. We obviously wouldn’t have done that. We would have talked to the FBI about it and resolved it quietly.”
“Who was it, then?”
Wilkes shrugged. “I have a few ideas, but I’m not at liberty to discuss them.”
“So is Fend still working for the DIA, then?”
Wilkes sighed. “He’s out of the DIA now.”
“As of when?”
“It’s a recent development.”
“What was the reason?”
“I can’t discuss it.”
“Look, you called me. Do I need to speak with someone at the DIA?”
“My guess is that they won’t discuss it either, unless you get someone very high up to pull some strings.”
Flynn tried to stay calm. “Do you know where Max Fend is right now?”
“No. But I think I know where he’s headed.”
Charles Fend hated reading the news on smartphones. He liked the feel of a good old-fashioned Sunday newspaper in his hands. Heavy and thick. The smell of the ink. No clickbait articles on the bottom of the page, trying to distract him with some meaningless pursuit.
He sat reading the Florida Times-Union on the beachfront patio of his Ponte Vedra beach home. A few palm trees, nestled next to the stucco exterior, provided shade. His gaze occasionally switched between the sand dunes on the beach and the article he was reading.
FEND AEROSPACE SET TO MAKE HISTORY
The article was kind. It painted Charles in the best light possible. It could have been much worse had the controversy with his son made headlines.
Charles was sick with worry about Max.
The FBI was saying that Max was linked to the hacking, and that there were possible ties to a terror-linked group in Syria.
Charles knew that couldn’t be true. But he still didn’t understand why Max had run from the FBI. Seeing the footage of those motorcycles racing across the bridge out of Washington, D.C., was shocking. He wished he could have talked some sense into his son. Whatever the trouble he was in, there was nothing worth the risk that he was taking. And there was nothing his father wouldn’t forgive. Charles just didn’t want something awful to happen to Max.
He wondered if this all wasn’t his fault somehow. Perhaps he had pampered Max too much. He had shown so much promise as a boy. Max had buried himself in his studies and athletics at his elite prep school. Princeton had introduced him to a great group of friends, and a world of opportunities. But college also introduced young men to a world of temptation. Charles worried about the choices his son had made as an adult. This generation today…
After Max graduated college, he had worked for the Department of Defense for a few years in Washington. Charles hadn’t understood why he had chosen that path. His father could have helped Max get into the best business or law school, if that was what he wanted to pursue. He could have helped him get a job at one of the Big Three consulting firms, or something on Wall Street. Charles’s network was world-class.
But Max hadn’t wanted any of that. He’d wanted to try something on his own. Charles admired that spirit, in a way. He’d given his son the benefit of the doubt. But then Max had abruptly left the Department of Defense and traveled to Europe to work as a freelance consultant. He had taken money from his trust fund and bought
a home in the South of France, sparing no expense. Charles should have objected, but hadn’t. He still didn’t know why.
That’s when the stories had started rolling in about Max’s wild parties and behavior. He sounded like he was out of control. It got bad enough that board members had mentioned it to Charles. They didn’t want to see Max someday inherit the company if he was really as wild as depicted.
So Charles had flown to France, hoping to stage an intervention. The father and son had spent a week together, hiking along the Nietzsche Path near the medieval village of Eze. Walking along the path, seven hundred feet over the Mediterranean Sea, they spoke candidly about their lives.
Charles watched his son easily navigate the steep path, shaded by olive trees and tall oaks. Max looked tan, fit, and in good spirits. Healthy and in control. It didn’t match up with the persona that was being portrayed in the media. But he seemed down about something. Bothered.
Later that day, they sat at an outdoor restaurant near the seaside town square, sharing a bowl of steamed mussels and fries. Charles confronted his son about the stories he had heard. He told him that he was worried that Max would end up wasting his life here in France. He didn’t want him to succumb to the temptation wealthy children often faced. Max was better than that.
Max had told his father that he had expected the talk, but not to worry. Max assured him that things would change. He was thinking about leaving France and was interested in taking a more stable job in the States.
Charles had been incredibly relieved. He offered his son a job on the spot. Max told him that he thought he needed a business degree first. He didn’t want to walk into a company without the requisite knowledge and skill to do the job. While Charles wanted to ask him what the hell he had been doing out here if he wasn’t gaining any business skills, he let it go. Charles told his son he could join Fend Aerospace whenever he was ready. And if he wanted to earn another degree to help him prepare, that was absolutely fine.
Now Charles wondered just what it was that had triggered Max to make such a dramatic life change. While the direction was opposite, it was very similar to the way he’d suddenly dropped his DoD job. It was almost like someone else had instructed him to make the move. Like it was out of Max’s control…
