[Max Fend 01.0] Glidepath

by Andrew Watts

  “Not really, no.”

  “Why?”

  “There’s just something bothering me about the whole thing.”

  “About what Wilkes wants you to do?”

  “More than that. Why would MI-6 go out on their own within the United States? Why does Wilkes want Morozov to hack into Fend Aerospace for a second time? It’s all highly unusual.”

  “Didn’t Wilkes say—”

  “I know what he said, but it just doesn’t feel right.”

  “There will be passengers on the flight?”

  “There will be tomorrow. They have a few dozen aviation and tech writers sitting on the aircraft. And some company executives.”

  Max stopped and picked up a stone, throwing it out towards the water. It skipped a few times before it plunged beneath the surface.

  He said, “I’m letting things influence me that I shouldn’t, in this situation. The well-being of my father and his company. And my desire to hurt Morozov. I’m still wrapping my mind around everything that they told me yesterday.”

  She placed her hand on his shoulder. “You mean about your mother?”

  He nodded. Her hand dropped and they continued walking. The sun reflected off the water. A light breeze kicked up a whitish haze of fine sand.

  “What if Wilkes has another motive?” Renee said.

  “Like what?”

  “You said MI-6 disagreed with him, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Think about it from his position. What actions has he taken? Ignore what he’s said his objectives are. What has he actually done?”

  “He has been working with the FBI. He contacted my father and convinced him to help bring me in to him. And he had a disagreement with MI-6.”

  “What did he say about Georgia, when you told him we were attacked there? Did he seem surprised?”

  “No. But I wouldn’t expect him to be. Our fingerprints were all over that place. The FBI knew about us being there, so he must have.”

  Renee looked troubled. “I’m worried that Wilkes is playing you.”

  “To what end?”

  “What if he wants Morozov to succeed in stealing the Fend 100 data tomorrow?”

  Max stopped walking and turned to face her. “Why would Wilkes want that?”

  “What if Wilkes wants you to take the fall for it? Maybe both you and your father?”

  “I don’t see what he has to gain.”

  “He’s saying he’s working to entrap Morozov. But what if he’s not? What if he’s working with Morozov?”

  The call came at eight p.m. sharp.

  Renee and Max were both in the hotel room. Renee analyzed the data she had stolen from Morozov’s yacht, while Max worked out on the floor beside the bed.

  Max picked up the phone with a sweaty hand.

  “Hello, Max.”

  “Hello, Charlotte. Are we still on?”

  “Can you join me for a drink?”

  “Where?”

  “The Lemon Bar. Do you know it?”

  “Yes. When?”

  “One hour.”

  “I’ll see you then.”

  The Lemon Bar was situated right on the shore of Atlantic Beach—one of the great bars in a great bar district of Jacksonville Beach.

  A group of tall blue tables on an outdoor patio, umbrellas over some of them. The smell of the ocean to the east. A long outdoor bar to one side. The nearby street was lined with palm trees, and the shallow dunes to the east didn’t quite hide the magnificent ocean view.

  The bar was packed with people. A mix of local twenty-somethings and off-duty Naval personnel from the nearby base at Mayport. The atmosphere was lively. Mixed drinks garnished with slices of fruit. Live music. Everyone smiling.

  Max saw her standing alone as he walked towards the bar from the beach.

  She looked stunning in a tight black dress that hugged every curve on her body. Not much left to the imagination. But Max had a lazy imagination anyway.

  “Hello, Max.” She smiled and kissed him on the cheek, then sipped a pink concoction through a straw.

  He smiled. “Drinking on the job again? You seem much happier than when I last saw you.”

  “Well, you aren’t disobeying me this time. That was some stunt you pulled on the yacht.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “There is video, Max.”

  He raised his hands, palms up. “Sometimes you need to break the rules.”

  “Well, Morozov was furious. But if you can pull this off tonight, we’ll have him—and my job will be over, thank God.”

  “Where is it?” Max asked.

  “Up in my room.”

  She thumbed behind her. Max followed her gaze over to a tall resort hotel. She finished her drink. “Come on. I’ll take you up.”

  The playful look in her eye was not something Max expected. But it was familiar. There were competing voices in his head. The quiet and reasonable voice of a professional intelligence agent, and the loud shout of her dress, clinging to her derrière.

  Max felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He silenced it. “Okay, I’ll follow you.”

  Charlotte held his arm as they walked out the same way Max had come in. Once on the beach, she removed her shoes and strode barefoot on the sand.

  “I’m ready to be done with this dreadful assignment. Things were a little rough after your shenanigans in Key West.”

  “I was wondering if you would suffer any repercussions.”

  “It wasn’t bad. I know how to cover my tracks.”

  Max felt the phone going off in his pocket again. They stopped outside her hotel. She was wiping off her sandy feet and putting her flats on again before they walked inside.

  “I’m sorry,” Max said. “I need to make a phone call. Can I meet you up there?”

  “I can wait.”

  “No, really. It’s okay. Just tell me the room number.”

  She gave him the room number, and he held his phone until she was through the door and into the lobby of the hotel. He looked down at his missed calls.

  Wilkes.

  He turned to make sure no one was around him and called him back. Charlotte was out of sight now.

  The phone rang as Max opened the door to the hotel stairway. She was on the fourth floor, but the stairway would give him both privacy and time. He was making his way past the second floor when he finally got an answer.

  “Max.”

  “Wilkes.”

  “Why haven’t you been answering my damn calls?”

  “I’m busy. Did you hear from MI-6 and confirm their thumb drive approach?”

  He was up onto the third floor now, trying not to sound strained as he took several steps at a time.

  “Now listen up, Max. I’ve got something urgent to tell you. There’s a problem.”

  Fourth floor. He pushed open the door and began walking down the hotel hallway, reading the room numbers as he went.

  “What is it?”

  Max found her room. Two more doors down. He walked slower, wanting to hear what Wilkes had to say.

  “I just spoke with MI-6. I replayed everything you told me about Charlotte Capri. It wasn’t her, Max.”

  The door opened.

  “What do you mean?”

  Charlotte stood there. She smiled, holding a drink in her hand. That same flirtatious look in her eyes. Max could feel his blood pressure rising.

  Max had his phone pressed up against his ear.

  “Charlotte Capri was found dead in Key West several days ago.” Wilkes’s voice was frantic.

  “Get off the phone and come in.” Charlotte smiled.

  Max held up his finger. He mouthed to Charlotte, “One minute.”

  “Did you hear what I just said?”

  “I’m sorry. Could you say that one more time?” Max said into the phone.

  “Charlotte Capri. The MI-6 agent. Is. Dead,” Wilkes said. “Her body was found by some snorkelers in Key West. MI-6 thinks Morozov
found out about her and had her killed. The estimated time of death was several days ago. Right when you were down there.”

  How was that possible? Max was looking at Charlotte in the flesh.

  Max’s voice was quiet. “Any thoughts about that?”

  Charlotte twirled her hair, her head tilted. Her eyes staring at Max’s own. Studying him.

  Wilkes’s voice whispered through the phone receiver. “Whoever you’ve been talking to, it isn’t Charlotte Capri.”

  18

  “Got time for one quick drink before you leave me?” Charlotte said.

  Max pressed the end call button on his phone and slid it into his pocket. He smiled. “Sounds lovely.”

  She closed the door behind him. “Hope you don’t mind coming up here?”

  She walked across the room. Max’s eyes followed her closely.

  “Before I forget, here’s the thumb drive. The flight is tomorrow, so you’ll need to do this tonight.”

  “Sure thing,” Max said, taking it from her hand and placing it in his other pocket.

  She approached him, looking into his eyes, and kissed him. Her chest pressed up against his polo shirt. Then she pulled away and said, “I’m excited. I hope you will forgive me being forward. I always get this way near the end of an assignment.”

  Max didn’t react. He hadn’t kissed her back. He just stood there like a stone, his heart pounding in his chest. Thinking about what to do next.

  Charlotte gripped his arm, her bright red fingernails digging in ever so slightly. “How rude of me. Let me get you a drink.”

  She walked over to the minibar.

  “What’s your poison?”

  Did she have to use that choice of words?

  “Scotch if you’ve got it.”

  He cursed himself for not bringing his gun. He hadn’t expected to be up here with her, alone.

  “So where did you tell our friend you were today?” Max asked.

  “Morozov? He lets me do my own thing when we’re ashore. For the most part. Do you want ice?”

  “Neat, please.”

  She ducked down into the minibar and brought up a few tiny bottles of scotch whiskey, pouring them into a hotel glass, which she handed to him. “To finishing the job.”

  They clinked glasses and she took a sip. He refrained. She placed her glass on the table.

  “Anything wrong?” she asked.

  “Yes, actually. Hopefully you can help me understand something. Morozov tried to kill me in Georgia. But in Key West, he decided to let me live.”

  “He did?” A change of tone. The first crack in her mask.

  “I know that you’re not MI-6. So you must be working for him, right? Which means that he had me located in Key West. You could have easily killed me that night when we first met, but you didn’t. Why?”

  She kept staring into his eyes. Her face lacked expression, even as she pulled a small pistol from the purse next to her and aimed it at Max.

  “Who was that on the phone?”

  “Are you going to answer my question? Why did Morozov let me live? You work for him. You must have killed the real Charlotte at some point when I was in Key West.”

  “I didn’t kill her. That was all Pavel. He stabbed her and threw her off the yacht.”

  Max saw a flicker of distaste as she said it. Maybe he had an opening.

  “Why work for a man that would do that?”

  She smiled. “Max. Come now. Don’t bother trying to drive a wedge between Pavel and me. The bitch deserved it. Pretending to be one of his whores was a stupid idea. Sunbathing with the others all day. Did MI-6 really think that was the best cover? My issue with it was the matter of the location of the body. If I had known he was going to throw her over there, I wouldn’t have let him do it. That area was much too close to all the touristy spots. But the girl had to be killed.”

  The door behind her opened. Two large men, whom Max assumed were part of Morozov’s team, entered the hotel room. One of them made a comment to Charlotte in Russian. She said something back in Russian and the man grunted.

  The two security men both pointed silenced pistols at Max.

  “Max, if you would please come with us,” she said. “Mr. Morozov would like a word.”

  They took the freight elevator down to the ground floor and then walked in an unusually tight grouping out to the parking lot. Max was shoved into the back of the SUV, sandwiched between Charlotte and one of the thugs.

  Max had flashbacks to the similar situation he’d been in with the FBI, only a few days ago. Ah, to be in the custody of the FBI again. The good old days.

  “Charlotte—I’ve got to ask you, just to be clear—I take it that you really weren’t interested in me?”

  She rubbed his stubbled cheek with her soft hand. “Oh, Max. Maybe in another life, darling.”

  The thug in the driver’s seat eyed him in the rearview mirror.

  Max winked back. The man gave him the finger.

  “So what’s Pavel want to discuss?”

  “You’ll see when you get there,” Charlotte said.

  Max watched as the vehicle turned right on Mayport Road, and then veered left onto A1A. He knew the area well, having spent many summers down here in his youth. He used to go surfing near the Naval Station at Mayport. The waves fell just right, and there was a nice point break.

  To his right he could see Navy helicopters taking off and landing at the runway on the base. Their car drove past the area where they could view the runway and turned left into a short line of cars. They waited in line for a moment and then drove right up onto the ferry.

  “You stay here.”

  Thug One got out and headed to pay for the ferry across the St. John’s River.

  Max turned back to Charlotte. “So why the ruse about the thumb drive? And why let me live?”

  Charlotte turned to him. “The thumb drive idea wasn’t a ruse. It was real. MI-6’s idea.”

  Max frowned. “But why…?”

  She petted his knee. “Just be patient, my dear. If Pavel wants to tell you, he will.”

  Max searched the vehicle for a way out but didn’t see one. He could try to overpower Charlotte and the Russian security man right here. It might be his best chance. Before the other goon returned. But truth be told, Max wasn’t sure he could take him. The man was a monster. And an alert one. He was staring right at Max, the veins in his neck bulging. No expression. Maybe no brains. Just thick shoulders and arms. This guy was on steroids, no question. If Max tried to fight him in close combat, it would end badly.

  There was another reason Max didn’t want to try and escape just yet. He wanted to hear what Pavel Morozov might have to say. Max needed to find out what he was up to. But as the ferry began to rumble ahead, Max realized that the Russians likely did not plan to release him.

  Renee looked at Max and cursed. Men could be such idiots. That slut shows up wearing a tight dress and he just follows her up to his room. Didn’t he realize people were trying to kill him? Why was he so trusting? Max Fend had to be the worst spy in the world.

  She took a deep breath. “Merde.”

  Renee had been in her car in the parking lot outside the Lemon Bar and watched Max and Charlotte leave via the beach exit.

  She had wanted to run up into the hotel and start beating the hell out of both of them. Max was hers. Maybe he didn’t realize that yet, but she would tell him. Hell hath no fury like a French Canadian whose man was being seduced away by another woman.

  A few minutes later, when Renee saw the two large men accompanying Max and Charlotte back out to the lit parking lot, she was glad she had remained in the car. It was no seduction. She realized that something was terribly wrong.

  Now the SUV was several vehicles ahead, driving onto the ferry. Renee needed to decide whether she should risk getting on the same ferry. If she did, they might spot her. The question was whether the men who had apprehended Max would know who she was. Were they the same men who’d manhandled her on Morozov�
�s yacht?

  It wasn’t a choice. If she didn’t drive onto the ferry, she would lose them.

  Renee pulled her hoodie over her head. It was dark out. Hopefully they wouldn’t be able to see her. One of the Russians got out of the driver’s seat of their SUV to pay for the ferry passage. Renee didn’t get out of her car to pay. She waited for the man collecting the fees to come to her, and she rolled down her window.

  It took about ten minutes before all the cars were on board and the ramp was raised, and another five minutes for the ferry to cross the St. John’s River. Renee kept her head down the entire time, pretending to be lost in her phone. Praying for a solution.

  Pavel Morozov was finishing up his round of golf with the counselor to the Russian ambassador to the United States. That was his official title. Unofficially, he was the head of the FSB in Washington. The Federal Security Service was the successor to the KGB.

  They were playing at the Amelia Island Golf Club. Pavel noted that while his partner was old and out of shape, he still swung a mean iron.

  “Vasily, I think your golf game has improved over the years.”

  “The Americans love to play this game. Who am I to disagree? I find that playing with them helps with the job.” He walked over to the golf cart and removed his putter. Morozov was already on the green, taking a practice swing with his own putter.

  One of Morozov’s security guards approached and whispered something to him. He nodded and waved the man off. Then he sunk his putt. A five-footer, which drifted from right to left. Morozov watched Vasily take three putts on the green before he was able to get his ball in the cup.

  “Well done, Vasily.”

  “Ah. I may not be the young man I once was, but at least we can enjoy the fresh air.”

  Fresh wouldn’t be the way Morozov would describe it. The air was thick and humid. Much warmer than he preferred.

  “Let us go enjoy a few drinks. Have you stayed at this Ritz-Carlton before? I’ve had them send up a bar directly to the suite. They do a nice job,” Morozov said. “I hear that all the Americans are drinking Moscow mules these days. It seems that our country has finally succeeded in influencing the West.”

  Vasily laughed heartily. The two men rode their golf carts to the exit. One of Morozov’s assistants took care of returning everything. Another assistant showed the two Russian men to their car. In a few moments, they were sitting at an outdoor patio table, situated on a private balcony.