There was the senior engineer for the project, Bradley Karpinsky. Flynn had learned that Karpinsky had been passed over for the project lead position. One theory was that he harbored a grudge, and maybe he had offered to sell secrets to a foreign group. But nothing Flynn had seen led him to believe that Karpinsky would have purposefully tried to sabotage the aircraft.
Another theory suggested that a competitor had hacked into the system. Their aim may have been to expose safety flaws, in order to reopen the government bidding for the lucrative automated flight network contract in the FAA’s NextGen program. But careful investigations by the FBI on all major competitors had turned up very little.
Foreign governments and organizations conducted cyberhacking attacks on US companies and government websites every day. It was a low-risk, high-reward crime. Most hackers were petty criminals. Low-level scum that tried to use phishing techniques to try and gain access to email or network passwords. From there, they could try to discover more and more information, until they found something truly valuable and either sold it or put it to use.
But this hacker group was very professional. Flynn knew that because of the facial expressions on the FBI Cyber Division’s chief investigator.
“I’ve only seen this level of sophistication a few times,” the man had told Flynn. “And both times, it turned out to be Russian state-sponsored activity.”
Flynn decided to take another look at Max Fend’s personnel file.
Princeton University, class of ’02. A football player. Wide receiver. Graduated in the bottom half of his class. Then he went to work for the Department of Defense in D.C. right after college — some entry-level job. He then quit that role and moved to Europe to become a consultant.
Flynn figured that after realizing what real work was, Max Fend must have gone whining to his dad to get him some cushy job on the French Riviera.
But now Agent Flynn had new facts to inform him. What had he seen? How had he behaved in the interview? Calm. Polite. Confident, but not overly cocky. He seemed to resent any suggestion that his father’s money got him a job. He was respectful and his answers seemed honest. None of this fit with the personality sketch of a spoiled rich kid turned international white-collar criminal. Max Fend had carried himself with the same swagger Flynn had seen in many of the FBI agents that he worked with.
Something wasn’t right. Had Flynn made a mistake?
Flynn looked at the TV screen. The news was playing the car chase over and over again. The screen cut to the motorcycles, crossing the bridge, one of them peeling off by itself down Ohio Street.
He did a Google search on Max Fend. There was a smattering of articles. Mostly low-end “most eligible bachelor” type stuff from years ago, when he was at Princeton. Heir to one of the largest private companies in the United States. There wasn’t much on him after he graduated college.
Flynn decided to double-check his FBI file. It took him a few moments, but he found what he was looking for.
Max Fend had gone to work for the Department of Defense right out of college and worked there for nearly two years. That meant that he had a Single Scope Background Investigation on file. The investigation was required for anyone trying to get a government security clearance in the United States.
After leaving the DoD, he had lived in Europe, working for a US-based consulting firm there.
Flynn used his FBI computer to gain access to Max’s latest Standard Form 86. It had last been updated in 2003. Nothing interesting.
He decided to contact the Department of Defense and see if anyone there who had worked with him could provide any extra information.
Flynn found the reference on Max’s security clearance form. He dialed the number, wondering if the man still worked at DoD, or if he used a different phone number now.
“Hello?”
“Hello, my name is Special Agent Jake Flynn, with the FBI. I was hoping to speak with you about one of your former employees. A man by the name of Max Fend. Are you familiar with him?”
Silence. “Uh, yes, sir. I remember him. He’s the son of the airplane billionaire, right? How can I help?”
“Yes, that’s him. Were you his supervisor from 2002 to 2004?”
“That’s right.”
“Listen, I’m going to be down near your office this afternoon. Would you have time to speak with me? Say around one p.m.?”
“I have a meeting. Can we make it two?”
“No problem.”
At two p.m. sharp, Jake Flynn was sitting in a private meeting room at the DoD manager’s office.
“What type of work was Max Fend involved in when he worked with you?”
“Standard stuff. Accounting, mostly. Some procurement for defense programs. He was a new guy, so it was entry-level stuff.”
“And are you familiar with where he went to work after that?”
“I’ve got my suspicions, yes.”
Flynn sat up straighter in his seat.
“What do you mean by that?”
The DoD manager squirmed. “You are FBI, right? So I guess it’s fine to talk to you about this. We see a few Max Fend types every year. Not billionaires’ sons, mind you. I mean guys like him. I think someone in Langley’s human resources department must have my section flagged. I’ve been here nearly thirty years, and it seems like we’re always seeing them.”
“Langley’s human resources?”
“Yeah. You know, Langley. Like the CIA.”
“I’m familiar. What’s Max Fend got to do with the CIA?”
The man cleared his throat. “Well, every couple of years, we get a few of their new guys. We’re asked to find something for them to do for a year or two. They tend to stash them here before they ship off.”
“What do you mean, ship off? You mean like go to a new DoD job?”
“I don’t think it’s with the DoD. But who knows? I could be wrong. Look, man, I just hear things, okay? I don’t want to get in trouble.”
“What kind of things?”
“Well… one of my employees, she has family down near Williamsburg. So she goes there a lot. She says that she’s seen a couple of these guys down there over the years. Almost always right after they leave their job with me.”
“In Williamsburg?” He scribbled on his notepad: Max Fend — CIA???
“Yeah. There’s a bar there that they all hang out at, I think. But this girl who works for me, she goes there, and she’s run into a few of them. I probably shouldn’t be saying this.”
Flynn fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Sir, you are helping an investigation. Please speak freely.”
“I heard that they go to Williamsburg and start their training. The Langley guys probably use the time working for me to do their in-depth background checks or wait for new classes to start.”
Flynn frowned. “And this is in Williamsburg?”
“Yeah, you know. The Farm.”
Flynn found that in times of uncertainty, it was best to speak with trusted friends. He decided to give his buddy Steve Brava a call. Steve had started off in the FBI with him but had transferred to the DNI’s office when that organization had been created. The man would shoot straight with him. He could get access to information that others couldn’t. And most importantly, he could be trusted.
“Jake, good to hear from you.”
“Steve, you too.”
They exchanged pleasantries for a few moments.
Steve said, “You see all this car chase stuff on the news?”
“Yeah… actually, that’s part of the reason I’m calling,” Flynn said.
“Really?”
“Yeah. Listen, this has got to stay quiet.”
“Say no more. What can I do for you?”
“Hey, I’m looking… unofficially… at a man by the name of Max Fend.”
“As in Fend Aerospace?”