“I guess I need both questions answered, really.”
“Let’s start with you telling me why two Russian men tried to kill you in France.”
Max looked up, remembering. “There were a group of people over that night. Lots of booze. Several dozen of my clients. The Russians were invited. It was my second meeting with them, and I wasn’t sure what to expect. And… well, let’s just say we had a disagreement about how to treat a lady.”
“What do you mean?” Renee said.
“There was a young French woman there at my place that night. Early twenties. Blond hair. Beautiful figure.”
Renee raised an eyebrow. “Was that description necessary?”
“What? She was beautiful. Great birthing hips. You know how I love those. There’s nothing wrong with me pointing that out.”
“I see your sense of humor still has poor timing.”
“Don’t ruin the story, Renee. Anyway, the two Russians were there and the girl brought a few friends. But the Russians were just getting way too drunk and obnoxious. Major buzzkill. So the girl’s friends decided to leave. She stayed because she was interested in me, I believe.”
“Of course.”
“What? I can’t help it. My good looks are both a gift and a curse.”
“Please just continue.”
“So I was hoping to get what I needed from the Russians and send them on their way. I went into another room to make a phone call — working on another deal. The girl was pretty drunk. She was alone with the Russians only for a moment. They were trying to get her into one of the bedrooms. She said no. I heard the commotion and got off my call. I told them to leave. They didn’t. One of them grabbed the girl and started dragging her into the bedroom screaming, and the other Russian just stood there smiling, typing on his phone.”
“Typing on his phone?”
“Yes. In the after-action report, the DIA showed me an intercept from their phone records. The guy had sent a message to someone. We never found out who, but I assume it was his boss.”
“What did it say?”
“It said something about me being an American agent.”
“And then you killed them?” Renee said.
“Well, I tried to work it out peacefully, but they left me no choice.”
“And so that’s how your cover was blown? You stood up to them when they attacked the French girl? And from that, they knew you were an agent?”
“It seemed like they were testing me. I think they wanted to see what kind of things I would let slide. Hell of a litmus test.”
Renee shook her head. “You think Morozov sent those two?”
“Why? That was a year ago. Why send them to blow my cover back then, and then kill Sergei only a few weeks ago?”
“I’m not sure. There’s still something missing here.”
Max stood. “Well, you keep digging. That’s what I’m paying you for. In the meantime, I’ve got a hot date with an MI-6 agent. Maybe she’ll be able to help.”
Max threw on a navy-blue polo shirt and khaki shorts and began walking down Duval Street. He stayed on the side streets mostly, trying to keep as low a profile as possible.
The sun was low in the sky, and the Key West shops were lit up with bright lights. The surface of the road was wet from a recent rain. Lush green trees overhung many of the stores and restaurants. Happy tourists, many of them liquored up from their rum-based drinks, walked along the street. Live music blared out of many of the bars.
Max walked down the full length of Duval Street and finally arrived at a waterfront bar and restaurant with outdoor seating. Orange barstools. A mix of patrons wearing bathing suits and floral shirts. Street entertainers in the courtyard, one playing guitar quite well. Two others walked along on stilts, juggling. Max found himself thinking this would be a fun place to retire to.
He sat down at a table in the corner, out of view of most people. He had a few minutes to kill before the meeting time.
“What’ll you have?”
Max looked up to see a skinny waitress holding a pen and paper.
“Hmm.” He searched the table for a drink menu. “To be honest, I haven’t had a chance to look at—”
“He’ll have a mojito. So will I.”
A tanned woman stood over him. She wore Ray-Ban sunglasses and a tube top covered with tropical flowers.
“I guess I will,” Max told the waitress, who went off to fetch their drinks. He stuck out his hand. “My name’s Max.”
She shook his hand. “Don’t be silly, dear. We know each other.” Wide smile as she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.
She sat down, crossing her legs. Max noticed that her tight black skirt revealed quite a lot of skin. He decided he didn’t mind that one bit.
“Of course we do. Remind me of your name?”
“Charlotte Capri.” She had an accent. British, he thought. So far so good.
“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Miss Capri.”
She didn’t reply. Just kept giving him that bright smile. He disliked not being able to see her eyes behind the sunglasses. Max found her rather striking. Full lips. Smooth and tanned skin.
The drinks came quick. Tall glasses. Crushed ice and mint. Limes, rum and sugar. Hard to beat. Max took a sip and found it deliciously refreshing.
Max held up his glass and toasted with his guest. “So I take it I don’t need to meet you at our location anymore? Where was it again?” He wanted to hear her say it.
She said, “The southernmost point? No. This will be fine.”
“So what can I do for you?”
“Actually, I think it is I who might be able to do something for you.”
“And what might that be?”
She leaned forward in her seat, pulling down the sunglasses, and Max saw that her eyes were not playful and flirtatious the way her voice sounded.
She leaned in and whispered in his ear. “I know about the cyber intrusion on your father’s company — the one that the FBI has been investigating. Someone hacked into the Fend 100 program. And they’re going to do it again.”
Max put his drink down.
“What do you mean, they’re going to do it again?”
“We need to go somewhere more private. Somewhere we can talk. We’re too out in the open here.”
Max fought the urge to look around. Tourists were everywhere, enjoying the ocean view. The pink-and-orange sky — the perfect sunset of Key West — mesmerized most of the crowd.
“Alright. Let’s go.” Max stood, took another sip of his mojito and then signaled the waitress to come get the check.
She took his hand. “Come on, follow me.”
They walked through the crowded street and then stepped into a dive bar. A man onstage wearing a cowboy hat played guitar and sang into a silver microphone. The woman kept gripping Max’s hand as they weaved through the throngs of dancers.
They stopped in the corner of the bar. It was so loud he could barely hear her. But she pressed in close to him, speaking into his ear. “We’ll just stay here and pretend we’re dancing. The noise will make it impossible for any listening devices to work. I can’t be completely sure that one of us wasn’t followed. So we need to take precautions.”
The crowd around them screamed as the guitar player switched to his next 1980s rock ballad.
Charlotte Capri swayed to the music, playing the part. “I know who you are, Max Fend,” she said. “And I know who you’ve worked for in the past.” She brought her head back a bit, locking eyes with him.
“Alright,” he said. “So who are you really? And how do you know about the cyberattack on my father’s company?”
“You can call me Charlotte, just like I told you. I suspect you already know who I work for.” She gazed into his eyes.