But he wanted to get away quick, and Morozov’s goons were all out on that yacht. He hoped.
16
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.
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.