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 shots 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.
The hotel had laid out the finest spread of appetizers. A private bartender prepared cocktails for both men. Morozov’s regular harem of imported women were already enjoying their drinks. Two of them began making their way over to Morozov and the FSB man, but Morozov waved them off.
“In a few moments, ladies. We need to speak alone.”
Vasily looked at the women and said, “Now that is something the Americans I do business with don’t often provide. Are they Russian?”
“I source my talent from all over the globe,” Morozov replied. “But to be honest, I can’t remember where these two are from.”
The two Russian men sipped their drinks. Vasily was admiring the ocean view. The sky was getting dark, but it was still peaceful. Morozov didn’t pay the view any attention. He was focused on Vasily.
“When will they arrive?” Morozov asked.
“Tomorrow. Midmorning, Eastern time.”
“Flying into Washington, D.C?”
“Yes.” Vasily paused. “How will you—”
Morozov clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “This we cannot discuss. But suffice it to say that we have very good targeting information on his plane.”
Vasily flushed.
Morozov took a deep breath. “I can see that you are uncomfortable with this.”
“If it goes wrong, Pavel…”
“I know.”
“He is not a man to be trifled with,” Vasily whispered.
Morozov’s face darkened. “Neither am I.”
“And what of the Fend boy? Is he still out on the loose? I told you that I wouldn’t give my approval unless he was taken care of.”
“He’s on his way.”
“What? You’re bringing him here? Is that wise?”
“You wanted confirmation. I’m giving it to you.”
Max was escorted into a luxury hotel on the coast. He was guessing it was Amelia Island, based on the time it had taken them to get here.
The Russian henchmen led Max to a small hotel room and sat him on a couch. The Ritz-Carlton. Max saw the words on one of the cupholders. The two Russian guards sat on the beds, watching bad TV. Every few seconds, they would look at him. Charlotte — or whatever her name was — had left them when they came in.
They remained in the room for several hours. Max attempted small talk a few times. If the Russians understood English, they feigned a lack of understanding quite well.
Charlotte came in after midnight. “He’s ready for him.” The guards shoved Max out the door and down the hallway.
Pavel Morozov was waiting for him with another man. Two women in cocktail dresses were draped over them. Seeing Max, Morozov sent the two women away.
Morozov looked at Max Fend. “It’s good to finally meet you, Max. I hope your father is well. Did he tell you about our special relationship? About how he worked for me?”
“He didn’t work for you.”
Morozov smiled. “Is that what he told you? Let me guess. He told you that the CIA was controlling him. That it was all part of a ploy to feed me false information. The almighty American intelligence agency — the saviors of the Cold War. Are those the lies that he told you?”
Max didn’t say anything. Charlotte stood in back of them over a rolling bar. She plucked an olive with a toothpick and began chewing it, watching Max. The older man next to Morozov sat quietly in his chair.