by Andrew Watts
Renee fired multiple times into both of the Russians’ chests and faces. Quick clicks and pops, and the sound of high-speed plastic pellets bursting into the muscle-bound men.
Renee then turned out the light and ran towards them. She dropped the pepper spray gun and gripped the field hockey stick, which she had been holding under her left armpit.
She headed towards the sound of Russian cries and cursing. Renee had made the field hockey team at Princeton University many years ago for her athleticism and speed. But once there, she had been known for the power of her shot.
Renee’s vision was barely adjusted to the low light level, but it was enough. She bent her knees as she approached, twisted her hips for maximum velocity, and drove the heavy wooden stick forward and up into the head of the first Russian.
The crack she heard was at once frightening and satisfying. The man collapsed into the sand. Renee tried not to think about whether she might have killed him. She just moved on.
But during the swing, she had become disoriented. When she looked up, she was no longer sure which of the dark figures before her was the other Russian.
All three of them had been pelted by the pepper spray bullets, she realized. Unsure of what to do, she looked back to where she had dropped the pepper spray gun. There. She snatched it up from the ground and listened, trying to discern who was who.
Max, blinded and in pain from just being near the pepper spray bursts, ran away toward the beach. He tripped several times, falling into the sand and beach grass.
“Max!” Renee shouted as loudly as she dared.
Max felt his feet enter the surf. He knelt down and splashed saltwater up into his face. It helped. The pain subsided as he kept washing the saltwater in and around his eyes.
“Max.” He could feel her holding on to his shoulder. “Are you alright?”
“What the hell was that stuff?”
“It’s a self-defense gun. Pepper spray and mace.”
“God, it stings. Why didn’t you bring a real gun?”
“I don’t like guns. I told you.”
“Holy shit, Renee. This hurts. Next time just shoot me with a real gun.”
“Men are so ungrateful.”
Max squinted up at the dunes. Between his blurred vision and how dark it was outside, he could barely see a thing. “Where are they?”
“They’re still up there, but I hit one pretty hard with this field hockey stick,” Renee said. “Here. Hold the stick and come on. We should get to my car before they make it back to the parking lot.”
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. Look.”
A set of headlights was visible in the parking lot. Renee cursed.
“You think it’s more of them?” Over the sound of the waves, they could hear car doors opening and closing. Anxious shouting in Russian.
“Come on. We’re not going to be able to go back to your car. Let’s jog. This way.”
They ran away from the parking lot, south along the beach. It took about five minutes for the Russians to get smart and start driving along the beach in their SUVs. With the headlights on, it was easy for Max and Renee to see them coming. But that also meant that there weren’t many good hiding places.
“It’s into the brush or into the water, which one?”
Renee said, “I…”
“Water, then.” Max pulled her arm. They waded into the ocean. The waves were only a foot or two. When they got neck-deep, Max began to second-guess his choice of hiding in the water. He wondered if they would have night vision. Or infrared. Dammit.
They were pretty far out. “Alright, let’s hold our breath and try to stay under for a bit, until they drive by.”
Both Max and Renee took a deep breath and went under. Thank God the sea was warm. Max hated cold water. He went up for air about thirty seconds later, and then went back down underneath. He had gotten a glimpse of the SUV, motoring along the beach at five miles per hour.
Max tried to think about their options. A1A was the main highway that ran north-south, parallel to the beach. Anyone with common sense would have headed for the road. But the Russians would know that. So they would keep one team at the beach, searching for him, the other team patrolling the road, waiting for Max and Renee to pop up.
When they came up for air again, he said to Renee, “I say we keep heading south along the beach. It’ll be a few miles, but we’ll get to the end of Talbot Island. Then we can swim across the inlet. We’ll end up at Huguenot Park, right across from Mayport.”
“Then what?”
“Then we’ll be far enough away from them that we can go try and find a ride,” Max said.
“How far is that?”
“A few miles.”
“It sounds like it’s going to take us all night. It’s already three a.m. The Fend 100 flight launches at seven. Do you have a phone?”
“Of course not. Don’t you?”
“I’m sorry—I needed to carry a few things to rescue you.”
They waded back towards the beach and walked along the shore. She was right. This was going to take all night. But he didn’t see what choice he had.
Flynn was in his hotel room, fielding calls from Washington and scanning the news about the Fend 100. Many aviation news sources were calling it the dawn of a new era in automated flight.
But the big story that most people cared about was the human element. The Washington Post was the first to the punch. They had a source saying that Max Fend was under investigation for a cyberattack on Fend Aerospace. The news channels had fallen all over themselves when they’d heard about it. Even Flynn had to admit that it was a great story. On the eve of one of the biggest moments in aviation history, Max Fend attempts to sabotage his own father’s achievement.
The FBI sent out a press release shortly after. Now, they were talking just as much about him, but proclaiming his newfound innocence.
BILLIONAIRE PLAYBOY NOT A SUSPECT, SAYS FEDS
Wonderful. Flynn was reading one such article when he heard the knock at his door.
He looked through the peephole and saw Wilkes staring back at him, still wearing a suit and tie. Flynn checked his watch. It was close to midnight.
Flynn removed the chain. “Come on in.”
“Sorry to disturb you, but I thought you’d want me to fill you in.”
“Of course. Excuse the clutter.” Flynn tried to clean up the remnants of his room service. A twenty-three-dollar burger and fries. Pretty good, but you could get a lot better at Five Guys for a lot less.
The two men sat down. “What’s up?” said Flynn.
“We have a problem. Max Fend has gone missing.”
“Missing?”
“I told you he might be in contact with a foreign agent,” Wilkes said.
“Yes.”
“Well, he made contact earlier this evening, and now he’s off the grid. I’m worried. I may need your help.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“I need backup plans in case this thing goes sideways,” Wilkes said. “I think the FBI might be best equipped to respond.”
“Caleb, just say what you need.”
“How soon could you get HRT down here?”
The FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team is one of the premier counterterrorism units in the world. Made up mostly of ex-special operations personnel, they function as the elite national tactical response unit for the FBI. Based in Quantico, Virginia, HRT has over one hundred operators assigned to its team.
HRT operators conduct training with many of the other Tier One special forces units in the United States military, including the Army’s Delta Force and the Navy’s DEVGRU—commonly known as SEAL Team Six.
HRT trains in maritime and airborne assault techniques, and also has its own sniper teams and regularly responds to the most dangerous incidents around the world.
Because they need to be ready to go at a moment’s notice, HRT always rotates its members on a deployable watch bill. They are required to be on base
and ready to deploy within thirty minutes of being called.
Twenty of them got the call tonight.
Within an hour, all twenty men were on a plane to Florida. An hour after that, two US Air Force transport aircraft flew to the same destination. Those aircraft contained members and equipment of the Tactical Helicopter Unit. These were the HRT’s elite aviators. Helicopter pilots and aircrew who trained and operated with the HRT and were ready for anything.
Before takeoff, the group’s leader made the call to Jake Flynn. “We’re headed to Naval Air Station Jacksonville. Where do you want us after that?”
“Have your aircrews set up shop there. The Jacksonville SAC will send vehicles for your team as soon as you arrive. We’ll bring you to where we need you.”
“Roger. We’ll be there in a few hours. I’ll call you back in a few minutes. We’ll need you to brief us on the plane so that we can mission-plan on the way down.”
Max and Renee had switched from wading along in the water to trudging along through the beach grass, up on the small dunes.
“I should probably say thanks for coming to rescue me,” Max said.
“Hmm. Now you say it.” She punched his arm.
“How were you able to find me?”
“I followed you after you left the Lemon Bar. With Charlotte Capri.”
“That’s not her real name, you know. The woman I met with was an impostor. Working for Morozov. Wilkes called me and warned me about it.”
“You’re kidding.” Renee was shaking her head. “But I don’t understand. They tried to kill you in Georgia, then this impostor meets with you in Key West and lets you go. Now they’re trying to kill you again? Why do they keep changing their minds?”
“I’m their scapegoat. They aren’t just trying to hack into the Fend system to steal the technology.”
“What?”
Max told her about what he had learned, and what he thought Morozov was planning.
“If I’m dead or in captivity, I can’t screw up their plans.”
“But why leave you alive in Key West?”
“That must have been when they found out about MI-6’s agent. The real Charlotte. By leaving me alive, thinking I had met Charlotte, I helped Morozov deceive someone.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know exactly. MI-6. The CIA. Both? But whoever it was, it worked.”
“How do you know?”
“Morozov told me as much. And now he’s decided to kill me again. So I’ve served my purpose.”
“But why bring you up to Amelia Island to see Morozov? They could have just shot you in the hotel in Jacksonville, right?”
Max shook his head. “That’s one thing I’m still trying to figure out. There was another man there with Morozov. What name did he use…? Vasily, I believe.”
“Vasily? I met a Vasily. An older Russian man?”
“Yes.”
“When I was on the yacht, I spoke to him. Morozov came over and interrupted, and they began talking.”
“What did they say?”
“I don’t know. They were speaking in Russian, and I left.”
Max frowned. “Morozov wanted him to see me. He said something like ‘Now are you satisfied?’ to Vasily. But why? Why would seeing me alive mean anything to Vasily?”
“Maybe it wasn’t seeing you alive. Maybe it was knowing that you would be dead…”
Their eyes met, and they kept walking.
A bright white moon began to rise over the ocean horizon. Max thought how pretty it was, and how much he would enjoy this night, were he not also watching the headlights about two miles down the beach. Headlights that were searching for him so they could put a bullet in his head.
Renee shook her head. “Why does he want you dead so bad?”
“I told you, I’m his scapegoat for what he’s planning.”
“No, I mean, why you? Why couldn’t he make someone else the scapegoat? It would be more believable.”
“He hates my father, and he’s responsible for my mother’s death.”
Renee gasped. “So it’s all about revenge, then?”
“I think that’s why I’m involved. But now I’m not so sure revenge is his only objective.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was trying to dig at him. To get him emotional and see what he would say. He made one comment that stuck with me. I said something about revenge, and he responded that his plans are much grander than that. Something to that effect.”
“What if he’s trying to mislead you again?”
“That’s possible. Never trust an ex-KGB agent. That’s always been my motto. Well, that and never fall off a barstool.”
“Both good pieces of advice.”
“Here comes the truck again. Better get down.” They lay flat against the sand, hiding behind a large clump of grass.
While they were waiting, Max whispered, “I’ll tell you another thing that bothers me. He’s too confident. Like he knows he won’t be caught.”
“You told me the FBI thinks he has someone on the inside.”
“Yes, but wouldn’t you still be worried if you were him? It’s pretty ballsy of him to be here in America.”
Max thought about the cryptic way Morozov had said it. My people are everywhere. My plans are often years in the making.
The SUV rumbled slowly past them. Only fifty feet away.
Then it stopped. Brakes squealing.
The lights went out, and the doors opened. Two men got out from either side. The doors slammed shut.
Max could make out a faint green glow near their heads. Night vision goggles.
Flynn hung up the phone and looked at Wilkes. It was almost 3 a.m. now, and he was still in his room. They had ordered coffee and set up shop. There would be little sleep tonight.
“HRT is on the way to Jacksonville now. I’ve finished briefing them, and they’ll be doing scenario planning the whole way down. The Jacksonville SAC will meet us at the Fend Aerospace headquarters tomorrow. Are you sure we shouldn’t just call this thing off?”
Wilkes shook his head. “We can’t. I need Morozov to make his move tomorrow. It’ll allow us to snare him and his agent working for Fend.”
“Okay. We’ll get the HRT team ready to go in with an air assault on his yacht when ready.”
“Let’s walk through what we think will happen tomorrow,” Wilkes said. “The Fend 100 will take off at seven a.m. It’s roughly a three-hour flight. They do a bunch of circles over Florida and then land back at the Fend Aerospace headquarters near Jacksonville.”
“I’m with you so far.”
“Morozov will, at some point, initiate a cyberattack on the Fend 100. That electronic signal is expected to come from the yacht. I have a team of experts at the NSA who are ready and waiting for that electronic signal. Once it occurs, we’ll have what we need. The HRT team can then move in and take control of the ship. We have surveillance teams that will be monitoring communications from our suspects within Fend Aerospace.”
“You still think its Karpinsky or Hutson?”
“Honestly? I don’t know. But we’ll be watching them both closely.”
“We’ll need a cyber expert on the yacht.”
“I got a guy who’ll be here,” Flynn said. “HRT can take him when they go assault the yacht. If there are any problems with the aircraft link, he’ll solve them.”
“What about Charles Fend’s employee that he’s got on the plane—what’s her name?”
Flynn said, “Maria Blount. She’s plan A now. Once we get the signal that Morozov’s hackers are trying to steal the Fend 100 data, she’ll be able to shut them down.”
“Good. Without Max Fend, we’ll need to rely on her.”
“Is Max going to show back up before the Fend 100 gets airborne?”
“I hope so.”
Max watched one of the Russians head their way, scanning the beach with his night vision goggles in a side-to-side sweeping motion. The other Russian was doing the same t
hing, but walking along the beach in the opposite direction. The moonlight would make his night vision much more effective. And the moon was rising.
Max touched Renee’s hand. Then he made his fingers into a gun. She gave a barely perceptible nod. She carefully raised the pepper spray gun. Max still held her field hockey stick. What he wouldn’t give for his Sig right now.
The Russian security man was only a few steps away now. Renee raised her plastic pepper spray gun and fired. Three pops in the night air.
The plastic pellets filled with caustic gas burst after impacting his chest. The Russian screamed in pain as the gas hit his eyes, then swore loudly. Max was already sprinting forward. He tackled the big Russian by jamming his shoulder into his chest, knocking him off of his feet and into the sand. The Russian crouched on the ground, trying to regain his balance while holding on to his weapon. Max chopped down with the field hockey stick, knocking the gun out of the man’s hands. He then wound up and slammed the stick into the Russian’s face as hard as he could. Lights out. The night vision goggles shattered, and his neck snapped back. He fell limp to the ground, unconscious.
Max heard the other Russian security man calling out from fifty feet away. Renee was now standing next to Max.
Max frantically searched around in the sand for the Russian’s fallen pistol. It was so dark he could barely see. He felt among the clumps of sand and grass, desperate to find the weapon.
There.
He clutched it in his hands. Cold metal, his fingers fitting neatly around the grip and trigger. He kneeled down and aimed at the Russian, who was running towards them.
Max fired three times.
At least one of the rounds must have found its mark, because the man spun around and fell to the ground.
“Come on!” Max called back to Renee as he headed for the empty SUV. He pressed the keyless start button, but nothing happened. He cursed and turned back to Renee.
“Check their pockets for a key fob,” Max said to Renee.
She ran to the unconscious man, found the keyless remote, and headed back towards the SUV.
Headlights lit up the dunes in the distance.
“That’s the other set of Morozov’s security men. It’s got to be. These guys must have radioed them.”