He climbed in and threw his bag in the passenger seat, sliding the seat belt through one of the straps and clicking it in place. He loved this aircraft. The Cirrus interior was similar to that of the finest luxury automobile. And it flew like a dream. The plane would travel at over 200 knots without breaking a sweat.
Max filed his flight plan under an alias and flew west out of the D.C. airspace, using visual flight rules. He then canceled his flight plan while he was airborne over Front Royal, and turned off his transponder. If and when investigators looked up his flight path, they would expect him to have landed there.
It wasn’t much of a diversion, but it might throw them off the scent for a bit. More likely, they wouldn’t expect him to be traveling this way at all.
He then turned south and flew to Charlottesville. The Blue Ridge mountain air made the flight a little bumpy, but it wasn’t too bad.
An hour later he made a night landing on the cool blacktop of the Charlottesville Albemarle Regional Airport. The tower was already shut down for the night.
Max tied down the aircraft and placed the chocks in front of the wheels. No one else was out this time of night. The only sound was of summer crickets. Lightning bugs glimmered in the sky.
He walked toward the Signature Flight Support building and checked his watch. It was getting late. Almost eleven p.m. The automatic doors opened up, and a rush of cool air came over him. The air conditioning felt good. A girl stood behind the front desk. She looked as if she was about to close up shop for the night.
“You need fuel, honey?”
“Yes, please. Top it off if you would.”
“Will do. May I have your card?”
“Actually, I’ll use cash if you don’t mind.”
“Um… okay, sure.”
Probably didn’t hear that too much. Fuel cost for planes could be in the thousands of dollars. Much higher, even, for the jets. But Max wanted to leave the smallest trail possible.
“You need a cab?”
“That would be great, thanks.”
“Where you going?”
“Local area.”
She smiled at him. “You know, I’m about to get off. If you don’t mind, I’d be happy to give you a lift.” She was cute. And interested, by the look in her eye.
“Sure. That would be great.” She called the fuel truck. Max could hear its engine grumbling outside and its breaks squeaking as it came to a stop next to his plane.
She took him to her car, apologizing as she cleared off trash from the cramped passenger seat. He had her take him to the Double Tree Inn. She parked in the parking lot.
“So… you want to have a drink or something?” She twirled her hair, chewing her gum.
Max had two voices in his head. The voice of reason told him that he had been stupid to have her drop him off. That he needed to keep a low profile, and even right now his face might be on the news. The other voice sized up her measurables and provided him a firm thumbs-up.
“As much as I would love that, my girlfriend is supposed to come by later…”
“Oh. Sorry.” She giggled.
“Appreciate the ride.” He ducked under the door and swung it shut. Max waited for her car to leave before whipping out his phone and dialing the number.
“Hello?”
“Renee,” Max said.
“Who is this?”
“Renee, it’s Max… Fend. I need your help.”
Silence on the other end. Shock, perhaps. He had expected that. This would be a lot to ask of her. To drop everything, and risk her career — not to mention legal troubles — to assist him. But he needed someone he could trust.
They had met at Princeton. Max was a minor celebrity there. The sons and daughters of some of the most famous people in the world walked the campuses of elite Ivy League institutions such as Harvard, Yale and Princeton. Indeed, some of the students at those schools were already celebrities themselves. Actors and actresses. Olympians. Budding stars in the tech industry.
Max was well known because of who his father was, and barely a day went by that he wasn’t asked about being the son of Charles Fend.
Cap and Gown was one of Princeton’s eating clubs — sort of a cross between dining halls and coed fraternities. Prospect Avenue was lined with large mansions, each one home to one of the eating clubs. On nights like this, warm Saturday nights during football season, they erupted into massive parties. Celebrations of life.
Max loved the parties. But it also meant that he had to answer the same question over and over again. Are you really Charles Fend’s son? Yes. Oh my God, that’s so amazing. Yup. Sigh.
The deck had a nice wide view of the backyard. He had walked out onto that second-floor wooden deck, hoping to take a break from it all. A Dave Matthews cover band played on the stone patio below. At least three hundred people were at the house. The girls on the field hockey team were already dancing in front of the band.
He stopped when he saw her sitting alone on the unlit wooden balcony. Crutches at her side. A cast on her leg. Leaning back and looking up at the clear night sky. Stars twinkling. She looked peaceful, but lonely.
She heard his footsteps on the wooden planks and glanced up at him. A guarded look.
“Good evening,” said Max.
“Hi.”
“How’d you hurt yourself?”
“A field hockey accident.”
“Ouch. Sorry. Anything I can get you?” He was just being polite. He had expected her to say no.
“God, yes. A beer would be great. Be a dear and bring two, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Max laughed. “Sure.”
She was his kind of girl. The right priorities. And a proper planner. He hobbled down the creaky wooden stairs of the mansion and made his way through the crowded basement. The sophomores were manning the beer kegs. He waited about five minutes and was then handed several full plastic cups of cold beer. It sloshed and spilled a bit on his way back up the stairs. But she was grateful when he arrived with them.
A big smile, which he suspected was a rare thing for her. Dark hair. Strong cheekbones.
“You’re a lifesaver.” And an accent.
“Where are you from?”
“Montreal, originally.”
“What’s your name?”
“Renee.”
“I’m Max, Renee,” he said, sticking out his hand.
“I know.” She shook it.
“Mind if I join you?”
“Be my guest.”
“Those your teammates out there dancing?”
“They are. Normally they would try to get me out there. I despise dance floors, so the crutches are a nice excuse. But I’d give anything to be playing still. I’m afraid I’m done for the season.”
“Sorry to hear that. But happy for my luck.”
She flashed a wry smile and raised her plastic cup in a toast.
They spent the rest of the evening talking on the balcony. It would be the first of many evenings that they spent together. While Max had dated many women, Renee would be the only one he really would characterize as a serious girlfriend. Their on-again, off-again relationship was all at once passionate, comfortable, and painful. They made a “clean break” upon graduation. In all, they dated for nine months. She was a year younger, and — given the field he was entering — it didn’t make sense to continue on. He had never explained to her why he had broken it off. That only made it harder.
Renee and Max agreed to meet the next morning. He used one of his prepaid cards to pay for the room at the hotel and then spent an hour scanning the news.