“Let me ask you this — would you have seen that file if he’d worked for the CIA for a month and then washed out of their training program?”
Steve thought about it and then shook his head. “Nah. I don’t think so. The file would have looked different, or there may not have even been one for him.”
“Okay. Listen, Steve, I just came from Camp Peary. I met with a guy down there who represented the CIA. He just completely denied that Max Fend ever worked for them. He said he was in training for a month, and then washed out.”
“That’s what they told you?”
“Yeah.”
“That seems strange, considering the classification of his personnel file.”
“Yeah, I’m not buying it either.”
Steve said, “Well, maybe he just works for another agency.”
“What do you mean, like who?”
“A lot of the agencies have spies, Jake. It’s not just the CIA out there in the field, you know.”
“But the guy down at the Farm said—”
“Jake, I gotta tell ya, in my experience — a lot of these CIA field agents are like politicians, but with different motivations. You can tell when they’re lying by whether their mouth is moving or not.”
“You think he would lie to an FBI agent conducting an investigation on one of his men?”
Steve shot him a skeptical look. “Come on, man. You know how it is.”
Flynn sighed. “Well, what can I do?”
“Let me talk to someone else at my work. It’s okay, I’ll be careful what I say. And he’s trustworthy. If I find anything else out, I’ll call you. It might be a few days.”
“Call me whether you find anything out or not. I want to know.”
“Got it.”
“Thanks, Steve.”
“You bet.”
Flynn looked at his watch. He needed to be on a plane to Jacksonville soon.
10
Max and Renee stopped off at her home so she could speak to her mother and grab her things. Max waited in the car for ten minutes until she was done.
They ate their breakfast in the MarieBette Cafe and Bakery in Charlottesville, Virginia. The place was crowded with a mix of locals and University of Virginia students. Max had a penchant for good French pastries, and MarieBette made some of the best ones he’d tasted in the States.
“I have a house in Georgia. I’ll fly us there this morning. It’s out of the way. No one will see us. We’ll make our call at six tonight and see what we can find out. And you’ll have time to do your thing.”
“Sounds good.”
Max wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood. “Okay — I’ll wait in the car. If you don’t mind paying? I’d prefer as little interaction as possible.”
“Sure.” Renee closed her laptop and placed it in her bag. She ordered two cups of coffee to go and a few more croissants, and paid for their food.
A few minutes later, they walked through the Signature Flight Support building at Charlottesville Albemarle Airport. Max wore his aviator sunglasses and kept his head facing away from the man behind the counter, who was paying much more attention to the cling of Renee’s shirt than to Max. That was fine. If the FBI questioned him later, he would be that much worse of an eyewitness.
Max untied the plane and threw the chocks back inside the storage compartment, along with their travel bags. He got into the cockpit and helped Renee strap her seat belt on and plug in her headset. Then he went through his checklist.
He held open the aircraft door, yelled, “Clear prop!” and started up the 315-horsepower engine.
Max checked the weather one last time on his phone. Severe clear all the way down to Brunswick. He called ground control and began to taxi, holding short of the runway. He then told the tower that he was departing to the south using visual flight rules, and they cleared him for takeoff. Max smiled to himself as he saw Renee tense up out of the corner of his eye, her thighs flexing and her hands grabbing the seat as the aircraft vaulted forward down the runway.
Then he pulled back on the stick ever so slightly, and the Cirrus was airborne. It was a smooth climb out. A little left stick and they were headed toward the south horizon.
“Can you hear me okay?” Max asked Renee over their pilot headsets.
They were flying southeast now, sitting side by side in the cockpit, green pastures and farmland beneath them. Renee was on her laptop, using her satellite connection to get work done while they traveled.
“I can hear you fine. I’m reading an article on you. On your father, actually. But it mentions you. It’s a write-up about the Fend 100, and a profile on him.”
Max looked over at her and then back out the windscreen of the aircraft.
She quoted, “While Charles Fend is known as a pioneer in the aviation world, his son Max has yet to make his mark. Max Fend has lived in the lap of luxury in the South of France for the past decade. He is best known for throwing decadent parties at his villa in Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat, located in a region of France known as an exclusive vacation spot for the ultra-rich. He often hosted celebrities and the wealthy elite from around the globe. Controversy erupted last year when two men were found dead on the premises. While rumors swirled regarding Max Fend’s connection to the crimes, he was never charged, and was reportedly out of the country when the deaths occurred.”
Renee looked at Max again. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that.”
“I’ve promised you honesty. Ask me anything.”
“Did you kill those two men?”
The drone of the plane engine was the only sound for a few seconds.
“Yes, I did.”
“Why?”
“We had a disagreement.”
“Over what?”
“How to treat a lady.” Max glanced at her. “Have you flown in a small plane like this before?”
Renee frowned at the obvious change of subject. “Actually, yes. In Canada. When I was younger, my family spent a lot of time on the West Coast. North of Vancouver. Have you been there?”
“Yes, actually. It’s quite beautiful. Lots of great hiking and fishing.”
“Yeah. My father has a cabin there. It’s pretty remote, so sometimes we would get there by float plane. That was a lot of fun.”
“A float plane, huh?”
“Yup.”
“Always wanted to try that. This one can’t land on water, but it does have its own parachute.”
Renee made a face. “Are you messing with me?”
“No, I swear.” Max pointed up at the ceiling. A black oval covering with a bright red and white warning label was above them.
“What is that?” Renee was reading it now. “Oh my. You are serious. This plane actually has a parachute?”
“I figured with all of the trouble I get into on the ground, it’s best that I take the proper precautions when I’m in the air.”
She smiled at that. “Have you ever used it?”
“The parachute? No. You would only use it in a dire emergency. But I must admit, I’ve always wanted to try it. It has an exceptional safety record.”
“If it’s all the same to you, let’s just land normally.”
Max laughed. “Not a problem, my dear.”
The aircraft touched down on a tiny runway near the shores of southern Georgia. Jekyll Island. The airport was nothing more than a long strip of black pavement, with a few Cessnas parked next to a small shack.
The island was part marshland, part golf course. On a secluded strip of beach were a scattering of vacation homes, one of which Max owned.
A rental agent was waiting for them with a car. Max had had Renee order it while they were flying. They’d provided false information and paid using one of Max’s prepaid cards. The rental agent tried to make small talk in the airport parking lot, but they kept it to a minimum.