“That would be catastrophic for the company,” Maria said. “But we’ve made sure that can’t happen. After the cyberattack last month, we’ve really upped our IT security standards. The data for the Fend 100 is in the Fort Knox of IT security. And it isn’t accessible through the Internet.”
Flynn nodded. “Good to know.”
12
Max and Renee spent the afternoon doing research and waiting for their phone call with MI-6. After two hours of Max watching Renee type, she sent him out to get some food.
Max returned and cooked her the best frittata she had ever eaten.
“My God, you’re a good cook. Where did you learn that?”
“Europe. But the secret to this was the ingredients. Roast tomatoes and onions from the local farmers’ market. I have to admit this is one of the better ones I’ve made.”
She smacked her lips, finishing every bit of the dish.
Max and Renee sat in the living room of the beach house talking and working until six p.m. He had just gotten off the phone with the local fuel truck owner. The man was filling up his Cirrus now.
“It’s time.” Time to call the female MI-6 contact.
She nodded, sliding over on the couch. “Here. Sit.”
Renee had connected her computer to Max’s phone. It would run a series of programs designed to gather more information about who they were talking to.
At precisely six o’clock, Max dialed the number. Renee sat close enough that she heard everything.
The person on the other end answered, “Hello?” A woman’s voice. So far so good.
“I was given this number to call.” Said Max.
“Did that person give you a car?”
“Yes.”
“What type?”
“An Audi.” A minor identity check.
“I’m glad to see that you are out on your own.”
Max said, “Can you tell me why you assisted me with my problem?
“Our organization attempted to find a mutually agreeable solution with our counterparts in US government. But they weren’t interested. Due to the nature of the emergency, we took matters into our own hands.”
Max pressed the mute button and looked at Renee. “So what does that mean? Counterparts in US government? As in the CIA?”
“That’s what it sounds like, yes.”
“So she’s saying that MI-6 contacted the CIA regarding me, and the CIA wasn’t interested in helping me out?”
“I think that’s what she’s saying.”
Max unmuted the phone and said, “What do you mean by ‘the nature of the emergency’? What emergency?”
“I can’t go into it in too much detail in this format. I’ll need you to come meet me.”
“Where and when?”
“Key West. Tomorrow evening. Can you make it?”
Max looked at Renee, who shrugged. He said, “I can make it. What are you doing in Key West?”
“Look up Sailing Vessel Bravo. You’ll see.”
Renee typed a few keystrokes into her web browser. Max could see that Sailing Vessel Bravo was the name of a massive sailing yacht owned by a Russian billionaire, Pavel Morozov. Last spotted off Key West, Florida, a few days ago.
Max hit the mute button again as he looked at her screen.
“Morozov,” Max whispered.
“You know him?” said Renee.
“I know of him.”
“And?”
“Not a nice guy.”
He could hear the woman on the phone say, “I need to go.”
He unmuted the phone, “Where will I find you?”
“The Southernmost point. Sunset.”
Max heard a beep and saw that the call had ended. He looked at Renee.
“Were you able to get anything useful?”
“A little. The transmission definitely came from the Florida Keys — that’s where the cellular data was routed through. Other than that, not much.”
“Okay. At least we have a lead. Let’s find out everything we can about Morozov, and how he might be related to me or my father’s company.”
They were both on their computers for the next few hours, researching Pavel Morozov and his crew. While they had found out a lot about him, it had yet to reveal an obvious connection to Max or his father.
Max let out a sigh of frustration. “Anything?”
“Be patient. Your conversation with the MI-6 contact helped me identify potential computers and IP addresses to dig into. I have programs running right now that should give us more information, but it’ll take time. When shall we go to Key West?”
“I figured we’d fly there first thing in the morning.”
She looked at her watch. “It’s getting late.”
“I’m going to take a walk on the beach. I need to clear my head.”
“Okay. I have my phone if you need anything,” said Renee.
Max took his phone and placed it in the pocket of his cargo shorts. He walked barefoot past the small grove of palm trees in his backyard and out along the hard-packed sand beach. He fought the urge to contact his father. Nothing would be stupider, he thought. But he hoped that the old man wasn’t taking this too hard.
He walked for a good twenty minutes, the cool saltwater lapping the fine white sand off his feet. A nice breeze blew against his face, a sliver of moon rising over the horizon. He loved coming here. A shame it had to be under these circumstances.
While Max was gone, several of Renee’s sources in the hacker community began to return her messages. They were contractors, mostly. While Renee worked almost solely for nongovernmental organizations these days, she knew people who were plugged in to the state-sponsored cybersecurity world. Unlike the way pop culture portrayed the intelligence agencies, the community was not a tight-lipped vault of top-secret information. Private contractors had permeated just about every crevice of the modern intelligence apparatus. One of the results of that trend was that, for a price, Renee’s contacts would be able to provide her information on just about anyone or anything.
Her first order of business was to confirm that it was actually MI-6 they were dealing with. Renee’s paranoia worried that it could be some elaborate trick, designed to look that way to Max.
So far so good.
Word on the street was that it was indeed an MI-6 team that had been responsible for Max’s motorcycle escape out of D.C. No one knew why they’d done it, but it was very likely members of that specific British intelligence agency. The team who had executed the operation had gone underground. No one had seen or heard from any of them in the past forty-eight hours. A dead end.
Renee’s second order of business was to reach out to someone she knew on the FBI’s Cyber Forensics and Training Alliance. She wanted to find out more about what had prompted them to investigate Max in the first place.
Her source was able to provide her with what the FBI knew about the Fend Aerospace network intrusion, and the evidence that linked it to Max.
The hackers had stolen some data on the new Fend 100 aircraft, but they were unable to access the most secure information on the Fend 100’s AI program.
The FAA had agreed with Fend Aerospace that there was no safety concern with the aircraft test scheduled for the next week.
Then why so much interest in Max Fend?
Renee’s source told her that the FBI had received information from Interpol about Max’s ties to Eastern European and Middle Eastern criminal enterprises. While Max’s shady dealings might have piqued the FBI’s interest, it was his association with a Russian mobster that put Max at the top of the suspect list.
The Russian mafioso was a man by the name of Sergei. Sergei had taken a leap off a building only a few weeks ago. The French government had provided the FBI with Sergei’s communications records. They showed that Sergei had been working with a cybercriminal group that was operating out of Syria.