Furthermore, Sergei’s communications implicated Max as being complicit in the Fend Aerospace cybertheft. The communications had been sent only hours before Sergei’s death in Gibraltar.
But this information had been delivered electronically. Easily faked, Renee thought. The FBI thought that Sergei’s death had been ordered by the Syrian hacking group he’d been working with — tying up loose ends and increasing their share of profits.
Renee’s work in the cybersecurity world had exposed her to many of these criminal hacker organizations. They were white-collar criminals. Murder usually wasn’t part of their skill set. Sergei’s death smelled of something different, Renee thought — a ploy.
The FBI’s working theory was that Max intended to sell access to Fend technology to the highest bidder. The technology could be worth billions.
Renee wanted to point out the flaws in this theory — namely that Max was the son of Charles Fend, and already filthy rich — but she decided to stop asking questions. While her contact wasn’t an agent, and she trusted that he would keep her inquiry confidential, one never knew. Dig too deep, and she might trigger the FBI to look into her.
Lastly, Renee wanted to check up on Max’s departure from the DIA. His story didn’t quite add up. He seemed happy with his work there. His explanation of how his cover had been blown didn’t seem like a fully adequate explanation for why he would have to leave. She would ask him more. But first, she wanted to try and find out what she could on her own.
After a few moments, Renee was conducting an encrypted chat with one of her former counterparts in the Canadian cyberintelligence organization, the CSE. There was a small video window so that she could see her friend as he typed, and her friend could see her. It was a security measure, to make sure that the conversation was actually with the intended person. The CSE folks were just as paranoid as she was. That was where she had learned it. She was surprised at what she read.
Renee: What do you mean?
Anon: It says that Max’s cover was blown.
Renee: How?
Anon: Something involving a Russian arms deal. He was supposed to help facilitate the sale of weaponry from a Russian supplier to a buyer in northern Africa. But something went wrong.
Renee: What happened?
Friend: Max ended up killing the Russian arms dealers. The DIA and CIA decided that his cover was blown. There are phone records that indicate the Russians knew he was an American operative.
Renee: How would his cover be blown if both of the Russians were killed?
Anon: Don’t know.
Renee: And so the DIA just let him walk away? They don’t use him at all anymore?
Anon: Apparently.
Renee: Seems unusual.
Anon: Agreed.
Renee: So who does the intelligence world think is after him? Were you able to find that out?
Anon: There are two theories. One is that it is related to the people that he killed. The Russian group settling old debts.
Renee: And the other?
Anon: The other theory is that Max is dirty. That he might have been turned while in Europe. That would also explain why the DIA wanted him out of their organization, if they suspected that.
Renee: They wouldn’t just ask him to leave. They would investigate him, right?
Anon: Maybe they couldn’t prove anything, but didn’t want to take a chance keeping him.
Renee: So what, then? People think he really gave someone access to his father’s company? Why? Money? He’s as rich as a Saudi prince.
Anon: No idea. Don’t shoot the messenger.
Renee: Okay, thanks.
Anon: Renee, be careful. I don’t know what’s going on, but if this Max Fend guy is wanted by this Russian mercenary group, he probably isn’t a good person to be around.
Renee: Understood. Send me what you can on the Russians.
Anon: Will do. And I don’t have to tell you that if theory #2 is true — you better watch your back.
Renee: Thanks, goodnight.
Renee closed the chat window and made sure to delete the conversation history. She leaned back on the couch. The lights were off in the living room of the beach house. The dim computer screen illuminated her face. She looked out at the dark beach. She could hear the waves. Max was walking out there somewhere. Was it really just to clear his head? Or was he calling someone else?
She shook her head. She had known him for a long time. Before he had gotten involved in the espionage world. He was a good man. Right?
Max came back in, wiping the dry sand off his feet. The screen door shut with a snap behind him. “Anything new?”
“I just reached out to a few people. That MI-6 team has gone underground.”
“Okay. Well, we don’t need them anymore anyway. We know we have to go to Key West.”
“I also looked into the evidence the FBI has on you.”
“And?”
“A lot of it’s circumstantial. But there’s an Interpol report that ties you to several organized crime syndicates in Europe and the Middle East.” She filled him in on what she knew.
“Sergei? That little Russian bastard? He was nothing. Just a regional… and he’s dead?”
Renee nodded. “Any idea what information he might have had that led to you?”
Max’s eyes darted from side to side as he thought. “He was plugged in to the type of people who make money off ransomware. But it was petty stuff. They would lock up a thousand people’s computers and make them each pay like three hundred bucks to get back their files. It was a volume game. You must know more about that stuff than I do.”
Renee nodded. “That’s what most of the small-time groups do. High-volume, low-dollar ransoms. The bigger fish go for corporations and can ask for millions of dollars. But those targets are harder to hit. And the penalties are worse if you’re caught.”
“You think Sergei thought I might be a good target?”
“Either he or someone he was connected with. It makes sense.”
“Looks like my past is coming back to haunt me. Nothing I can do about that now, I guess.”
“Were those connections related to the work you did for the DIA?”
“Of course.” Max frowned. “Why else would I have associated with those types?” He walked into the kitchen. “I’m going to make something to eat. You hungry?”
“A little.”
Max dug around the freezer. A few minutes later, he walked back into the living room with paper plates of steaming microwaved pizza.
“Anything else?”
“Are you really going to keep asking me that every few minutes?”
He put a plate of pizza in front of her. “Sorry. Just anxious.”
She blew on it and took a small bite. “It’s okay. Here’s what I’m doing right now. Some of the software programs I’ve been running have returned information that I can use. They’ve identified computers that were in close geographic proximity to the device the MI-6 agent was using to communicate with you. So now I’m sending back pings to those computers, to see if any more information turns up. I have to be honest — I don’t think we’ll learn anything. But it’s worth a shot.”
“Yes, it is.”
“So how did you start off in the intelligence world? Like… how did they hire you?”
Max chewed his pizza and took a swig of sweet tea. “It started when we were at Princeton. My senior year. That’s when they first approached me. I was at a career fair. Looking at sales jobs. I wanted to make money on my own. I’ve always had an aggressive streak. Not sure if you’ve noticed.”