They quickly gained altitude and Max turned south, along the beach. The moonlight illuminated the surf. Renee was still looking behind them. The helicopter lights grew more distant.
“Relax. They won’t be able to catch us.”
Renee’s chest was heaving. “Where to now?”
“Key West.”
13
Special Agent Jake Flynn arrived at Jekyll Island, Georgia, the next afternoon. The local news reported it as a burglary gone wrong, thanks to the local police. The FBI had a great relationship with local law enforcement around the country.
Many local police had attended the FBI’s National Academy in Quantico, Virginia. The National Academy allowed local police to improve their law enforcement standards, knowledge, and training. It also forged strong bonds between the FBI and local police for when cooperation in the field was needed.
And it was needed today.
Flynn had first seen the report of the Jekyll Island incident in a bulletin when he’d logged on to the FBI email system from his hotel in Jacksonville that morning. He hadn’t thought much of it at first. Three men, dead. The location was strange, but he figured it was probably drug-related. Some meth deal gone bad.
Then his phone rang.
“Hi, I’m looking for Special Agent Jake Flynn. This is Special Agent Mike Gagliardi. I’m the SAC with ATF down in Brunswick, Georgia.”
“Mike, this is Jake Flynn. What can I do for you?”
“You the one looking for this Max Fend guy?”
Flynn sat up in his chair. He wondered how the ATF knew he was looking for Max Fend. But hell, he would take all the help he could get. Any further pretense was pointless.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Well, we’re working with local police on this Jekyll Island thing. Have you heard about it yet?”
“I was just reading up on it, actually. It says three dead. That right?”
“Yeah. Forensics is looking at it now, but they were 9mm rounds. They think they were all fired from MP-5s. And the dead guys at the scene were carrying Russian-made weapons. The type that Russian special forces use. We’ve been running their prints but haven’t found anything yet. We’re working with Interpol now to see what they have. Looks like a professional hit went wrong.”
Flynn was intrigued. “Really?”
“Yeah. First time they’ve ever seen anything like this down around here.”
“So what’s it got to do with Max Fend?”
“Fend’s fingerprints are all over the house. The owner is an LLC. Still tracking down someone to speak with there. Looks like it might have been some sort of safe house. If I had to guess, Max Fend was the one being attacked, and he and at least one other person killed these three guys.”
Flynn looked at his watch. “Alright. Let me figure out transportation. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Mike, thanks for the heads-up.”
“No sweat.”
Flynn checked the directions and called his office to let them know where he was headed. A few hours later, he was pulling up to the crime scene.
The Jekyll Island Police Department was more than happy to help them keep the news media and local gawkers at bay. The ATF forensics team had finished their initial evaluation by the time he got there. The Russian hit team had been using AEK-919K Kashtan submachine guns and some type of semiautomatic shotguns. Both weapons were types favored by Spetsnaz commandos and Russian mercenary groups.
“Jake, you’ll want to see this.”
One of the local FBI agents took him into one of the bedrooms. The mattress had been flipped up. Underneath were opened trunks. One of them was filled with cash. Stacks and stacks of twenties. Most were in US dollars, but there were tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of foreign currency as well.
The other trunks were filled with equipment. Guns, mostly. And silencers, ammunition, eavesdropping equipment. Passports, IDs, night vision goggles. Knives, medical equipment, and phones.
“This guy looks like he was ready for something. Either he’s dirty, or he’s…”
“James Bond?” one of the men offered.
Flynn nodded. “Right. So which is it?”
He decided that he needed to pay another visit to the CIA.
“Special Agent Flynn, this is Maria Blount, the program manager for the Fend 100 aircraft.”
“Yes, of course, Maria. How are you?”
“You asked me to call and update you on the upcoming test flight.”
Flynn sat in his hotel room in Georgia. He was going over his notes from the crime scene on Jekyll Island. Not something she needed to hear about. He needed to switch gears.
“One moment, please. Just trying to find my notes.”
Jake Flynn kept meticulous notes on his laptop. He usually brought a notepad to interviews and when investigating crime scenes. He would then transcribe it all into a Word file later. That way he could search for keywords and have a more durable record of everything he found.
“Okay. Go ahead.”
“We’re still on schedule for the Fend 100 flight to proceed in three days’ time,” Maria said. “We’ve gone over everything with the FAA approver who’s been working with us, and they’ve signed off. The FAA has no safety concerns about the computer network intrusion that was detected.”
Flynn didn’t think the FAA was the best one to make that judgment, but he didn’t say that to her. He was getting the distinct feeling that there was a lot of push from Washington for this flight to occur.
“Maria, let me ask you a question. What would happen if they were to postpone this flight?”
“Oh my. That would not be good. We’ve been working on this product launch for some time. Billions of dollars have gone into it. And not just our company. Many of the airlines — our potential customers — are waiting for the Fend 100 system to get approved by the government so they can start making their orders. Like we talked about when you were here, this is a major building block in the future of commercial aviation. A lot of people, and a lot of money, are depending on it.”
Flynn frowned. “Okay. But you are feeling good? No safety concerns?”
“If you’re asking if I feel pressure to have this flight go on as planned, yes, of course I do. But we would never approve it on our end if we thought it was unsafe.”
“That’s good to know.”
“Will you be coming down for the big day?”
“We’ll see. I kind of doubt it. But I wish you the best of luck.”
“Thank you, Special Agent Flynn.”
They hung up.
The gears in his head were turning.
14
They landed in Key West just after dawn. Both of them were exhausted. He kept his sunglasses and a hat on and tried to keep his face pointed away from anyone who might be watching.
The fuel truck pulled up to their plane. “You guys want fuel?”
Max had Renee do the talking. “Yes, please,” she said, “fill it up.”
“Okay.” The man looked the plane over. “Say, it looks like you guys got a broken window. How’d that happen?”
“Bird strike,” Max said.
“Must have been a big bird.”
“It was.”
Max walked through the FBO lobby and hailed a cab. Renee paid for the aircraft parking fees and asked to see if they had someone who might be able to fix the window while they were in Key West. More funny looks when everything was paid for in cash. But no hassle.
Renee then walked outside and got into the waiting cab. Max stood next to her, his baseball cap pulled down low over his head.
“Where to?” the cabbie asked.