His father sighed. “I’m sure it will be some time before people feel comfortable enough with the technology. But I think it’s safe to say that we won’t be moving forward with the contract as soon as we thought we would. It’s too early to say what the fallout will be.”
“Well, perhaps we can start making parachutes for commercial airliners?”
His father laughed. “Perhaps.”
27
Wilkes met Max at the Conch House restaurant in St. Augustine three days later. They sat in one of the secluded grass huts that overlooked the marina. A waitress brought them waters and appetizers.
Wilkes said, “We’d like to retain your services for the future, Max.”
“And what will that entail?”
Wilkes took off his glasses, rubbing them with a napkin. “You liked working for the DIA, right?”
“I did.”
“Well, we would like to have you serve your country in other ways. Your position in your father’s company, and your fame… or infamy, depending on who you ask… will grant you access that few enjoy. You’re a patriot, and a skilled operative. Your talent and loyalty were never in question.”
“Funny how Special Agent Flynn wasn’t made aware of my loyalty when he took me in last week…”
Wilkes sipped his water. “Look, I agree that the entire situation should have been handled differently. But things turned out rather well for us.”
“Did they?” Max looked out over the water and said, “There’s something I want to know.”
Wilkes said, “Go ahead.”
“I spoke with Flynn yesterday. Our final chat, I hope. He suggested that Maria Blount might no longer be in the custody of the FBI. He implied that another agency had taken her from them. Perhaps for interrogations? Or perhaps not.”
Wilkes didn’t say anything.
“I seem to recall a few operations from my days in Europe where our assets were retired by similar means. Sent off to rural lands to live out their days on a government pension, their covers ruined, but their mission accomplished.”
Wilkes’s face remained a blank canvas. Seeing that he wasn’t getting a bite, Max said, “Maria wasn’t just working for Morozov, was she?”
Wilkes stared back at him. “Who else do you think she was working for?”
“You.”
“Me?”
“I think you knew that Pavel Morozov was going to try and kill the Russian president. And I think you thought that my father’s plane, and the lives of everyone aboard, were an acceptable risk to take for a chance at changing the Russian leadership.”
“An interesting theory. But very cynical, Max.”
Max said, “If I were a man of low moral character, and the only thing that mattered to me was winning or losing the great game of espionage between the Russians and the Americans, I might see this Pavel Morozov situation as an opportunity.”
Wilkes grinned. “I hope you aren’t referring to me there. But pray tell, how so?”
Max said, “Let’s say that I found out Morozov was able to crash the Fend 100 into the Russian president’s plane. What would happen then? The Islamic State had already claimed responsibility for it. From my conversation with him, this was part of Morozov’s masquerade. You might have been tempted to encourage the public belief that terrorists were responsible for the whole thing. The Islamic State is responsible for so many atrocities. Why not this? It takes out a Russian leader who has been a thorn in our side and increases the American desire to pour more resources into fighting terrorism.”
“I hope you have more faith in me than that.”
Max said, “I do, actually. And I have more faith in the CIA. I can’t see them signing off on that.”
“Good.”
“But I think it was a worst-case scenario for you. A high-magnitude, low-probability risk that you were willing to take. And instead, I think you ended up getting exactly what you wanted.”
“Which is?”
“Either way it was a win-win for the CIA. But now, you got rid of Pavel Morozov and have the Russian president in our debt.”
Wilkes raised his eyebrow at that. “I hadn’t thought of that. I guess he is, isn’t he?”
“I noticed on the news yesterday that the Russians have announced they’re pulling a large number of their troops out of Syria. Interesting timing.”
“Well, I suppose it is, isn’t it?” Wilkes sipped his ice water.
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend. If you took out Pavel Morozov and saved the Russian president’s life, I could see how something like that might present you in a very favorable light. Stopping a coup d’état? Maybe that appearance of savior-ship would help influence a deal. Maybe it could start a more peaceful relationship.”
Wilkes shrugged. “Maybe.”
“I remembered something about one of my Russian mafia contacts in France. Sergei. He was introduced to me by his former handler. But his former handler wasn’t DIA — he was CIA. It happened so long ago, and it didn’t seem important at the time. Just one agency sharing with another. Now, though — I’m not so sure that wasn’t orchestrated more carefully.”
Wilkes was chewing his ice cubes. “Alright, Max. I can see that you aren’t happy with me.”
“You used my father and me as bait, didn’t you? You knew that Morozov was working with some of his contacts in Russia to orchestrate a coup. But you wanted to manipulate how it happened. So you dangled a carrot that you knew he couldn’t resist. A chance to twist the knife in my father’s back, by hurting his company — and by blaming me. That got Morozov’s mouth watering. Just like you said… revenge keeps KGB agents warm at night.”
Wilkes said, “You have no idea how big this operation was, Max. We didn’t just dangle one carrot. We put out hundreds. You and your father weren’t the only bait. You just happened to be the bait that Morozov went for. And once he did, we had to keep up appearances.”
“That’s why MI-6 was used to break me out. There couldn’t be any connection to your operation.”
Wilkes nodded.
Max continued. “You didn’t want any chance of Morozov finding out the CIA was involved in all this. So you called in a favor to your friends at Legoland. But why did you care whether I was in FBI custody or not?”
“Because MI-6 got word that Morozov had ordered a hit on you, so that you couldn’t prove your innocence. We preferred that not to occur.”
“Why, thank you.”
“See? And you say I wasn’t looking out for you.”
“My guess is that very few people knew the risk you took with the Fend 100 aircraft. That was dangerous. Did the Russian president know what was happening as he flew towards the Atlantic coast of the US? Was it used as leverage while he was in flight?”
Wilkes looked like he was thinking of something to say.
“Don’t bother answering. I don’t need to know. There’s only one more thing I want you to tell me. What happened to Morozov?”
“I’m afraid that isn’t something I’m at liberty to discuss, Max.”
Max snorted, disappointed.
Then Wilkes said, “But if, hypothetically speaking, of course, I knew where he was, just know that you would probably be quite satisfied with his present condition.”
Max’s eyes were hard. “Good.”
The unmarked jet touched down at the airstrip near Sevastopol, on the Crimean Peninsula. Ever since the annexation of Crimea, the airport was predominantly used by the Russian military.
It had been a long flight. The aircraft taxied to a stop near the end of the runway. Three black cars waited on the flight line. Security men opened up the door for one of the cars, and the Russian president stepped out.