On stage, the young quartet finished playing “Clair de Lune.” A scatter of polite applause rose up from the crowd, silenced a moment later by the beginning of the next song.
Max checked the time on his Breitling wristwatch. The watch had been a gift from his father. A way of saying thanks for undergoing such an ordeal last summer. Max’s father felt responsible for placing his son in harm’s way, since it was his company that had been targeted. Hence the watch. Max thought it was enormous, but it was starting to grow on him.
He turned to Renee. “You want a beer?”
“No, thank you. I’m still nursing my wine cooler.”
She really did look beautiful tonight. “You know, I’m a lucky guy.”
“Trust me, I completely agree.” She winked. He laughed.
He turned and marched up the grassy bowl that surrounded the amphitheater. The deep bass notes of a cello mixed with rich violin filled the air. Max weaved his way in and out of the patchwork of blankets and concert patrons.
All the while keeping an eye on his mark.
His handler was a man by the name of Caleb Wilkes — a veteran of the CIA who had built a career running agents in various parts of the world. While Max was happy to take Renee out to Wolf Trap on a nice night like this, it was Wilkes who had asked him to be here.
Max had been conflicted about working for the CIA after all that had happened last summer. It wasn’t that intelligence fieldwork was an undesirable occupation to him. Quite the contrary. Max had spent over a decade under a nonofficial cover for the Defense Intelligence Agency and hadn’t left of his own accord. The higher-ups had forced him to make a career change based on their needs, without asking his opinion, and without being transparent about the circumstances. Because of that, Max would probably always be leery of trusting men like Wilkes, a senior operations officer who pulled the strings from the halls of Langley. But as an experienced operative, Max knew better than to completely trust anyone, including his new handler. The world of international espionage was littered with the graves of the trusting and gullible.
Wilkes understood Max’s reservations. With his experience and social stature, Max wasn’t a normal asset. He was special, and Wilkes had to treat him that way.
Wilkes had given Max a few months without contact after the Fend Aerospace incident last year. At which point he had begun paying Max regular visits. The two usually met for beer or coffee in the Georgetown district of Washington, D.C. Max was getting his MBA at Georgetown University. Wilkes often worked out of Langley, so at first, he attributed the meetings to the convenience of “being in the neighborhood.”
Max knew better — he had recruited and run agents himself while he’d worked for the DIA. He knew that Wilkes wouldn’t waste his time paying social calls unless there was something to be gained. By the third “friendly happy hour,” Max told Wilkes to cut to the chase.
Max was a valuable agent, and Wilkes wanted him on his team. Max came pretrained and experienced, having honed his skills in Europe and the Middle East. And he certainly had access. Max’s family wealth and network allowed him to recruit assets and gather information that other agents just couldn’t. He was expected to eventually take a job at his father’s aerospace company after he finished his MBA, furthering his stature.
But Max wasn’t just skilled and reliable; he also had the most sought-after motivation a handler could ask for. It was Max’s sense of national duty and his continued desire to serve and protect that motivated him to participate in the program. Max was serving his country for patriotic reasons. And perhaps for the excitement of the game. Turning foreign assets and uncovering terrorist networks could be an intoxicating thrill, as long as you didn’t get burned in the process.
But there was still a level of apprehension — a feeling of slight betrayal after the way Max had been forced out of the DIA and wrongly implicated in a crime last year. The way Wilkes didn’t fully divulge all of the details of the operation until it suited him. That pesky trust issue.
So the two men had come to an understanding. Wilkes would reach out to Max when he had work, and Max might sometimes decline, based on the situation.
Tonight, Max had been called up for the first time.
“I need you to keep an eye on someone. It’s critical.” Wilkes had said.
Abdul Syed, officially a Pakistani diplomat operating out of the embassy in D.C., was actually under the employ of the ISI. Wilkes was working with FBI and CIA counterintelligence to monitor Syed’s activities, but that was proving difficult. Abdul Syed was adept at losing surveillance. He’d lost them each night for the past several weeks. But something about tonight would be different, Wilkes had told Max.
“We’ve received intelligence that Syed is going to make contact with one of his American agents. But he won’t do it if he sees his tail. I need you to be there instead. Watch Syed. See who he meets.”
Unusual circumstances. An intriguing assignment. FBI counterintelligence was supposed to have several men who would keep an eye on Syed. Wilkes was expecting Syed to give them the shake. This Syed fellow must be quite a talent, to do that. FBI counterintelligence were some of the best in the business. Why did Wilkes want Max doing this, instead of someone else? Probably because he wants it to be unofficial. But why?
And how did Wilkes know where Syed was going to be? He wouldn’t give Max the answer to that, but somehow, Wilkes knew.
The Pakistani intelligence officer was a mere fifty yards away from Max and Renee’s spot on the lawn of Wolf Trap. He was sitting alone, listening to the serene music, looking about as pleasant as someone getting a root canal.
It was crowded, and Syed could be planning to communicate with any of the thousands of spectators now listening to the concert. Maybe he already had, Max thought. After all, he hadn’t seen Syed enter. It had taken Max fifteen minutes to spot him. Renee thought he was crazy, moving their sitting spot on the lawn twice. She’d thought it had something to do with his obsessive need for perfection. Like how he kept all his belongings meticulously clean and organized.
But that spot had given Max a perfect view. And the moment he’d seen Syed get up and walk to the top of the half-moon-shaped lawn area, heading towards the row of concession stands, Max followed.
Chapter 3
Max walked towards the concession stand, scanning the crowd, using his peripheral vision to observe anything that might be out of the ordinary. The habits of an intelligence operative who had spent more than a decade hiding in plain sight. Syed was now pretending to talk on his cell phone, but Max could tell he was really just looking for surveillance himself. Walking one direction for a few moments, then circling back, scanning the crowd like a pro. Max needed to be careful not to be spotted.
Syed was brown-skinned, with dark bushy eyebrows. He wore gray slacks and a buttoned short-sleeve shirt, with a bright white Washington Nationals cap on his head, which Max found to be a comical addition.
Max approached the window of the snack bar and ordered a beer, paying in cash and receiving a large plastic cup foaming to the brim. Cold and tasty. Perfect on a warm summer’s night. Turning around to face the amphitheater, he observed Syed walk past him and out through the concert exit.
Hmm. No one else was leaving yet, so Max couldn’t just follow him without being obvious.
The exit gate was a chokepoint. A great way for Syed to be sure that he was clear of coverage before he tried to communicate with his agent.