A Drone over New York
Chapter 9

Max waited outside the office building as the rush hour streamed through the glass revolving doors. Countless people beginning their workday, all dressed ready for work. He must have looked a little shady, drug-dealer-esque with his sunglasses on and baseball cap pulled down over his face. His left hand holding tight the old, secondhand cell phone inside his hoodie pocket. The morning heat was just low enough to be able to wear the sweatshirt. He tried to act casual, though, leaning against a lamppost, next to the pile of garbage. But the people around him didn’t seem to mind.

He knew he only had one chance at this.

He watched as wave after wave of people poured into the building. The rotating doors endlessly cycling around and around. The many faces and names of a company that gave the place a spirit, a soul.

Max remembered when he first came here. He felt in awe of it then. The feeling of honesty, integrity, and truth gave an alien feel to what should be familiar. But underneath it all, at its core, there was the desire to seek out the story. To search and put the pieces together. That was what drew him in. That was why Martha had sent him here. Martha wanted their connections and they needed his skills. It was an experience Max would never forget.

The Associated Press’s New York Headquarters seemed to have more people than Max remembered. It was busier than he ever remembered it being. The summer crowd seemed eager for the last story before the holidays. At least that was what Max hoped.

He knew his target was here somewhere among the countless crowd. He had seen on Facebook that he had been on the West Coast for the last two months. But he was back now, writing things up. Chasing some story that Max would read about sometime soon. No doubt it would be interesting.

Max stood by his lamppost, waiting. He had to be patient. He knew he would be here and walk through those doors. It was only a question of time.

Max would only have a short window to react, so he had to be on his guard.

As the minutes ticked over, Max began to wonder if he had somehow missed him. Anton could have come in early, or could be working from home today. He could even still be out in the field.

All Max could do was wait. The odd snippet of advice from Michael and the field team helped him pass the time. They could stake out a celebrity for days, but Max hoped it would only be an hour at most.

It was a long while before Max spotted Anton as he walked into the little café next door. He was probably ordering his small skinny cappuccino. Max felt glad the guy was a creature of habit. Anton was even carrying his old lucky backpack. It still looked like it had been through hell and back. That thing had been everywhere with him.

Max tried not to stare while Anton played on his phone, waiting for his coffee. Anton was so preoccupied that he would never notice anyway. Max started to wonder what he was working on now. Max couldn’t decide if it was better he was on something interesting, so they could chat about it, or boring, so he would have time. Whatever it was, Anton probably had no clue Max was even in this part of the city. In the end Max knew it wouldn’t matter. Even if Anton couldn’t help, he would know someone who could and what to do. Anton was that kind of guy.

Max watched Anton smile as he collected his drink from the barista and headed for the door. That was Max’s cue. He only hoped no one would recognize him. It had been a long time. He hoped his old skills would pay off.

Max bumped into Anton lightly as they both passed through the door. They both exchanged an empty and polite “Sorry.” A small bump was all that was needed, though—the small phone successfully dropped into the side pocket of Anton’s bag. Anton had spent hours teaching him that move back in the day. But that was for a different case, a different time. Max was thanking his lucky stars they had been put together for that one.

Max waited a few moments before tapping his pockets to pretend he forgot his wallet. He walked back out, turned the other way, and hustled down the street. He dodged and weaved through the oncoming human traffic. He kept his head down. There were not many people who could recognize him, but he needed to be careful. The torrent of bodies seemed relentless coming from the subway station. But Max was a New Yorker, and it was an easy challenge to swim against the human current.

He knew he needed to get a good four blocks from the subway station before he could make the call. He headed for the old corner they used to practice from. He needed to move quickly, though. He only had a few minutes before Anton would throw his bag under his desk and potentially run off to a meeting. Max had made sure to set the ringtone loud and obnoxious. It was the intro to Tyell’s newest song—ironic, but perfect.

Max’s pace was a little faster than normal. He could not quite bring himself to walk slowly through the crowd. He leapt over rolling suitcases and weaved his way through the fast lane of people. Before he knew it, he was past the subway and standing on the corner they previously used for practice. Anton had always insisted they never call from outside the target’s building.

This place was familiar, right down to the three steps that Max used to climb up and down when he felt nervous. Max always hated this part. From here it was only another two blocks to the old café they used to meet at. It had some fancy name that no one could ever remember unless you were a coffee aficionado. Anton used to call it Sarah’s, after the cute barista who would always put a smile in Max’s latte.

This was always the bad part of the challenge. The familiar feeling rushed through him. How many times had they practiced this for that case? This was the first time he was making a call from this exact spot for real.

Hands trembling a bit, Max dialed the only number saved into his own new dumb phone. The phone on the other end rang loud and proud. Each noise highlighting the fact that Anton had not picked up. Each ring, a nervous wait to see if he could help Max. Every silence whispering to Max that his old friend might not be able or willing to help. sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Hello,” said a nervous voice as it picked up.

“Rogers, it’s Bucky,” Max replied, trying to sound clear and hoping Anton remembered the old code names.

“Bucky? You dropped this phone on me?” He sounded surprised, almost a little annoyed. But there was suspicion there too. It had taken a long time for Anton to trust him. Perhaps that trust had faded. Perhaps he was expecting someone far more important to drop a phone on him today.

“Yeah. Look, I need to talk,” Max said, trying hard to speak slowly and clearly, but he felt the nerves rushing through him. “I need your help on something. It’s serious. It’s a Rogers story rather than a Bucky one.”

Max knew he couldn’t risk saying more on the phone.

“Okay,” Anton replied with the same tone. “What have you got in mind?

“Can you meet at Sarah’s in twenty minutes?”

A gap of silence ensued. Max needed a small act of faith from his old friend. But then again “friends” was probably not how Anton would describe them.

“Twenty minutes? Umm … Okay. See you soon, I guess.”

Max ended the call and breathed a sigh of relief. Anton was coming.

It was a calmer walk the extra few blocks to the café. Max had spent most of the morning running through what he would say and how. He should have told Anton he was in trouble. But then again, Anton hated talking over the phone, especially after he had that run-in with the NSA.

As Max saw the little café, he realized he had forgotten to see if it was still there. It was, and was just how he remembered it. Sarah was even standing in the same place she always had been. It had been two years since Max had come here. The bright and bubbly tattoo-covered girl thumped out the spent coffee grinds from the handle as she looked at the new customers walking in, greeting her regulars by coffee and sometimes by name. Her hair was an electric blue today.

“Well, if it is not a blast from the past,” she called out as soon as Max removed his cap and sunglasses. “You still drinking lattes?”

She never missed a beat.

Max smiled and nodded. The guy at the till yelled out an order and Sarah repeated it as the milk and steam frothed in a tiny metal jug, the loud hissing sound cutting through the air. A hangover’s worst nightmare, but a necessity for one of New York’s finest coffees.

“Your old table’s free,” she said over the noise. “Your cute cappuccino friend joining us today?”

“He’ll be here in a minute,” Max said with a smile and a nod. How little she really knew about them even though they had been here every day for a few months.

She smiled as she banged the metal jug on the counter, removing the large bubbles and smoothing the milk. She tilted the jug over the small cup and created her work of art.

The front area was packed with the morning crowd, the lonely huddled together, waiting for their morning brew. The speed that the coffees came out always amazed Max. Sarah was a machine, pumping out made-to-order coffees at a rate that was hard to comprehend for anyone but the woman who worked the machine.

He pushed his way through the crowd as a man yelled out another order and Sarah yelled someone’s name for collection.

“Skinny soy latte—Richard. Sam—double espresso, iced cappuccino.” The list seemed endless. Very few of the huddled mass stayed to enjoy the special brew on site. They all had places to go, and work to start. It was a busy day for everyone. But everyone needed to start the day off just right, with the carefully crafted, personalized coffee from their favorite place.

He grabbed a seat at a table down the back, out of sight from the street. The outside sun barely made it this far back. That was why Anton had insisted on this place. It offered a great place to chat away from the prying eyes that often frequented coffeehouses of New York.

The banging and steaming continued until he heard Sarah stop the relentlessness. Through the noise Max could hear her chat away with Anton as he came in. She must have come around the counter and given him a hug. Judging by her reaction, he mustn’t have come here in a while. Max began to wonder why. Had Anton changed?

It wasn’t long before the noise of the machine started again. Anton always liked to talk to her. But today he apparently had other stuff on his mind.

Anton wouldn’t need to look for Max. He would know exactly where he would be. It was a habit they had formed over the months of working together.

After coming around the corner, Anton gave a big smile and a laugh, then gave Max a hug hello. All of Max’s preconceptions disappeared and were replaced with a genuine smile for an old colleague. Anton was always good at making friends. Max thought it was probably why he was an actual reporter and worked at a proper news company. The guy had reported from war zones, riots, and even prison. He was what people aspired to, attended college to become. Max was just a man with some skills developed in a back room. That was why they were so different. That was why they were a great team.

“So what’s so big you had to give me a drop phone?” Anton asked as he sat.

He could probably tell Max was nervous. Anton had seen him like this before, though. Max had always been like this when it got really bad during the Bubber story. When they first met, Max knew that Anton had no respect for him. Anton thought he was a reporter who let money and the story get in the way of the truth. But Max had skills. That was why the two companies had put them together. They’d had a great time together. Anton had even tried to recruit him. But the pay was better where Max was at. For Max the ethics only got in the way of the challenge.

“Sorry about the drop phone,” Max said, “but I wasn’t sure how to contact you. Hope it was okay?”

“No worries. You get a drop phone, and you get an automatic pass from the boss. He just wants me to come back with something worthwhile,” Anton said with a smile and a small chuckle. Max only hoped it was what Anton considered to be worthy enough.

Max didn’t say a word. He simply pulled out the phablet and attached the pen drive.

Max handed it to Anton, whose face changed and gave him a cautious look. Anton gave a quick glance around the café, put his back to the wall, and carefully started to watch the footage.

“Go to 18:38,” said Max quietly.

As soon as it started, Anton pressed the Pause button and shot Max an eye. It was the same look he had given Max when he’d hacked Bubber’s laptop. The disapproval was as clear as day. But Max also saw intrigue there. An intrigue that Max knew how to play.

“Just keep watching,” Max said.

He knew Anton was tempted to hand it back and say he shouldn’t be watching it. But there was something from that single look that allowed Max to know that Anton would be willing to hear him out.

After around a minute Anton’s eyes lit up. Max knew instantly he had seen it. He didn’t miss a thing. If only Max had seen it the first day as well. Then it would be a different story. He wouldn’t be in the mess he was in now. But it was a “would of, should of, could of,” not a “been there, seen that, done that.”

Anton let the video play to its conclusion. When it finished, he turned it off and handed it back. His face seemed stern and difficult for Max to read.

“That’s the original, isn’t it?” Anton asked, clearly never really expecting anything to the contrary. Max knew he needed to be clean and straight with his old friend.

“Yep. It was taken thirty-five days ago. Enexup’s already deleted the server footage. It’s the only copy.”

Anton looked at the phablet and frowned. “I assume you want to talk about what happens in the other house, not the BS story you’re trying to sell to the gossip rags.”

Max nodded. “Everyone who’s been traceably involved in this has either been broken into, assaulted or …” Max suddenly couldn’t say it. Giving voice to the responsibility for Jack Harper hit him like a cold slap in the face. He couldn’t say the words.

“Who was it?” asked Anton, suddenly looking sympathetic.

“Guy at Marsden ClarkenWells. He was acting as a broker for me. It was a nasty accident. He’s in the hospital now.”

Anton’s eyes narrowed. He was thinking. Something must have seemed familiar. “Jack Harper,” he said out of nowhere.

Max nodded. How on earth Anton already knew was something that Max could never understand. It was like a superpower he had.

“Sorry, Max,” he said.

The two sat in a sudden awkward silence.

“Fan retaliation is the norm for you. I thought you were used to it?” Anton asked, suddenly changing the tone.

“It just happened way too fast for it to be fans,” Max said, anticipating where this was going and giving another piece of the puzzle to Anton.

Anton’s eyes told Max he was still thinking. He was trying to piece things together. He was already trying to understand the story.

“So you think it was the guy in the video, then. Hence why we’re here.”

Max nodded again. He was already starting to feel better. This was the wisest decision he could have made.

“You’ve thought about going to the police, haven’t you?” Anton asked.

Max nodded again, feeling like a child admitting he had done something bad. He knew he should have gone to the cops, but he just couldn’t let go of the paycheck.

“Don’t,” Anton said out of the blue.

Max gave him a confused look.

“This is going to sound crazy,” Anton said, “but I think I know which murder this is. Right now is a really dangerous time for this to come out. I’ve got a contact out on the West Coast who is working this. It’s not good, Max. The victim was a senior FBI official on holiday out there. It’s a long story, but my contact thinks it’s a New York Mafia hit.”

Max stomach dropped about five stories. What on earth had he gotten himself into?

“And it gets worse,” Anton continued. “You can’t tell anyone, but someone I know is looking into a link between the NYPD and the mob family who is supposedly connected with this murder. That was how they knew where the FBI guy was on holiday.”

Now Max felt a cold sweat on his face. But somehow his mind drifted back to the $4 million paycheck and a glimmer of hope that it could still be his. The police coming after him, though, was something he had not expected.

Anton gave a quick glance around the café. “Max, who else knows you have this?”

“No one.”

“You sure?” Anton asked, giving him a glare that said he knew Max wasn’t giving him the whole thing.

“Yeah—no! Wait, there is the guy from Enexup,” Max said. “The guy who sold it to me.”

“He okay?”

“Tried to contact him, but haven’t heard from him since I made the buy. I mean, I’ve shot him a couple of notes telling him to be careful. I think he was hacked, though.”

“Name?”

“Dale Remford.”

“I’ll dig into him,” Anton said. “Better me than you. Let’s not give the guy a way to connect the dots. Someone has put the pieces together, but you need to stay low. Hide out for a day or two. Let me look around and do some digging. I think this is a piece of a bigger puzzle I’ve been looking for.”

Max gave a heavy sigh.

“What’s up?” Anton asked.

Max felt so unsure about telling him. But Anton was always a straight shooter. He might as well tell him. Anton had always said: “Bad news early is good.”

“I was hoping to close the bidding for the sale within the next twenty-four hours.”

Now it was Anton’s turn to give a heavy sigh. “Max, I know there is no point trying to convince you stop the bidding, but that’s not a lot of time to work with. But can you delay it for me? Just give me a chance. I need an extra day.”

Max didn’t know how to respond. If he delayed it, he might miss the opportunity. Buyers were awfully suspicious in his industry. It was also unlike Anton to let the bidding continue.

Anton gave another sigh. “Okay,” he said, “if you can’t give me that, just give me till the end of the day.” Now he actually sounded a little desperate. “If I can’t give you anything to make you change your mind by then, go and sell it. I’ll try and pick up the pieces with whomever you sell it to.”

Max gave Anton a stunned look. That was a big thing for Anton to say. He must really want the footage. This could be bigger than Max had imagined.

There was something in Anton’s eyes that made Max not want to question him. Anton was great at digging into things. He would find out what to do.

“One last thing,” Anton said. “You need to hide this. Do it now. Running around with it on you is like having a target painted on your chest. Leave me a breadcrumb trail to find it in case something happens.”

Hearing Anton say that made Max realize the game he was now playing. It was no longer about just the payday. He was going to need to leave New York. More importantly he had to live long enough to get out.

Max gave a nod. Anton was right. He needed to hide it. And it was best done as soon as possible. His mind already began racing through the various options of ways to hide it.

“One last thing, Max,” Anton said. “Remember not to use your cards. If the police are involved, they might be using the NSA to track you. You need any cash?”

“I’ve only got $50 on me,” Max said. The morning’s cash withdrawal was mostly spent, thanks to the phones he’d purchased.

Anton pulled out his wallet and handed him $100. “That’s all I’ve got on me. I can’t pull out anything more, but the others will cover me for today.”

Max knew what he was talking about. During the Bubber story Anton got flagged by the NSA, and now couldn’t withdraw more than $100 cash a day without getting flagged because of cases exactly like this.

“If we are going to move this quickly, I’ve got to go,” Anton said. “Be safe, Max. Let’s touch base tonight. I’ll call you with where to meet. I hope you remember the old rules and wait a few minutes before heading back out.”

Max nodded and let his friend walk out the door.

It was something they used to do. Anton was always concerned about preventing those they were investigating from connecting anyone together. “Keep them guessing” was a phrase he used to say.

Sitting alone in the back of the café, Max knew that he had made the right move contacting Anton. Even if it was only for Max to find out how deep a hole he had dug for himself.

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