The Singularity Race (14 page)

“The latest was four months ago. The others occurred three years earlier, one in March and the other in November. Each within a three-month window of the assassination or disappearance of an AI scientist.”

“Good work,” Mullins said.

Li shook her head. “That's not the most interesting part. You asked me to run the stealth search looking for connections to the Montreal airport four years ago when Kim Woodson disappeared.”

“One of them showed up then?”

“No. But the computer found a face coming into Canada that it had also seen in the surveillance footage of one of the assassins at the Zurich bank. It went ahead and made a connection we didn't request.”

“So, a man is on a street in Zurich and shows up at the Montreal airport. That's well within the realm of coincidence.”

“I agree,” Li said. “But he also shows up in Montreal a few weeks before the Marriott shooting and leaves the day after. Each time his photo is linked to a different name on his passport.”

Mullins felt an electrical charge run down his spine. He had to stand even though it meant he was towering over Li. “The driver who got away. The man has to be the driver.”

“And maybe the organizer,” Li said. “We've traced him back four years, farther than the others.”

“Has he shown up since then?”

Li looked up at Mullins and even in the dim light he read fear in her eyes. “Yes. He came in through Miami last Tuesday. He's in the country, Rusty.”

Mullins suddenly felt very exposed with the panorama of Lake Lure behind them. And he was aware that they'd left Peter alone in the cottage. “We're going back to the lab tomorrow. I want you to run all the passport aliases and his photo through any car rental agency, bus or train depot, and hotel records you can access. We need to know where this guy is.”

“Okay.”

“And then I think we need to head back to D.C. I'll tell Brentwood you'll need to work out of his D.C. site for a while. I've got to see my surgeon anyway, and hopefully get freed from this sling.” He reached out with his right hand to help Li to her feet.

She stepped close to him and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her cheek against his chest. “Thank you for what you're doing. I know we're more than you bargained for.”

He gently stroked her hair. They stood quietly for a few seconds, and then Mullins backed away. He stared at her with concern. “But are you getting more than you bargained for?”

Li's lips drew tight and thin. She grasped his hand. “You asked me to see if I could determine what test Felicia said was being run. Apollo was probing into the Department of Defense, specifically the drone program. I think he was searching for the codes for their control.”

“And?”

“I think he got them.”

***

Dawn was breaking and the arteries into and around Washington D.C. were nearly empty of what on any weekday would have been clogged with commuters. Vice Admiral Louis MacArthur stared out the window at the sleepy landscape. Over on the Mall, tourists would be the primary inhabitants of Sunday morning. Even though the cherry blossoms had passed, the busloads would pour in as international tourists and school groups snapped thousands of photographs of the monuments to those who'd kept the country free.

If they only knew how precarious that freedom was, MacArthur thought. But the shores or skies weren't threatened by invading hordes. Today the invaders were keystrokes that could wreak havoc on everything from the country's financial structure to its military communications. MacArthur was on record with his concern, both with the Congress and the President. He'd lobbied for funds to develop cyber-defenses, and to recruit double agents betraying ally and foe alike so that he would be kept abreast of foreign advances in the field. It was the reason he'd told the President he wanted to head the intelligence investigation into the Marriott assassinations. And it was why he had spent the night in his office while simulated efforts were made to hack into the Pentagon's most classified files.

A knock sounded from the main door to his office. An aide entered with a single sheet of paper. “Here's the report, sir. It's a preliminary summary and they said they can provide more details if you wish.”

MacArthur took the document. “What's the bottom line?”

The aide smiled. “Not so much as a single nick in the system. None of the attempts penetrated. If we were a fort, we'd make Knox look like a leaky sieve.”

“Thank you,” MacArthur said. “Now go home and get some rest.”

“You too, sir.”

But MacArthur suddenly felt rejuvenated. He tossed the report on his desk. Everything had gone perfectly. He didn't need to know anything more.

***

Henrich Schmidt used the Chromebook he'd bought in Miami to sign on to his e-mail account. A new draft was waiting for his attention.
Finally
, he thought. But the instructions weren't what he expected. And the target was of such high profile, he considered declining. Then he saw the terms—a doubling of his fee and the first half ready to be wired immediately upon his acceptance of the assignment.
Money wasn't everything,
he thought.
But it sure beat the hell out of whatever was in second place.

Schmidt deleted the draft of the e-mail and wrote a new one. He closed out of his account, leaving the draft unsent. Then he checked the Amtrak schedule. The train was a lower profile means of transportation, and one where his golf clubs wouldn't be searched. He would be in place by the next morning, and then his client could provide the opportunity. Maybe the original plan would have to be scuttled. On the other hand, his client didn't like loose ends. And Schmidt knew there were several in addition to the ex-Secret Service agent and Chinese scientist. The trip was proving to be his ticket into retirement, and he'd have to live to be a hundred and fifty to spend all the money.

Chapter Twenty-one

At one o'clock, Sunday afternoon, Mullins, Li, and Peter returned to the research facility. The three had slept until ten and skipped breakfast for a light lunch. Before leaving the guest cottage, Li had prepped her laptop with a series of inquiries, all of which would be run bypassing Apollo's identity. Mullins was taking no chances regarding any leaks until they could gather more information on the mystery man arriving through Miami.

Only one car, a Jeep Cherokee, was in the lot. A different security guard checked their badges and cleared them through. Mullins turned around before closing the door to see the man pick up the newspaper he'd been reading. If he was sounding an alarm, he wasn't doing it by phone.

No one met them on the lower level. Li went straight to her lab while Peter taught Mullins how to play a simulated baseball game. The virtual contest was so realistic that Mullins got caught up in it, at times having to remember to watch his language in front of a seven-year-old boy—a seven-year-old who was crushing him.

To add insult to injury, Peter proposed a rematch, offering to take second-tier players to even things up.

“You get to be the best by playing the best,” Mullins stoically commented.

Peter took him at his word and Mullins soon realized the kid had been holding back all along. By the fifth inning, Mullins trailed thirteen to zero. With relief, he heard the door open and he looked from the monitor to see Li enter, her laptop clutched close to her chest.

“We need to leave now,” she said.

“But we're in the middle of a game,” Peter whined.

“I'm not kidding. Rusty, we've got to go.”

Mullins dropped his control unit. “Your aunt's in charge here. If we have to leave now, it's for a good reason.”

“Can we save the game?” Peter asked.

Mullins looked at Li. She shook her head.

“I concede.” Mullins turned off the console. “When we play again, I want a fresh start. Get your iPad and let's go.”

The three walked in silence through the building and into the parking lot. Mullins started the car, waved to the guard and headed for the highway. It wasn't till they cleared the gate leaving the complex that Li finally spoke.

“Can we have a little music?” She reached out and turned on the radio.

Mullins recognized Tchaikovsky's
Capriccio Italien
. The piece was building to one of its loudest points and the sound of strings, horns, and cymbals filled the car.

Lisa Li leaned close to Mullins. “He's in Spartanburg, South Carolina,” she whispered. “He could be less than an hour away.”

“How do you know?”

“A car rental agency scanned his driver's license.”

“He rented a car?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“The Enterprise desk at the Greenville-Spartanburg airport four days ago.”

“Why didn't it show up last night?”

“I had the search parameters set for connections to the dead men, and then I expanded it to airports. That got us to Miami. Today, I ran the search much wider.”

“What was the name?”

“Karl Reinbold. That's different from his Miami entry name of Wilhelm Hecht.”

“How do you know he's in Spartanburg and not Greenville?”

“Because I ran the Reinbold name through hotel registries. I got a hit on the Hampton Inn at the Westgate Mall in Spartanburg. Reinbold checked out at eleven this morning.”

Mullins didn't like it. The man was obviously a professional with as many identities as a phone book. “Has he turned in the car?”

“No. But he's supposed to return it to the same location. He must be driving somewhere in the region.”

“Perhaps he's just changing hotels so that he's not in one place too many nights.”

Li looked over her shoulder to Peter. The boy was reading his Asimov book. “Are you sure?”

Mullins wanted to say yes, but he couldn't lie to her. “No. I think we need to leave now. I'll alert the authorities and maybe they'll pick him up. Meanwhile, I want us back in D.C. Brentwood will have to accept it or fire us both.”

Li bit her lower lip, clearly stressed at the prospect of crossing the billionaire. “The work's at a critical stage.”

“Can't you program the damn thing from his Washington operation?”

“I guess so. I've already given them the hardware specifications for North Carolina.”

“Then you're giving him an option—work from D.C. or not at all. At least till we know more about this threat.”

“Where will we stay in D.C.?”

“We won't. We'll check into a hotel somewhere outside D.C. Brentwood's facility's not in D.C. proper anyway.”

“No. He told me it was on the beltway near Tysons Corner but I've never been there. What should I say to him?”

“Nothing. I'll handle Brentwood. But I want to be gone before he gets here. When we get to the cottage, I'll clear it first. Then you and Peter pack as quickly as you can. We'll take this car and make a plan while we're driving.”

When they reached the lake, Mullins made a thorough check of the cottage and grounds, careful not to draw his gun until he was out of sight of Li and Peter. He found everything in order and waved them out of the car.

“I'll grab my bag and stand guard outside,” he said. “Come out when you're ready.”

He retrieved the burner phone from under his mattress, quickly packed and then waited on the porch. All the while his mind raced through the actions he could take. He wasn't happy with his options. Allen Woodson would need to play a vital role and Mullins didn't know what resources he could command.

He stepped off the porch, walked about twenty yards down the path and pulled out his burner phone. He'd have to trust his son-in-law's judgment.

***

Allen Woodson paced back and forth in his hotel room while he listened to his father-in-law's summation. A potential killer going back to the time of his sister's disappearance was in Spartanburg, South Carolina. At least that was the last known location earlier in the day.

He agreed with Mullins' assessment that Dr. Li and her nephew should return to D.C. But he didn't think they should go near Brentwood's Virginia facility until this Reinbold or whatever his name was had been apprehended. Woodson told Mullins he would find safe accommodations and to call him as they neared D.C.

“All right,” Mullins said. “But I'll need to stop and get out of the car. Brentwood could have the most sophisticated technology on the planet and I can't chance that someone isn't monitoring conversations in his vehicles.”

“Then I'll drop a rental at your apartment. Keys on the right rear tire.”

“Who else will you involve?” Mullins asked.

“No one but Vice Admiral MacArthur. He can give orders and still keep his staff in the dark.”

“Then tell him whatever you need to. And, Allen, if something goes wrong, call this number.” Mullins gave Woodson a ten-digit phone number and asked him to repeat it.

“Who is it?”

“Sam Dawkins from the Secret Service. He can get word to the President, and I guarantee you no stone will go unturned looking for us.”

As soon as Mullins rang off, Woodson called MacArthur's private cell. The Vice Admiral answered on the first ring.

“Talk to me,” was all he said.

Woodson gave him the summary of the search for links to the Marriott assassins and the connection between one of them and the man who had left through Montreal the day after the killings.

“And Mullins said this Reinbold's last location was a Hampton Inn in Spartanburg?” MacArthur asked.

“Yes, sir. But he checked out this morning.”

“How the hell was Mullins able to learn that when we've been running the same inquiries for weeks?”

“The computer's evidently able to break through firewalls at will. The identification was made through Swiss CCTV footage and archived immigration records.”

“Do you want to go to Spartanburg?” MacArthur asked.

“No, sir. I'd rather stay here and help Mullins.”

“When do you expect him?”

“Not till late tonight.”

MacArthur thought for a moment. He walked to a picture window and stared across the Chesapeake Bay.

“Okay. I agree. I'll call Rudy Hauser at the Bureau. It's the FBI's jurisdiction anyway. But debrief your father-in-law tonight. If Brentwood's computer is so goddamned smart, he might have learned other information as well. Then you can fill me in tomorrow.”

“What time would you like me at your office?” Woodson asked.

“Actually I'm spending the weekend at my place on the Eastern Shore and then going up to Annapolis tomorrow afternoon. There's a Waffle House where we can meet outside of Baltimore, if you don't mind the drive.”

“No problem, sir. Give me the time and place.”

MacArthur provided directions and set the rendezvous for one o'clock. He rang off and immediately placed a second call. If the assassin was in Spartanburg, he needed to be found, and found quickly.

***

Ned Farino stood on the shore of Lake Lure and took a moment to study his boss. Robert Brentwood sat in one of two chairs at the end of the dock and appeared engrossed in watching the sun set behind the mountains.

“Robert, I'm here.”

Brentwood jumped to his feet and spun around. “Why the hell didn't you call me as soon as you knew they were in the building?” He shouted the question, unconcerned that his voice carried across the open water.

Ned Farino didn't retreat from the man's wrath. He walked the length of the dock with his arms outstretched in an effort to appear conciliatory. “Calm down, Robert. If I'd called you, you would have come racing back from New York last night and confirmed Mullins' suspicions that we've been monitoring them.”

“No. I would have expressed concern that Dr. Li was working too hard. I'd at least have been in position to discuss their findings and offer more security. Instead, I return to an empty guesthouse and discover a scientist critical to our plans has been spooked into hiding. And I have to learn about it from a goddamned voicemail from Mullins.”

“Mullins was going to do what he was going to do. You knew that when you hired him and gave him access to Apollo.”

Brentwood took a deep breath and brought his anger under control. “At least Mullins was able to identify another assassin. And if the man came through Miami, he could be in the area.”

Farino shrugged. “So, Li drops out of the project for a week or two till this guy's apprehended. Felicia says Li's making good progress.”

“How does Felicia know that?”

Now that Brentwood's initial storm had subsided, Farino took the liberty of sitting in one of the chairs and motioned for Brentwood to join him. “In addition to Li's search for links to the five dead assassins, she ran some tests through Asimov to see if they would go unnoticed by Apollo. We checked with the other team. Apollo was completely unaware that internal processing was occurring. Li's given you your cherished subconscious.”

“That's only phase one,” Brentwood argued. “Li needs to create the algorithms that define Asimov's unique approach to Apollo's input and conclusions. That will be delicate and difficult work.”

“But she's proven she can create those algorithms undetected. And we can keep to your schedule even if Li's work is still being refined.”

Brentwood stared at his executive vice president. The man didn't get it. His hubris was an asset for wheeling and dealing, but a liability when it came to identifying unknown and unintended consequences. Brentwood decided arguing the point was fruitless. Dr. Li got it, which was why he needed her back as soon as possible.

“Let me make sure I understand something,” Brentwood said. “Li, Mullins, and the boy entered the lab around nine-thirty last night.”

“Correct. The guard alerted Felicia and she was able to be at her desk when they arrived. Felicia tried to put them off till today, but Li was persistent that she wanted to run her tests and Mullins' inquiries.”

“So, Felicia acquiesced and Li found a connection between some of the dead assassins and a bank in Zurich.”

“Yes.”

“And then that led to this mystery man who reentered the country through Miami.”

“Correct,” Farino said.

“Do you have a photograph of him?”

Farino hesitated a moment. “Felicia should be able to access it. I haven't seen it myself.”

“I want our security team to have it. Make sure Jenkins distributes it to all our locations.”

“All right,” Farino agreed. “Anything else?”

“Yes. According to Felicia, Li ran some tests and then discovered the man in Miami. That's why Mullins sent them into hiding.”

“That appears to be the case.”

Brentwood leaned closer to Farino, his eyes narrow and bright. “Then tell me why they went back to the lab this afternoon and ran more tests, tests that had already proven successful? Why didn't Mullins move them last night?”

Farino's mouth dropped open as he grasped the answer.

“Now you understand,” Brentwood chided. “Once they knew they could work through Apollo without leaving a footprint, they came back and ran God-knows-what through the computer. It was only then that Mullins learned something that sent them into hiding.”

“I'll look into it.” Farino got to his feet. Brentwood was right to be concerned. Suddenly it was what he didn't know that he didn't know that could bring everything tumbling down.

***

The Crescent
pulled into the Spartanburg Amtrak station at six minutes before midnight, only fifteen minutes late. Originating in New Orleans, the
Crescent
train would travel through more states between Louisiana and New York than any other route in the Amtrak system.