“And why’s that?”
“He’s under a lot of pressure. All of it self-imposed. Robert’s mind is, well, it’s complicated.”
“Complicated how?”
Mullins heard Farino take a deep breath. “I guess the best way to put it is that a different personality can emerge. It might be why he has this fascination for Dr. Li and her work with the subconscious. I’m not a psychiatrist, but it’s almost like his subconscious becomes the conscious force driving him to more extreme behavior. He gets angry, violent even. I’ve known Robert since college and I can read the signs. I know you’re ex-Secret Service. Well, consider me and others close to Robert like his Secret Service, only we’re protecting him from himself.”
“And how will our staying away help him?”
“As important as Dr. Li is, she isn’t the priority right now. You might not know but the Director of the Office of Naval Intelligence was assassinated yesterday afternoon. Vice Admiral MacArthur and Robert had a close working relationship. His death has fueled Robert’s paranoia. Let me just say he could turn on you and Dr. Li if he thinks you’re working against him.”
“And do what?”
“Depending on his mental state, almost anything. He told me last week he was worried MacArthur was trying to take over Apollo.”
“Well, he doesn’t have to worry about that now.”
“Exactly, Mr. Mullins. He doesn’t have to worry about that now.”
Mullins paused, weighing whether to keep the conversation going. “We’re coming back. Robert has my daughter and grandson.”
“Robert has them?”
Mullins heard the surprise and edge of fear in the man’s voice.
“Yes. And if either of them is harmed, you’ll see violent behavior, Mr. Farino. I promise you.”
***
Robert Brentwood sat on the dock, his customary glass of Blanton’s replaced by a pink jar of soap bubble liquid. Brentwood dipped the plastic wand into the slippery syrup and then gently blew a stream of spheres turned silver by the moonlight. A breeze lifted them skyward and out over the lake. He blew more bubbles and watched as one by one they popped, going from refractors of moon and stars to minuscule collapsed droplets plunging to oblivion on the lake’s dark surface.
He remembered the day he’d gone with his mother and father to the Algonquin Hotel in Manhattan. A man wearing a coat and tie had been sitting in the lobby blowing bubbles. No one paid him any attention. No one except Rex Brentwood. “Just because you’re a fool doesn’t mean you have to advertise it,” he loudly said to his ten-year-old son.
The man had looked up and given Rex Brentwood a piercing stare. Then he spoke to Robert. “Just because your father’s a fool doesn’t mean you’ll be one too.” The man had laughed. “He doesn’t know the mathematics creating my bubbles is not so different from Einstein’s equations for the nature of the universe. Our very existence. So, blow bubbles, young man. They’ll carry your thoughts to places he’ll never go.”
Then the man had blown a stream of bubbles that struck Rex Brentwood in the face like a series of slaps. His father had pivoted on his heel and stormed out of the hotel. As far as Brentwood knew, he’d never gone there again.
After his father’s death, Robert Brentwood and his mother stayed at the Algonquin until they arranged for a new apartment. And Brentwood blew bubbles in the lobby.
The last bubble popped. Brentwood looked back at his lake house and the cottage beyond. Both were dark. Mullins’ daughter and grandson slept in the main house under the protective watch of his driver, Jefferson. Brentwood hadn’t heard from Mullins, but he was confident the man would come.
He looked at the child’s bubble wand in his hand. If one could trace back the path of each airborne bubble, one could find the wand. That is if there was a common source. He blew another stream and then had the oddest sensation of hovering over the lake himself, looking back at the dispersing bubbles as a pattern of events, multiple universes with one wand as the creative source. He felt himself slipping away into one of his moods, as he called them. He gripped the arms of the Adirondack chair. Would he remember?
Dr. Li could not arrive soon enough.
Chapter Twenty-eight
At eight-forty in the morning, the gate to the campus of Cumulus Cognitive Connections opened as the Prius approached. At first Mullins wasn’t surprised but then he realized the company car with the encrypted signal was in the parking lot of his apartment in Shirlington. Cameras must have triggered a manual response from the security guard. They were expecting him.
Woodson had continued on the interstate to Asheville where he’d be thirty minutes away. Mullins instructed him to find a hotel by the airport and he’d update him by the burner phone. He’d called Sam Dawkins two hours earlier to tell him that Kayli and Josh were safe and that everyone would be at Brentwood’s North Carolina facility. Dawkins wasn’t happy, especially when Mullins asked him not to brief the President unless asked.
Lisa Li and Peter were awake. Mullins had stressed to them that Lieutenant Commander Woodson was on secret assignment and no one was to know he was in the country. Peter swore he wouldn’t tell even if he were tortured.
“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” Mullins said. “But you’re going to meet my grandson. He’s only three and he’ll be very impressed that you’re seven and a half. He’ll want to tell you about his dad so you just play along. Okay?”
“You can count on me, Mr. Mullins. I’m very good with the younger generation.”
Mullins coughed to cover his laugh. “I bet you are.”
Kayli and Josh stood just outside the main door with Robert Brentwood smiling beside them. Mullins’ eyes teared and he felt the tension leave his body that had gripped him since he’d seen the shattered glass pane.
Josh broke free of Kayli’s hand and ran toward the Prius. Mullins quickly opened his door and crouched to receive his grandson’s hug.
“Paw, Paw, they have the biggest TV in the world.”
“I know. Did you see the buffalo?”
“Yes. I got scared.”
“I got scared too. But I want you to meet someone who didn’t get scared.” He motioned for Peter to join them.
Josh immediately became enamored with the older boy, especially when he saw they wore the same baseball cap.
Then Mullins hugged his daughter. “You okay?” he whispered.
“Yes. Mr. Jenkins came to the door yesterday afternoon. He said he was Mr. Brentwood’s head of security and that you’d sent him because we were in danger and had to leave at once. He showed me his ID, and I knew you were working with them. I couldn’t reach you, so we went with him. Was I wrong?”
“No, dear. You did the right thing.” He hugged her again and then introduced her to Dr. Li. While the two women talked, he walked over to Brentwood. The CEO had kept both his distance and his smile during the reunion.
Mullins wasn’t smiling. “What right did you have to send Jenkins after Kayli?”
“No right at all. Other than not to take action and leave them vulnerable. I couldn’t contact you, didn’t know where you were, and feared the murder of Vice Admiral MacArthur, who was a friend and advocate for our research, meant my enemies were desperate.”
“Your enemies?”
“Those who would deny the future.”
Those who would deny you control of the future, Mullins thought. “And did you also stage a break-in to lend credence to this story?”
What remained of Brentwood’s smile vanished. His eyes widened. “Someone broke into your daughter’s condo?”
“Yes. It wasn’t you?”
“No.” He looked out over the open land as if expecting an onslaught of enemy troops. “When I heard about MacArthur, I had a gut feeling we needed to get them out of that condo. I really can’t explain it. I called Jenkins from the
plane and sent him there immediately.”
Mullins flashed back to Ned Farino’s concern for Brentwood’s mental state. How could he get to the truth if Brentwood slipped in and out of reality? “Then we need Apollo pursuing every lead we have and I need Dr. Li to have priority over what your other team members are working on.”
“All right. I’ll make sure everyone across the project is informed. In light of the threats, we’ll be working round the clock.”
“Where are Kayli and Josh staying?”
“At the main lake house. But everyone should remain here until this evening. Jenkins is bringing in extra security personnel and Felicia is picking up clothes and supplies for your daughter and grandson.”
“Okay,” Mullins said. “Let’s get everyone settled.”
“I need to bring Dr. Li up to date on our progress the last few days,” Brentwood said. “Then you and she can do what you need to.”
Mullins instructed the others to follow Brentwood while he stayed outside to make a few calls to D.C. He used his personal cell phone to check his home answering machine in case he was being monitored. There was only one call, Elizabeth Lewison checking if he needed anything. He knew she was anxious for an update, but the last thing he needed was to make contact with her when his every move might be under surveillance. Finding her husband’s murderers was second to keeping her safe. He deleted her voicemail, pulled out the burner phone and dialed Woodson.
“Josh and Kayli are fine. Brentwood’s giving me the computer access I requested.”
“What should I do?” Woodson asked.
“Get a flight out of Asheville to D.C. Have you got cash?”
“No, but I have the debit card MacArthur gave me.”
“Good. You can follow through on what Brighton authorized. Check MacArthur’s activities to see if you can discover what might have triggered his assassination.”
“All right. How should we stay in touch?”
“I can’t take the burner into the complex. So, I’ll have to call you when I’m clear. That might not be till we’re at the lake house tonight.”
“Do you want me to contact Dawkins?”
“Yes. Let him know you’re in D.C. but if you find something, tell me first. I don’t trust the President to sit on any information if he can use it to some political advantage. In fact, I don’t trust him period. He and MacArthur could have been controlling this investigation together.”
“Understood. And, Rusty, keep everybody safe.”
“That’s my job. I’ll keep them safe and I’ll keep them close.” He hung up and tucked the burner under the driver’s seat. He wished he felt as confident as he’d tried to sound.
Lisa Li followed Brentwood to his office. They’d always met in her space before and she was curious to see what kind of layout a man who could afford anything would choose. He stood aside and let her enter first.
The room was startling in its contrasts. The furnishings appeared to be out of the nineteenth century. A large oak desk, hardwood floors partially covered by a Persian carpet, several overstuffed chairs plucked from an English gentlemen’s club, and a large fox hunt painting hanging over the chair behind Brentwood’s desk. But the longest wall caused her to grab onto Brentwood’s arm to keep her balance. There was no wall but a deep black void with stars, galaxies, supernovae, and nebulae drifting by as if viewed through the portal of a spaceship.
“I’m sorry, Lisa. I forget it can be disorienting to someone who’s not expecting it. I’m afraid it’s the only way I’ll ever experience interstellar travel.” He waved his arm toward one of the chairs. “Please sit and I’ll create an environment a little more familiar.”
Brentwood took a chair beside hers and lifted the top of an armrest to reveal a numeric keypad. He punched in a code and immediately the vista of the universe became bookshelves. “Is that better?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“I wanted to check how the programming is going with Asimov because we’re accelerating our schedule.”
“You’re not sticking with July twentieth to honor the moon landing?”
“No. Apollo is nearly ready and the climate’s becoming too dangerous. We need to take control as soon as possible to make Apollo invulnerable to any cyber threats. I’ve told the team to begin the forays and no longer retreat. When can you fully activate Asimov?”
Li’s mouth dropped open. “Activate him? You mean infuse him as Apollo’s subconscious?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve only done the basics. I’d planned on fine-tuning the threshold levels for when his questions and insights rose to Apollo’s consciousness.”
“Are the principles in place?”
“Yes, but we’d planned on activating them after everything else was set. Their threshold has to be entirely different. Much more accessible.”
“I know.” Brentwood closed his eyes and for several minutes no one spoke. Li wondered if he was even aware she was still in the room.
“Okay.” His eyes opened. “Maybe this is for the best. Try to work whatever you’re doing for Rusty into a process that tests your parameter settings and inquisitive algorithms.”
“You mean have Asimov help formulate questions?”
“Why not? That’s one of the key functions and you can run it while in the alternate identity mode. But I want to plan for another contingency in the short run. I hope you don’t mind because I mean no offense.”
Li felt her throat go dry. She anticipated that whatever his request might be she’d have no option other than to carry it out.
In the game room, Kayli and Mullins were watching Peter and Josh play the baseball video game. Peter had set the skill level lower and Josh was doing pretty well. Mullins was a little embarrassed to see his three-year-old grandson giving Peter stronger competition than he had. Mullins was considering taking on the winner.
The door opened and Lisa Li stuck her head in.
“Everything okay?”
Peter turned from the ball game. “Great, Aunt Li Li. Josh is pretty good.”
“Peter’s being an excellent host,” Kayli said.
“Good.” Li opened the door wider. “Rusty, can I steal you away to work some in my office? I’ve got computer time for the next few hours.”
“Sure.” Mullins rose from the sofa. “Felicia will find me if you need me,” he told his daughter.
“Don’t worry about me,” Kayli said. “I think I’ll be watching a doubleheader.”
Mullins followed Li to her workspace.
“Close the door,” she said.
He did, and when he turned around, she was right beside him. She threw her arms around his chest and held him close. “I think this is going to be over soon.”
Mullins wasn’t sure what to do. He stroked her hair and then kissed her forehead. Lisa Li rose on her toes and kissed him on the lips.
“It’s okay, Rusty.”
The voice wasn’t Li’s. It was the voice of Laurie, his wife.
“Thank you,” Mullins whispered.
Li stepped back and smiled. “Thank you, my knight in Rusty armor.” She walked to her desk and sat in front of the keyboard that fed her input into the computer. “We’ve got control. Apollo’s team is standing down while we work with Asimov and the alternate identity. What do you want to do first?”
Mullins rolled a chair beside her. “You have the three Swiss accounts and the one that provided them with funds?”
“Yes.”
“Then look at the funding source for the paymaster’s account. Try to do it with as much stealth as possible.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Li said. “I saw Apollo go in and out of the Defense Department without leaving a trace.”
Mullins watched as Li’s fingers danced across the keyboard. After about five minutes of entering code he couldn’t unde
rstand, Li leaned back and rested her hands in her lap. “The computer will carry on from here.”
“When will we have an answer?”
“That depends upon how many funding sources there are and how strong each one’s security is. I also instructed it to explore any new questions it might consider worth pursuing. I’m combining our search with a test of Asimov’s inquisitive abilities. That’s the deal I struck with Brentwood. I’ve no doubt we’ll get an answer. I just don’t know when.”
“Any chance Asimov will go into some loop or off on some tangent that goes for days?”
“No, I can still override him. We should use the time to determine what we’d like to learn next.”
“I’d like to keep an active screening on our man in Spartanburg. Any and all possibilities to use facial recognition.”
“Sure. But that can run through Apollo since it’s not one of our off-the-radar inquiries. I should have done that before. Programmed some repeating search with an alert to my phone if we get a new hit.”
“Definitely,” Mullins said. “Add my number as well.”
Li pulled closer to the keyboard and started entering instructions. Then she abruptly stopped as new information usurped the screen. “He’s got an answer about the account.” She scrolled down through paragraphs of Esperanto text to a chart of wire transfer records.
“Let me run a translation,” Li said. She hit a couple keys and the words became English. “It’s an account buried in the Defense Department. A transfer of half a million dollars went in the day before yesterday.”
“The day before MacArthur was shot,” Mullins said.
“And this is odd,” Li said. “We have this pattern of big fund transfers, but in the past few weeks, there have been smaller expenditures pulled out by a debit card that’s tied to the account. It was used as recently as this morning to book an American Airlines flight from Asheville to D.C. The name used was Roger Ethridge.”
She turned to Mullins. “Is it our man from Spartanburg?”
Mullins felt his chest tighten. “No, it’s not. The card belongs to my son-in-law.” He stared at the account on the screen. “And it looks like MacArthur was killed by someone paid with funds from his own account.”
The Singularity Race Page 21