The Singularity Race (7 page)

Chapter Thirteen

A few minutes before nine-thirty, eastern daylight time, the Gulfstream banked hard for its final approach to the Asheville airport. Mullins looked out at the mountains below. The ridges were stacked to the far horizon like ocean waves frozen on their way to the shore. The sun hadn't yet burned off the morning haze, a product of the thick vegetation that shifted the light to the blue end of the spectrum and made the name Blue Ridge Mountains more than just a slogan for tourism.

Mullins reached over the seat in front of him and nudged Lisa Li's shoulder. She awoke with a start. Peter shifted beside her but remained sleeping.

“Looks like we'll be on the ground in a few minutes.”

“What then?” Li whispered.

Mullins shrugged. “We go with the flow. Rest assured they didn't fly you across the continent to do you any harm. I think our pilot was anxious to get airborne and didn't have time for niceties.”

“Why take our phones?”

“They probably pulled the batteries to make sure no one could track us.” Mullins patted the burner phone in his pocket just to assure himself it was there. “My bet is you and Peter are going off the grid for a while.”

Li's eyes widened. “But what about you?”

“We'll know where I stand if they give me back my gun.” Mullins smiled in an attempt to ease her fears. “Frankly, going off the grid may be a good thing, at least till I can learn more about who tried to kill you.”

“Okay.” She turned away to the window. “I guess we have no choice.”

When the plane touched down, Li woke Peter with a kiss on his forehead. She said something in Chinese and the boy immediately looked over the seat to Mullins.

“Everything's going to be fine,” Mullins said.

“The man had a gun,” Peter whispered.

“That's right. And he got us here safely. I'm not worried so don't you be.”

Peter bit his lower lip. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Now I believe the man who gave you the book is going to meet us. Remember to thank him.”

The Gulfstream taxied to a spot near a private hangar. Mullins saw a black limousine identical to the one that intercepted him in Shirlington drive across the tarmac to the jet.

The cockpit door opened and Jack Lamar emerged. “Well, I hope you had a pleasant flight and got some sleep.” He handed Mullins his Glock butt-first. “I apologize for being so abrupt in Palo Alto. I had orders to take off without any delays, and discussing our destination wasn't part of the agenda.” The pilot spoke the words with a smile in his voice, but kept his hard stare fixed on Mullins. Mullins had no doubt the man would have pulled the trigger.

“Our phones?” Mullins asked.

“You'll get those back from Mr. Farino, once you're safely on campus. He's Mr. Brentwood's executive vice president and he's handling all of the travel logistics.”

Like we're on some damn college tour
, Mullins thought. “I was hired directly by Mr. Brentwood.”

The pilot grinned. “Then that explains why you didn't know where we were going. Mr. Brentwood's mind is usually out there in the stratosphere, know what I mean? Farino's the man who makes things happen.” Lamar stuck out his hand. “No hard feelings?”

“No hard feelings.” As they shook, Mullins thought,
no hard feelings because you'll never take a gun away from me again, you son of a bitch.

As they deplaned, Lamar stood at the foot of the stairs ready to assist Li and Peter with the final step. The boy clutched the Asimov book to his chest, not because it was a cherished possession but because he refused to take Lamar's outstretched arm. Lisa Li kept one hand on the stair rail and the other on Peter's shoulder. She walked by Lamar without a word.

Robert Brentwood popped out of the rear seat of the limo and clapped his hands. “Welcome. Welcome. I see you got the book, Peter. Do you like it?”

“Mr. Lamar pointed a gun at Mr. Mullins. I was too scared to read.”

Brentwood's face darkened and he scowled at Lamar. The pilot stared back with no admission of guilt or words of apology.

“I told Peter these are dangerous times,” Mullins said. “But we are perfectly safe, aren't we?”

Brentwood stepped away from the car. “Absolutely. Peter, sit by the window. There's something special I want to show you along the way.”

Li nudged the boy forward. “Go ahead.”

Peter crawled into the backseat.

“Slide all the way over,” Brentwood instructed. “I'll sit in the middle. Rusty, you can ride shotgun.”

Mullins didn't move. “I will when Mr. Lamar gives us back our phones.”

A moment of awkward silence followed. Mullins held out his hand.

Brentwood nodded and Lamar pulled two phones and two batteries from his pocket. He slapped them on Mullins' palm like a petulant child.

“Thank you,” Mullins said. He then walked directly to Brentwood. “Take these and replace the sim cards, but preserve the contact data. We'll only give the new numbers to people we trust.”

“So, you didn't have a problem surrendering your phones?” Brentwood asked.

“Surrendering? A big problem. If we'd been asked to surrender the batteries for security problems, then no problem at all. I'm either on the security team or I'm not.” Mullins made a point of looking at Lisa Li. “If not, then I'm out of here.”

“I am too,” Li said.

“No! No!” Brentwood raised his hands, the phones in one and the batteries in the other. “This is all a misunderstanding. We were overly protective to get you here safely. I'm sorry. Now come. There's much to show you.”

The driver emerged and walked around the front of the vehicle to open the passenger door for Mullins. He was the same man who had accompanied Brentwood in Shirlington. Mullins could see the slight bulge of a shoulder holster under his left arm.

“Apology accepted.” Mullins gestured for Li to precede him. Brentwood nodded a thank you, slid in beside Peter, and patted the space next to him. Li sat and the driver closed the door.

“I can seat myself.” Mullins walked around the limo, keeping his eyes on both Lamar and the driver.

When everyone was settled, the driver popped open the trunk. Lamar pulled their bags from the Gulfstream and turned them over to the driver to load. Within five minutes, they were on I-40, skirting Asheville until they exited onto a two-lane blacktop that wound through a green valley of farms and crossroad communities.

Mullins leaned forward and stole a quick glance in the exterior side mirror. A black Tahoe trailed closely behind. Although the letters and numerals were reversed in the reflection, Mullins identified the blue and white plate as being from Virginia.

The long valley narrowed, funneling into just the road and a bold stream rippling between two mountainsides.

“Peter, this is called Hickory Nut Gorge.” Brentwood pointed to the ridge crest on their right. “See how high the mountains rise? Over millions of years, the Rocky Broad River has cut the gorge even deeper.”

“The river's not very big,” Peter said.

“True. But millions of years is a very long time. Even before the Cherokee were here.”

“Indians?” Peter suddenly became interested.

“Yes. Look up ahead. See that gray stone tower sticking out near the top of the mountain?”

The boy pressed his face against the tinted window. “There's a flagpole on top.”

“That's Chimney Rock. It's a natural stone formation and it looks just like a chimney. And you get up there by an elevator.”

“Wow! From all the way down here?”

Brentwood laughed. “No. From the base of the chimney. But it's still pretty amazing to ride inside a mountain. They used that location when they made a movie called
The Last of the Mohicans.
Of course, they didn't use the flagpole.”

Peter looked across Brentwood to Lisa Li. “Can we go sometime, Aunt Li Li?”

“Sure,” Brentwood interjected. “But not today. When it's more convenient for your aunt and Mr. Mullins.”

The gorge widened just enough to allow buildings on either side of the road. An assortment of gift shops, mom-and-pop restaurants, and even a motorcycle repair garage lined the banks of the stream.

“This is the Village of Chimney Rock,” Brentwood explained. “A real snug fit between the water and the mountainside. I've been warned you wouldn't want to be here during a flash flood. The little river can turn into a raging torrent, sweeping everything out of its path.”

“Couldn't the people climb up on the chimney?”

Brentwood nodded with genuine approval. “You know, Peter, I believe that they could. I'll suggest that and tell them it was your idea.”

Peter sat back and looked at the book in his lap. “You liked this story, Mr. Brentwood?”

“Yes. I wasn't much older than you when I first read it. I had to look up a lot of words. But it stuck with me.”

“Mr. Lamar said it was about detectives.”

“No. That was a movie.” Brentwood leaned close to Peter and whispered, “Between you and me, Mr. Lamar's not smart enough to understand this book. But I bet you are. It's set in the future and it's about the history of robots. And it gave me some ideas that I'm going to work on with your aunt.”

“From your subconscious?”

Brentwood laughed. “I bet you know your aunt's research as well as she does.” He tapped his finger on the book's cover. “Yes. Maybe those ideas have just been rattling around in my subconscious all these years and your aunt's going to put them to good use.”

After a few miles the gorge widened and the ridges formed a bowl around a sparkling lake.

“Look, Peter. It's a beach.” Lisa Li pointed to the left side where an expanse of sand stretched between the road and the water's edge.

“But there's nobody on it.”

“That's because it's still April,” Brentwood explained. “Another month and you'll have trouble finding an open space to spread your beach towel. This is Lake Lure. Its claim to fame is that the movie
Dirty Dancing
was shot here.”

“Why?” Peter asked. “Is the water dirty?”

Mullins couldn't suppress a laugh. “You're showing your age, Robert. That film's nearly thirty years old.”

“The water's clean. I know because my house is right on the lake. And I have a guesthouse for you and your aunt.”

“On this lake?” Peter craned his neck around Brentwood for a closer look at the beach.

“Yes. It's farther along the shoreline. Very private. Very secure.”

“I should be the judge of that,” Mullins said sharply.

“Of course. And if anything is amiss, I'll correct it to your satisfaction.”

The driver turned left off the main road and began a slow, circuitous journey above the lake shore.

“We can't stay here,” Li said. “I've got to get Peter enrolled in a D.C. school.”

“Look, school's out in six weeks,” Brentwood said. “I'll get him a tutor. You can stay here where you're closer to the heart of the project. When things are well in hand, you can work out of Washington or remain here as long as you like.”

“Please, Aunt Li Li,” Peter begged. “I don't want to go back to Washington.”

Mullins realized the nation's capital was now nothing more than a traumatic memory for the boy. He looked over his shoulder at Lisa Li. Her mouth twisted in concentration as she weighed the merits of Brentwood's proposal.

“What about you, Rusty?” she asked. “Is this what you signed on for?”

Mullins stared out the front windshield. He saw patches of water reflecting blue sky and puffy white clouds. He noticed signs beside driveways with names like Journey's End, Getaway, and Shore Enough. Very few were family names. Most mailboxes displayed only numerals. He thought of Josh and Kayli and how quickly he would miss them. And of Allen holed up at the JW Marriott and charged by the President of the United States to feed him the information gathered by the unparalleled resources of the government's intelligence agencies. Or were they unparalleled?

He turned back to Li. “I signed on to keep you and Peter safe. Perhaps for now this is the best location—not because of geography but because of resources. Robert, are you still good with your promise to give me what I need to discover who was behind the attack?”

“Absolutely,” Brentwood answered. “Just name it.”

“Then I need some of Lisa's time. She can run data searches and evaluations on this so-called super genius computer of yours.”

Brentwood stiffened with visible resistance to the idea. “But we have technicians who can do that for you.”

“We're talking about her life and a conspiracy with tentacles reaching God-knows-where. That's the deal or I'm taking Lisa and Peter back to D.C. with me.” Mullins eyed the driver. “Unless you plan to have one of your employees pull another gun on us…”

The driver's face never so much as twitched. Mullins knew he sounded overly dramatic, but Brentwood had a childlike view of the world that needed a reality check. Mullins was ready to pull his own Glock and demand to be driven back to Asheville.

The billionaire threw up his hands. “Okay, okay. We're all on the same side. Work it however you want.”

Fifteen minutes later, the limo stopped in front of a wrought-iron gate stretching across a freshly paved driveway. Twin stone pillars anchored either side. A matching fence extended from the pillars and disappeared into the trees. Everything looked so new Mullins wouldn't have been surprised to see a price tag dangling from one of the black pickets. Sharp spikes capped each bar, except every twenty feet or so a square box replaced the spike. Mullins suspected they held some kind of electrical component.

“You put this fence in?” Mullins asked.

“Just completed it two days ago. Encompasses the perimeter and has laser beams across the top that will be tripped should someone try to crawl over.”