The Singularity Race

by Mark de Castrique

  “Can you search for local pay phones?”

  Li’s fingers swiftly moved across the touch screen. “The closest one appears to be at a McDonald’s around the corner.”

  “Good. I was afraid they were extinct. I need to call Brentwood, and then I thought we’d have a little holiday. It’s going to be a pretty day. What do you say we ride up to Great Falls?”

  “Where’s that?” Peter asked.

  “Not too far. It’s where the Potomac tumbles over a series of rocks.”

  “Can we ride down the falls?”

  “No, but we can hike along the trail, and you can see Maryland on the other side.”

  “Is this where George Washington threw a silver dollar across the Potomac?”

  “Maybe. But I wouldn’t try it. A dollar doesn’t go as far these days.”

  Peter and Li laughed. Mullins was impressed the boy got the joke.

  Mullins discovered dollars didn’t go as far in a pay phone either as he was prompted to feed quarters for his long-distance call to Brentwood.

  “Hello?” The whispered question was completely out of character for someone used to being in command.

  “Robert?”

  “Rusty!” The voice snapped back to full volume. “What the hell’s going on?”

  “Didn’t you get my message? We have a high-level threat and I had to take prudent action.”

  “Are you sure you’re safer there?”

  “The FBI has the guy’s photo and there are more layers of law enforcement here than any other place in the country. Even if he figures out we’re no longer at Lake Lure, he’ll think twice about risking an assault here.”

  “They didn’t think twice about the attack at the Marriott,” Brentwood cautioned.

  “No, but that’s when they came out of nowhere. Thanks to Apollo we’ve got aliases and a facial match. Time’s running out for him. As soon as he’s caught, we’ll return.”

  “I’m coming up there,” Brentwood insisted.

  “I can’t stop you, but it’s not necessary.”

  “Rusty, it’s not only necessary, it’s crucial. Now tell me where I can meet you.”

  “Sorry, the line’s not secure. We’ll see you in Fairfax.” Mullins hung up.

  ***

  Lieutenant Commander Allen Woodson left his room at the JW Marriott Monday morning at eleven-thirty, allowing for an hour drive and a thirty-minute margin to make sure he was on time for his meeting with Vice Admiral MacArthur.

  Fifty minutes later, he exited I-95. The Waffle House sign was visible from the ramp. He circled the restaurant once and noticed the parking spaces were filled. Lunch patrons were proving waffles weren’t just for breakfast. It was too early to go in and hold a booth for forty minutes while waiting on MacArthur so he crossed the street and found a place in the lot of a Ramada Conference Center.

  Woodson was tempted to call Mullins, but decided to delay until he could report on his meeting. He reviewed the file he’d compiled based upon Apollo’s information and the money trail that had flowed out of the Zurich bank. He’d share the recommendations Mullins had made for protection for Kayli and Josh as well as tight security for Dr. Li and Peter.

  At twelve-forty, Woodson left the car at the Ramada and walked across the street to the Waffle House. The lunch crowd had thinned and he spotted a back booth isolated from the other patrons. As soon as he sat, a waitress started toward him. She looked like she was supplementing her Social Security.

  “I’m Mildred. What can I get you?” She offered him a menu.

  “Black coffee for right now. I’m expecting someone in a few minutes.”

  “Man or woman, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “A man.”

  “So, I’ve still got a chance to win your heart?”

  Woodson smiled. “Depends on the coffee.”

  Mildred laughed. “Don’t you worry about my coffee.” She glanced at the door. “And I’ll keep an eye out for your buddy.”

  Vice Admiral Louis MacArthur swept his gaze across the interior of the Waffle House. He saw Woodson but made no immediate move toward him. If something in the restaurant was off, MacArthur would pivot and depart without giving any sign he meant to meet someone. Maybe he’d pat his pants pockets like he’d left his wallet. He’d exit and quickly be forgotten.

  A waitress approached. “You looking for the good-looking man in the back booth?”

  MacArthur glanced at her nametag. Mildred.

  “Yes.”

  He followed her to the booth and sat across from Woodson. Mildred laid two menus between them.

  “All I want is coffee and a single plain waffle,” MacArthur said without bothering to pick up a menu.

  “Same here,” Woodson said.

  Mildred grabbed the menus in one hand and Woodson’s half-empty cup in the other. “I’ll freshen this up for you, honey.”

  As soon as she was out of earshot, MacArthur leaned over the Formica table. “What the hell’s going on, Woodson?”

  ***

  Lisa Li and Peter stood at the overlook above the most treacherous section of the Potomac’s whitewater rapids. They’d returned to the spot for a second time because Peter wanted a final look. He’d enjoyed the hike and watching the kayakers and rock-climbers, but it was the power of the current that held his fascination.

  Mullins stood a few yards back where he could have a clearer view of the other park visitors and be alert for any potential threat. The outdoor exercise felt good and he realized his shoulder hadn’t hurt once. He decided he didn’t need a doctor to tell him he was done with the sling. Besides, he had more pressing matters than keeping a post-operative appointment. He slipped off his jacket, slid the sling over his head and wadded it into a ball. The first trashcan would be the last stop of his recovery.

  He felt the burner phone vibrate in his pocket. Woodson should have just started his meeting with MacArthur. Had something gone wrong? Mullins pulled the phone free and glanced at the number. Rudy Hauser’s private line. He took another step backwards where he hoped Li and the boy wouldn’t hear him above the sound of the rushing water. If the head of the FBI was calling, there must have been a major development.

  “Rudy, what is it?”

  “Nothing on our suspect, Rusty, but we’ve done a mass distribution of the Miami photo and I’m optimistic. You let me know when you want agent support.”

  “In the morning,” Mullins said. “When we go to Brentwood’s Fairfax operation. I’ll call with the rendezvous point.”

  “All right.”

  “Is that it?” Mullins was surprised if the director phoned just to confirm an existing plan.

  “No. I know you said you’d call me, but with all that’s going on, I thought you might have forgotten. I got that report on the mother and son.”

  “Who?” Mullins asked, genuinely perplexed.

  “From the hair strands and drinking glass. The DNA tests.”

  “They’re mother and son?” he whispered. “You’re sure?”

  “Definitely. And they’re Chinese. So, are they who I think they are?” Hauser asked.

  “Sorry. I’ve gotta go.” Mullins abruptly ended the call.

  For a second, he stared at Lisa and Peter. Mother and son. She had lied to him.

  But it wasn’t that lie that set his heart racing.

  ***

  “And the money trail?” Vice Admiral MacArthur asked. “How did they pick that up?”

  Woodson slid a sheet of paper across the table. “Brentwood’s computer analyzed accounts that were opened on the days each of the three men were seen on the Zurich CCTV footage. It then cross-referenced deposits that went into those accounts. A fourth account showed up as the primary source for three of them. We believe those three were the accounts opened by the three men. We believe this is th
e man who controlled that account.” Woodson pointed to the photos of the suspect at the Miami airport and outside the Zurich bank.

  “And where did that account get its money?”

  “They haven’t run that search yet. The computer was looking for links among the three dead men and then it followed the trail of the new man, which led to the Montreal and Miami connections. He became the priority and he became the threat. They left the lab before going any further. Mullins wants to know if you can start a parallel search for where our suspect’s funds are coming from.”

  Woodson felt the burner phone vibrate a single burst in his pocket. A text message had come in.

  “Will Mullins continue running searches through Apollo?” MacArthur asked.

  “Yes. But he’s being very cautious. He’s afraid there’s a leak somewhere and it might be in Brentwood’s organization.”

  “Who else knows about it?” MacArthur asked.

  Woodson felt his phone vibrate a second time. “Just you and me, sir. And, of course, Dr. Li.” He slipped his hand into his pocket.

  “The President?” MacArthur asked.

  “I don’t think so. This all came down yesterday afternoon. Mullins wants to see what you propose first.”

  MacArthur nodded. “Good. I appreciate that.” He started gathering the documents into the file folder.

  Woodson took a quick glance at the phone in his lap. The display screen read,

  Do not trust MacArthur!!! Call ASAP.

  Calmly, he wiped his lips with his napkin. “I’ve got to run to the head, sir. I loaded up on too much coffee.”

  “No problem. I’ll settle up with our waitress friend, and we can talk some more in my car. We need to make a plan, and I want to meet with Mullins in person.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Woodson found the small restroom and took the single empty stall. He sat on the toilet and called Mullins.

  His father-in-law answered immediately. “Where are you?”

  “In the men’s room at the Waffle House. Talk to me.”

  “Our friend gave you the wrong relationship on the DNA samples. I ran a backup test through Hauser. Mother, son. No question about it.”

  “Maybe our lab made a mistake,” Woodson said.

  “On a priority demand that comes from the Director of Naval Intelligence?”

  Woodson hesitated, trying to wrap his head around the implications. “What’s his motive?”

  “He’s protecting somebody. Maybe Li, maybe someone else who has an interest in keeping the true relationship a secret.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know,” Mullins said. “Did you give him all the data?”

  “Yes. Now we’re going to talk about our next steps.”

  “Well, anything he tells you is suspect. Let him lead the planning. We may need to put him under Apollo’s scrutiny.”

  “Spy on the vice admiral?”

  “Did you ask him to protect Kayli and Josh?”

  Woodson’s throat went dry. “Yes. He said he’d set it up.”

  “Then I think we need to know what’s really going on.”

  Woodson heard the restroom door open and someone walk to the urinal. “I’ve got to go,” he whispered. He ended the call, flushed the toilet and hoped his face showed no trace of the turmoil inside him.

  Outside, MacArthur walked to his black Cadillac Escalade at the end of the row of cars in front of the Waffle House. He clutched the file folder in his right hand and fumbled for his keys with his left. His mind raced with what Woodson’s discoveries could mean, and he’d been completely blindsided by the extent of the revelations. He knew he needed to take control of all aspects of the investigation and quickly. He didn’t want Mullins making some back-channel report to President Brighton. The bright spot in Woodson’s report was that Mullins appeared to respect the chain of command.

  MacArthur opened the door of the SUV, climbed in and set the file on the console between the seats. He decided to pick Woodson up at the entrance and drive around the area while they talked. He started the engine, but before he could shift the transmission into reverse, a gray Toyota Camry stopped broadside behind him. A man wearing a dark brown hoodie jumped out and rapidly walked toward him.

  MacArthur opened the door and turned in his seat. “What the hell are you doing here? He’s coming out any second.”

  Heinrich Schmidt looked over his shoulder at the restaurant’s front door. He saw Woodson push it open and squint against the bright sunlight. Without a second’s hesitation, Schmidt reached into the pouch of his hoodie and pulled out his Glock.

  “Not here,” MacArthur urged.

  “Not him,” Schmidt whispered.

  Allen Woodson heard a sharp pop and knew immediately it was the sound of a suppressed gunshot. He saw the open door of the Escalade and the back of a hooded man blocking it. Then the man sprinted to a sedan parked behind the oversized SUV.

  Woodson ran after him, but with a squeal of tires, the vehicle surged forward. Woodson saw MacArthur sprawled backwards across the console with his head lying on the passenger’s seat. A dark red hole marred his tanned forehead. The inside of the passenger door and window were splattered with blood, bone, and brains. There was no need to check for a pulse. Then he saw a corner of the file protruding from underneath the vice admiral’s left shoulder. Woodson knew the murder scene would be under the jurisdiction of local cops and Apollo’s information had no business being in their custody. He snatched the file free and ran for his car in the Ramada Conference Center lot.

  Inside the Waffle House, Mildred picked up the five-dollar bill from the table, pleased at the generosity of the tip for only two coffees and plain waffles. She glanced out the window and saw the younger of her two customers running across the street. He certainly was in a hurry.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  “What’s wrong?” Lisa Li stared anxiously at Mullins. She and Peter stood with the roiling Potomac at their backs.

  “Nothing. I’m waiting on a call is all. I don’t want to talk while driving.”

  Li’s dark eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe that. I want to know what you know. We’re in this together.”

  Mullins gritted his teeth, uncomfortable in telling her everything until he knew why she’d lied about her relationship to the boy.

  “I’m expecting to hear from my son-in-law. He’s a little late.”

  Li nodded. “Then let’s get out of the wind and wait in the car.” She hooked his left arm with her right and started forward.

  She stopped. “You’ve gotten rid of your sling.”

  “Are you all better, Mr. Mullins?” Peter asked.

  “Pretty close. But we still need to stay safe and out of danger.” He scanned the parking area near their rental car. From the corner of his eye, he saw Peter mimic him. “That’s right, Peter. You want to be alert.”

  He opened the car doors for the front and rear passenger seats. “Be thinking about what you want for lunch.”

  “That’s easy,” Peter said. “Carrot cake. I need vegetables.”

  Mullins laughed, and then felt the burner phone vibrate in his pocket. He closed the doors and walked twenty feet away.

  “Yes?” he said.

  “Where are you?” Allen Woodson’s voice was calm. Too calm.

  “At Great Falls with Li and—” he paused. “With Li and her son.”

  “MacArthur’s been assassinated.”

  Mullins pressed the phone tighter to his ear. “What?”

  “A man in a hoodie shot him as he sat in his car waiting for me. I don’t have a description. Hell, I don’t know whether he was black or white. His hands were gloved.”

  “Are you there?”

  “No. I tried to give chase and I took the file with all the information I brought MacArthur. I didn’t think we wa
nted the local cops involved. But, I’ll probably be identified and MacArthur is my commanding officer. I have to step forward.”

  “No,” Mullins barked. “We can’t jeopardize our access to Apollo. Lisa Li made more progress in two days than our entire intelligence network made in nearly a month.”

  “Rusty, I’m not a private citizen. It won’t do any of us any good if I’m caught and courtmartialed.”

  Mullins knew he was demanding that his son-in-law crawl out on a limb, a limb that would ruin his life if it broke. He had to give Woodson a safety net, even though doing so might be the biggest mistake of all. “Look, we have credible evidence that MacArthur lied about the DNA tests. We don’t know if he’s the only one lying or if it runs deeper. He and others might be sabotaging the entire investigation.”

  “Right, but that doesn’t give me permission to go off on my own.”

  “I understand,” Mullins said. “And if you received that permission, would you have a problem?”

  “No, but nobody else knows—” Woodson stopped in mid-sentence. “You’re going to him?”

  “We’ve got no choice. Go to ground somewhere outside of D.C. I’ll move as quickly as I can.”

  Mullins ended the call and then scrolled through his recently dialed numbers. Highlighting the one he wanted, he pressed the send key.

  “Yeah,” Sam Dawkins said without enthusiasm.

  “Don’t mention my name. Where are you?”

  “With the man. Lead car en route to Air Force One at the Indianapolis airport.”

  “You accompanying him?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Listen. If he hasn’t already, he’ll soon get word that Vice Admiral Louis MacArthur has been shot and killed.”

  “Jesus,” Dawkins muttered.

  “I know something about it. Stress to him that he needs to talk to me before making any public statements. MacArthur could have been dirty.”

  “Should he be alone when he calls?”

  “If he wants to stay ahead of the story and still have deniability.”

  “This number?”

  “Yes. I’ll be waiting, but he has to move fast. I can’t sit on this for long.”

  “Understood. Sit tight.”