After assurances to Li that he would be close at hand, Mullins walked around the cottage searching for the spot of deepest shadows. He found an old white pine with limbs close to the ground. The tree was about midway between the side of the cottage and the fence. Spill light from the main house showed the faint outline of the fence’s iron pickets. Mist hovered in the air just thick enough to reveal a trace of the thin red laser beam traveling about a foot above.
If someone knew the lay of the land, this would be the shortest distance from the fence to the guest cottage. Fortunately, the surrounding trees outside the fence were thick enough to make a long distance sniper shot difficult. The laser made scaling the fence nearly impossible. Mullins checked in via his radio to inform the others of his position and then melted into the protection of the piney boughs.
At two o’clock, a man named Crocker came to relieve him. Mullins returned to his room and stretched out on the bed, shedding only the windbreaker. Years of serving on presidential detail had taught him to sleep whenever and however he could.
***
Heinrich Schmidt laid the sniper rifle and bipod in the bottom of the stolen canoe. He didn’t think he would find an optimal opportunity to use it, but he was moving into a zone of unpredictability where any resource might be the key to success.
His prep information contained the address for a house about a quarter mile down the shoreline from Brentwood’s property. The owners were away and it was easy enough to cut the chain securing the dark green canoe. Schmidt knew from the satellite photos how close he could paddle without risk of being seen from either the shore or the dock.
He checked the luminous dial on his watch and then pulled the arm of his black sweatshirt over it. Two o’clock. Two hours to get in position. He stowed his small gear bag containing a twenty-foot length of rope with a rubberized, folding grappling hook, two magazines of nine-millimeter parabellum ammunition, and a pair of night goggles. He chambered a round in his Glock and secured it in the holster on his right side. Unconsciously, he then touched the sheathed KA-BAR knife on his left, its sharp blade coated black to eliminate any chance of reflection.
Carefully, he stepped into the canoe, knelt rather than sat on the seat and used the tip of the paddle to push a few feet off shore. Before starting his slow, silent strokes, he fixed the earbud in his right ear and turned on the receiver clipped to his belt. He had no need for the microphone of the Thales P25 system. He had nothing to say.
***
Mullins’ brain worked like an internal alarm clock and he woke a few minutes before four. He radioed to alert the team that he was coming out. Crocker replied that he’d moved his position to a small grouping of saplings nearer the fence. Mullins could either return to his original position or take up the new one. Mullins said he’d make one pass around the cottage and then meet him.
He walked slowly in a counterclockwise circle. The damp leaves softened the sound of his footsteps. Good conditions if you were trying to surprise a foe; not so good if you were being stalked. Mullins went closer to the fence, listening carefully. There were no night sounds. Perhaps his motion had quieted them, but he got the inexplicable sense that something wasn’t right. Four o’clock. The time when most people are in their deepest sleep. The time to attack for maximum impact.
He moved closer to the fence. Overhead, the clouds thinned and enough of the waning moon shone through to cast a pale light over the landscape. Mist now hung in small patches. Suddenly, Mullins saw what was wrong. There was no trace of the laser beam. He reached up and stuck his hand through the plane where it should have been. Nothing. The prime protector of the perimeter was down.
Mullins started to give the alert when he heard a muffled groan. He froze, focusing all his attention in the direction of the sound. Separating solid from shadow proved difficult.
Jenkins’ voice broke the stillness. “Crocker, come to the main house when Mullins relieves you.”
Silence.
“Crocker? Copy?”
Silence.
Thin clouds parted and the moonlight intensified. Standing by the fence, Mullins looked back at the cottage. He saw the saplings and the shape of a man outlined against them. The man was taller than Crocker. He stood slightly angled and Mullins zeroed in on two alarming things: he wore night goggles and he held a long-bladed knife. In that revealing second, the man sheathed the knife and pulled a handgun from a side holster.
“Crocker down,” Mullins whispered. “Intruder. Intruder.”
Immediately, the gunman whipped his head left and right. Mullins knew that somehow the man had heard the alert and his next move would be to spin around. Mullins stepped behind the trunk of a large oak and drew his Glock. He took a count of five, estimating the intruder would need no longer to check the rear was clear. Then he’d make a split-second decision either to pursue his mission objective or retreat. Mullins couldn’t wait. For all he knew, there was no one between the assassin and Lisa Li and Peter.
He heard the muffled sound of running footsteps, but he couldn’t be sure if they came from the gunman or one of the security team. He jumped sideways, his Glock held in two hands and his mind focused on identifying the proper target.
The move brought him squarely into the path of the onrushing killer. In less than a second, their bodies crashed together like two NFL linemen at the snap of the football. The other man had the momentum and that extra force toppled Mullins backwards. But Mullins had seen his opponent and knew he carried a gun in his right hand. Even as Mullins fell, he thrust out his left arm, forcing the other’s gun away. His fingers dug deep into the man’s wrist, while with his right hand, he raked the Glock’s barrel across the man’s face, snagging the night goggles and ripping them off.
Mullins hit the ground hard. Even as the breath left his body, he kicked up his right leg to take advantage of his enemy’s motion. The man continued through the air like an acrobat catapulted aloft by his partner. But instead of landing on his back, the man smashed upside down into the iron fence. The pickets clanged with the impact and the force propelled the man’s legs between the iron rods. He twisted at the waist in an effort to pull himself free.
Mullins rolled on his stomach, still clinging to the man’s gun hand. But weeks in a sling had reduced his muscle tone and he felt his left arm weakening. He knew he would soon be overpowered.
“Mullins,” the man hissed and whipped his right hand down to his side where he carried the knife. Mullins realized he couldn’t ward off both the gun and the blade. He had no choice.
He jammed the barrel of his Glock under the man’s chin and pulled the trigger. The explosive force of the cartridge sent a bullet through the brain and out the top of the scalp. Hot gas from the muzzle flash burned the side of Mullins’ face. He felt the man go limp.
Mullins batted the pistol away and rolled clear of his foe. Three flashlight beams turned on in rapid succession. “Jesus,” Mullins heard the word both in his earpiece and from the man standing over him. In the backwash of the flashlight, Mullins saw Jenkins, his gun drawn and pointed at him. For a second, Mullins feared the security head was about to shoot him. Then Jenkins moved his beam to the man jammed into the fence. Although the top of his head was a bloody mess, his face was easily recognizable.
“Our sixth assassin,” Mullins said. “The man we traced to Spartanburg.”
“Keep everybody back,” Jenkins yelled, disregarding his radio communication and directing the order to the two men with him. “Make sure the perimeter is secure. This guy might not be alone.” Then he said in his normal voice for transmission. “Everyone verbally check in now.”
Mullins heard the roll call. Crocker was missing. So was a team member named Bradley. “Find them,” Jenkins said. He knelt by Mullins. “You hit anywhere, Rusty?”
Mullins shook his head. “No.” He crawled to his knees and Jenkins helped him stand.
M
ullins pointed to the top of the fence. “He cut the laser somehow.”
“You sure?”
“The mist had been showing its trace. Fortunately I noticed it was no longer there just before I walked up on him. He took out Crocker with a knife. Probably got Bradley before that.”
“What happened?” Robert Brentwood came running up carrying a flashlight. He wore a brown bathrobe over his yellow pajamas and his hair stuck out in wild filaments.
“The assassin made it over the fence, sir. Rusty was able to stop him, but not before he killed my man Crocker. We think another of the team has met the same fate.”
Brentwood stepped close to Mullins. His eyes were wide and blinking furiously. “Tell me he didn’t get to Dr. Li or the boy.”
“I don’t believe so. He would have killed the guards on the way in, not the way out.” Mullins recalled his initial sight of the assassin. “Can I see your flashlight, Robert?”
“Sure. Let me hold your gun.”
Mullins made the exchange and then turned the beam on the body. The man had fallen on his back and Mullins quickly pinpointed the black receiver on his belt. “Look at this.”
Jenkins knelt beside Mullins and saw the Thales P25. “He was on our communication frequency. He could monitor everything.”
“But who let him in?” Brentwood asked.
“He scaled the fence,” Mullins said. “Either he or someone else cut the laser.”
“Impossible. The fence isn’t even controlled from here.”
“Then where’s it controlled from?”
“The lab,” Brentwood said. “One of Apollo’s functions.”
Mullins and Jenkins stood.
“I need to notify the FBI.” Mullins pointed to the body at his feet. “He’s their case now, and we’ve linked him not only to the Marriott attacks, but also to others.”
Brentwood stepped back and leveled the gun at Mullins.
“I’m afraid I can’t allow that, Rusty.” He angled his head toward Jenkins. “Escort him to the main house. We’re going to move everyone to the lab as soon as possible.”
Jenkins trained his pistol on Mullins’ chest. “You heard the boss. Take it slow and steady. No one wants any trouble.”
Mullins refused to budge. “This is a big mistake, Robert. You need to let me help you.”
“No, Rusty,” Brentwood said. “I’m helping you. I’m helping all of us. And if you value your daughter and grandson, you’ll do exactly as I say.”
Chapter Thirty-one
Jenkins and Brentwood escorted Mullins to the main house while the rest of the security team remained on guard. Although Mullins assumed some arrangements were being made to remove the bodies, he didn’t understand why Brentwood refused to call in the FBI. Was it because he was linked to the dead assassin somehow, or had he something else to hide?
As they neared the steps to the main entrance, Mullins asked, “Can you put away your guns? I don’t want to upset Kayli and my grandson.”
“Do I have your word you’ll cooperate?” Brentwood asked.
“Yes.”
“Good.” He handed Mullins’ pistol to Jenkins.
The security head tucked it under his belt in the small of his back and then holstered his own.
“There really is no need for anyone to be upset,” Brentwood said. “We’re moving to the lab for safety until I can determine just what the hell’s going on.”
“Then I can tell my daughter about the attack?”
“Yes. I’m sure she heard your pistol-shot. I’ve no reason to hide what happened unless you want to fabricate some other explanation.”
Mullins found Kayli sitting on the sofa in the front room. Josh had fallen asleep on her lap. In the daylight, the wide windows would have provided a spectacular view of the lake. But even if the panorama had been more than a cloudy night sky, Mullins wouldn’t have noticed. He only had eyes for his daughter and grandson.
He hurried to Kayli before she could move and disturb Josh. As he bent down to kiss her cheek, she drew back in alarm.
“Your face. It’s all red on one side.”
“I’m fine. It’s nothing. We had an intruder and I fired my own gun too close.”
“And this intruder?”
Mullins glanced back at Jenkins.
“We have him under control,” Jenkins said.
“Under control?” Kayli turned to her dad. “Did you shoot him?”
Mullins nodded. “He was behind the attack in Washington. We believe he was coming for Dr. Li.”
“Is she all right?”
Before Mullins could answer, he heard a commotion at the door behind him. He turned and saw Lisa Li and Peter push by one of Jenkins’ men.
“Rusty!” Li called his name and ran toward him, leaving Peter to scurry after.
Mullins stood still as Li hugged him. Peter squeezed between them to grab his waist.
Li stepped back and placed her hands on his shoulders. Tears trailed down her cheeks. “When I heard the shot, I thought he’d killed you.”
“I’m okay,” Mullins said.
Li stared at his face. “You don’t look okay.” She shifted her gaze to Kayli. “Tell your father he doesn’t look okay.”
In spite of the seriousness of the moment, Kayli smiled. “When you know him better, you’ll know you can’t tell him anything.”
All the activity woke Josh, who upon seeing another boy hugging his grandfather, scrambled off the sofa and clutched onto a leg.
“It’s all right,” Mullins said, trying to untangle himself from the multiple embraces. “Josh, we’re going back to the building with the world’s largest TV. Peter’s coming too.”
“Like this?” Josh eyed Peter’s baseball-themed pajamas.
“No. Mr. Brentwood’s going to let us change first.” Mullins shot a hard glance across the room. “Right, Robert?”
Brentwood smiled affably. “That’s right. So hurry and change so we can be there before the buffalo wake up.” He made a show of looking at his watch. “Let’s be out at the vehicles in fifteen minutes.”
Mullins could see Kayli wanted to grill him about what was actually going on, but he waved her off with an almost imperceptible nod of his head.
“Come on, Josh,” she said. “Let’s see if we can beat Peter.”
The three-year-old raced back to the bedroom.
Mullins took Lisa Li and Peter by the hand and walked back to the guest cottage. One of Jenkins’ men shadowed them.
Mullins leaned in close to Li’s ear. “If you have the opportunity, check some things out.”
“What?”
“Call up the blueprints for the lower level.”
“What are we looking for?”
“You said Felicia had red sauce in the corner of her mouth. I don’t want to know what she was eating, I want to know where.”
“Okay. What else?”
“You monitored Apollo entering the Department of Defense and hacking the drone program. Can you run a trace into Defense’s finances?”
“That’s a huge labyrinth, isn’t it?”
“No. Just one account. I’ll give you the number as soon as you’re able to boot up your laptop. If our shadow doesn’t give us any privacy, I’ll find some way to get it to you.”
“Again, what am I looking for?”
“Recent transactions and who originated them. The last two months should be sufficient.”
They reached the porch. Mullins saw the two Adirondack chairs paired together. He wanted nothing more than to sit down with a glass of Scotch and Lisa Li beside him.
He turned around to their escort. “We’ll be out soon.”
The man nodded. “Fifteen minutes. I’ll be right next to the door.”
“Thank you.” Mullins hoped his relief hadn’t been too obviou
s. “Are you still in radio contact with Jenkins?”
“Yes.”
“Then ask him to check the serial number on the dead man’s Thales P25.”
“He had one?”
“Just ask him.”
Li and Peter went to their bedroom. Mullins closed his door and threw his bag on the bed. He scattered items across the bedspread like he was sorting them before packing. He retrieved the burner phone from beneath the mattress and used the keypad as fast as he could to compose a text message:
Spartanburg assassin dead. Brentwood refuses calling authorities. Transferring us to lab. Alert Dawkins and Hauser. Use every resource to investigate Rex Brentwood suicide. Kayli and Josh fine but possible hostage situation. Proceed with extreme caution.
Mullins took a deep breath and then pushed SEND.
He picked up the case containing his electric razor, removed the shaver and pushed it under the mattress. He powered off the burner phone, put it in the case and laid it on the bottom of his bag. Then he repacked his clothes.
He went down the short hall to the second bedroom and knocked on the door. “Lisa, can I come in?”
She opened the door. He saw Peter in the far corner changing out of his pajamas. At the moment, all he wore were his underwear and baseball cap.
“My laptop’s booted up,” Li said.
“Bury this number somewhere on it.” He told her the digits for MacArthur’s covert account from memory. “Run it first chance you get, and don’t worry about waiting till you can take Apollo offline. We’re well beyond game-playing.”
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Rusty?”
Mullins managed a weak smile. “I know what I’m doing. I just don’t know what the consequences are going to be.” He looked past her. “Hurry up, Peter. Josh is going to beat you.”
The Singularity Race Page 23
