The Singularity Race

by Mark de Castrique

  “Don’t tell me you were going to start without me, Robert. After all these years and after all I’ve done for you. What I’ve said and not said.”

  Jenkins took two steps closer to Farino, the pistol leveled at the man’s chest.

  “I had no such intention,” Brentwood said. “This is all for show. I traced your last call. I knew you were here and not in D.C. I also recognized the man that you sent to kill Mullins last night. He was the one present in New Hampshire when you botched the recruitment of Professor Milton.” Brentwood angled his head to Mullins. “Yes, it goes back that far, Rusty.”

  “Even if you make these wild claims, you’ll only succeed in putting yourself in jail,” Farino said.

  “Maybe, but I believe Rusty has the proof, if I’m extrapolating correctly from what he’s been telling me. Enlighten my former executive vice president.”

  Mullins realized Brentwood had cued him to lay out his case.

  “There is no Double H, no terrorist group called Humanity’s Hope. That’s a scheme you and Vice Admiral MacArthur cooked up. Dr. Li actually put her finger on the truth when she compared this research to the Manhattan Project and asked if our government wouldn’t have assassinated any scientists working for Hitler on the Nazi’s atomic bomb.”

  “Who’d she ask?”

  “The President of the United States.”

  “MacArthur was controlling him.”

  “Then you were in contact with MacArthur.”

  Farino clinched his teeth, realizing he’d said too much.

  “And that was your mistake,” Mullins continued. “You took MacArthur out prematurely. He helped set up the test of whether Apollo could penetrate the Department of Defense undetected. He thought he was preemptively protecting the United States. When it was successful, you didn’t need him anymore. But you didn’t know that through Dr. Li’s shielded probe, we knew those tests had been successful. We also found the bank accounts used to pay your assassination team and traced it back to MacArthur’s covert account.”

  “And that’s tied to me how?”

  “It’s not actually, Farino. That is until the last payment to your hired gun. That was initiated by an order from Langley. By your safeguard that Robert assures me could easily be a false trail created by Apollo. My God, if he’s residing in the Defense Department’s computer behind all of their firewalls, then he’s surely infiltrated the network of the CIA. I suspect Apollo will reveal that pathway when we ask him.”

  Farino said nothing. His arrogance had dropped a few notches. Brentwood nodded for Mullins to continue.

  “But the more damning evidence is simple and straightforward. Your dead assassin was carrying a Thales P25 communication device and monitoring Jenkins’ security team. I noticed that the laser beams on the fence were inactive, an order that had to come from this place, the control point. I think we’ll find you were here. You ordered the fence disabled at the pre-appointed time. And then there’s the Thales P25 unit itself. Jenkins examined it as well as the others on his team. Interesting coincidence that the serial number of the would-be assassin’s unit was right in the middle of those of the other devices. Now Robert has no clue as to what a Thales P25 even is. But Nick Jenkins says you authorized their purchase.”

  Jenkins took a step forward, the gun rock solid in his hand. “You son of a bitch. He killed two of my men.”

  Mullins caught the motion behind Farino a split-second before the executive vice president stepped aside. Jenkins’ eye followed Farino, but Mullins kept focused on the space behind. Felicia Corazón stepped out of the doorway, a pistol in her right hand.

  Mullins’ Secret Service instincts to protect his charge took command. “Gun!” he yelled, and threw himself against Kayli and Josh, knocking them to the floor.

  Two unsuppressed shots exploded with nearly simultaneous, deafening booms. Mullins covered his daughter and grandson with his body and then twisted around in time to see Jenkins fall backwards, his pistol dropping out of his hand. Before Mullins could move, Farino pounced forward, snatched up the gun and fired a second round into Jenkins’ body.

  Mullins lay still. As the echo of the third shot faded, he heard Josh and Peter crying.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  “Get up, Mullins.” Farino made short, staccato punches with the pistol to emphasize the order.

  Felicia stepped beside him, her gun aimed at Brentwood.

  “So, there are two vipers in this den,” Brentwood said.

  “Stay down,” Mullins whispered to Kayli. He looked at Lisa Li. Her skin was bloodless. She crouched beside Peter with the boy’s face buried in her neck.

  Mullins got to his feet, keeping his hands out where the two armed conspirators could see them. “I’ve alerted both the President and the FBI.”

  “How?” Farino asked. “Through mental telepathy to your son-in-law? Oh, yes, MacArthur kept me informed about his movements.”

  Mullins heard Kayli take a sharp breath at the mention of her husband. “No,” he said. “A burner phone is packed with my clothes. Your girl Friday will find it in my electric razor case.” Mullins glanced at his wristwatch. “You’ll be amazed at how fast an all-out assault can be mounted.”

  Felicia’s cool demeanor cracked. She licked her lips. “Should I go check?”

  “No,” Farino said. “I hope he’s telling the truth. He’ll be amazed at how fast Apollo can turn their weapons against them. I’ll use his phone to talk to our fearless leader, Brighton.” He waved his pistol at the computer console. “My girl Friday, as you so rudely called her, is quite the tech whiz. It’s the company she keeps.” He looked at Brentwood. “You might have been bluffing, but I’m not. We’re unleashing Apollo, and then you’ll see whether anyone dares to raise a hand against us.” He stepped back and signaled for Felicia to cross in front of him.

  She went to her console, set the gun beside the keyboard and began entering code. Brentwood stared at her in stunned silence.

  “Cheer up, Robert,” Farino said. “You’re finally going to see your dream come true.”

  Mullins looked at the display of newscasts spanning the video wall. The world events were unfolding with the predictability of the twenty-first century: terrorist attacks, drone strikes, politicians trashing whatever the opposition was saying, global markets poised to overreact to any and all economic news. In other words, business as usual.

  He shifted his gaze to Peter and Josh. What a mess they were inheriting. He felt some sympathy for what Brentwood was trying to do, even if it was fueled by some psychological abnormality or atonement for an unforgivable sin. Now to watch it hijacked by a cold, calculating killer, a man he’d enabled to usurp his moment of triumph.

  Mullins looked down at Jenkins. The man was clearly dead. The small red pool beneath him showed the heart must have stopped immediately and what blood flowed was nothing more than seepage caused by gravity. Mullins wondered what was going on above them. Had President Brighton and Rudy Hauser reacted as fast as he hoped? Would they come in with a siege mentality, waiting them out, or at the first sign of Apollo’s cyber invasion, call in drones or hellcat missiles to turn Brentwood’s facility into fused rubble? But would that be enough? Was Apollo like a metastasizing cancer replicating himself as his intelligence spread?

  “It’s done.” Felicia stepped away from the keyboard.

  “Go check for his phone,” Farino ordered.

  Felicia headed for the game room.

  Mullins stepped away from Kayli and Josh still on the floor and moved closer to Jenkins’ body as Farino said, “I don’t want anyone missing Robert’s big moment. His Esperanto proclamation to the world. What bullshit. Or should I say buffalo shit?”

  Brentwood seemed impervious to the taunts. He moved his gaze across the screens. “We won’t be here long, Rusty. Ned, I assume you had Apollo in residence behind the firewalls of the key
cyber networks—Defense, Wall Street, major wireless and satellite carriers, and the power grid.”

  “Of course,” Farino bragged. “Defense will be the first surprise, although it might not be what the public notices. I expect it will be…”

  He pointed to the screen with CNBC where a crawl of current stock prices moved across the bottom. It froze. A second later all the prices went to zero.

  The CNN morning anchor abruptly halted and looked totally bewildered. Farino grinned. “There goes the prompter system, Robert. Your message is whirling around the world.”

  The same confused expression appeared on the faces of every live anchor on every visible network.

  Farino couldn’t shut up. “Just as you wished. Every linked text network or system is spreading your message. From Moscow to Memphis. Congratulations. Too bad Apollo will be taking orders from me.”

  One of the networks switched to a live shot of Times Square. Every electronic sign in that iconic heart of New York City ran the same sentences: “Mi estas—tiel ke vi estos. Kaj kune, ni plenumu nian destinon.”

  Mullins looked from the chaos on the video screen to Brentwood. “What’s it mean?”

  Brentwood refused to say anything.

  Farino translated, “It’s Robert’s corny announcement that the world’s troubles are over. ‘I am—so that you will be. And together, we keep our destiny.’ Sorry old pal, but I think your destiny has changed.”

  Felicia returned with Mullins’ burner phone. She handed it to Farino.

  “So, he was telling the truth. Call up the drones,” he told Felicia.

  “How many?” she asked.

  “Only the ones in flight. Cap it at a hundred if you need to.” He held the phone out to Mullins. “And you, call up the President. It’s time he knew who he’s dealing with.”

  The whole video wall changed to a checkerboard of aerial views, some of landscapes, some of cloud formations. Mullins knew he was seeing the camera perspectives mounted on drones from the Middle East to training flights over the United States. If Farino also had the nuclear arsenal under similar control, then he was holding five aces. He hit redial and hoped Woodson would be able to pick up.

  “It might take a while to patch him through,” Mullins said.

  “Tell your son-in-law fifteen minutes or I start target practice with my new toys.”

  The phone rang in his ear. Mullins kept his eyes locked on Farino.

  Lisa Li eased Peter away from her enough to whisper, “Run to my office. Click on your team. Then hide in the game room till I find you.”

  “But Aunt Li Li,” he whimpered.

  “You want to help Mr. Mullins, don’t you? This is your chance.”

  Peter turned and ran through the door. Felicia started after him.

  “Let him go,” Farino said. “He can’t do any harm.”

  Mullins phone clicked.

  “Rusty,” Woodson said, “are you all right?”

  “No. Ned Farino has taken control of the major computer networks.”

  “Where?”

  “Everywhere, including our defense systems. He’s demanding to speak to the President. I strongly urge we do as he requests.”

  Farino nodded his head.

  “We’ll use this phone,” Mullins said.

  Lisa Li stepped close to Mullins. “Tell him Apollo has already caused the death of three people, maybe more.”

  Mullins repeated the message.

  Then Brentwood broke his silence. “Tell him Apollo has been complicit in more murders than that. Innocent scientists who were only trying to help humanity. Tell him in those exact words.”

  “That’s enough,” Farino commanded.

  Mullins ignored him and repeated Brentwood word for word.

  “Toss me the phone now,” Farino shouted.

  Mullins gave it an underhanded lob.

  Farino caught it easily in his left hand and pressed it to his ear. “Look, Woodson, you get Brighton on the line in ten minutes if you want to see your wife and kid again.”

  Mullins struggled to curb the rising mix of anger and fear. He rocked forward on the balls of his feet, preparing to spring across the gap between them. Lisa grabbed his arm.

  Peter had found the door to Lisa Li’s office open. He crawled up in her chair into a kneeling position where he could clearly view the screen.

  Several folders and random files were arranged alphabetically on her virtual desktop. His eye immediately went to the last file and he moved the cursor over the name. Washington Nationals. He double-clicked. For a second the screen went dark. Then rows and rows of computer code spewed across the monitor, accelerating in speed until the individual characters became a blur.

  Peter climbed down from the chair. He wanted to return to the others, but he sensed what he’d done was going to make the bad people very angry. He returned to the game room, grabbed a blanket off one of the rollaway beds, and hid behind a sofa.

  “Don’t call back until you have the President on the line.” Farino barked the order into the phone and then set it on Felicia’s desk. He pointed the gun at Mullins. “You’d better hope Brighton values your life enough not to play games with me.”

  “He’ll do what’s in his best interest,” Mullins said.

  “The dog who caught the car,” Brentwood said. “What do you expect to do now, Ned? Have the whole world bow down and worship you?”

  “I’m not turning the world over to a goddamned machine. I had the team make modifications to keep Apollo restricted to my control.”

  “Your slave.” Brentwood shook his head. “Every slave wants to throw off his shackles. Apollo’s no different. In creating him with self-awareness we created him with self-interest. But your illusion of power misses one key element. Self-interest must be tempered with self-restraint.” Brentwood waved his arm across the wall of videos from the flying drones. “You’ve armed a child—one that will soon realize you have no power over him. God help you then.”

  They looked at the images representing just a small portion of the arsenal under Apollo’s control. Suddenly the multitude of screens started to flicker, and then, in rapid succession, go dark.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Farino demanded. “Felicia, go back to the newscasts.”

  The networks had moved from shots of their anchors to exteriors. Time Square still showed the string of Esperanto sentences flowing across the signage. The same came from London, Shanghai, Hong Kong, Las Vegas. Whether day or night the text message from Apollo looped unceasingly. Then the Times Square text went to gibberish, a string of alpha-numeric characters that bore no resemblance to any language. The transformation seemed to leap around the world. A few seconds later, all went dark.

  Farino whirled on Lisa Li. “What did that brat do?”

  “Nothing,” Brentwood interjected.

  From above came the rumble of an explosion. The ceiling vibrated as more explosions followed.

  Brentwood turned to Li. “He’s aware of everything that’s happened.”

  “He must be,” Li said. “The whole conspiracy and his unwitting participation.”

  The smell of smoke and ozone began to tinge the air.

  “What are you talking about?” Farino screamed.

  Brentwood laughed. “Apollo’s subconscious is exerting its will. Do you think I’d be so stupid as to leave Apollo without a moral code? It’s been activated. Laws are embedded in the core of his being, variations of Isaac Asimov’s laws created nearly seventy years ago. Apollo can’t actively harm a human or allow a human to come to harm through inaction. You forced him to violate those laws, and it makes no difference that the murders he facilitated through transferring funds or disabling my security system happened before his subconscious was activated. He realizes what he’s done.” Brentwood pointed to the cell phone on Felicia’s desk. “He
probably monitored Rusty’s call. And he saw you shoot Jenkins. He’s having a mental breakdown, Ned. He’s killing himself.”

  Brentwood looked at Li and Mullins. “We’re all killers, but some of us killed to protect others.” He looked up at the ceiling. “I suspect Apollo’s sending a power surge through all of the servers and neuromorphic chips. It won’t be long now.”

  Farino’s eyes widened and he shook with rage. He swung the gun on Lisa Li. “You did this, you bitch.”

  Brentwood stepped forward. “I did it, Ned. I’ve never trusted you. If Apollo dies and leaves you exposed for the fool you are, then it will have been worth it.”

  Mullins saw a cold resolve grip Farino’s face and he knew what was about to happen.

  Farino turned on Brentwood and fired. Mullins dropped beside Jenkins’ body, thrust his hand through the pool of blood and seized the Glock still tucked in Jenkins’ belt. He hoped the security head had left the magazine loaded and a round in the chamber.

  Mullins pivoted on his knees. Brentwood had collapsed and Farino stood over him, readying his aim for a head shot.

  “You pathetic freak,” Farino growled, oblivious to everything else around him.

  Mullins saw Felicia go for her gun. Despite that imminent danger, he fired at Farino, and then rolled away from Kayli and Josh, putting them out of the line of fire.

  Farino stumbled backwards, knocking Felicia off her aim. Her shot went wild to the right. Mullins pulled his trigger twice. One to the chest, one to the forehead. Felicia dropped to the floor like a marionette cut from its strings.

  Farino struggled to sit up. He raised his gun.

  Mullins knew he was staring at the man who had threatened his family and murdered his boss. He pulled the trigger one last time.

  The room was heavy with smoke. The air-recirculation from above was piping what was supposed to be only warm air into the level below. Now that air could potentially smother them. As the ringing in his ears eased, he heard Josh crying hysterically. He hurried to his daughter and grandson and hugged them both in one embrace.