The Singularity Race by Mark de Castrique Page A

“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.
    â€œLook, 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.
    â€œBut there’s nobody on it.”
    â€œThat’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.”
    â€œWhy?” 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.”
    â€œThe water’s clean. I know because my house is right on the lake. And I have a guesthouse for you and your aunt.”
    â€œOn this lake?” Peter craned his neck around Brentwood for a closer look at the beach.
    â€œYes. It’s farther along the shoreline. Very private. Very secure.”
    â€œI should be the judge of that,” Mullins said sharply.
    â€œOf 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.
    â€œWe can’t stay here,” Li said. “I’ve got to get Peter enrolled in a D.C. school.”
    â€œLook, 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.”
    â€œPlease, 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.
    â€œWhat 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?”
    â€œAbsolutely,” Brentwood answered. “Just name it.”
    â€œThen 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.”
    â€œWe’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