King studied Brown as the voice droned on. The man was absolutely unflappable. “Amazing,” King interjected. “I can’t even see your lips move.”
In fact, Brown’s implacability was troubling. The entire mission had been conceived with the belief that Brown was Brainstorm; that the artificial intelligence was just a clever distraction-a ventriloquist’s dummy, as King had just intimated. Yet, Brown was sitting there, almost completely motionless, while Brainstorm carried on independently. How was that possible? Had Aleman and Deep Blue erred in their assessment of the true nature of Brainstorm?
“Point three: You are impersonating William Maxwell Downey, a guest of the Global Energy Future conference. I would like to know what happened to Mr. Downey.”
King didn’t answer. He recalled the earlier conversation between Brainstorm and Pradesh. All we need to do is turn it on and synch it to another phone, Pradesh had said. Any phone will do.
The quantum phone had been meant for Downey.
King recalled the rest: There is a sixty-two point three percent probability of success if the network is brought to active status in that configuration. The probability increases to eighty-eight point seven if the desired configuration is achieved.
Downey. The quantum phones. What was the connection? He let this point slide, curious to see what else Brainstorm would reveal.
“There are, however, compelling arguments for your immediate termination. Counterpoint one: While your successful interference with the project in Africa appeared to be a statistical outlier, it seemed prudent to arrange your termination. Your subsequent destruction of the Bluelight facility in Arizona, as well as your now apparent survival of Mr. Sokoloff’s assassination attempt, have shifted the mean probability assessment regarding the likelihood of future interference. Or to express this in terms that Mr. Brown might use, leaving you alive for any length of time is pushing my luck.”
Bluelight, a new energy technology…power plant managers… More pieces clicked together, but the big picture remained maddeningly obscure.
“Counterpoint two: The probability that you will voluntarily elect to reveal factual information about your present operation, the size, location and identity of your allies in this incursion, or Mr. Downey’s whereabouts, is effectively zero. Mr. Steeves, my head of security, is of the opinion that he can persuade you to talk by utilizing enhanced interrogation techniques-”
King spat out derisive laughter.
“-but time is a factor and it is probable that, even with such methods, you would seek to deceive or obfuscate.”
King expected the list to continue, but the electronically produced voice fell silent, prompting him to speak. “So you’ve decided to keep me around a little while longer, is that right?”
“The risk-benefit analysis indicates that to be the most efficient course of action. However, as I have indicated, the potential benefit is moderated by temporal considerations.”
“So, if I don’t tell you what you want to know soon, there’s no reason to keep me alive.” King kept his stare on Brown. “But if I tell you what you want to know, then there’s also no reason to keep me alive. What’s in it for me?”
“Your worth as a source of information is only one consideration, as indicated by the cost-benefit analysis. Cooperation on your part, while unlikely, would necessitate modification of the analysis and alter the recommended course of action.”
King very deliberately rolled his eyes. “Can we just skip the theatrics, Brown? You’re not fooling anyone.”
Brown cocked his head sideways. “Sigler, if I had my way, you’d be wearing fifty pounds of chain link at the bottom of the Seine.”
King chuckled, but the implications of the comment were troubling. Were we wrong about Brown and Brainstorm being one and the same? Then he recalled something Brainstorm had said about his being a statistical outlier: Leaving you alive for any length of time is pushing my luck.
Brainstorm, whether an artificial intelligence or Brown masquerading as one, dealt in probabilities. Brown had made his fortune by accurately calculating the odds and always placing a winning bet, but King had consistently defied probabilistic expectations. That had given him the winning edge in those previous encounters, and right now, it was his only advantage.
I have to do the unexpected, he thought. That’s the only way I’m getting out of this.
“I’ll tell you what, Brown. It just so happens that I’ve got some questions of my own that I’d like answered.”
“And why on earth would I tell you anything? You’re not exactly in a position to negotiate.”
King smiled. “Who said anything about negotiating? You’re a gambler, right? I’ll play you for it. Loser answers the winner’s questions, truthfully and honestly.”
“This is ridiculous,” Pradesh said. “We’re wasting time here. We should synch the quantum device and activate the network.”
King glanced over at the man. Pradesh was some kind of tech expert… Suddenly he recalled where he had heard the man’s name.
During the course of Aleman’s investigations into Brainstorm, King had reviewed numerous intelligence reports from the CIA’s cyber-warfare division, and Bandar Pradesh had been on a short list of hackers with the skill and resources to facilitate Brainstorm’s activities. Born in Kashmir India, but raised in London, he was more than just a computer geek. Utilizing the hacker alias “Shiva,” Pradesh had become a sort of cyber mercenary, hiring his services out to anyone who could meet his price, a client list that featured multinational corporations and governments, including the United States. Pradesh was thought to be one of the leading programmers involved in the creation of the Stuxnet virus, which had temporarily crippled Iran’s efforts at uranium enrichment.
Stuxnet, King recalled, had targeted computer systems governing the operation of power plants.
Energy again.
Brown ignored the hacker’s outburst and continued to regard King from across the desktop. Brainstorm, curiously, remained quiet. Finally, the gambler shifted forward. “I’m supposed to believe that you would be truthful?”
“I could say the same,” King returned. “But, for whatever it’s worth, you would have my word. Scout’s honor.”
“I’ve read about you, Sigler, and I know you were never a Boy Scout.”
King shrugged.
Brown fell back into silence for a moment, then stood and turned to the security guard leaning on the desk. “Give us the room.”
The man’s face twisted into a mask of concern. “Mr. Brown, if half of what I’ve heard about this guy is true…”
“He’s tied up, right? Wait outside. I’ll call if I need you.”
The guard sighed but eased off the desk and motioned for the other man to join him.
Brown looked to Pradesh. “You, too.”
The hacker made no effort to hide his stunned disbelief. “Surely you don’t mean to go through with this.”
Brown ignored him and settled back into his chair, and after a moment, Pradesh retreated from the room, muttering under his breath. When the door to the office opened, King could hear the noise of the casino, jazz melodies undercut with a dull roar of conversation. Then the door clicked shut, returning the room to total silence.
Brown reached into a drawer and took out a small red box about the size of a pack of cigarettes. He opened one end and withdrew a deck of playing cards. After discarding the jokers, he began to shuffle. “I didn’t take you for a gambler, Sigler. I think you may be in over your head here.”
“And yet I keep beating you.”
“Not this time.” He placed the deck face down between them. “Blackjack, no hole cards, no splits or double-downs. One bet per game, and I’m the house, which means the decisions are yours.”
Brown didn’t seem to be asking for permission, so King merely nodded. Brown’s rules, particularly the fact that both of King’s cards would be showing, eliminated virtually every concession to the player in a game that was already stacked in favor of the house, but inasmuch as King’s fate was entirely in Brown’s hands, he wasn’t in a position to complain.