From his office Jason led the way into a long chamber, lit from above by at least thirty spotlights. The walls were covered with charts and maps and in the centre was a large table. Almost entirely covering the table and overlaid with a thick plastic grid was a detailed map of the eastern seaboard of America, centred on Boston as it was in the 1 770s. The main communicating roads and natural features were clearly marked in colour. In the centre of the grid stood a rectangular framework made of black plastic, the size and shape of a large television screen, while two small easels had been placed at the far end. Two trays, on opposite sides of the table, contained packs of white three-by-five cards. There was a chair in front of each tray and a desk top to each player's right, well-stocked with paper, maps and printed forms.
Peter and Cindy began to explain the nature of the game, and how it was used to build up all the details of the simulation before anything was committed to a computer program. The black plastic frame moved both vertically and horizontally across the map.
"That is the area a player will eventually see on his screen, when we have built the game,' said Jason. His manner had become less warm, as though the professional had suddenly ousted the friendly side of his nature. He explained how they could slot close-ups of the terrain into the rectangle. "When we've got the game on computer, you'll be able to scroll around this whole map, but see only one section at a time,' he said. "However, there's a zoom facility. You press the Z key, and the screen will give you a blow-up of the section you've moved to." Cindy explained that the two easels contained a calendar and the weather cards; each month's cards were shuffled separately before play began.
"Weather restricts or enhances movement." She demonstrated how the British patrols could move five spaces, on good days, but in heavy rain only three, and in snow, two.
Looking at the map, Bond tried to remember the history of that period, learned too long ago now in dusty schoolrooms. He thought of the frustration among officers of the Colonial Militia, of the British inability to protect the cities and towns, of the unrest, then rebellion and open hostility.
Then there was a general (was it General Gage?) caught between his situation on the ground and having to await orders from England. There were the patrols searching for the rebels' arms caches, Paul Revere's warning ride and the militia's weapons being moved out of Concord; then the skirmishes around that town and Lexington. The British had withdrawn into Boston and fought at Bunker's Hill, remembered as a kind of Dunkirk by the Americans, for the British garrison had won the battle, but with such terrible losses that they had to retreat by sea to Halifax.
Bond thought of these things as Jason, warming to his theme, explained the way the simulation was played, with the players taking turns to issue orders and move forces. Some of the moves could be secret, and had to be noted on paper. Later came challenging and, possibly, skirmishing.
"The thing I find interesting is that you can alter history. I am, personally, very attached to the idea of changing history." Again, a hint of that obsession, verging "on dangerous madness. "Perhaps I shall alter history,' Jason went on in a menacing whisper. "A dream?
Maybe, but dreams can turn into reality if one man with a brilliant mind is put to proper use. You think my spark of genius is put to proper use? No?" He expected no answer, and his next words really concerned something far beyond the simulation. "Perhaps, James, we could look at this in more detail - even play a few rounds - say, tomorrow?" Bond said he would like that, sensing more than an ordinary challenge. St. John-Finnes continued to talk of revolution, change, and the complexity of war games.
Cindy made an excuse to leave, nodding at Bond and remarking that she hoped they would meet again.
"Oh, I'm certain you will." Jason appeared to be very sure of himself. "I'm inviting James to have another look.
Shall we say six tomorrow evening?" Bond accepted, noticing that Jason did not even smile.
As they left, Jason walked on ahead, but Peter lingered to the rear with Bond, taking the opportunity to whisper, "If you do play with him, lie likes to win. Bad loser, and plays according to history. He always thinks his opponent will re-enact the actual events. The man's a paradox." He gave Bond a wink, making it all too clear that Peter Amadeus was not particularly fond of his boss.
Upstairs, Dazzle awaited them, having driven Freddie back to the Bull. "She seemed very tired. Said you had dragged her all round the countryside this afternoon, Mr. Bond. You really shouldn't subject her to so much physical exercise. She's very much a town mouse, you know." Bond had his own thoughts about this. He too could do with a good night's sleep, but accepted the offer of a nightcap from his host.
Cindy had gone to bed and Peter and Dazzle made their excuses, leaving the two men alone.
After a short silence, Jason raised his glass. "Tomorrow, he said, the green eyes like glass. "Maybe we won't play games, James.
But, I would welcome the chance of taking you on. Who knows?
Computers, yes He was away again, in some world of his own with a different time, place and set of values. "Computers are either the greatest tool mankind has invented, the most magnificent magic, capable of the construction of a new age,' he laughed, one sharp rising note, "or they're the best toy God has provided." In a couple of seconds the more familiar, benign Jason seemed to return. "Can I share my thoughts about you, James? I think . . . "Jason was not waiting for Bond's reply or consent, "I think that you are a small fraud, Mr. Bond. That you know very little about the art of computer programming. Some, but not as much as you pretend. Am I right?"
"No." Bond was firm. "No, you're not right. I've taken the standard courses they give people like me. I reckon that I'm adequate. Not in your class, maybe, but who is?"
"Plenty of people." Jason's voice was quiet. "Young Cindy, and Peter, to name two. It's a young people's profession, and future, James. Yes, I have a lot of knowledge, and some flair for strategy.
But young people who are brought up with the machines acquire flair very quickly. You know the age of the biggest, richest software tycoon in the United States?"
"Twenty-eight."
"Right. Twenty-eight years old, and some of the really advanced programmers are younger. I know it all, but it's up to people like Cindy or Peter, to translate my ideas into reality. Brilliance, genius, requires nurturing.
Programmers like my two may not really understand that they feed my great conceptions. As for you, a man with minimal training - you cannot be of real use to me. You don't stand a chance in this field." Bond shrugged. "Not against you,' he said, not knowing whether this was some devious wordplay, some psychological ploy.
At the door, Jason told him he looked forward to the next meeting.
"If you feel you can take me on - at a game I mean - I'll be happy to oblige. But maybe we'll find something more interesting than games, eh? Six tomorrow.
Bond could not know that the game of life itself would have changed by the time he saw Jay Autem Holy again.
Nor what was really at stake in the games this curiously changeable man liked to play. He did know that Holy was a man possessed. Beneath the bonhomie and charm lay the mind of one who would play God with the world, and he found this deeply disturbing.
When he got back to the hotel, Bond retrieved his key from a dozing night porter and went up to his room. But, on putting the key in the lock, he found the door already open. Freddie, he thought, with some irritation, for he wanted very much to be alone, to have time to think.
Remaining cautious, he slipped the automatic pistol from its holster, and holding it just behind his right thigh, he turned the handle and gently kicked the door open.