Callsign: King - Blackout

13

The sound of voices drew King back to consciousness-one voice in particular. The return to consciousness was a pleasant surprise and almost made up for his splitting headache. If he was still alive, then maybe Brown had fallen for his last ditch ploy.

But all he had accomplished was to postpone the inevitable; he needed a plan.

“You are not hearing what I’m saying,” came one voice-a man, but high pitched, with a faintly sing-song accent that suggested the speaker might be from India or one of the surrounding countries. “All we need to do is turn it on and sync it to another phone. Any phone will do.”

“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.”

Although this second voice-flat, almost mechanical in its intonations-was not familiar to King, he immediately recognized it from what was said. This was what had brought him out of the darkness. The statements of probability, seemingly generated by a computer… This was the electronically generated voice of Brainstorm.

He remained motionless with his eyes closed, trying to hide the fact that he was now awake. He was seated and the ache in his arms told him that his hands were bound, his arms wrapped around the back of a chair. Something felt different about his face, and when he worked his jaw experimentally, he realized that the disguise had been removed. Thank goodness for small favors, he thought. If I get out of this, I swear, no more Mission: Impossible shit.

“If we don’t bring the network on-line, then the probability of success is zero,” protested the first voice. “We shouldn’t wait.”

“Your concern is noted, Mr. Pradesh. However, the timeline does not indicate a necessity for precipitous action.”

“I think he’s waking up.” A third voice intruded into the conversation, this one low and rough, and King surmised that one of the mercenary guards had noticed him stirring. Still feigning disorientation, King raised his head and looked around.

He was in an office, richly appointed in a style similar to the casino, but without any personal touches that might have offered insights into the man who now held him captive. Graham Brown, still looking dapper in his tuxedo, sat behind a solid looking desk a few feet away, his fingertips steepled together as if in deep thought. The desktop was uncluttered, as though the office had never been used, but King noted two conspicuous objects: the quantum computer device he had been given earlier and his own cell phone, his lifeline to Endgame HQ.

Three other men occupied the office. Two were burly figures in formal wear-security personnel-one of them sitting casually on the edge of the desk, the other in a chair to King’s left. The third, sitting to King’s right, was a small, lean man with black curly hair and dark skin, dressed in chinos and a polo shirt. That would be Pradesh, King thought. The name was familiar, but he couldn’t quite remember where he had heard it.

King brought his gaze back to Brown. “So much for just killing me,” he remarked.

Brown evinced no reaction whatsoever. His eyes did not flicker and he did not speak. A moment later, the flat electronic voice issued from a speakerphone on one corner of the desktop. “A cost-benefit analysis determined that you are of more value alive, Mr. Sigler.”

King laughed, sending a fresh wave of pain through his skull. “I certainly think so.”

“Point one,” the voice continued, as if King’s quip had been an inquiry. “Your actions here are offensive in nature. There is only a thirty-four point two percent probability that you would undertake such action without support. You are, in all likelihood, only one member of a team, perhaps similarly disguised and currently moving freely about the interior of this vessel. It is a further likelihood that your death would bring about an immediate reprisal, whereas concern for your health and safety may presently be a factor in preventing an incursion.”

There was no little irony in the fact that he was alive only because Brainstorm had overestimated him. The truth was, it had been foolish to go in without back-up. God damned Mission: Impossible shit. “That’s a lot of words to say I’m more valuable as a hostage.”

“Point two: You employed a disguise to infiltrate this location. The probability that this action is sanctioned by French law enforcement authorities is twelve point one percent. In other words, Mr. Sigler, you are trespassing. Your death, while imminently justifiable, would lead to undesirable legal entanglements.”

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.

Brown cut the deck, then looked at King. “What’s your opening bet?”

King knew exactly what to offer. “Bill Downey. You seem to need him for something, so if I lose, I’ll tell you where he is.”

It seemed like a safe bet. If Brown’s goons went looking for Downey, they’d start in the man’s hotel room where King had left him, so there was nothing to be gained by holding back the knowledge. And he might just glean some insight into what Brown was really up to, and why it was so important for Downey to have one of the quantum phones.

“And if you win? What question would you like me to answer?”

“Something simple. The honest truth about Brainstorm. Admit that it’s all bullshit.”

A wry smile quirked the gambler’s expression, then he nodded and with a flourish, expertly dealt out four cards: The five of diamonds and the nine of spades to King; the two of diamonds and the queen of hearts to himself.

“Not like I’ve got much choice,” King muttered. “Hit me.”

Brown flipped out a seven of clubs. “Twenty-one for the player.”

King let out his breath in low sigh. Brown proceeded to deal a card to himself-the seven of spades for nineteen-then another-the king of clubs.

“Player wins,” Brown said without a hint of disappointment. He then set the deck down and raised his eyes, meeting King’s stare, but said nothing.

An electronic voice issued smoothly from the speaker on the desktop. “Touche, Mr. Sigler.”

For a moment, King wasn’t sure what was going on, but then a broad smile cracked Brown’s inscrutable expression. “As kids today would say…Duh! Of course, Brainstorm and I are one and the same. Artificial intelligence? Seriously?”

King’s elation, both from having won the hand and getting at the truth, was short-lived. “Why? How?”

“The reason why should be obvious. I was unbeatable in the casino and at the track, but I wanted more. I wanted real power. So I took my talents to the stock market, then I played the real estate game and got filthy rich. But what I could never get was respect.

“People don’t respect a schmuck from Atlantic City, even when he has more money than God. No matter how much I made, I would never have been anything more than a celebrity sideshow, and that just wasn’t good enough.

“I thought about creating a new personality, but then I had, if you’ll pardon the pun, a brainstorm. I would hide behind a computer. People are already used to letting computers tell them what to do. We hardly ever interact with real people any more. Corporate executive boards actually like being able to blame their actions on the computers. It’s a lot easier to put ten thousand people out of work when you can say you did it because the computer said it was the most efficient thing to do.

“Of course, I didn’t just come right out and say that’s what I was. That would have been too obvious. It was so much better to create the impression, start some rumors, and then let everyone’s imagination take care of the rest.”

Brown’s admission brought none of the satisfaction King had anticipated. It was so obvious, or should have been, and confirmation of the fact seemed little different from the moment a parent finally confesses the truth about Santa Claus to a child who’s already figured it out. “So how’d you pull off the little ventriloquist act?”

Brown’s smile broadened. “Pretty nifty trick, right? I did the risk-benefit analysis myself and entered it as text while you were unconscious. Most of it was prerecorded. The rest of it was a little more difficult. I have a foot-operated text entry interface under this desk. I’ve gotten pretty good at tapping out messages with my toe.”

Brown slid a hand over the desk and gathered the cards from the first hand into a neat stack. “So, what shall we play for now?”

King considered the matter carefully. He wasn’t a believer in luck and knew that this initial victory meant nothing in the scheme of things. He had to keep Brown talking, keep the game going until he could figure out a way to get free. “Okay, I’ve got it. These quantum phones of yours. What have you really got planned for them? I recognize Pradesh; he’s a hacker, a cyber-terrorist for hire. I doubt he has the resources to invent portable quantum computer technology, so his role in this is something else…” King thought about the rumors of Pradesh’s involvement in the Stuxnet attack. Was that it? Some kind of computer attack targeting power stations, supported by quantum computing power?

Brown nodded thoughtfully. “So, if you win the next hand, I tell you what’s really going on. And if I win?”

“Same stakes. I give you Downey.”

Brown’s smile turned hard, then he said simply, “No.”

King blinked, but kept silent.

“I said you were in over your head,” Brown continued. “I can tell you’re no gambler, Sigler. Gambling isn’t about the cards or how the dice roll. It’s about the bet; what you’re willing to risk and more importantly, knowing what your opponent is willing to risk. You bet that information against something that you already knew to be factual. That tells me that you consider the information about Bill Downey’s location to be of little value to you. Ergo, it’s of no value to me.”

King felt his pulse quicken as the truth of his opponent’s statement hit home. He had underestimated Brown, fallen into the very trap he’d thought to set for the other man. “All right,” he said slowly. “You decide.”

Brown picked up the deck as if preparing to deal. “The rest of your team. If I win, you give them up. Your plan, radio frequencies…if they’re in disguise like you were, tell me who they are.”

King felt a glimmer of hope but hid the reaction behind a mask of feigned outrage. “You expect me to give up my team? Sacrifice my friends? Not a chance. How about you just let me call them off, send the abort code?”

“Risk, Sigler. If you aren’t willing to take a chance, then you’re not ready to play this game.”

“I don’t have the right to gamble with other people’s lives.”

Brown made a dismissive gesture. “Happens all the time. You should know that better than anyone. Your Chess Team would risk their lives to take me down or learn what I’m really up to. How is this any different? But if it makes you feel any better, security is already conducting a sweep of the guests. They’ve probably already identified some of your team.”

King narrowed his eyes, took a breath, and then nodded. “Deal.”

Brown flipped the cards over with deliberate slowness, his gaze never leaving King’s face.

King felt another measure of hope as he glanced down at his first card: the ace of hearts.

Brown turned over the king of spades for himself.

King was a little disappointed to see that his second card was the six of clubs. Seven or seventeen, he thought.

Brown’s next card was the ten of hearts.

Twenty. Crap.

Without waiting for a prompt, Brown dealt King another card: Eight of diamonds. “Fifteen,” he said. “You need a five to draw, six to win.”

He turned over another card, glanced at it, and then deposited it in front of King. It was the queen of spades.

King sagged back in his chair.

“Luck is a fickle bitch,” Brown observed coldly. “Time to settle your account, Sigler. Let’s have it.”

For a moment, King pondered putting the gambler on a wild goose chase-giving him bogus radio frequencies, identifying the few names he remembered from the guest list as Chess Team operators in disguise-but ultimately all that would accomplish would be to piss his foe off. Finally, he said, “The joke’s on you, Brown. There is no team. Not in the field, at least.”

Anger glinted in Brown’s eyes. “You’re lying.”

“I wish I were. It would be nice to think that Bishop was waiting for my signal to bust in here and take your head off. But this was a solo op; no backup, minimum footprint.”

Brown slammed the cards down on the desk. “You’re lying,” he repeated, his voice taut like a wire about to snap.

“I gave you my word,” King persisted, not sure why it mattered. “I’m not lying to you. I would have preferred a tactical assault, but it was too risky. We knew you’d be here, exposed, so we decided to try a covert approach.” He rattled off the details of the scheme, omitting only the matter of where he had left Downey. He could tell that the gambler was still unconvinced, so he added. “I would never have taken the bet if it meant actually risking the lives of my team. But I had to make you think it was important.”

“It doesn’t matter. I never thought you’d tell me the truth, and I don’t have the time or patience to wring the truth out of you.” Brown shook his head, rose to his feet and strode for the door. “But at least I will have the satisfaction of knowing that you won’t be interfering with my activities again.”

“One last game,” King called out, craning his head around to follow the other man’s progress. “For everything.”

Brown stopped, but did not look back. “You don’t have anything left to bet.”

“No, but you do.” King’s mind was racing to come up with a plan. “Look at yourself. ‘A schmuck from Atlantic City.’ That’s what you said, right? You wanted more than that, and now you’ve got it. You’ve got everything. Brainstorm practically runs the whole world, right? So why aren’t you satisfied?”

King saw he had Brown’s attention… but what to do with it?

“Because once you’ve won everything, what’s the point? You didn’t want more power, more respect. That never really mattered to you. You wanted a bigger game.”

The gambler slowly turned around, still saying nothing.

“So, you’re right. I might not have anything left to bet, but that’s not why you play the game, is it? What do you say, Brown? Take a chance?”

“It’s a very tempting proposition, Sigler.” Brown blinked, then turned and opened the door. The noise of the casino briefly filled the room then was silenced as the door closed behind the two security men who now advanced, pistols already in hand.

“You’ve been a worthy opponent,” Brown said. “But this was only ever a momentary diversion. I’m playing a much bigger game than you can possibly imagine. And now I’m afraid your luck truly has run out.”