“What has your progress been?” Benicoff asked.
“We have some leads that we are following up. However we have found no trace of any connection between the individuals who were in the first and second attacks.”
“Let me sum up then,” Ben said. “If you add up what the theft at Megalobe and the attacks on Brian have cost—it must be up in the millions. So we know that some very well heeled source hired the hopheads to kill Brian at the hospital. When they did not succeed there, this same source, we assume, tried again in Mexico. Is that correct, Colonel?”
“It conforms to our own estimates of the situation.”
“So in reality all we know is that someone with a lot of money has tried to kill Brian twice and has failed both times. Can we assume that this source is also the same one that committed the original attack and theft?”
He waited in silence until he obtained two reluctant and brisk military nods; the General was as stolid as ever.
“Then it would appear that we are all investigating the same people. Therefore I will keep you appraised in the future of our progress—firm in the knowledge that you will be doing the same. Is that agreed, General?”
“Agreed.” The word could not have been more reluctantly produced had it been squeezed from a rock. Ben smiled around the table.
“I am glad that we are all on the same side. Major Kahn, will you explain about your Expert Program and the results that it has produced?” Her report was succinct, clear and brief. When she was done they turned back to Benicoff.
“I took the investigation from there. The results so far are good. Firstly there was a flight at that time in that place. It was recorded by San Diego Miramar. The investigators found a cattle rancher who lives under the calculated flight path. He was disturbed by a low-flying chopper—he remembers it because it interfered with the end of a film he was watching on television at the time. We have a perfect time match from the program.”
“You have located the helicopter?” the General snapped.
“Once we put all the bits and pieces together that was the easiest part. It had to be the TS-69 that was working on the construction site. Any machine from outside the area would have to have filed a flight plan and there was no record of one. The copter rental company’s records reveal that on the afternoon of the evening in question there had been an electrical malfunction that temporarily grounded it. The machine did not return to Brown Field where it was based, but remained at the site in Guatay. The following morning mechanics were flown there and the fault, a minor electrical one, was repaired. So minor, I must add, that the pilot himself could have repaired it. A loose connection on one of the instruments.”
“Was the machine flown that night?” the General asked.
“According to the records—no,” Ben said. “That is the interesting part. Flight records are kept from the pilot’s logbook since, unlike an automobile, there is no odometer on an aircraft, nothing to indicate how many miles the thing has flown. But every engine has an hour meter that records how many hours it has been on. And here we did find a discrepancy. The pilot reported no flight that night, that the machine was on the ground and never flew until the next day. That does not match the engine’s records. So now we come to the interesting part. The FBI were into the company’s records as soon as I reported this possibility to them. They had the pilot in custody within two hours—and this is a recording of an interview I had with him just before I came here.”
There was absolute silence as Ben slipped the cassette into the built-in player in the desk. The screen slid down into position on the far wall and the room lights dimmed as he turned it on. The camera had been located behind his head, which could be seen in silhouette. Harsh lights revealed every detail of expression on the face of the man he was talking to.
“Your name is Orville Rhodes?” they heard Ben’s voice ask.
“Sure. But nobody calls me that. Dusty, as in Dusty Rhodes, get it? And also, PS, I’ve told you all this a couple of times already—so how’s about you telling me just what the hell I am doing here? Or even who you are. All I know is the FBI dragged me here without a word of explanation. I have my rights.”
Dusty was young, strong, angry—good-looking. And he knew it too, a girl’s dream the way he brushed his big blond mustache with the back of his hand, tossed his hair back with a quick motion of his head.
“I’ll explain it all in a moment, Dusty. A few simple questions first. You are the helicopter pilot employed by SkyHigh Ltd.?”
“You’ve asked me that too.”
“And in January and February of this year you were aiding in the construction of some buildings in Guatay, California.”
“About that time, yes, I was working there.”
“Good. Tell me about one specific day, Wednesday February 8. You remember that day?”
“Come on mister, whatever the hell your name is, how could I remember any one day in particular all these months later?” Dusty said it with anger—but he moved his eyes about quickly, no longer completely at ease.
“I’m sure you can remember that day. It was one of the three days you were not able to fly because of a sprained wrist.”
“Oh, then, of course I remember it, why the hell didn’t you say so in the first place? I was home drinking beer because the doc said I couldn’t fly.”
He said it quite sincerely—but a beading of sweat on his forehead could be clearly seen in the harsh lights.
“Who took your place for those three days?”
“Another pilot, company hired him. Why don’t you ask them about it?”
“We did. They say that you knew this pilot, Ben Sawbridge, that you recommended him.”
“They say that? Maybe they’re right. It was a long time ago.” He muttered the words, blinked into the lights. He was no longer brushing his sagging mustache. When Ben spoke again his voice was arctic cold.
“Listen to what I have to say, Dusty, before you answer my next question. The doctor’s certificate about your sprained wrist was on file with the company. It is a forgery. It is also on record that over the weeks before and after the date in question you cleared up all the overdue payments on your car and made some large deposits in your checking account. These were traced to an out-of-state checking account where a deposit of twenty-five thousand dollars had been made on January 20. Although the account is in a different name the handwriting on the check matches yours. Now, two important questions—who gave you the bribe money and who was the pilot you recommended to take your place those three days?”
“I don’t know from any bribery. And that was gambling money, from the off track betting in Tijuana. I sort of didn’t want the IRS involved, you know. And the pilot—I already told you. Name of Ben Sawbridge.”
“No flying license has ever been issued to a Ben Sawbridge. I want the truth about where the money came from. And I want to know who the pilot is—and you had better think carefully before you answer. This is not a criminal matter yet and no charges have been filed. If charges are filed you are in a very distressful position. That chopper was used in a very serious crime. There have been deaths. You will be indicted for complicity. At best you will be convicted of accepting bribes, lying, endangering life. You will lose your flying license, you will be fined and you will go to prison. That is the least that will happen to you. But if you refuse to cooperate I will see to it that you stand trial for murder as well.”
“I don’t know anything about any murder!”
“It doesn’t matter. You were a willing accessory. But that is a worst-case scenario. If you will help me I will help you. If you cooperate completely there is a good chance that this matter might be dropped—if you can lead us to the people who bribed you. Again before you answer—think of this. They made no attempt to hide the bribe or the forged documents. Because they didn’t care about you. They knew that this connection would be made sometime—and knew also that the trail would run cold with you.”
Dusty’s hai
r was plastered to his wet skin and he rubbed distractedly at his mustache, crumpling and disarraying it. “Can you really get me off?” he finally blurted out.
“Yes, a lesser charge—or perhaps no charge—in exchange for your full cooperation. This can be done. But only if you can tell us anything that could help us in this investigation.”
Dusty grinned widely and sat back in his chair. “Well, I can do that for you, do that for certain. I didn’t like the little shit who arranged the whole thing. I never met him but he had the smell of real dirty work. Called me and said the money would be deposited in this bank account if I helped him out. I didn’t like it but I was but broke. The money was there, I got a signature card in the mail so I could get it out. Once I started using the money he was all over me and there was no way of getting out of it.”
“Did he identify himself? Say what this was all about?”
“No. Just told me to follow instructions and not ask questions and the money was mine. One thing I can tell you about him though. He’s Canadian.”
“How do you know?”
“Christ—how the hell do you think I know? I worked two years in Canada and I know what a goddamned Canuck sounds like.”
“Calm down,” Benicoff said, an ominous grumble in his voice. “We’ll get back to this man later. Now tell me about the pilot.”
“You know I didn’t want to get involved. I only went along with this whole thing because I really needed the cash. I had a lot of debts and my alimony was really killing me. So you help me—and I’ll help you. Get me outta this thing whole and I’ll tell you something that they didn’t know, what I didn’t even know myself until this pilot walked in. I was told to vouch for him and I did just as I had been told. He was a big arrogant old sonofabitch, had gray hair—what was left of it. He had flown in Nam or the Gulf War, you could tell that just by the way that he walked. He looked at me, right through me, but at the same time making believe that he knew me so he could get to fly the chopper. That was the arrangement. I was to say I knew him, to recommend him. And I went along with the whole thing, I was really happy about it then.”
Dusty smirked and stretched, touched his knuckle to his mustache. “We made believe that we knew each other because that was part of the deal. But I’ll tell you something, the old fart had forgotten, but I had seen him once before. And I even remember his name because one of the guys afterwards was bullshitting my ear off about what a hotshot this old guy had been in the old days.”
“You know his real name?”
“Yup. But we got to make a deal …”
Ben’s chair crashed to the floor and he strode forward into the camera’s view, seized the pilot by the collar and dragged him to his feet. “Listen you miserable piece of crap—the only deal I make is to send you to jail for life if you don’t shout that name out loud—now!”
“You can’t.”
“I can—and I will!” The pilot’s toes were dragging on the floor as Ben shook him like a great rag doll. “The name.”
“Let me go—I’ll help. A screwball foreign name, that’s what it was. Sounded like Doth—or Both.”
Ben dropped him slowly back into the chair, leaned forward until their faces were almost touching. Spoke with quiet menace.
“Could it have been Toth?”
“Yes—that’s it! Do you know the guy? Toth. A funny name.”
The tape ended, and when his recorded voice died away Benicoff spoke aloud.
“Toth. Arpad Toth was head of security here at Megalobe when the events occurred. I checked the Pentagon records at once.
“It appears that he has a brother, by the name of Alex Toth. A helicopter pilot who flew in Vietnam.”
24
February 22, 2024
“This is my responsibility now,” General Schorcht said, a glint of grim determination in his eye, a touch of cold anger in his voice. “Toth. Alex Toth. An army pilot!”
“That is a very good idea,” Ben agreed. “This is on your patch and you have the organization to do it. We will of course keep the investigation going at this end. I suggest that Colonel Davis and I liaise at least once a day, oftener if there are any dramatic developments. We must keep each other fully informed about our mutual progress. Is that satisfactory, General?”
“Satisfactory. Company dismissed.”
The two Army officers jumped to their feet, stood at attention, followed the General out.
“And you have a good day too, General,” Brian said to the stiff, vanishing backs. “Were you ever in the Army, Ben?”
“Happily, no.”
“Do you understand the military mind?”
“Unhappily, yes. But I don’t want to be rude in the presence of a serving officer.” Ben saw Shelly’s grim expression and softened his words with a smile. “A joke, Shelly, that’s all. Probably in the worst possible taste—so I apologize.
“No need,” she said, returning a slight smile. “I don’t know why I should be defensive about the military. I joined rotsee to pay for college. Then I enlisted in the Air Force as the only way to get through graduate school. My parents had a vegetable stand in Farmers Market in L.A. Which for anyone else would have been a gold mine. My father is a great Talmudic scholar but a really lousy businessman. The Air Force enabled me to do the only thing I wanted to do.”
“Which leads inexorably to the next generation,” Brian said. “Where does the investigation go from here?”
“I’m going to follow up all the leads that the copter development opened,” Ben said. “As to the Expert Program, our wizard detective Dick Tracy—that is up to you, Shelly. What’s next?”
She poured herself a glass of water from the carafe on the conference table; gave herself a moment to think.
“I’m still running the Dick Tracy program. But I don’t expect it to find anything new until we get more data for it.”
“Which leaves you with free time—and that means you can work full time on the AI with me,” Brian said. “Because the work we do will eventually be fed into the Dick Tracy program.”
Ben looked puzzled. “Say again.”
“Think about it for a moment. Right now you are approaching the investigation from only the single point of view of the crime that was committed. Well and good—and I hope you succeed before they reach me again. Otherwise I’m for the knackers. But we should also be taking a second approach. Have you thought about just what it was that they stole?”
“Obviously, your AI machine.”
“No—it was more than that. They tried to kill everyone who had any knowledge of the AI, to steal or destroy every existing record. And they are still trying to kill me. That makes one thing very clear.”
“Of course!” Ben said. “I should have realized that. They not only wanted the AI—but they wanted a world monopoly on it. They might possibly be trying to market it now. They will want to use it commercially to turn a profit. But they have committed murder and theft and certainly don’t want to be found out. They have to conceal the fact that they’re using it, so they must exploit it in such a way that the AI cannot be traced back to them.”
“I see what you mean,” Shelly said. “Once they get it working, the stolen AI could be used for almost any purpose. To control mechanical processes, maybe to write software, follow new lines of research, aid product development—it could be used for almost anything.”
Benicoff nodded solemn agreement. “And that makes it rather hard to catch them out. We have to be on the lookout, not for anything very specific, but for virtually any type of program or machine that seems peculiarly advanced.”
“That’s much too general for my program to be able to deal with,” Shelly said. “Dick Tracy can only work with carefully structured data bases. It just doesn’t have enough knowledge or common sense to help with a problem as broad as this.”
“Then we will have to improve it,” Brian said. “This is exactly what I’m driving at. It is now perfectly clear what we have to do. First we have to
make Dick Tracy smarter, to equip it with more general knowledge.”
“You mean to make it into a better AI?” Benicoff asked. “And then use it to find the other AIs. Like setting a thief to stop a thief.”
“That’s half of it. The other half is what I’m doing with the robot Robin. Making it more like the AI in the notes. If I can do that, then we’ll know more about what the stolen machine is capable of. And that will help narrow the search.”
“Especially if we can upload those same capabilities into Dick Tracy,” Shelly said. “Then it could really know what to search for!”
They all looked at one another, but there seemed to be little more to say. It was clear what each of them had to do.
Ben stopped them as they rose to leave. “One last and important matter to discuss. Shelly’s living quarters.”
“I’m sorry you mentioned that,” she said. “I thought I was getting a lovely little apartment. But at the very last moment the whole deal fell through.”
Ben looked uncomfortable. “I’m sorry but, well, that was my doing. I have been thinking about the attacks on Brian’s life and I realized that you must also be a target now. Once you start developing AI, the murderous power out there will … it’s not easy to say, will want to kill you as well as Brian. Do you agree?”
Shelly nodded a reluctant yes.
“Which means you will have to live with the same degree of security as Brian. Here in Megalobe.”
“I’ll get suicidal if I have to live in the businessmen’s flophouse where I am staying now.”
“No question of that! I speak with feeling because I have spent many a miserable night there myself. Now can I make a suggestion? There are WAC quarters in the barracks here with provision for female Army personnel. If we knocked a couple of rooms together and fitted them up as a small apartment—would you mind staying there?”
The Turing Option Page 25