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.”
ACTION/REACTION
14
Paris-2015 UTC/Local
Brown circled around his desk, picking up the two phones-King’s dedicated Chess Team phone and the quantum device-and casually slipped them in a pocket as he moved. King followed the gambler in his peripheral vision, but his primary focus was on the guards.
He had not expected to accomplish anything with his little game of chance. Certainly, he’d harbored no illusions that it might lead to his freedom, but even as he probed Brown for information, he’d wrestled with the matter of how to escape. Unfortunately, the plastic zip-tie binding his wrists together had not yielded a single millimeter to his surreptitious efforts, and that severely limited his options. His only chance would come when they moved him from the office to some out of the way corner of the riverboat, presumably the place where they intended to execute him, and that would mean cutting it very close.
As the two security men approached, King threw his weight to the side, toppling his chair over. He slammed onto his left shoulder, the impact driving the air from his lungs in a whoosh and sending a spike of pain through his head, but he’d done what he could to prepare himself for the crash and recovered his wits quickly.
The guards saw what he was doing and reacted without thinking, rushing forward to prevent what looked like an escape attempt, and that was exactly what King had been hoping for. Although the chair remained intact and his arms were still securely bound, one of the pair got close enough for King to wrap his nerveless fingers around the man’s ankle.
The guard spat an oath as he wrenched his leg free of King’s grasp.
The other man chuckled. “I told you he wouldn’t go quietly.”
The words were barely spoken when King twisted his body and snaked out a foot to sweep the second guard’s feet out from under him. The man’s arms windmilled as he landed flat on his back alongside King, and as he fell, King twisted again and kicked savagely at the man’s head. Two solid strikes left the man senseless on the floor.
The first guard reacted instantly, bringing his gun around and taking aim at King’s writhing form, but even as he did, something changed in his eyes. He blinked, as if unable to bring his target into focus, and then abruptly crumpled to the ground. The tetrodotoxin, administered when King had pressed his ring against the man’s leg, had done its job quickly.
Brown watched in disbelief as the melee, which had lasted only a couple of seconds, abruptly ended with both of his men incapacitated, but when King began maneuvering closer to one of the fallen guards, hoping to find a knife with which to cut himself free, the gambler sprang into action. He dashed around the desk and snatched up one of the fallen pistols.
King could tell by the uncertain way Brown held the weapon that the man was unused to this sort of thing. He had built his success on manipulation and playing the probabilities, and he had always relied on hirelings to take care of the dirty work. But the gun was a Glock 17-no bothersome safety to fumble with-and with only about ten feet between them, there was little chance that Brown would miss if he pulled the trigger.
King pushed closer to the guard he had dosed with the ring, but kept his eyes on Brown. “You’re probably responsible for hundreds, maybe thousands of deaths, but I’ll bet you’ve never had to do the deed yourself,” he said. “It’s one thing to order someone’s death, but pulling the trigger yourself? Not as easy as you thought it would be.”
Now he was the one gambling, and he was betting his life on the fact that his taunts would actually make Brown stop and think-not about the consequences of shooting him, but rather about how he still possessed a small army of mercenary guards only a few minutes away, any of whom would be more than happy to dispatch King.
But then Brown’s eyes hardened and his grip on the pistol steadied. A cold smile curled the corners of the gambler’s mouth. “There is a ninety-nine point nine percent probability that shooting you dead will make me the happiest person in the world.”
And then his world was filled with light and noise.
15
Julia was relieved to learn that the museum director had indeed spoken with Carutius about closing the exhibit early. The Frenchman wasn’t happy about it, but he seemed appreciative of Julia’s attempts to smooth things over. “These things are out of our control, n’est-ce pas?”
She nodded, commiserating, but with the bureaucratic task completed, her smoldering curiosity about the underlying reason for Carutius’s decision blossomed into full fire. Why on earth was Carutius running radiometric dating tests on the fragments? There was no dispute about their age, and the tests would be inconclusive anyway, revealing only the age of the materials used-which in the case of the sandstone chunks would run to millions of years-while telling nothing about when the statues themselves had been fashioned. Carutius was up to something, and Julia wanted to know what. It was, after all, part of her job description.
As she reached the corridor fronting La Chappelle gallery, she noticed a pair of figures lurking at the closed gate-a lithe woman with short, spiky hair, and a teenaged girl with jet-black hair and a swarthy Amerindian complexion. The two were dressed casually-jeans, t-shirts, sneakers-looking no different than most of the other visitors who roamed the museum’s halls, but something about the urgency in their expression told Julia that they were anything but ordinary tourists.
“This exhibition is temporarily closed,” she said as she approached.
Both of them turned to her, but it was the girl that spoke. “I’m looking for Mr. Carutius.” Although she hesitated with the name, as if her mouth had tried to use a different word first, her tone was every bit as serious as the look on her face. “Is he in there?”
Julia peered back at them, wondering what possible business these two could have with the wealthy and influential man. She shuffled through a variety of responses but then sublimated her impulse to put them off, and instead motioned for them to follow her. The woman’s face creased with concern but the girl seemed both grateful and anxious as she fell into step behind Julia.
Blackout ck-3 Page 7