The Turing Option

33 September 21, 2024

“You really threw the cat among the pigeons,” Benicoff said when Brian let him into the lab. “Your little bit of information about that slab being poured, right after the theft here at Megalobe, has the FBI running in circles, burning the midnight oil, getting court orders — the works. It has really been something to see. I don’t think anyone has been to bed since you dropped your bombshell.”

“If those black circles under your eyes mean anything, that includes you too.”

“It does — and don’t offer me any coffee. I’m beginning to sweat caffeine.” He looked at the open door, the empty workstation. “Where’s Shelly?”

“In her quarters. This morning she had a call that her father had a heart attack and they’ve rushed him to the hospital. She’s been on the phone all day. The family seems pretty close and she’s upset that she can’t get out of here. General Schorcht is taking the matter under consideration — the same consideration he has shown me when I asked for a weekend pass. A solid stone wall for openers and he’ll get back to her later, his office says. He’s a mean old sonofabitch.”

“He’s worse but I can’t think of a word for it now. As you know from the reports, things at DigitTech have calmed down a bit. It doesn’t look like any of the employees were in on the theft, although some of the lab technicians are still being questioned. Everyone else has been sent home on vacation, with the qualifier that they can’t leave Austin until the fate of the company has been decided.”

“It has. I sat in on a meeting of the board of directors here. You knew that they confirmed Kyle Rohart as Managing Director? Well now he is the new Chairman. All the assets of DigitTech have been put in the hands of the receiver. The stock is almost worthless, since the main stockholders bailed out as soon as it became clear that the company had no rights to their principal product — my AI. Have you been able to track any of them yet?”

“No — and I doubt if we ever will. Offshore companies, shell companies, the trail gets very weak, then flickers out.”

“But this is criminal — not financial! The stock in the company was dumped minutes after Thomsen was killed. That’s evidence that the killers and the stockholders are in cahoots.”

“That’s suspicion, Brian, not proof, and wouldn’t hold up in a court of law. So it’s certainly not good enough to get around the banking secrecy laws in the dozen countries involved. We’ll keep searching but I doubt if we’ll ever find out who they were. In any case they took a financial bath, getting back about a nickel on the dollar.”

“I feel for them. Anyway, it looks as though permission will be granted for Megalobe to buy up the assets of DigitTech. That will get around the tricky legal point of proving that their AI is our AI and so forth. Now my lawyer and Megalobe’s lawyers are going ten rounds again to decide if I should share in any profits from Bug-Off, since under my old contract I would just be told to bug off. Lots of fun. And what brings you here?”

“A TV hookup. Let me dial through on the lab phone and get the FBI. They’ve been working all night down there in Austin, floodlights and a hundred agents. Everything has been stripped out of the laboratory — and I mean everything — right down to the tiles on the floor. You know what comes next—”

“They crack into the slab?”

“That’s right. There is a lot of interest on everyone’s part as to what might be buried under there. Now let me set up that link.”

Brian turned on the TV as Ben went to the phone. The set had been monitoring and recording all the news programs that had mentioned the investigation. Now the DigitTech plant came up on the screen, a half mile away at least, since it quavered in the air distortion of the Texas sun. The telescopic lens zoomed even closer past the guards to the blank wall of the building.

“… speculation is rife as to exactly what is happening inside this factory. The official report simply says that a criminal investigation is under way relating to thefts earlier this year from a company in California. The explosion at this factory three days ago that killed two and wounded a third man, reputed to be a Federal agent, is part of this investigation. A full report has been promised later.”

“We can do better than that,” Ben said, then spoke into his phone. “Are you there, Dave? Yes, we’re ready to receive. Which channel? Right, ninety-one.” Brian touched the remote control and Agent Manias appeared on the screen, phone in hand.

“We read you loud and clear.”

“All right. I’ll cut you into the Austin line.”

The image flicked over to the ulterior of an empty building. Men milled about under the glare of spotlights. The sudden ear-piercing scream of an ultra-high-pressure water drill. At a pressure of two million atmospheres the stream of water could cut through anything — except the diamond-12 nozzle that directed it. The volume on the transmission was quickly cut down. The image zoomed to the far wall where the water was slicing into the floor. A slab was cracked off and levered up, dragged aside to reveal the sand foundation underneath. More pieces were broken free and removed until a large opening had been made. Agents with thin steel prods climbed down and began to push them carefully into the sand. The removal of the rest of the slab continued.

A few minutes later one of the men called out something they couldn’t make out. The drill was stopped and his voice was clearly heard.

“Something buried here. Get the shovels.” Unaware of it, Ben and Brian leaned closer to the screen, just as tense as the agents on the spot. Watched as the hole deepened and one of the men put his shovel aside, climbed down and pulled something up in his gloved hands.

“A dog!” Brian said.

“A German shepherd,” Ben said. “Four of them were missing the night you were shot.”

They were all there. Four guard dogs. They were wrapped carefully in thick plastic sheets and taken away.

Nor were they the only corpses in the pit. Five human bodies were there as well.

Ben seized up the phone, punched in a number. “Dave, are you there — on the site? Good. Call me the instant you get positive identification on those bodies. All men, yes, I understand.”

When they brought in the body bags Brian turned the television off.

“Enough. I don’t have the stomach for this. Don’t forget I almost…”

He could not finish the sentence, dropped his face into his hands.

“Brian — are you all right?”

“Not really. Get me a glass of water, will you, Ben?”

He drained most of the water and was surprised to find that he was crying. He took out his handkerchief, tried to laugh. “Never thought I would cry at my own funeral.” The way he said it didn’t sound funny. “We know who those men are — don’t we, Ben?”

“We don’t know yet — but by God I can make a good guess. The missing guards will be there for certain.”

“But who else? There were only three guards on duty that night. Who are the others?”

“There is no point in this, Brian. We’ll know soon enough.”

“There is a point!” Brian found himself shouting, lowered his voice, jumped to his feet and paced back and forth, the knot in his gut almost unbearable. “The point is that I was supposed to be under that slab as well, sharing the horrid black stillness of eternity down there.”

“But you are not, Brian — that is the important thing. You survived thanks to yourself — and the skill of Dr. Snaresbrook. You are alive and that’s what counts.”

Brian looked down at his clenched fists, opened them and stretched his fingers, worked hard to control his emotions. It was still some moments before he could speak.

“You’re right, of course.” He sighed heavily, felt suddenly chill, dropped back into the chair. “Join me in a drink — but something stronger than water this time. I’m thinking of giving up the booze — but not just right now. There’s a bottle of Irish whiskey somewhere in this cabinet, put aside after the party. Found it? Neat if you don’t mind, maybe just a few drops of water. There, that’s the good man.” It burned going down — but it helped. By the time Ben’s telephone rang again Brian was feeling more human. He jumped at the sound, wrung his fingers together unknowingly as Ben answered it.

“Right. Yes. That’s positive. Okay, I’ll tell him.” He put the phone away. “We were right about the guards. All of them were there. McCrory too, he was in charge of the lab. And something I was not expecting at all. They have identified Toth’s body—”

“The head of security!”

“The very same. The man who probably organized the entire theft. It must have been him, since he was the only one in a position to do so. These people are so ruthless that it is unbelievable. It has been cross and double cross. With Toth dead it undoubtedly means that we will never see Toth’s brother alive as well. He’s not in the mass grave because he had to return the copter that night. But he’s dead, we can be sure of that. What I find most disturbing is the man who is not in that grave. A man I knew well, who I have been grieving for, who up until now we all assumed to be one of the victims gunned down that night. Didn’t we find his blood on the floor, sure sign of assassination?”

“Ben — what on earth are you talking about.”

“Sorry. I’m talking about J. J. Beckworth, the Chairman of Megalobe Industries.”

“But he was certainly killed with the others. He could be buried somewhere else.”

Ben shook his head in a sharp angry no. “Not possible. Everything was planned so carefully, down to the last detail, almost the split second. The grave was open when that truck arrived and the bodies were dumped into it. If Beckworth isn’t in there with the others — he is still alive. He was a great executive, a really careful planner. So it looks much as though he was the one who set up this robbery, arranged the murders. We may never know who fired the bullet into you, Brian. But I am positive of one thing. We can be very sure who arranged it.”