The Turing Option

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.”