The Turing Option

“I wish you and Sven all the best of luck and look forward to a detailed report upon your return. In the meantime I have research and reading that will keep me quite occupied. In addition, since I lack mobility, I shall construct a virtual reality for myself, a simulated three-dimensional world of my own.”

“Well, you will have plenty of privacy for that. The only way anyone can get in here is by blowing open the door and I think that Megalobe will take a very dim view of that.”

Brian dragged the now weighty box to the front entrance and opened it. “Hey, guys, you want to give Doc a hand with this thing?”

If the two soldiers noticed the weight they did not mention it, just not the macho thing to do since the others had carried it in so easily.

“You go ahead, Doc,” Brian said. “I’ll walk over with these guys.”

He had told her the exact spot where she was to park the car, in the lot behind the barracks, and was sure that she would get it right. He jogged back and, moaning insincere complaints, the two guards did so as well. They reached the barracks just as she drove up.

“Should I lock the car up?” she asked, then put the keys in her purse at the soldiers’ protestations of complete safety and security.

“Just a dry sherry,” she said in the club, and frowned when Brian ordered a large whiskey for himself. There was no need to look at their watches since a digital readout over the bar told them the time. Brian put a lot of water in his drink and only sipped it. They talked quietly as off-duty soldiers came in, others left, both of them trying very hard not to keep looking at the clock. Yet the instant the half hour flipped over Brian was on his feet.

“No — I don’t want to!” he said loudly. “It’s just getting impossible.” He pushed his chair back, banged into the table as he turned and spilled his drink. He did not look back as he stamped from the room, slammed the door. The barman hurried over with a towel and cleaned up the spill.

“I’ll get another one,” he said.

“No need. I don’t think that Brian will be coming back tonight.”

She was aware of everyone pointedly not looking in her direction as she sipped the rest of her drink. Took out her organizer as she punched in some notes. When she was ready to leave she picked up her purse, looked around the room, then went over to a sergeant who was drinking at the bar.

“Excuse me, Sergeant — but is Major Wood here today?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Could you tell me how to find him?”

“I’ll take you there if you don’t mind.”

“Thank you.”

When he had slammed out of the bar it took all of Brian’s control not to run up the stairs two at a time. Fast, yes, but running and drawing any attention was not a good idea. He locked the door behind him, then grabbed up the pliers he had placed on the table. Sven had sawn through the lock of the alarm bracelet on his wrist, then sealed it again with a small metal loop. Brian broke this off, dropped pliers and bracelet on the bed, tore his trousers off as he ran across the room, hopping on one foot and almost falling he pulled off his shoes as well. The plastic container of bubble bath was still sitting on the sink where he had left if. He seized it up, started to open it — then cursed aloud.

“Moron — the gloves first. Everything is timed. But don’t forget any of the details or this thing is not going to work!”

He turned the water on in the sink, rinsed his head under the faucet and kept it running. Clumsily opened the container with his gloved hands, bent over the sink and poured half the contents over his head, rubbed it in.

Although the liquid was transparent it turned his hair black on contact. It was a commercial hair dye that was guaranteed to darken the hair but not the skin. He wore the gloves because fingernails and hair are virtually identical — and black nails would certainly bring unwanted attention. He used the remaining liquid to touch up the lighter places and to very carefully dye his eyebrows.

After toweling his hair dry he rinsed off the gloves and plastic container. He would take the empty dye bottle with him. Put the gloves in the kitchen drawer and fold the towel at the bottom of the clean pile. If he got away with this plan there would be an investigation and the technicians would eventually find traces of the dye — but he did not want to make it easy for them. A quick glance at his watch. Only three minutes to go!

He pulled out the bottom drawer of the bureau — so hard that it crashed to the floor. Leave it there! Pulled on the uniform shut over the short-sleeved shirt he was wearing, then the trousers, tied the laces on the military dress shoes, struggled to knot his khaki tie.

It was a different Brian who looked back out of the mirror, adjusting the parachutist’s cap at the same rakish angle that the others did. 82d Airborne, he had sewn the shoulder patch on himself. No stripes, a private, one more of many, in uniform — meaning the same — and that’s what he wanted to be.

He was just jamming his wallet into his pocket when his telephone rang.