The Turing Option

“Might I assume that you have formulated a plan?” Sven said.

“Find a bar with a phone and we are on our way.”

They passed Paddy Murphy’s where he had been before, went on through the rain to the welcoming lights of Maddigan’s. Brian pointed to the dark entrance to the closed fishmonger next door. “You wait in there. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

The barman looked up from the Sporting Times when Brian pushed open the door. The courting couple in the rear booth were too occupied with each other to notice nun.

“Jayzus but it’s wet out there. A glass of Paddy if you please.”

“It’ll keep the dust down. Ice?”

“No — just a drop of the red. Can I telephone for a taxi?”

“Back by the jakes. Number on the wall above it. That’ll be two pound eighty.”

Brian downed the last of his drink when he heard the sound of a hooter outside. Waved to the barman and left. Sven appeared beside him, climbed into the cab after him.

“Going far?” the driver asked. “I need to fill the tank if you are.”

Brian slammed the door shut before he answered. “Limerick train station.”

“There’s an all-night petrol station on the way. Really suppose we ought to call it a gas station, same as the Yanks do. No petrol there at all. And hydrogen is a gas, that’s what I hear, so it’s off to the gas station we are.”

Brian wiped the condensation off the rear window and looked out. There were no other cars in sight that he could see. They just might get away with it. An image of Shelly appeared before him and he easily pushed it away. She was not even worth thinking about, not ever again.

41 December 21, 2024

The rain had turned to a fine mist by the time they reached Limerick station. Brian emerged from the cab first to pay the fare, blocking the driver’s view of Sven slipping out to stand in the shadows. The station was empty, the kiosk closed, a single light over the ticket Window.

“And there are the phones!” Brian said. “I sincerely hope that this time you will give me the right number.”

“I will enter it if you wish me to.”

“No thanks. Just tell me what it is — then find a dark comer to stand in.”

Brian punched in the series of digits. Listened to electronic rustling. Was this really a phone number — or would mat Swiss computer tell him to get lost again?

Some of the tension drained away when he heard the ringing tones. Four, five times — then someone picked the phone up.

“Jawohl.” A man’s voice.

“Excuse me, but is this a St. Moritz number 55-8723?” There was only silence — but whoever was there was still listening, did not hang up. “Hello, are you there? I’m afraid that I don’t speak German.”

“Would you tell me who you are? Or perhaps I already know. Your first name would not be Brian by any chance.”

“Yes it is. How did you know — who is this?”

“Come to St. Moritz. Phone me again after you arrive.” There was a click and the line went dead.

“That is very good news indeed,” Sven said when Brian went over to the MI.

“Eavesdropping?”

“Simply as a protective measure. As far as I could determine I was the only one that was doing it. Will we now go to St. Moritz?”

“Not this very minute. We’ll need some kind of a plan before we start rushing about.”

“Might I suggest that we consider a diversion first? I have accessed the timetable data base and there is a train for Dublin that leaves here in less than an hour. It might be wise for you to purchase two tickets, then make a query at the ticket window just before it leaves. Anyone who searches for us will find the cabdriver easily enough, which will cause them to follow us to this station. A subterfuge like this might.

“Might muddy the trail. You are a born, or constructed, conspirator, old son. And after we get the tickets and the train pulls out — then what? Go to a hotel?”

“That is one possibility, but I am developing others. Might I suggest that after purchasing the tickets you wait in a public house until it is time for the train.”

“All this is going to turn me into an alcoholic. And while I am in the boozer you will be doing exactly what?”

“Developing other possibilities.”

Sven joined Brian forty-five minutes later when he emerged from the pub.

“I made a pint of Smithwicks last the hour,” Brian said. “After this I swear off drink forever. And how have your possibilities developed?”

“Excellently. I will be waiting one hundred meters east of the station. Join me there after your discussion with the ticket vendor.”