The Turing Option

“I am afraid that I don’t. Let me begin at the beginning. Sometime ago I was contacted by a man who called himself Smith. Later I discovered that his real name was J. J. Beckworth. Now, before you ask any more questions, let me tell you everything that I know. I was teaching at the university in Bucuresti when Mr. Smith made an appointment to see me. He knew of my research in artificial intelligence and wished to employ me to do some work in that field. He told me that a research scientist had succeeded in constructing an AI but had died rather suddenly. Someone was needed to carry on his work. I was offered a great deal of money, which I was happy to accept. I was of course quite suspicious, since it was obvious to me from the very beginning that there was something very illegal about the entire matter. There are many scientists in the West, a number of them far more qualified than me, who would have been eager to do the work. This did not deter me. If you know the history of my sad little country you will know that I must have compromised more than once to reach the fullness of my years.”

He coughed and pointed to a carafe on the sideboard near the wine. “A glass of water, if you please. Thank you.” He drank some of the water, put the glass down on the table at his elbow.

“What happened next you undoubtedly know. I went to the state of Texas, where your files were made available to me. My instructions were clear — to develop a commercial product that could utilize your AI. You know that I succeeded in this because your AI found my coded message.”

“Why did you leave the message?” Brian said.

“I thought that was obvious. You have been done a great wrong. Beckworth thought at first mat you were dead, indeed he bragged about the crime, told me that many had been killed and that I was involved. He did that to ensure my silence. He said that no one would believe I hadn’t been part of the conspiracy from the beginning — which is undoubtedly true. Then something went wrong, Beckworth was very upset. Thomsen was managing the plant by then and I was finishing with the development of the AI. I knew that Beckworth would be leaving soon so I forced him to arrange for my disappearance as well.”

“Forced him? I don’t understand.”

There was no warmth in Bociort’s smile. “You would understand, young man, if you had lived through the Ceausescu years in my motherland. Since I was convinced from the very beginning that what I was doing was illegal I took certain steps to guarantee my own safety. I left a program running in the university’s computer. A virus really. If I did not have a code telephoned to it once a month it was programmed to relay a coded message to Interpol. Beckworth was not pleased when I gave him a copy of the message and described the arrangement. Of course without revealing where the computer was. In the end he reluctantly understood that alive I was no threat to them. When I discovered that he was leaving I insisted that he make arrangements for my dropping from sight as well. I now live quietly, taken care of by my cousins who are happy to also live in Swiss luxury. Only the great wrong that had been done you disturbed me: therefore my message. I wanted to meet you — and your AI of course.”

“MI,” Sven said. “Machine intelligence is not artificial.”

“I stand corrected and do apologize. As for you, Brian, I want to give you the little information I have about the conspiracy.”

“You know who was behind all this?”

“Alas, no. I have but a single clue of any importance. I listened to all of Beckworth’s telephone calls. That was the first task your AI undertook, tapping every phone that Beckworth might use. He was very circumspect and only once did he slip up and use his phone to speak with his coconspirators. This was when he discovered that you were still alive, that an attempt on your life had failed. You were still a threat that had to be removed. The telephone number he called was disconnected next day, so all I can tell you is that it was located in Canada. But the man Beckworth spoke with was not a Canadian.”

“How do you know?”

“My dear sir! I know in the same way that I knew it was you calling me at this number. Your voice gave you away, a native of southern Ireland who grew up in the United States. Every word that you spoke was clear identification. I was led into AI research through my work in linguistics. My magister in philology was gained in the University of Copenhagen, where I followed in the footsteps of the great Otto Jespersen. Therefore you must believe me that the man was no Canadian. I have listened to the recording many times and am absolutely sure.”

Bociort paused for dramatic effect, touched the water to his lips but did not drink. Put the glass down again before speaking.