The game master, p.30
The Game Master, page 30
“You were Alex’s pawn.”
“Or he was mine. Matter of perspective, I suppose.”
He narrowed his eyes, trying to think it through—and trying to distract her from recalling that she had not yet tied him up. “I’m not seeing the goal. Why would Alex want to feed information to you?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Alex devised this elaborate series of puzzles to test you. To see if you could give him what he lacked. But he needed a human agency. Someone to ensure the integrity of the game. Initially, he had someone else helping.”
“Julian,” Ogilve supplied. “Someone who hated Chun as much as I did. For much the same reasons.”
“Yeah. But he couldn’t be with BB constantly like I could. So I took over. I didn’t help you solve the puzzles. But I made sure no one stopped you from advancing.”
“That’s incredible,” he murmured. “I can’t believe it.”
“Is it so hard for the Game Master to believe he’s been manipulated?”
He shook his head. “Don’t you see? It isn’t just me. We’ve all been manipulated by this computer. Every one of us. He led mealong and I followed happily, so long as there was another puzzle to solve and my daughter’s life was in danger. Maternal instincts made you his pawn. Dinky believed that this would help him put down Chun. But bottom line, we all did what the computer wanted us to do.”
“And Chun?”
“Is being led by a different computer.” He felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. “I’m getting a bad feeling about this.”
“Like what?” she asked.
“Like for starters, I think you need to put down that gun while we still—”
“I’m afraid it’s too late for that.”
A figure emerged from the darkness holding an assault rifle. He pressed the barrel against the back of Linden’s neck.
Ogilve’s voice was barely a whisper. “Chun.”
“We meet again, my old friend. Please drop your weapon, madam.”
“I won’t.”
“Then I will kill you.”
“You’ll kill me anyway.”
“Not necessarily. I don’t see that you can interfere with my plans. Nor can your former spouse. I will release you both, once all danger has passed.”
“Don’t trust him,” Ogilve said.
“No,” he urged his ex. “Do what Chun says. There’s no reason to think he’ll hesitate to kill any of us.”
“Wise words. Perhaps your ex loves you still. I shouldn’t be surprised.” Chun shoved the gun forward, harder. “I do not wish your daughter to lose her mother.”
Linden dropped her weapon. Chun picked it up and slid it into his jacket pocket.
“Very good. Now go over with the others. Where I can watch you.”
Linden complied.
“Listen to me,” BB said. “You think you’ve won this game, and I know how good that feels. You have the illusion that you’re in control. But I don’t think you are.”
“Then who is?”
“Alex. It’s been manipulating every one of us since this scenario began. We’ve been programmed just as Ogilve initially programmed it.”
Chun smiled. “I have not communicated with your Alex.”
“But you have your own computer, right? That’s essentially the same? And you’ve been using it for guidance?”
“As it happens, not so much of late. I have left my phone in my pocket. After I received a bit of advice that indicated my advisor had become unreliable.”
“Like what?”
“It advised me to take no aggressive action once I was down here. Which took considerable effort, after the explosion. I was forced to rock-climb, to lower myself to one of the unfurled ropes. I don’t believe my men survived. But I did. And after so much effort, you cannot imagine that I will hesitate to do what I came to do.”
“Are you going to kill us?”
“Kill the Game Master? Heavens, no. I want you alive. So you can fix my computer just as you attempted to fix this one.”
“How do you know that?”
“My computer told me.” Chun adjusted his aim so that it pointed at Ogilve’s head. “But this man must die.”
“Dinky?”
Chun’s face stiffened. “For four long years I have toyed with you, Ogilve, but now all that comes to an end. To the last I grapple with thee; from hell’s heart I stab at thee.”
“So now what?” BB asked. “You initiate some twisted mad scientist plan to rule over all mankind?”
“Far from it. Your friend Dinky wants chaos, not me. Though I suppose I must thank him for my great insight. He was the one who first introduced me to the writings of Saint Thomas More. He used to rattle on about his hero, all throughout the time we played together. How More coined the word utopia and then devised one, but could not see it implemented. And each time, I asked myself, why can’t we have heaven here on earth? Our ambition is only limited by our ability to dream, is it not? If not us, who? If not now, when?”
“I’m not following . . .”
“Did you know a prior attempt was made? By the great Spaniard Vasco de Quiroga. He established a colony in Michoacán, Mexico, in the sixteenth century based on More’s model. It worked well, all in all. And today Quiroga is venerated as a saint. If he’d had more governmental support, more financing, his colony might still thrive. We might all be living in peace and harmony in one large global utopia.”
Chun drew in his breath. “Now I have the financing. I have acquired land in Brazil that will survive any anticipated nuclear conflict. A new Garden of Eden. I have military support. I control enormous food supplies. And I have the backing of the greatest artificial intelligence—make that intelligences—the world has ever known. Can I implement utopia? It would be a sin if I did not. It would be shameful if I did not try.”
BB peered into Chun’s eyes. Was the man completely insane—or a visionary such as the world had never seen before? Hitler, or Joan of Arc? He couldn’t tell.
“Of course, the original plan must be modified. More was a genius, but he was limited by his time and, it must be said, by his religion. The idea of slavery, any kind of slavery, is unacceptable, even when restricted to captured warmongers. The industrial revolution has given us devices that can handle the work slaves would have performed. And there is no need for conquest with these two great intelligences shepherding mankind.”
“You want the computers to rule. To control us.”
“I do not. They will stand at a distance, only intervening as necessary for our protection. Rather like the federal government in your country—at least, as it was originally conceived. All men and women will have work of value. No more fortunes will be made by people who produce nothing that benefits society. No more profiteering off human misery. Off legalized gambling on Wall Street. Off investments in the non-existent. Or by restricting resources that should be shared. When all men and women have a legitimate means of sustenance, when they are all part of a family larger than themselves, the world will be a kinder, happier place.” His eyes seemed to darken in the limited light. “There will be no more need for abandoned children, forced to find their own way in a persistently bitter world. No starvation. No one forced to abase themselves just to survive. We will have a new world order. A much better one.”
“With you as the dictator-saint?”
“I don’t see anyone else stepping up to play the part, do you? Will we wait forever for a Second Coming that never comes? For a millennium that never starts? For a state of nirvana that no one achieves? Or will we take matters into our own hands? Live for today, not tomorrow. Shape the world with our own hands, rather than expecting some supernatural agency to do it for us.”
“You’re insane.”
“You’re naïve. Look around you. Rome is burning. The Western democracies are on the brink of extinction. The barbarians are at the gates. Ogilve’s fools called themselves Neopolis, but they learned nothing from that battle. The fall of the established civilization did not lead to utopia. It led to the Dark Ages. Do you want to live in another Dark Age? A world even worse than this one? I, for one, do not.”
BB knew he’d been listening to this for too long. It was starting to make sense to him. “You can’t force people into paradise.”
“Of course you can. We force people to do everything else. That’s the greatest scourge facing the world today—the persistent invasive interference with individual freedom. People judging one another, constantly meddling in the lives of others and telling them what they must do. Why not direct all that energy to helping one another? Once this new world is created, force will no longer be necessary. Everyone will see the right. Everyone will be content.”
He shook his head. “Sorry, Chun, but most people will never be content, regardless of their circumstances. That’s the nature of mankind. And that’s not such a bad thing. Dissatisfaction is what makes us fight and strive and work. To achieve something that matters with what little time we have.”
“Says the man who has spent his entire life playing games.” Chun picked up the remaining FlexiCuffs and wrapped them around BB and Linden’s wrists.
“And how is that different from what you’re doing now? You’re playing games. Except I never tried to force anyone to play with me.”
Chun raised his rifle. “I think this conversation has gone on long enough.”
“So now you’re going to shoot me? Because I didn’t agree with you?”
“Not you. I need you. You must fix my computer. And now that I have your ex-wife and soon, your daughter, I am certain I can persuade you to do so.”
He adjusted his aim toward Ogilve.
“I’m no threat to you,” Ogilve said.
“You underestimate yourself. You’re the only person on earth who poses any threat to me. Because you’re the only person who can create another Alex.” He gestured toward the computer monitor. “With you eliminated, my power will be unchallenged.”
“You’re mad as a hatter.”
“Or the new Caesar. All depends on who writes the history books, doesn’t it? Say a quick prayer, Ogilve. This is check and mate.” He aimed carefully at Ogilve’s skull. “The white king dies now.”
96
President-Elect Vogel still couldn’t believe it. He was actually in the White House. The Situation Room no less. Before he’d even been inaugurated.
He’d be more impressed if the place wasn’t such a closet. Files and stray paper stacked up on the tables, even some of the chairs. Staff crammed in like clowns in a car. He’d do something about this. After he took over.
He liked having his finger on the pulse of the world. And so long as he had his trusty cell phone in his pocket, he could consult the greatest foreign policy wonk the world had ever known. Ogilve had never been wrong yet.
The man at the satellite relay center, Agent Zimmer, spoke. “Mr. President, the Pakistanis have seized control of the Indian submarine.”
“That’s just great,” Fernandez said. “What the hell did they think was going to happen? Did they want to deliver a nuclear sub into the hands of those madmen? Did the Taliban need access to the seas?”
He assumed these were rhetorical questions not meant to be answered. But they were the questions uppermost in everyone’s minds. And no one liked the possible answers.
“They are attempting to board the sub, sir. After that, they will escort her back to a Pakistani port.”
Fernandez pressed his hand against his forehead. “Reaction from India?”
“As you might imagine. For several hours, the military leadership sent encrypted messages to the sub’s commander. We haven’t decoded them yet, but I think we can safely say they were instructing the sub to turn around. It didn’t.”
Vogel thought he should say something, just to show he was paying attention. “Is it possible the sub commander is a double agent? Or wants to defect? Is this a Red October scenario?”
General Decker replied. “Who in God’s name would want to defect to Pakistan?”
“Perhaps a malcontent unsatisfied with the current Indian regime.”
“So he wants to try the land of eternal poverty, brutality, and terrorism?”
“Something else,” Zimmer said. “Sounds like India sent a message to the Pakistani leadership. And this one is not encrypted.”
“Let me guess. They’re demanding the release of their sub for all the world to hear.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And the Pakistanis are saying, screw you, we caught it in our sovereign waters.”
“Correct again, sir.”
“See what being president for eight years will get you, Vogel? I’ve become a mind reader.”
He smiled slightly. “I hope I’m half as prescient about international affairs as you.” It was a mindless bit of sycophancy, but the man had been kind enough to him. What could it hurt? “What’s the likely end result of all this gamesmanship?”
“It can only go one of two ways,” the president explained. “Either someone blinks. Or they go to war. As they have done so many times in the past.”
“If they go to war, what are the chances other governments will back one side or the other. Secretly or publicly?”
“Given what my advisors have told me, it’s a virtual certainty. Might be another Vietnam or Afghanistan, two sides with many secret supporters. Or it could be all-out global conflict.”
“And if the world’s superpowers start lining up on one side or the other, what’s the likelihood that nuclear arsenals will fire?”
“That’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, my friend. I’d like to think we’d all have the sense to resist that particular temptation. But now we have a brand new wild card to consider. Chun. What if this man who is in all likelihood insane decides to fire off a nuke? The West would have no choice but to retaliate.”
“And then we have a nuclear war.”
“Unless someone stops it. And at that point, I don’t know who would have that kind of power.”
He nodded, trying to appear thoughtful, trying to drink in all he heard, even though he knew he was only barely capable of assimilating it, much less arriving at an intelligent conclusion. “The United States will have to make some kind of public statement. Soon.”
“The sooner the better, I would think.”
“A cool voice to soothe the hotheads.”
“Or a firm threatening voice to preempt the hotheads. Which should it be? Could make a huge difference. Could make all the difference in the world.”
He couldn’t shake the feeling that the president was staring down his throat, waiting for an answer. Was this some kind of test? Or was Fernandez seriously expecting him to make this critical decision?
“Let me ask you this, Mr. President. What kind of military resources do we have in the sector?”
Fernandez deferred the question to General Decker.
“We have aircraft carriers on patrol, of course. The Intrepid is nearby. Armed with nuclear missiles. And”—he glanced over his shoulder—“also armed with VXD, a Soviet nerve gas they used to wipe out entire villages in Afghanistan. We also have three submarines that could be there within the hour.”
“So we could make a show of strength. If we wanted to.”
“We could even intervene,” Fernandez said. “If we wanted to.”
“Ballistic missiles could be there in a relative heartbeat,” Decker added. “All depends on how far you’re willing to go.”
“And that is the fundamental decision that has to be made.” Fernandez lifted the china coffee cup with the presidential seal to his lips. Did he imagine that, ever so slightly, the president’s hand was shaking? “How do we calm this mess down?”
“Or,” Decker intervened, “how do we take advantage of this chaos to stabilize a dangerously unstable region.”
“Not to mention sterilizing the main stronghold of the Taliban. What do you think, Mr. President-Elect?” Fernandez leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled.
He sensed that the commander in chief was relieved to have someone to consult. Or possibly, to have someone to whom he could pass the buck. “Mind if I look at a map? I want to get a sense of the geography involved.”
Decker rifled through his papers, but before the chief could produce anything, he whipped out his phone and started tapping. “Thank goodness for Wikipedia, huh?” He pulled up his texting program and tapped in a message. Sub capture situation between India and Pakistan. White House wants—
He never had a chance to finish. The response came faster than he could type the question.
Take no action at this time.
He stared at the screen. Did Ogilve understand the direness of the current scenario?
He continued typing. Pakistan has seized an Indian—
Take no action at this time. Further instructions will be transmitted.
He wasn’t sure which was more disturbing. That in the midst of a crisis, his advisor wanted the White House to stand pat? Or that he was supposed to wait for instructions—and act upon them when he received them.
He wasn’t consulting. He was being told what to do.
“Yes,” he said, feigning a review of the world map on his phone, “I can see why there would be intense anxiety. India could have both land and sea forces in Pakistan in no time at all.”
“So what are we going to do?” Fernandez asked.
He slid his phone back into his pocket. “Nothing.”
“Nothing at all?”
“I think it’s premature, sir. Even for precautionary measures. Even for a speech. If we send ships into the area, the movement will be detected and could be misinterpreted. If you deliver a speech, it will certainly be interpreted as taking a side and might create a panic. And frankly, I’m not sure we know exactly what position we want to take. No offense intended, sir, but regardless of what you propose, some will say it’s irrelevant, since you’re in a lame duck position. They will wait to hear what I have to say.”
“And . . . ?”
