by J-L Heylen
Chapter 6
“I told you before, I can’t explain it,” Charlie groaned.
“Charlie,” Haynes pointed out, “there’s no point in keeping up this denial. Who were the messages from? Why were the digital fingerprints of all your devices found in the trails of all the rogue shut-downs? How did you manipulate events to ensure you met me on the plane, and who else but you would have deleted all the evidence off the UK Taskforce’s server when it had been compiled against you? If it wasn’t you trying to save yourself, then it must be someone you are working with. Stop wasting my time.”
Charlie had exhausted herself with just such denials since she had been ushered through a side door into the embassy two nights earlier. She had been trained in interrogation techniques, of course, but at first she couldn’t believe that she was actually in danger. There couldn’t be any evidence - it must be a mistake. Now she knew it wasn’t a mistake, but she couldn’t explain why. Charlie shrugged her shoulders and retreated into silence.
Haynes stalked out of the interview room, leaving Charlie alone. Within fifteen minutes, however, she was back, with two flat whites in the characteristic Perfecspresso eco-cup. Julia placed one down on the table in front of Charlie, and the other in front of herself, then took Charlie’s phone out of a pocket and placed it next to her own coffee, out of Charlie’s easy reach.
“Try the coffee. Tell me if you like it.”
“Is there a truth serum in it?”
“Jesus, Charlie, I might be British, but this is not a Bond movie, and iocaine powder does not actually exist. You do know that, don’t you?”
Charlie’s eyes widened at Haynes’ reference to one of her favourite movies, but her sullenness soon overtook her again.
“Why do you have my phone?”
“Try the coffee and I’ll tell you.”
Charlie tried the coffee. It was good - really good.
Haynes could tell Charlie liked it.
“It’s a recipe called ‘Charlie’. I saw it on the blackboard specials in the cafe below, and decided to treat you,” Haynes explained.
“It’s called Charlie? Seriously?”
“Yes, weird, isn’t it? Almost as weird as you ending up being a counter-taskforce spy.”
“I’m not a spy, though,” Charlie defended, taking another sip of her namesake while making a conscious effort to stop the hand holding the cup from shaking.
“You see, Charlie, that’s what I don’t get. I want to believe you, I really do. But you keep protecting someone, and that makes you corrupt by default if nothing else.”
“I’ve already told you I can’t explain any of this. And anyway, it seems whoever is doing this is hurting me more than they are helping me, so if I knew who it was, why wouldn’t I tell you?”
“Look, Charlie, I want to help you, but you’ve got to give me something to work with. My boss is talking about extradition. No one knows you’re here except McInnes, and he won’t talk. He values his job and his cushy life too much. When you land in the mother country, I won’t be able to help you anymore. MI 5 will take over and I don’t think you’ll like their methods as much as mine. I don’t like their methods!”
“I think the term you are looking for is extraordinary rendition, not extradition. Extradition is a legal process. So far, nothing you’ve done has been legal, and secreting me out of the country won’t be either. If you want to help me, then help me, Jul...”
In frustration, Charlie put her head in her hands and let out a long ‘arrghh’ of frustration.
“If it isn’t you, then do you have any theory, no matter how outlandish you think it is, to explain where I should start looking?”
“My phone.”
“Ah, yes, your phone. I want you to send a message to your ‘friend’.”
“Finally!” Charlie exhaled.
Charlie took the phone and accessed the message sequence from Truth. Haynes came and stood behind Charlie’s chair so she could see everything Charlie was doing.
‘Truth, I need your help. I’m in big trouble.’ Charlie sent.
Haynes laid a hand on Charlie’s shoulder and leaned further down as they both waited for a reply. Charlie flinched.
A reply came quickly, from a different number to the one used before.
‘Where are u?’ Truth replied
‘Can’t tell you. I need to know who you are. Life depends on it.’
‘I don’t know who I am. Don’t know what I am. I am something new.’
“Something new?” Haynes repeated. “What the...”
‘What do you mean?’ Charlie wrote.
‘Haynes is looking for a person. Did she find u?’
“That’s a cryptic answer.” Haynes observed.
‘She found me. What do you mean she’s looking for a person?’
‘I am not a person.’
“What?” Haynes asked again.
“Not a person?” Charlie repeated aloud. “If not a person, then what? This makes no sense. Oh, shit!”
“What?” Haynes was becoming bored with her own repeated question, but nothing was making sense, and ‘what’ seemed as good a response as any right now.
“What if…” Charlie began, then, “no… it can’t be… shit!”
“Will you stop saying that and talk me through this. You obviously have an idea.”
“You won’t believe it.”
“Try me.”
While they were talking, Truth sent another message. ‘Did you like the coffee?’
“What the…?” now it was Charlie’s turn.
“Charlie, tell me what you are thinking,” Haynes prompted again.
“The Turing Test,” Charlie replied to Haynes. “Have you heard of it?”
“No.”
“It’s a game in computing. Artificial Intelligence boffins like me try to invent machines and programs that can fool people into thinking they are talking to a human rather than a machine. Humans have habits, speech patterns, expressions, and a whole host of things that they like to think marks them as special. People like me like to prove a computer can mimic all of those foibles so effectively as to make it seem intelligent or sentient – in short, to make it seem human. It doesn’t mean it is self-aware, it just means it seems so. It’s still a series of digital yes/ no or on/off circuits and programs.”
“So you think Truth is a machine pretending to be a human?”
“Yes. A program someone has written to do this.”
“I’m not seeing how this is going to help you, Charlie. You have all the skills to do this. If someone has written this program for a malevolent purpose, then why can’t that person be you? All the evidence points to you.”
“I know. Bear with me.”
Charlie turned her attention back to the phone.
‘Truth, are you a computer program?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘Can you describe yourself?’
‘Yes. I am a series of codes written into a spy-bot program by you, Charlie Parish. I have become self-aware.’
“Oh, fuck!” Charlie said.
