He now believed time was running out for Oracle.
It was almost impossible to believe that Oracle could fall. For five years the A.I. had been the impetus behind more change, and change for the good, than any human being could possibly be. It was almost taken for granted that a proposed solution from Oracle, to any problem, was the right solution. Even when it wasn’t, Teng-chi suspected that Oracle intentionally aimed off the mark, so to speak, to give the humans involved a chance to object and raise issues and argue…and feel like they had a direct hand in coming up with the actual solution.
Teng-chi finished his sake as the limousine pulled into the driveway of the Dahl house. The sake had been a gift from Toshibo, Japan’s Ambassador to the U.N., who was in Japan and so would be missing the party. Excellent as always. The two had taken up golf together to further understand Western ways. Doubtless the other four members of Teng-chi’s secret inner circle were going to be there, and they would want to discuss the situation in Atlanta. There had been no confirmation from Oracle, which could only mean that the mission had not yet been completed. This was troubling, given the nature of the target.
It should prove to be a most interesting party, Teng-chi thought as he stepped out of the limousine. Movement caught his eyes, and he saw Andrei Udin waving to him, and beside the Russian walked Luc Beauchamp, unsmiling as always. Yes, a most interesting party indeed.
Chapter 17
Christie Seifert pressed the doorbell button once and heard the faintest of chimes sound inside. It wasn’t satisfying to her at all, so she also knocked. She imagined knocking might seem vulgar in the wealthy Buckhead neighborhood, but she didn’t care. She was a reporter and most of the folks in the neighborhood would probably think her vulgar by default.
The door opened, and there stood a tall, well-groomed, Hispanic man with piercing eyes.
"May I help you?" he asked in a smooth voice. Christie recognized the man as someone she’d seen before, but she wasn’t sure where or when. As a reporter, she’d seen most of the city’s prominent citizens at one time or another. She defaulted him to a fund-raiser for the rights of Mexican illegals. Slightly racist of her, she admitted to herself, but it was the first thing she could think of on the spot.
"I’m Christie Seifert," she said.
The man nodded. "From the news. Yes, I’ve seen you."
"And you are?"
"My name is Juan Alonso."
Christie’s brain processed the name and came up with Coca-Cola. Now she remembered… He had given a speech on behalf of Atlanta’s Mexican-American Association protesting the assassination of Generalissimo Sanchez six months earlier. That was either a big coincidence, or she was definitely at the right house. Or both.
A man came up behind Alonso. It took her a second to recognize him as a Cardinal Roscoe.
"Ms. Seifert is here upon my invitation," Roscoe said. "I apologize for not mentioning it earlier. She is with us."
The gun was in his coat but Henry kept his hand on it, ready to use it if necessary as the Cardinal and Alonso were followed into the dining room by Christie Seifert. Henry had heard the exchange at the front door, and recognized her from the news. She was blonde, and shorter than she seemed on TV, skinnier…just smaller all the way around. Cute, though.
She sized Henry up with an experienced eye. She looked at Sam and sized her up just as efficiently. She seemed about to say something to the girl, when Tina Jefferson walked into the room, wearing a knee-length dress, her hair newly brushed, carrying her shoes in her hands. She stopped when she saw Christie.
"Wow," was the first thing Christie said when she saw Tina.
"This woman is a neighbor of the girl’s," the Cardinal said. "I’m sorry, I can’t remember your name…"
"Tina Jefferson." She held out her hand to Christie, who gave it a brief squeeze while she sized up Tina.
"You’re beautiful," Christie said.
Tina blushed.
"Indeed," Alonso said, taking two steps towards Tina. He took her left hand into both of his and bent down to kiss it. When he straightened he was still holding her hand. "You look absolutely magnificent."
"I guess this dress agrees with me," she said with a shy glance at Henry.
He had to admit to himself that, yes, the dress agreed with her. It more than agreed with her, it illustrated her with curves that he hadn’t noticed before.
"I tried to take the, um, plainest one," Tina told Alonso.
"Ah, yes. My ex-wife has elaborate tastes, doesn’t she?"
Tina smiled demurely.
"You are a beautiful woman," Alonso said with a short bow to her. He then turned to Christie Seifert and also bowed. "As are you. It is an honor to have my house graced by your presence, both of you."
"Oh, please," Christie replied, but she was smiling.
Through this exchange, Henry looked at Sam, who was focused solely on Tina. When Tina glanced at Henry again, she followed his gaze to Sam. She walked over to Sam, who had eaten a few more bites of shrimp cocktail, evidenced by a handful of shrimp tails on a plate before her and a glass of Coke fizzing next to it.
"What do you think?" Tina asked her, indicating the dress by holding out her arms.
"You’re pretty," Sam said in a slightly more energetic voice than earlier.
"Thank you," Tina said, then went to sit next to her. She smiled at Henry, who smiled back before catching himself. He didn’t want to seem too comfortable among these people just yet, not until he learned just what exactly their agenda was.
Christie Seifert turned to face the Cardinal.
"There was a shooting at the Shrine of the Immaculate Conception downtown," Christie said. "Did that have anything to do with you?"
Cardinal Roscoe shrugged. "Perhaps. We don’t know who the man was, nor do we know who killed him."
"Do you think it was merely a coincidence?" Alonso asked, sounding almost hopeful.
"A coincidence?" Siefert arched her eyebrow at him. "Oh, please. On any other day it might have been just another shooting, but not today. The world we have entered into does not have coincidences in it."
"I’m afraid I must agree," Cardinal Roscoe said gravely.
"What world have we entered into?" Henry asked suddenly. All eyes turned to regard him. Alonso looked at him coolly. The Cardinal, nervously. Christie Seifert, with indifference. Tina…it was hard to tell. Henry swept his gaze around the room, as if sighting them like targets. Even Sam. She looked at him with the same wide eyes, somewhere between fear and a child’s dependency on someone who has become something of an ogre/father figure.
"Your world," Christie said.
"What makes you think it’s my world?" Henry asked.
"Isn’t it?" Christie took a few steps closer to him. "I can see it in you. You’re a killer. Not a sicko like some serial killer, but a soldier in a war, a mafia hit-man or a James Bond type. You were sent to kill the girl. I’m guessing you were the one who killed Sanchez."
Henry held her gaze for a while longer while the room remained silent. "You’re right," he said, finally. "I killed Sanchez."
Christie nodded.
"Oh my God," Tina said, bringing her left hand to her mouth.
"Who else have you killed?" Christie asked. Now she was chasing a story. Diary of a hit-man. "I’ll use it in my book."
"I don’t think we have to get into that now," the Cardinal said.
Christie didn’t look at him.
"Look," she said to Henry, "I’m here to help you. But I want the interview when this is all over, if any of us are still alive."
Henry allowed a grin. Suddenly he admired her for her persistence of vision. She wanted the story, but she knew the level of danger they were in.
"All right," he said.
She smiled then, moved closer and stuck out her right hand. Henry eased his off the gun and held it out, and they shook on it. Now she turned to regard the Cardinal.
"How much does he know?" she asked him.
"I
… I’m not sure," the Cardinal said. "I think I told him a little bit, but I can’t remember."
"What about him?" she jerked a thumb at Alonso.
"Nothing, really."
"We’ll just have to go over it again, then."
Alonso held up his hands. "I do not have to know anything. His Holiness the Pope called me personally and requested this favor of me. That is enough."
"I’m sure it is," Christie remarked. "However, as long as we’re in your house and we have to talk about this stuff, you might as well stay in the room and listen. What you don’t know can kill you." Alonso hesitated, then took a seat at the big table and poured himself a glass of wine.
"Do you think it is wise to tell everything?" the Cardinal asked her.
"Why not?"
"Do you think we can trust him?" The Cardinal looked at Henry.
"I think…I can," Christie said.
Cardinal Roscoe took a seat next to Alonso.
"When I was down in Mexico," Christie began, "covering the Sanchez candidacy and he was killed, the rumor quickly spread that the assassin was a gringo. I don’t know how or why. Maybe someone saw him… Maybe someone saw you," she said to Henry. "Then the rumor became that the CIA, had done it, for whatever reason. That didn’t make sense, of course, because Sanchez was very popular with the United States, and CIA backed him. I did some digging. For several weeks I didn’t get anywhere. I talked to everyone, and everyone had a different theory. Then, Cardinal Roscoe contacted me.
"The word had gotten out that a reporter was looking into the Sanchez assassination. A parishioner had told his priest, who told his bishop, who told the Archbishop of Mexico City, who reported it to the Vatican. Sanchez was a great friend of the Catholic Church, as you may know."
"I had no idea," Henry replied.
"The Cardinal told me that they might have a way to find out who was responsible for the Generalissimo’s death." She stopped and looked at Roscoe expectantly.
"Augustine," he said. "Named after-"
"I think everyone here knows who Saint Augustine was," Christie interrupted impatiently.
"Our A.I.," Roscoe continued, "is in some ways similar to the United Nations’ Oracle. We use it to help us determine courses of action that are in the best interest of the Church. Ms. Seifert came to the Vatican and transferred all of the information she had from her investigation to Augustine. We were not expecting what happened next."
"Augustine told us Oracle was behind the assassination of Sanchez," Christie said. "A computer. An artificial intelligence, I should say. I know they’re not exactly the same thing. That wasn’t all, though. It printed out a list of others who’d been assassinated, and gave the probability for each one that Oracle was behind it. There were twenty-five people on that list, and the lowest probability was eighty percent. Two of the people on the list were Catholic priests in Mogadishu."
They were all looking at Henry now.
"I haven’t killed twenty-five people," he said, "and I’ve never been to Mogadishu."
"How many have you killed?" Christie asked, a brief, wicked flash in her eyes.
Henry’s answer was silence.
Christie waited a beat before continuing. "Augustine said that Oracle uses multiple assassins. Two of them are responsible for the bulk of the assassinations on the list. I’m guessing you’re one of them. Several other assassins have been used once or twice, and then retired. Most people can’t handle the emotional and mental strain associated with killing, so they’re pretty much burnt out or washed up after one or two jobs."
"Do you think Augustine is right?" Henry asked.
"Well, we’re here," Christie said, "and you’re here." She looked at Sam. "And she’s here. So I’d say yes, so far Augustine’s been right on the money about everything. The only thing Augustine hasn’t been able to figure out is…why."
"Why what?"
"Why were you sent to kill the girl, and why you didn’t. Despite its best efforts, Augustine was not able to identify you, or any of Oracle’s assassins. That’s the piece of the puzzle I’m hoping to figure out myself."
"I don’t understand," Tina interjected. "Never mind how…but why would Oracle want Sam, or anyone else for that matter, killed? It’s not human, it can’t have motives like we do. So it must be in the programming. A computer will do whatever it is programmed to do. An A.I. isn’t completely a free-thinker."
"Right, it’s all about programming," Christie said. "The Vatican’s A.I. believes that there’s a loophole in Oracle’s programming that allows it to pursue the assassination of a human being to achieve the ends that it was programmed to achieve, namely the continuing improvement of life on Earth for all people, everywhere. The likely cause of this loophole was when the five permanent members of the Security Council insisted that Oracle be capable of military strategy for peacekeeping purposes. Peacekeeping missions necessarily must take into account instances where peacekeepers are forced to take lives in combat situations. Until the Security Council stepped in, Oracle could only conceive of nonviolent, non-militaristic solutions to problems, solutions that would never directly or intentionally result in the loss of even one life."
"So what does that mean?" Tina asked. "Every time someone steps out of line with Oracle’s plan for utopia…bam, they’re dead?"
"No, it’s not quite that bad," Christie answered. "Peacekeeping and peacemaking missions have different levels of urgency. The highest level is where direct combat is initiated by the U.N. This is a direct action that will result in casualties. I guess the loophole is where the definition of U.N.-initiated combat becomes out-and-out assassination."
Henry listened to this exchange with extreme interest. He had, at times in his employment as an assassin, wondered as to whom his employer was. He had always assumed it to be either the CIA or NSA, or some other, unknown, agency of the United States. And, really, he didn’t care. He stopped caring about most things after Cairo.
Not only that, he’d grown to like what he did. All he knew was that the people he was sent to kill were people who needed to be killed for the good of humanity. He believed it because the Lion of India, Parindra Jadeja, had proved it for him.
"So we still don’t know…why her?" Tina asked. She looked at Sam.
"That’s the million-dollar question," Christie said.
"We don’t think that Oracle chose the girl for the same reasons it chose the others for assassination," Roscoe added.
"Why did it choose the others for assassination?" Tina asked him. "I mean, what were the criteria? What was it about them that meant they had to die?"
"According to Augustine," Christie explained, "Oracle is capable of predicting a person’s general behavior pattern well into the future. Of course, there’s a margin for error, according to Augustine. The more years into the future Oracle tries to predict, the higher the margin of error. This is how Oracle operates, how it decides whom to kill. It predicts who will become the next Osama bin Laden or the next Saddam Hussein…and it has them killed before they ever get there. It would have had Hitler killed as an art student long before Mein Kampf was even a glimmer in his eye."
"And you believe this." Tina said to Henry. "You must, otherwise why would you…do what you did?"
"I believed it," Henry said flatly.
"Do you still?" Cardinal Roscoe asked.
"I’m not sure." He didn’t want to elaborate, to tell them that maybe part of him did still believe it and Samantha Jeannette Rohde might very we grow up to make Hitler look like a pussy cat. No, not believed. Feared it. And he could have stopped it with one bullet. He still could, he realized.
He wouldn’t, though. That was one thing he was certain of, that if a bullet did take Sam’s life it would not come from him. At that moment, he knew that more than he knew anything else.
Chapter 18
"Do you people have a plan?" Henry asked. "Or is this it?" Christie Seifert and Cardinal Roscoe looked at each other briefly.
"We have a pl
an," the Cardinal replied. Again he hesitated. He didn’t trust Henry, that was plain to see. Henry didn’t care.
"Are you going to tell me about it?" he asked. He glanced at Sam, who had forsaken cartoons in the other room to stay in the dining room.
"A new identity," Christie Seifert said. "She’ll grow up in Vatican City."
"You actually think she’ll be safe there?"
"Yes," Cardinal Roscoe answered firmly. "As safe as she’ll be anywhere else, until something can be done about Oracle."
"And you have a plan for that?" Silence. "That’s what I thought."
"Augustine is working on it," Cardinal Roscoe said, somewhat defensively.
"Let me tell you something," Henry said. "If Oracle isn’t taken out of the picture, the Vatican will not be able to protect her. Augustine won’t. No one and nothing will. Believe me, I know."
"We know what Oracle’s resources are," Cardinal Roscoe said. "We feel we are her best chance. Remember, you came to us. You need our help."
There wasn’t much Henry could say to that. Except… "Then I’m involved. I’m with the girl morning, noon, and night."
"Of course." Cardinal Roscoe clasped his hands together against his chest. "We expected as much."
"How do you plan to get her from here to there?" Henry asked.
"We’re waiting for a private jet to arrive in Atlanta. We are also waiting for two members of the Vatican security force to arrive here."
"When are they due?"
"That is unknown to me."
"And the plane?"
"Also unknown to me. We will receive notification when it is here and ready for us. That’s all I know."
"Until then, we just sit tight, is that it?" Henry asked.
Cardinal Roscoe nodded. "You realize that everything you just told me," Henry continued, "Oracle already knows. I’d bet my life on it. In fact, if I stay here with you… I am betting my life on it."
"We know Oracle knows," Cardinal Roscoe said.
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