“Yes, ma’am, an algorithm that gives a null result when it should be a one is a lie, whereas the contrary would be true.”
“I’ve never heard that before. That sounds a little strange, son,” said the judge. “Will you swear to only tell the truth and nothing but the truth in this courtroom today?”
“Yes, sir.”
Judge Mordecai gave the nod to Dana. Her mind was racing. This person was here for a reason. She started with the basics.
“Where do you reside?”
“In Washington, DC.”
“What is your education?”
“I have a bachelor’s—honors—in mathematics and software engineering from Georgetown. I have a master’s in mathematics from MIT. I have a PhD in mathematics from Harvard. I have a second PhD from Stanford. That one was in deep neural net learning algorithms. We were teaching computers to think.”
“Oh,” said Dana.
“Oh,” said Sheff.
“I see,” said Judge Mordecai slowly, watching Turbee a little more closely. “You can get computers to think?”
“We’re not there yet. But we can now use massively parallel perceptronic networks to simulate the architecture of deep neural learning . . .”
“Would you be able to help lawyers to learn?”
“That would be too multilayered for today’s processing abilities. But one day.”
“Uh-oh” whispered McSheffrey to Archambault.
“How old are you?” asked Dana.
“Twenty-five, ma’am.”
“How old were you when you were awarded your PhD?”
“Twenty, sir. For my first one.”
George passed Dana a note. “Ask him about his medals” was scrawled on it.
“Do you have any, uh, medals, Mr. Turbee?”
Turbee looked down, again turning red. “A few, ma’am.”
“Who from and what for?”
“I was given the Presidential Medal of Honor from the president of Israel. The agency that I worked for had uncovered a terrorist plot to blow up a huge area in Tel Aviv. I was given the medal but it really belonged to everyone at the agency. Really.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes. I was given the Netherlands Medal for International Peace Operations. There was a terrorist plot to bomb Amsterdam and we found out about it. Again, it was given to me but it really belonged to the agency.” “Oh,” said Judge Mordecai.
“Do you work?”
“Work?”
“Yes, Mr. Turbee, do you have a job?” Dana had no clue where this was going, and the witness seemed to have difficulty with basic questions. The looking at the floor thing was not going to impress the jury.
“I work for a small intelligence agency in Washington called TTIC, short for Terrorist Threat Integration Center.”
“And what specifically do you do there?”
“I cannot answer fully because of confidentiality issues.”
“Okay, generally, what do you do?”
“Using the internet, and literally millions of databases that we have access to, and the resources of the NSA, which are huge, and all of the other agencies in the American intelligence community, we can identify terrorist threats as they are developing, and usually we can notify the FBI or the CIA and the threats are neutralized before they are fully emergent.” Turbee spoke in an even monotone.
“Were you involved in the Colorado River attack?”
“Was I involved in the attack? No ma’am. I don’t blow things up.” More snickers.
“Were you attempting to neutralize that threat before it materialized?”
“Not quite, ma’am. Our agency was attempting that. I played a role. We were onto them, but behind them by about two minutes.” He shook his head and disconsolately looked at the floor and repeated himself. “By two minutes.” He involuntarily reached for the water glass, misjudged the distance, and knocked it to the floor, which, around the edge of the witness box, was solid oak. It smashed into multiple shards, and water flew everywhere. George was impressed. The water glass had lasted a full ten minutes. Judge Mordecai wondered if Dana and Turbee were related.
41
The crowded boardroom emptied, leaving just the president, Dan Alexander, and Tyra. The president was edgy and agitated. “If Yousseff is fingered in the Colorado attack, we lose Afghanistan. Now you tell me that crazy trial in Vancouver is threatening to do exactly that. Not only do we lose a tremendous geopolitical advantage, but, but—”
“I know, sir,” Tyra said, putting the bottom of her left foot on top of his right shoe and wiggling it a bit. “I know. Personally we lose everything. You, and me, and CJ, and Dan. Everything that we have achieved will be gone.”
“Gone.”
“And we’ll end up in the slammer.”
“No, we won’t, Tyra. I’ll pardon all of us before that happens. I am the president, remember?”
“How can I help, sir?” Dan asked.
“Those two rascals, Turbee and George. They are from your agency. Surely you can go there, to that damned trial, and get them back here. Stop them and slam them into the Supermax.”
“Sir, it will be my personal pleasure. I will repatriate the little bastards.”
“Thanks, Dan,” replied the president. “Go now. Get to Vancouver before everything goes into the toilet. Now, dismissed.”
After Dan had left, the president turned to Tyra. “This is not a risk-free game. That trial up north threatens to unhinge everything.” “I’m not sure if Dan can stop things,” said Tyra.
“That’s why I want you up there. Dan Alexander and the lawyers can only do so much. And that judge is completely crazy. We can have the best legal arguments drafted, and he’ll reject a motion just because he’s unhappy with his prostate that particular day. I need you as backup.”
“What are your instructions, sir? What do you need?”
“I’m not that worried about that Turbee kid. He’ll be demolished in cross. Dan can give those prosecutors a goldmine of information. And if we need to, we can spend millions to get the spin machinery up and running. We can paint him as a dangerous guy bordering on criminally insane, someone who breaks into computers all over the world for the hell of it. Even if the jury believes him, the American public won’t, once we’re through with him.”
“It’s Kumar Hanaman, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Tyra, it is. If Yousseff was the CEO, Kumar was the COO. His machines made
