Drone by Mike Maden Read Free Book Online Page B

for this morning’s private meeting.
    “A coffee, please, black, no sugar, if it’s not too inconvenient.” What he really craved was a cigarette.
    “No, not at all.” Myers crossed over to a credenza. She poured him a cup of coffee from a freshly brewed pot. Britnev was a huge coffee fan. He had even helped broker the first Starbucks franchise in Moscow. She handed him a cup and saucer imprinted with the presidential seal.
    “Thank you, Madame President.” Britnev took a sip.
    “How about you, Karl?”
    “None for me, thank you. Doctor’s orders.”
    Britnev’s eyes drifted over to a side table. An antique chess set was on it. He stepped over to it.
    “It’s a lovely set. May I?” Britnev asked.
    “Yes, of course,” Myers said as she poured herself a cup of coffee.
    Britnev set his cup down and picked up a white knight, faded to yellow. “Hand-carved ivory?”
    “Yes, elephant tusk, unfortunately. It’s actually a set that belonged to President Jefferson. He was quite an avid player.”
    “He was a very talented man. Many gifts.” Britnev gently returned the piece to its position. “It appears as if White has opened with a queen’s gambit.”
    Myers crossed over to Britnev, coffee in hand. She glanced at the board.
    “You’re very observant. Do you still play?” She took a sip of coffee.
    “Not with any real skill,” he said. He exuded a boyish charm, despitehaving just turned fifty. His hand-tailored Italian suit perfectly complemented his athletic frame, though a back injury at university had ended a promising ice hockey career.
    “You were a grandmaster at the age of sixteen, Mr. Ambassador. That sounds pretty good to me,” Myers said.
    “But never a world champion. As I recall, that’s about the same age you were when you wrote your first AI program, isn’t it?”
    “Hardly an AI program. Just a program for playing chess. Please, shall we sit?”
    “Yes, of course.” Britnev took the couch opposite Strasburg while Myers took a chair.
    “Where did you learn to play the game, Mr. Ambassador?” Strasburg asked.
    “My father taught it to me when I was a boy while he was stationed in Tehran. We used to play every evening together. I suppose it’s why I have such a strong emotional bond to the game. You know, chess was invented by the Persians, but the mindless mullahs banned it for years after the revolution. Do you play, Dr. Strasburg?”
    “On occasion, but poorly. I believe it was Bobby Fischer who said that one only becomes good at chess if one love the game.”
    “I do still love it, but I seldom have the time,” Britnev said.
    Strasburg paused, lost in a painful memory. “My brother loved the game. He said that he could tell a lot about a man after he played three games of chess with him. Do you find that to be true, Mr. Ambassador?”
    “I find that one match is usually enough.” Britnev chuckled. “But perhaps that is because it is a Russian’s game. We understand the virtues of sacrifice and taking the long view. You Americans have no patience for such things. That’s why the Russian players are the best in the world.”
    “Until IBM’s Deep Blue defeated Garry Kasparov.” Strasburg smiled. The old cold warrior couldn’t resist the dig. “Of course, there are other ways to defeat a grandmaster.” Both men were well aware that Kasparovhad been a vicious opponent of President Titov and had been recently arrested for his political activities.
    Britnev turned back to President Myers. “Is it true you never actually played chess in your youth?”
    Myers nodded. “Never a full game, no.”
    “Remarkable. Then how in the world did you manage to write a piece of chess-playing software?”
    Myers shrugged. “Chess is a function of finite mathematics: sixty-four squares, thirty-two pieces, and a maximum of five million possible moves. The longest championship game ever played was under three hundred moves. It was simply a matter of finding the right decision