The Theory of Games by Ezra Sidran Read Free Book Online Page A

Service Medal third from the left on the fourth row down and there wasn’t a gray hair on his head.
    We were sitting – LTC (you know, Light Colonel) Finley, Major Jacobson and me at this big oak table in the back over a late lunch at the O-Club and they all seemed to know him. Finley and Jacobson pushed their chairs back and snapped to attention.
    Well, I’m a civilian. All I could do was fold my napkin in my lap and offer him a seat.
    You know the old blues line, “handful of gimme and a mouthful of much obliged?”
    “No,” the Authoritarian Man said.
    Well, Stanhope had a handful of gimme and I needed a deal real bad just at the moment.
     

CHAPTER 2.1
     
    The twenty grand didn’t come from DARPA (Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency), no surprise there. It’s six months minimum to approve a DARPA grant. This was private funding. Or off-the-books funding.
    We – Finley, Jacobson and I – had finished our lunch and the waiters brought more coffee. Stanhope toyed with his unused place setting. I remember the way that he positioned the heavy silver knife between the tines of his fork as if he was constructing a model trebuchet and he was about to launch a stranded crouton across the table. Mentally I put him down as an artillerist.
     
    “He’s not.” The Authoritarian Man said. “At least not as far as we know,” then suddenly he put his right hand up to his ear and cocked his head as he listened to his Master’s Voice but the damage had already been done. Apparently they didn’t know everything .
    So, are they American? Was Stanhope one of theirs gone rogue? No, they would have his complete files if that was the case. Mental note: whoever they are, Stanhope wasn’t on their side. Got it.
     
    Stanhope finished his trebuchet of cutlery, cleared his throat, had a sip of coffee and then got straight to business, “Mr. Grant we would like to commission ,” (I remember distinctly the way he enunciated the word), “one of your special computer simulations. It is for Homeland Security” (he actually spoke the words with capital letters; the words weighty with importance), “and it must employ the BILL equation.”
    “And that is when Stanhope first broached the subject?” the Authoritarian Man asked.
    Yup; that was it. About 2:45 in the afternoon of a blindingly sunny Alabama day in the O-Club at Maxwell AFB. That was the exact moment my life turned to shit. I had thought it was when Gilfoyle fired me but, nope, it was right there at Maxwell.
    “A simulation for Homeland Security?” the Authoritarian Man repeated.
    Yup.
    “That employed the BILL equation?”
    Yup.
    “Of an assault on the White House and the members of Congress?”
    Yup.
     
     

CHAPTER 2.2
     
    Well, the backroom deal went down faster than most. It was what my old business manager would have called “a whorehouse deal.” It’s what they call in the oil fields of Beaumont, Texas, “a short-fuse deal.” It’s all the same. He wanted to buy and I wanted to sell and the Devil is always in the details.
    “And the details?” the Authoritarian Man asked.
    The details? I shrugged as best the restraints would allow. You probably have more of the details than I do; the bank routing numbers, the wire transfers. The twenty grand was a down payment. I was promised another 80 for development and another 100 upon completion. They still owe me 140. Do you know where I can file a claim?
    “Sorry,” the Authoritarian Man smiled, “they weren’t working for our side. Now let’s get back to the details. What did they want for the two hundred thousand dollars?”
    Well, Jim, just the usual: a million dollars worth of coding for one-fifth of the price, a two-year project done in three months. I got the impression that they had been working on the project with their own people for a while – how long I couldn’t guess – but their code was hopelessly munged. I’ve been called in before under similar circumstances; once by a certain