Текст книги "The Turing Option"

Автор книги: Harry Harrison

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

26
June 19, 2024

Shelly opened her apartment door when Benicoff knocked. “Brian just came in,” she said, “and I’m getting him a beer. You too?”

“Please.”

“Come in and take a look – after all you paid for it.” She led the way into the living room where all traces of the army barracks had been carefully removed. The floor-to-ceiling curtains that framed the window were made from colorful handwoven fabric. The carpeting picked up the dark orange from the curtain pattern. The slim lines of the Danish teak furniture blended pleasantly with this, providing a contrast to the spectacular colors of the post-Cubist painting that covered most of one wall.

“Most impressive,” Ben said. “I can see now why the accounts department was screaming.”

“Not at this – the fabric and rugs are Israeli-designed but Arab-manufactured and not at all expensive. The painting is on loan from an artist friend of mine, to help her sell it. Most of the money went for the high-tech kitchen. Want to see it?”

“After the beer. I better brace myself for it.”

“Going to explain the mystery of your invitation to a Thai lunch today?” Brian said, lolling back comfortably in the depths of a padded armchair. “You know that Shelly and I are prisoners of Megalobe until you run down the killers. So how do we get out to this Thai restaurant of yours?”

“If you can’t get to Thailand, why Thailand will come to you. As soon as you told me you wanted to bring me up to date on your AI I thought we ought to make a party of it. Thanks, Shelly.”

Ben took a deep swig of cold Tecate and sighed. “Good stuff. It all began with a security check last week. I sit in with Military Intelligence when they vet any soldiers to be transferred here. That was when I discovered that Private First Class Lat Phroa had joined the army to get away from his father’s restaurant. He said he had enough of cooking and wanted some action. But after a year of army food he was more than happy to cook a real Thai meal in the kitchen here, if I could get the ingredients. Which I did. The cooks went along with it and the troops are looking forward to the change. We’ll have the mess hall to ourselves after two. We’ll be the guinea pigs and if we approve, Lat promised to feed everyone else tonight.”

“I can’t wait,” Shelly said. “Not that the food here is bad – but I would love a change.”

“How is the investigation going?” Brian asked. It was never far from his thoughts. Ben frowned into his beer.

“I wish I could bring some good news, but we seem to have hit a dead end. We have Alex Toth’s military record. He was an outstanding pilot, plenty of recommendations for that. But he is also a borderline alcoholic and a troublemaker. After the war they threw him out as fast as they could. No trace of him at the address he gave at the time. The FBI has found some records of his employment through his pilot’s license, kept up to date. But the man himself has vanished. The trail is ice cold. Dusty Rhodes’ story checks out. He was conned into it and then left to hang out and dry in the wind. There is absolutely no way to trace the money that was paid into his account.”

“What’s going to happen to Rhodes?” Shelly asked.

“Nothing now. The remaining money they gave him has been sequestered for the crime victims’ fund and he signed a complete statement of everything that happened, everything he did. He’ll keep his nose clean in the future or will be hit with a number of charges. We want to keep this thing as quiet as we can while the investigation is still in progress.”

Shelly nodded and turned to Brian. “You must bring me up to date. Did you ever get that B-brain to work?”

“Indeed I did, and sometimes it works amazingly well. But not often enough to trust very far. It keeps breaking down in fascinating and peculiar ways.”

“Still? I thought that using LAMA-5 made debugging easier.”

“It certainly does – but I think that this is more a problem of design. As you know, the B-brain is supposed to monitor the A-brain, make changes when needed to keep it out of various kinds of trouble. Theoretically this works best when the A-brain is unaware of what is happening. But it seems that as Robin’s A-brain became smarter it learned to detect that tampering – then tried to find ways to change things back. This ended up in a struggle for power as the two brains fought for control.”

“It sounds like human schizophrenia or multiple personalities!”

“Exactly so. Human insanity is mirrored in machine madness and vice versa. Why not? A malfunctioning brain will have the same symptoms from the same cause, machine or man.”

“It must be depressing, being set back by lunatic brains in a box.”

“Not really. In a way, it’s actually encouraging! Because, the more the robot’s foul-ups resemble human ones, the closer we are getting to humanlike machine intelligence.”

“If it is going that well – why are you so upset?”

“Is it obvious? Well, it’s probably because I’ve finally come to the end of the notes we retrieved. I’ve worked through just about everything that those notes described. So much so that now I am swimming out into uncharted seas.”

“Is there any rule that the AI in your lab must be the same as the one that was stolen?”

“Yes, pretty much so, except for some minor details. And the trouble is that it has so many bugs that I am afraid that we’re stuck on a local peak.”

“What do you mean?” Ben said.

“Just a simple analogy. Think of a scientific researcher as a blind mountain climber. He keeps climbing up the mountain and eventually reaches a peak and can climb no higher. But because he can’t see anything he has no way of knowing that he’s not at the top of the mountain at all. It is merely the peak of a local hill – a dead end. Success is then not possible – unless he goes back down the mountain again and looks for another path.”

“Makes sense,” Ben said. “Are you telling me that the AI you have just built – which is probably almost the same as the one that was stolen – may be stuck on a local peak of intelligence and not on some much higher summit?”

“I’m afraid that’s it.”

Ben yodeled happily. “But that is the best news ever!”

“Have you gone around the twist?”

“Think for a second. This means that whoever stole your old model must also be stuck in about the same way – but he won’t even know it. While you can go and perfect your machine. When that happens we’ll have it – and they won’t!”

As this sunk in a broad grin spread across Brian’s face. “Of course you’re right. This is the best news ever. Those crooks are stuck – while I’m going to push right ahead with the work.”

“Not at this moment you’re not – after lunch!” Shelly said, putting down her wineglass and pointing to the door. “Out. It’s after two and I’m starving. Eat first, talk later.”

After eating See Khrong Moo sam Rot – which despite its name was absolutely delicious – sweet, sour and salty spareribs – they even managed some custard steamed in pumpkin for dessert.

“I’ll never eat army chow again,” Brian groaned happily and rubbed his midriff.

“Tell that to the cook – make his day,” Shelly said. “That’s what I’m going to do.”

Lat Phroa took their praise as his due, nodding in agreement. “It was pretty good, wasn’t it? If the rest of the troops like it I’m going to work hard to get this kind of chow in the regular menu. If only for my own sake.”

Ben left them there and they walked off some of the lunch by strolling back to the lab.

“I’m enthusiastic – but apprehensive,” Brian said. “Swimming out into uncharted seas. Up until now I have been following the charts, my own notes – but they have just run out. It’s a little presumptuous of fourteen-year-old me to think that I can succeed where the twenty-four-year-old me pooped out.”

“Don’t be so sure. Dr. Snaresbrook maintains that you’re smarter now than ever before – your implants have given you some outstanding abilities. And furthermore, in the work you’ve done with Snaresbrook – analyzing your own brain – you’ve probably discovered more about yourself than a squad of psychologists ever could. It’s clear to me that you’re getting there, Brian. Bringing something new into the world.

“A truly humanlike machine intelligence.”

27
July 22, 2024

Ben found the message in his phone when he woke up. It was Brian’s voice.

“Ben – it’s four in the morning and we have it at last! The data in Robin was almost enough, and Dr. Snaresbrook finished the job by decoding some more material from my brain. It was an awful job, but we managed to get it done. So now, theoretically, Robin contains a copy of my superego and I’ve set the computer to reassembling all of Robin’s programs to try to integrate the old stuff with the new. Need some sleep. If you can make it please come to the lab after lunch for a demo. Over and out – and good night.”

“We’ve done it,” Brian said when they met in the laboratory. “The data already downloaded into Robin was almost enough. It was Dr. Snaresbrook who finished the job, adding what might be called a template, a downloaded copy of my superego. You could say that it was a copy of how the highest-level control functions of my brain operate. All memory that was not associated with control was stripped away until we had what we hoped would be a template of a functioning intelligence. Then came the big job of integrating these programs with the AI programs that were already running. This was not easy but we prevailed. But along the way we had some spectacular failures – some of which you already know about.”

“Like the lab wreck last week.”

“And the one on Tuesday. But that is all in the past. Sven is now a real pussycat.”

“Sven?”

“Really Robin number 7, after we found out that 6.9 couldn’t access all the memory we needed.”

“Blame Shelly for that,” Brian said. “She claims that when I say ‘seven’ it sounds more like ‘sven.’ So when I wasn’t looking she programmed in a Swedish accent. The name Sven stuck.”

“I want to hear your Swedish AI talk!”

“Sorry. We had to take the accent out. Too much hysteria and not enough work getting done.”

“Sounds good to me. When do I get to meet your AI?”

“Right now. But first I’ll have to wake Sven up.” Brain pointed to the motionless telerobot.

“Wake up or turn on?” Ben asked.

“The computer stays on all the time, of course. But the new memory management scheme turned out to be very much like human sleep. It sorts through a day’s memories to resolve any conflicts and to delete redundancies. No point in wasting more memory on things that you already know.” Brian raised his voice. “Sven, you can wake up now.”

The three lens covers clicked open and the legs stirred as Sven turned toward them. “Good afternoon, Brian and Shelly. And stranger.”

“This is Ben.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Ben. Is that your given name or family name?”

“Nickname,” Ben said. Robin had forgotten him again – for the third time – as its memory was changed. “Complete name, Alfred J. Benicoff.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Ms. or Mr. Benicoff.”

Ben raised his eyebrows and Brian laughed.

“Sven has still not integrated all the social knowledge involved with recognizing sexual distinctions. In fact, in many ways, it is starting from scratch, with entirely new priorities. The main thing is completeness first. I want Sven to have as well rounded an intelligence as that of a growing child. And right now, like a child, I want to teach him how to safely cross streets. We’re going for a walk now – would you like to come?”

Ben looked at the clutter of electronic machinery and his eyebrows shot up. Brian laughed at his expression and pointed to the other end of the lab.

“Virtual reality. I can’t believe how much it’s improved in the last ten years. We’ll get into those datasuits and Sven will join us electronically. Shelly will supervise the simulators.”

The suits opened at the back; Brian and Ben took off their shoes and stepped in. They were suspended at the waist so they could turn and twist as they walked. The two-dimensional treadmill floor panels let their feet move in any direction, while other effectors inside the boots simulated the shapes and textures of whatever terrain was being simulated. The featherweight helmets turned with their heads, while the screens they looked into displayed the totally computer-generated scene. Ben looked up and saw the Washington Monument above the treetops.

“We’re in Foggy Bottom,” he said.

“Why not? Details of the city are in the computer’s memory – and this gives Sven a chance to deal with the rotten District drivers.”

The illusion was almost perfect. Sven stood erect next to him, swiveling its eyes to look around. Ben turned to the image of Brian – only it wasn’t Brian.

“Brian – you’re a girl – a black girl!”

“Why not? My image here in virtual reality is computer generated so I can be anything. This gives Sven an extra bonus of meeting new people, women, minority groups, anyone. Shall we go for a walk?”

They strolled through the park, hearing the sound of distant traffic, pigeons cooing in the trees above them. A couple came the other way, passed them, talking together and completely ignoring the shambling tree robot. Of course – they were computer-generated images as well.

“We haven’t tried crossing any streets yet,” Brian said, “so why don’t we do that now? Make it easy the first time, will you Shelly?”

Shelly must have worked a control because the heavy traffic in the street ahead began to lighten up. Fewer and fewer cars passed and by the time they had reached the curb there were none in sight. Even the parked cars had driven away, all the pedestrians had turned corners and none had returned.

“Want to keep it as simple as possible. Later on we can try it with cars and people,” Brian explained. “Sven, think you can step down off the curb all right?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Shall we cross now?”

Ben and Brian stepped into the road.

“No,” Sven said. Brian turned to look at the unmoving figure.

“Come on – it’s all right.”

“You explained that I was to cross the road only when I was sure a car was not coming.”

“Well, look both ways, nothing in sight, let’s go.”

Sven did not move. “I’m still not sure.”

“But you’ve already looked.”

“Yes, there was no car then. But now is now.”

Ben laughed. “You are very literal, Sven. There is really no problem. You can see both ways for a kilometer at least. Even if a car turned the corner doing one hundred kilometers an hour we could get across well before it reached us.”

“It would hit us if it were going five hundred kilometers per hour.”

“All right, Sven – that does it for today,” Brian said. “Switching off.”

The street vanished as the screen went dark; the backs of the suits swung open.

“Now, what was that about?” Ben asked as he backed out and bent to pick up his shoes.

“A problem that we’ve seen before. Sven still doesn’t know when to stop reasoning, to stop being outlandishly logical. In the real world we can never be one hundred percent sure of anything, so we have to use only as much knowledge and reasoning as is appropriate to the situation. And in order to reach a decision there must be a point at which thinking has to stop. But doing that itself requires inhibition skills. I think the reason that Sven got stuck was because his new superego was inhibiting the use of those very skills.”

“You mean it turned off the very process that was supposed to stop being turned off? Sounds suspiciously like a paradox. How long will it take to fix?”

“I hope we won’t have to fix it at all. Sven should be able to do it on its own.”

“You mean by learning from experience?”

“Exactly. After all, there’s really nothing wrong with being too careful at first. You have to survive in order to learn. It may take a while, but by learning very carefully Sven can build a solid foundation for learning much more quickly in the future. However there’s something more important than walking right now. Shelly merged Dick Tracy with Robin a few days ago. They are pretty well integrated and working on the problem. Sven, has your Dick Tracy agency added any more jobs to your AI occupation list?’’

“It has.”

“Give us a printout.”

The laser printer hummed to life and sheet after sheet began to emerge. Brian took the first sheet and handed it to Ben; it was alphabetized of course.

“Abaca manufacture, abacaxi cultivator, abactinal definer, abaculus setter, abacucus operator, abaisse manufacture… and a lot more like that,” Ben said. He looked at the sheets piling up and shook his head. “Could you tell me the reason for all this?”

“I thought that it was obvious. Your investigation of the crime here seems to be grinding to a halt—”

“I’m sorry if it looks that way, but the number of people working on this…”

“Ben, I know that! I’m not blaming you. This is a tough nut to crack and all we want to do is help you – for purely personal and selfish reasons if nothing else. Shelly has her Dick Tracy program still operating but it appears to have run out of steam. Now enter Sven to solve the crime!”

“I am already here so I cannot enter.”

“A figure of speech, Sven. Data to come. You can stop the data printout now.”

“I am only up to C in the alphabet. You do not wish a complete printout?”

“No. Just this sample to look at. Put the printed sheets back into the bin.”

Sven rustled quickly across the room to the printer and lifted out the sheets of eternitree from the delivery tray. But not as a human would in a single pile. Instead it shifted its weight to one of the tree complexes and extended the other, then with a quick movement a myriad of the smallest fingers grasped each sheet individually. Carried them to the other side of the machine and slid them into the bin in a quick shuffle as though they were a large pack of cards.

“The printout,” Brian said, “was just to give you an idea of the kind of data base we are assembling. The idea is to make a list of all conceivable human occupations, then consider what an AI might do to make each of them more practical, and then trimming away the improbables. When this list is reduced to a feasible size Sven will examine every available data base for any trace of evidence. Looking for traces of any new kind of manufacturing process, programming system, or other kind of new product that could only be made by a new, more advanced AI.”

“But all these occupations and applications on the list seem so impractical – even impossible. I don’t even know what an abacaxi cultivator is!”

“Of course a lot of them are way out. But this AI does not think as we do – yet. We have intuition, which is a learned process and not one that can be memorized. Right now Sven is better at making a list of everything that an AI could do. When the list is complete it will begin trimming away the impossibles and the improbables. When the list is finally reduced to manageable size Sven will then begin to examine for any traces or matches.”

“That’s quite a task.”

“Sven is quite a machine,” Shelly said proudly. “With its new Dick Tracy agency it should be more than up to the job. If the stolen AI is working somewhere we are going to track it down by finding out just what it has done.”

“I’m sure of it,” Ben said. “And you will let me know the instant you have any leads.”

“They might be just clues, there is no way to be certain.”

“There certainly is – I’ll have them checked out. I have a big team out there who aren’t accomplishing very much at the moment. I’ll put them to work. In all truth I think that putting Sven on the job is the only way that we are going to find the people who did this.”

28
September 4, 2024

Benicoff was sure that this conference would not take too long. He had read through all the paperwork on the flight to Seattle, made his final notes on the monorail to Tacoma. This was the first assignment he had had in some months, in fact the very first since he began devoting full time to the Megalobe case; he could think of no real reason to turn down the request. Just before the meeting began his phone beeped and he answered it.

“Ben, Brian here. Sven seems to have come up with some leads.”

“Your electronic wizard seems to be working pretty fast.”

“Once the list was complete and all the long shots eliminated Sven sorted through for the most likely items. It has come up with three possibilities now. One is a certain software system that is suspicious. A microcode compiler that writes impossibly efficient code. Then there is a certain shoe repair machine that might plausibly be an AI since it can resole any kind of shoe. Then there is an agricultural machine which is rated as almost surely an AI.”

“Plausibly? Almost surely? Can’t this thing give a straight answer, a yes or no – or a fifty-fifty chance?”

“It cannot. Sven uses an agency based on knowledge about qualitative plausibility. It doesn’t use any numbers at all. In fact, I asked it to and it refused.’’

“Who runs that place – you or the machine? In any case – what did it come up with?”

“A machine called Bug-Off, would you believe?”

“I believe – and I’ll contact the FBI here and get some action on your Bug-Off today. A meeting that I planned to be brief just got a lot briefer. I’ve canceled it. I’ll get back to you.”

The head of the Seattle FBI office, Agent Antonio Perdomo, was a tall man, as solidly built as Benicoff, still in his forties but going rapidly bald. He glanced at Benicoff’s ID and got right down to business.

“Washington ran a corporate check on this manufacturing company, DigitTech Products of Austin, Texas. I have the file here. They manufacture and sell wholesale electronic components for the most part, with an occasional individual product. But they usually make items for own-brand retailers. This machine you asked about, Bug-Off, has been on the market for only a few weeks. They are marketing it themselves.”

“How do we get hold of one?”

“I’ve arranged that as well. It is not for sale but is leased to greenhouses to be used – or so their prospectus says – in the place of chemicals. I know you wanted to keep this investigation completely under cover so I made all my inquiries through an associate in the Bureau of Commerce. He contacted all the greenhouses in this area and has come up with a winner. A greenhouse owner named Nisiumi – a retired traffic policeman.”

“That’s the best news ever. You’ve contacted him?”

“He’s in his office, waiting for us. He only knows that this is a high-level investigation and that he is to mention it to no one.”

“This is very good work.”

Perdomo smiled. “Just doing my job.”

The sun had disappeared and Seattle was running true to winter form. The windshield wipers were on high speed to clear a patch in the torrential rain. They parked as close to the entrance as they could, were still drenched by the time they got to the greenhouse door.

Nisiumi, a stocky Japanese-American, led them to his office in silence, didn’t speak until he had closed the door. He wiped the soil from his fingers onto his white coat before he shook hands. He looked very closely at Agent Perdomo’s identification.

“These Bug-Off people are making a big sales pitch, probably contacted every greenhouse in the country. I even had this brochure for their machine, right here on my desk.”

“This is Mr. Benicoff, who originated this investigation,” Perdomo said. “He’s the one in charge.”

“Thanks for your cooperation,” Ben said. “This is a high-priority case right out of Washington – and there are deaths involved. That’s all I can tell you now. When we wind the thing up I promise that I’ll let you know what it is all about.”

“Suits me. It’s a big change from cucumbers. I was interested by this Bug-Off when I read about it in the trade magazine. That’s why I asked for this information. But it’s too expensive for me.”

“You have just obtained an interest-free loan for as much as you need for as long as you need.”

“It’s good to be back in harness! While you were on your way here I called DigitTech Products’ 800 number. They have a salesman in this area – and he is going to give a demonstration here at nine tomorrow morning.”

“Perfect. Your accountant, that is me, will join you at that time. Call me Benck, though, not Benicoff.”

The rain was lashing loudly against the hotel room window. Benicoff closed the curtains and turned on the radio in the hopes that the music might drown it out. He was well into the company report before the rare steak, no potatoes and a green salad, pot of coffee arrived. He ate slowly, reading, digesting meal and report at the same time.

The salesman was late next morning; it was almost ten before the van stopped in the greenhouse drive.

“Sorry about that, traffic and fog. The name is Joseph Ashley but everyone calls me Joe. You’re the owner, Mr. Nisiumi?”

While the introductions were being made the van driver was loading a large carton onto the hand truck; he wheeled it into the greenhouse. Joe himself pulled off the cover to proudly reveal – “Bug-Off. And that’s what this little baby is. The mechanical answer to all your biological problems.”

The machine looked very much like a fat fire extinguisher. It was a squat red canister slung between six spiderlike legs. From its top sprouted two jointed metal arms, each ending in a cluster of metal fingers. Benicoff hid his sudden great interest behind an accountant’s suspicious scowl. The redivided fingers, although larger, bore a distant resemblance to the branching manipulators of the AI.

“I’ll just take the travel locks off these arms and we will be ready to go.” Joe pulled free the restraining foam blocks, then took a red canister the size of a cigar box out of the carton and held it up. “Power supply. This plugs into any socket and is secured at ground level. Bug-Off is completely self-powered and self-contained. Right now his battery is charged and he’s raring to go. Night and day if needs be. And when his power gets low – why, he just trundles him-self over to this charger and gets a fix.”

“Sounds expensive,” Benicoff grunted.

“Looks expensive, Mr. Benck, and it is expensive. But not to you. You will find that our lease rates are more than reasonable. And I’ll bet my bippy that this bug-blasting Bug-Off will pay for himself from the word go.”

“Do you program it, or do I follow it around or what?” Nisiumi asked.

“It is so easy to use that you will just not believe it until you see this bug-plucking little guy in action. All that you do is just turn it on – and step back!” Joe did just that, throwing the power switch and stepping back. Motors whirred and the two arms extended to both sides, long metal fingers waving gracefully in the air. “This is the search program. Detectors in the tips of the fingers are looking for plant life. Day or night, as I said, see how they glow with their own light source?”

Drive motors hummed, the legs lifted and lowered gracefully as the machine picked its way in a very dainty manner toward the walkway between the plants. It stopped at the first vine and both arms slapped out, picked their way over the soil to the stems beyond. They moved quickly now, flicking over the leaves and stems, apparently caressing the green lengths of the cucumbers, running lightly over the yellow flowers on their tips. There was a quick click as the lid on the arm flicked open then shut again.

“No chemicals, no poisons, no pollution – wholly organic. Even though you are watching this happen before your very own eyes I’ll wager that you can’t believe it. I don’t blame you – for this is something entirely new in the universe. Before your very eyes there are almost invisible eyes at work, the optic cells on those fingertips which are now seeking out aphids, spiders, mites – bugs of any kind. When one is found it is plucked off the plant – just like that. Picked off and whisked away. Bug-Off’s arms are hollow and they will soon be filled with bugs. A treat for your pet bird or lizard – or use it as fertilizer. There it is, gentlemen – the mechanical miracle of our age!”

“Looks dangerous,” Benicoff said sourly.

“Never! Built-in protection. Won’t touch anything except a plant and if you or anyone else gets in the way it stops automatically.”

The salesman walked over and grabbed onto a cucumber just ahead of the flashing fingers. The moving hand withdrew and the machine beeped unhappily until he let go.

“I don’t know,” Benicoff said. “What do you think, Mr. Nisiumi?”

“If it works the way Joe says it does – well then maybe there is a possibility. We both know that organically grown vegetables fetch a better price.”

“What’s the minimum lease period?” Benicoff asked.

“One year—”

“Too long. We gotta talk. In the office.”

Benicoff squeezed the contract terms as far as he could. Got a few concessions, made none of his own. Joe sweated a bit and his smile faded but in the end they reached agreement. The contracts were signed, hands shook, Joe’s smile returned.

“You got a great machine there, a great machine.”

“I hope so. What if it breaks down?”

“It won’t – but we have a mechanic on call twenty-four hours a day just to give our customers peace of mind.”

“Do you come around to inspect it?”

“Only if you ask us to. There is a check every six months, you will be called first for an appointment, but that is just routine maintenance. Other than that all you have to do is unleash that bug-picking little devil and step back! You gentlemen will never regret this decision for an instant.” Benicoff grunted suspiciously and read through the contract again. Nisiumi showed Joe and the driver out while Benicoff looked over the top of the contract and watched them through the office window. The second the van was out of sight he grabbed up his phone and called the FBI office, then Brian.

“I don’t know how Sven spotted this Bug-Off – but I think that we are onto a winner. Everything about this machine smells of Brian’s AI research.” There was a grate of tires outside as a Federal Express delivery van pulled up. “The FBI is here now. They are going to crate this thing and get it on a plane. It will be there in the morning – and so will I!”

The truck driver, wearing a Federal Express uniform, was Agent Perdomo.

“Thanks for your cooperation, Mr. Nisiumi,” Perdomo said. “We couldn’t have got anywhere without your help. We’ll take the machine off your hands now.”