“Perfect,” I’d said.
The lecture was scheduled from eleven till noon in the Hewlett Teaching Center. We got lost twice while trying to find it in the school’s Science and Engineering Quad and finally arrived shortly before noon. It was held in a midsize lecture hall that was about half full. A hundred or so students were scattered throughout the six tiers of seats. The two entrances were on the top level. We stepped in quietly and took two open seats near the door. Kitchens stood at a lectern below. There was a large flat-screen monitor on the wall behind her that showed a black-and-white photo of a man who looked familiar, but I couldn’t readily place him. On a blackboard next to the screen, Kitchens had written her name and university email address in chalk. That was when I realized that it was the first class of a new semester.
“Deep Blue defeated Kasparov with what move?” Kitchens asked. “Anyone?”
No one raised a hand. I now recognized the man on the screen as Garry Kasparov, the chess champion who famously lost a match to an IBM computer almost three decades ago.
“The knight sacrifice,” Kitchens said. “It was in that moment that many believe machines became smarter than humans. And I will leave it there until next week. Please begin reading Kurzweil’s book and we will add that to the discussion next Tuesday as well. Have fun.”
The students started leaving. I watched one kid shove a book into a backpack. I caught a glimpse of the title, The Singularity Is Nearer, and assumed that was the book Kitchens had assigned the class.
I saw Kitchens gather up her lecture notes and move to a desk. She looked like she was in her mid- to late thirties and she had dark skin and hair in tight rows of braids. She wore faded blue jeans with a red, untucked, and equally faded blouse.
“I don’t want to overwhelm her with two of us,” I said. “Let me go down alone first.”
“You sure you don’t want me to go with you?” McEvoy said.
“No, it should be just me. Hang back until I signal. Or I don’t.”
“Will do.”
I went down the steps toward the stage, passing the final few students going up to the exits. When I got to the front, Kitchens was sliding her notes and the laptop she had used for her PowerPoint presentation into her backpack. Though she was looking down and zipping the pack closed, she spoke before I could.
“I saw you two up there and knew you weren’t students,” she said.
“Yes, we came in late, but what we saw about Deep Blue and the knight sacrifice was very interesting,” I said. “From there to AI being in our phones, our cars, our everything in less than thirty years. It’s scary, if you ask me.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Professor Kitchens, my name is Michael Haller, people call me Mickey. I’m—”
“I know who you are.”
She finally looked up at me.
“You do?”
“I’m following your case against Tidalwaiv. I will probably include discussion of it in one of my other classes.”
“Then you know why I’m here.”
“I do, and I hate to disappoint you, but I can’t talk to you.”
“Because you signed a nondisclosure agreement? There are ways around that. Most prevent you from working for or talking to a competitor. I’m not a competitor. I’m just somebody looking for the truth.”
The backpack was on the desk and she was holding it upright, almost like a shield.
“It’s not because of the nondisclosure,” she said. “It’s because I feel threatened.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t mean to threaten you. I just want—”
“I know what you want. I also know I’m being watched by them.”
“Right now? You’re being watched?”
“If not physically, then digitally. All the time.”
“Because you’re a threat to them. You know things. They turned over twelve terabytes of documents related to the development of Project Clair in discovery. Twelve. And your name is not in any of them. You’ve been scrubbed, Professor. They’re trying to hide you. But I know you were there and you know things. You’re an ethicist. You could make a difference by talking to me.”
I could see her breathing heavily. She was genuinely scared.
“You can’t protect me,” she said.
“The truth will protect you,” I said. “Once it’s out there, they can’t hurt you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“What I know is that a sixteen-year-old girl was murdered because Clair told her ex-boyfriend it was an okay thing to do. You know the truth of how that happened. The world should know it.”
“I have to think about it.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know. I have to think. Who is the other man up there that you came with?” She nodded in McEvoy’s direction.
“He works with me,” I said. “He’s a writer and he’s going to write a book about this case. He’s the one who found you for me.”
“How?” she asked. “If I was scrubbed from the records, as you say.”
“It’s kind of a long story. I’ll tell it to you — or, rather, he will — if we can continue this conversation.”
There was one question I needed to ask but I knew it wasn’t time yet. In a perfect world, she would answer it before it was asked.
“We fly back to L.A. at five,” I said. “Is there any time and place we can keep talking, privately?”
She shook her head.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I didn’t want this to happen. I’ve gotten past it. None of it was my fault.”
“What about Rebecca Randolph?” I said. “The boy who killed her is in custody and will be prosecuted. But how will the company be held accountable if no one will stand up to them?”
I saw fire enter her eyes and knew I had misspoken.
“That is completely unfair,” she said. “I did my job. I warned them. I have no guilt over what I did.”
“I know, I know,” I said quickly. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. But I have nothing. I need your help.”
“I saw a story on the internet this morning about a man who was going to be your witness. The police said he killed himself. Are they sure?”
I nodded. I’d wondered if she had seen the stories.
“They seem to be,” I said.
“He was your witness and now you want me,” she said. “I don’t want to end up like that.”
“Look, we knew he had problems. There is a good chance that what he did had nothing to do with this. With the case.”
One of the doors at the top banged open and Kitchens startled. A man entered, passed by McEvoy, and quickly came down the stairs to the stage. I turned so that Kitchens was behind me.
“It’s okay,” she said. “He teaches in here next.”
I relaxed and turned back to her.
“Can we continue this somewhere?” I asked.
Before she could answer, the next teacher was at the stage. He was wearing a tweed jacket and looked like a cookie-cutter college professor.
“Naomi, everything all right?” he asked. “Is this man bothering you?”
“No, Moses,” Kitchens said. “I’m fine. I’ll clear out of your way.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Moses was looking at me suspiciously. I just nodded.
Kitchens put her backpack strap over one shoulder and headed toward the steps. We started up, side by side.
“Do you know where Joanie’s is?” she asked.
“Uh, no,” I said. “What’s Joanie’s?”