Jack lay on the table, thinking, while the technician hooked him up to Il Dire. Was there a fundamental flaw in Il Dire's design, one that Rambaldi had not perceived? If Il Dire was merging the machine's forecasts of group behavior with his own probability assessments of individual behavior, how dependent was the overall result on Jack's ability to predict the individual? To predict Irina? He laughed softly to himself. The human that could predict Irina's behavior hadn't been born yet.
"Three months out," he instructed the technician.
Jack consciously relaxed, trying to visualize his wife. The futures he saw were as he had suspected. There was no strategy he could put together that would stop Irina. Maddening, because he couldn't afford many mistakes over the coming months. Ironic, because he had begged her to do it in the first place. Of his own free will.
Two hours later he sat up and stretched. The time had gone by quickly. Watching Irina's futures was alternately amusing and exasperating, but constantly stimulating. Very similar to being with Irina herself, he reflected. He allowed himself a small smile as the technician turned away, then lay back down again to finish. Not much longer.
His body suddenly went rigid with fear. That son-of-a-b*tch. Jack's hands clenched, then slowly uncurled. It looked like he would be in for a long session with Il Dire.
The next day he reported back to Sloane.
"What is it?" asked Sloane irritably as Jack came into his office.
"Irina," came the brief reply.
"You have a strategy ready?" asked Sloane, slightly mollified.
"No."
"No?"
"I don't have a strategy because, according to Il Dire, there is no way we can neutralize her. At least over the short-term."
"I find that hard to believe," snarled Sloane.
"Do you? She knows us both, and the way we think, exceptionally well. The probability of our laying a trap for her that she does not anticipate - well, Il Dire wasn't impressed."
"What if we told her that Sydney was alive and we had her?"
Jack cocked an eyebrow enquiringly at Sloane. "She's been mourning Sydney's death now for 6 months. Are you sure you want to be around when she finds out we were lying?"
"Maybe not," muttered Sloane.
"Anyway, that's only the bad news."
"There's good news?" asked Sloane skeptically.
"Nothing she does over the next year will have any significant impact on our ability to operate. She'll slow us down, but she's unable to prevent you from achieving your tactical objectives."
"Very well," Sloane growled. Dismissed, Jack left the office. He knew he'd be quite busy over the next few weeks.
Aggravated, Sloane watched Jack leave. Nothing would work against Irina? Bullsh*t. Il Dire clearly wasn't an accurate predictor of Irina's behavior; perhaps it wasn't much of a predictor of her future lifespan, either. Sloane picked up the phone and made a call. No point in bothering Jack with this.
"Three months out," he instructed the technician.
Jack consciously relaxed, trying to visualize his wife. The futures he saw were as he had suspected. There was no strategy he could put together that would stop Irina. Maddening, because he couldn't afford many mistakes over the coming months. Ironic, because he had begged her to do it in the first place. Of his own free will.
Two hours later he sat up and stretched. The time had gone by quickly. Watching Irina's futures was alternately amusing and exasperating, but constantly stimulating. Very similar to being with Irina herself, he reflected. He allowed himself a small smile as the technician turned away, then lay back down again to finish. Not much longer.
His body suddenly went rigid with fear. That son-of-a-b*tch. Jack's hands clenched, then slowly uncurled. It looked like he would be in for a long session with Il Dire.
The next day he reported back to Sloane.
"What is it?" asked Sloane irritably as Jack came into his office.
"Irina," came the brief reply.
"You have a strategy ready?" asked Sloane, slightly mollified.
"No."
"No?"
"I don't have a strategy because, according to Il Dire, there is no way we can neutralize her. At least over the short-term."
"I find that hard to believe," snarled Sloane.
"Do you? She knows us both, and the way we think, exceptionally well. The probability of our laying a trap for her that she does not anticipate - well, Il Dire wasn't impressed."
"What if we told her that Sydney was alive and we had her?"
Jack cocked an eyebrow enquiringly at Sloane. "She's been mourning Sydney's death now for 6 months. Are you sure you want to be around when she finds out we were lying?"
"Maybe not," muttered Sloane.
"Anyway, that's only the bad news."
"There's good news?" asked Sloane skeptically.
"Nothing she does over the next year will have any significant impact on our ability to operate. She'll slow us down, but she's unable to prevent you from achieving your tactical objectives."
"Very well," Sloane growled. Dismissed, Jack left the office. He knew he'd be quite busy over the next few weeks.
Aggravated, Sloane watched Jack leave. Nothing would work against Irina? Bullsh*t. Il Dire clearly wasn't an accurate predictor of Irina's behavior; perhaps it wasn't much of a predictor of her future lifespan, either. Sloane picked up the phone and made a call. No point in bothering Jack with this.