“First impressions are important.” She glanced at Gabriel over the top of the screen. “Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Allon?”
“And what was yours?”
“The photograph is genuine.”
“But can you prove it?”
“Digitally?” She shook her head. “I’m afraid that’s no longer possible. You see, there’s an arms race underway in the cyber industry, a race between our ability to generate deepfakes and our ability to detect them.”
“Which side is going to win?”
“The fakers, of course.” Ingrid looked down at the screen again and began to type. “In the very near future it will no longer be possible to tell the difference between AI-generated images and those captured by a camera. Needless to say, the implications for our already turbulent world are too awful to contemplate. An authoritarian ruler, for example, will have the power to create his own reality. With a deepfake video he will be able to discredit his political opponents. Who knows? If he’s ruthless enough, he might use deepfakes to throw his opponents in prison or even to start a war.”
“I’m about to go to war with Alice Winter’s kidnappers, and I need to know whether she’s really alive.”
“When does this war start?”
“Nine o’clock tonight.”
“What happens at nine?”
“Ransom,” said Gabriel.
“How much do you suppose she’s worth?”
“Alice? Could be nine figures.”
Ingrid ceased her typing and turned the computer in Gabriel’s direction. On the screen was a photograph of a weary-looking woman holding a magazine. It was the current issue ofParis Match. The woman was Ingrid.
“And what about her?” she asked. “How much is she worth?”
“She’s priceless,” said Gabriel. “Now, get to work.”
She began with a basic reverse-image search, which produced no results. If nothing else, it was proof that the kidnappers had not taken an existing photograph of Alice from the Internet and manipulated it to their ends.
Next she analyzed the photograph with several commercial-grade deepfake detectors, none of which found any reason to question its authenticity. She then turned to professional-grade products and products that were circulating among the worldwide community of hackers and cybersecurity professionals, including a deepfake detector that analyzed skin pigment for evidence of inconsistency. They too found no fault with the photo.
She conducted the final phase of her analysis with Gabriel at her side. Slowly, meticulously, they scoured the length and breadth of the image for something, anything, that looked distorted, out of alignment, or out of place. They were in agreement that every aspect of the photograph appeared genuine, especially the look of fear in Alice Winter’s wide blue eyes.
By then it was approaching six in the evening. Gabriel rang Edward Knight and gave him the news. The kidnappers had delivered authentic proof of life, the ransom negotiations could begin. Knight sounded relieved, elated, even. He suggested that Gabriel come to the office in Berkeley Square at half past seven. They could have a spot of dinner before the nine o’clock call.
“And bring your cyber specialist,” said Knight before ringing off. “I’d love to meet him.”
16
New Bond Street
It was a two-minute walk from the mews house to Edward Knight’s office, but Gabriel and Ingrid had an hour to kill so they wandered over to New Bond Street. Ingrid slowed to a stop outside a Chanel boutique and scrutinized the long-limbed mannequin posed in the window.
“I absolutely adore that jacket,” she declared.
“I like the one you’re wearing better,” replied Gabriel.
“This little rag?” She tugged at the sleeve. “It’s nothing.”
“Let’s have a look at the label.”
She opened the front of the blazer.
