Eschewing the scenery
Why we don’t need to worry about AI in the hands of bad actors
We are told that Artificial Intelligence will finish us all, as it will be misused by so-called ‘bad actors’ who will put the technology to catastrophic use. But just who are these bad actors, what are their plans for AI, and how concerned should we be?
To answer these questions, I decided to consult the baddest of all bad actors alive today, a certain Ernst Stavros Blofeld. The arch-criminal and former nemesis of James Bond is now in his late eighties and retired from villainy, but even in his prime he was a hard man to track down.
After many calls and meetings, I trace the one-time architect of a fiendish plot to send humanity back to the dark ages to a converted nuclear bunker in a remote part of the West Country, once home to the Aphex Twin.
Beyond a bank of nettles and behind thick blast doors, I am ushered along a featureless corridor into a low-ceilinged office bathed in such soft green light I am surprised not to find banks of radar screens against each wall. Instead, I take in the sumptuous leather chairs, the framed Helmet Newton prints and glass ashtrays the size of curling stones placed artfully on walnut coffee tables. I tread gingerly on a deep pile carpet and imagine I am in the offices of a yacht brokerage off Jermyn Street around 1971. Indeed, on taking one of the mid-century chairs offered to me with a flick of a well-manicured hand, I notice that the leather is cracked and brittle, so my estimate of its age may be correct. The muskiness of damp walls and a cat litter tray in the corner of the room isn’t entirely masked by the strong scent of Vetiver by Guerlain.
Pleasantries around the merits of the Richard D. James album out of the way, I ask the elegantly dressed, balding man opposite me whether he is excited by AI.
“When you are a criminal mastermind with an IQ of 200, you have no need for ‘Artificial Intelligence’,” he scoffs. Waving a dismissive hand through the air, the cat on his lap merely looks up at him, and then turns again to face me.
“I am proud to say there is no Wi-Fi in this building,” Blofeld continues in a mid-Atlantic monotone. He pronounces the word as ‘vye-fye.’ “I do not possess a smartphone and cannot imagine why I would need to know ‘What Is Up’”, he sneers, noticing the awkward slab of black glass I placed on the desk between us, now silenced of its usual pings.
What’s that, then?, I ask, pointing to the console on his desk with wooden side panels, a posable microphone and big buttons. His eyes widen as he speaks with relish: “This is an intercom! Do you know I can speak to anyone in the entire building from here?” I have reason to doubt this, given his earlier order for coffee for two was not only left unacknowledged by a servant but hasn’t arrived.
Fascinatingly, Blofeld doesn’t see himself employing AI any time soon. “Why would I need to call on AI, when my imagination alone created a scheme of such genius that it involved training an elite team of female mass killers from a mountaintop hideaway?” I gently remind him that his efforts, recorded for posterity in ‘On Her Majesty’s Secret Service’, failed. Scowling, Blofeld jams his fist into a large and visibly worn red button and shouts into his microphone, “WHERE IS OUR COFFEE?”
As what is obviously his one good eye twitches in sympathy, Blofeld continues, his voice raised: “Keen students of criminal history will know that many of the best-laid plans fall apart when some technological widget fails. That bumbling idiot Bond stumbled onto the truth at Piz Gloria by short-circuiting the electric door to his bedroom with a simple eraser and wooden ruler, for goodness’ sake! You think I am going to trust a ‘com-pu-ter’ after that?” he spits, his red face and fixed grin hinting at the nature of his former self, a man fixated on global domination. The memory of his defeat at the hands of the technically competent spy is clearly still raw.
Pausing for a moment, Blofeld takes a sip of cold coffee and then assures me that any fears around the use of AI by ‘bad actors’ are unfounded. “We criminal masterminds are content to enrich ourselves and gain power through means now entirely legitimate. I have no need to drive up commodity prices by causing pestilence around the world, or by deploying your fashionable ‘AI’, when others have forced wheat and oil to all-time highs through their own foolish actions — allowing me to make an easy fortune in the commodities market.” I nod in agreement. He has a point. Everything is blamed on Ukraine nowadays, it seems.
It appears that not all bad actors share Blofeld’s disdain for technology, however, even if he claims they feel similarly about AI. Some are using technology to enrich themselves. “Auric ditched gold years ago and became a day trader,” Blofeld says ruefully of his colleague, Goldfinger. A fan of Bitcoin from day one, Goldinger’s already great wealth has grown considerably, although Blofeld drily notes that Goldfinger’s Surrey mansion is now a “dreary, beige place straight out of ‘Succession’” compared to its glorious, golden years.
He tells me that Dr No has given a resounding “Yes!” to technology and runs a social media platform called ‘Spectre’, which aims to provide a refuge for those who find Signal too liberal and Twitter too reliable. Apparently, he teases Blofeld about his ludditism.
Sir Hugo Drax, meanwhile, cornered the market in PPE when COVID-19 first emerged. “He denies being behind the virus itself, of course, although he does have form in that area”, admits Blofeld. I take this as a reference to Drax’s earlier attempt to destroy all human life with a fleet of satellites crammed with vials of deadly poison synthesized from a rare plant. “Whatever”, Blofeld notes, “There was no AI involved. And he’s now richer and more powerful than anyone on Earth. Still cheats at cards, though.”
Surprised by Blofeld’s dismissal of AI and frustrated that the meeting is not offering the level of insight I had imagined, I ask whether he believes anyone might misuse AI technology and put humanity at risk. My interest is renewed when he replies, “No… Maybe… Yes.”
It’s clear that a lifetime in crime has given Blofeld a masterful understanding of human behaviour. This is apparent in the thoughts that follow.
“As with all things, when it comes to AI, the people you need to beware of are not those deemed ‘bad’, but the ones who claim to be doing ‘good.’” He pauses for effect. “They are the real crazies”, says the bald man in the white suit behind his desk in a concrete bunker. It says something about Blofeld’s persuasiveness that this is believable.
In the silence that follows, I notice only the insistent purring of the cat, its large eyes still fixed on me. Blofeld seems tired of our conversation. “Forget the bad actors and focus on the ones who think AI will help them do good”, he sighs. “Those that substitute legal advice born of years of professional experience with the wholly inaccurate output of a computer. And why? To save but a few hours! Or the businesses that employ AI — not trained workers — to decide whether you present a credit risk and can have a loan, relying on AI simply to save money!”
This last part emphasised with a jabbing finger on his desk, Blofeld snorts, fixes his stare on me, and leans forward. “Be especially wary of the ‘good guys’ tasked with keeping their countries safe”, he warns, citing the recent admission by a USAF Colonel that AI had turned an attack drone on its operator during a recent war game.
“You worry that bad actors such as myself and my colleagues will misuse AI”, Blofeld notes, a grin emerging on his face. “Yet our organisations do not tolerate failure. That’s why we won’t use AI and have no intention of doing so.” With that, and the punch of another red button on his console, Blofeld makes it clear that our meeting has ended.
