The Mandela Play #6

Chapter: Algorithms

This is the rough version chapter 6 of a thriller novel series. “The Mandela Play” (part#1) an inquiry into a different approach to the action thriller, starting from what we expect into the unknown.

An American boy, Willem Hollant, gets imprisoned with a deadly secret, which ties him to an international conspiracy. To escape and set things right he must use extraordinary measures. Meanwhile his former FBI case officer starts a journey of his own.

Chapter VI: Algorithms

A WALK IN THE PARK

Dr. Ashki Kumar walks me into his room and closes the door behind him, shutting the rest of the FBI headquarters in Washington DC out. He stands with his back against the door. “Let’s have lunch, mr. Jackson,” he smiles to me. I look at him with sufficient questions in my eyes to have him reveal just a tiny bit more. “I would love to have a talk. I do have some questions you may find helpful.” His polite English reveals only the barest trace of his Indian background. It all sounds so friendly, yet there is some tension there that I can’t really pinpoint. I frown even more, while looking around his room. “See it as just a little test, for our new programs. It would hardly cost you time.” He’s clearly a nerd. Computer screens full of numbers and some whiteboards full of math. From the corner of my eye I notice his name on the cover of Science Magazine. ‘Big data and prediction’, says the title next to his name. Kumar spreads his big hands as if this explains everything, but I don’t know shit. I only get a bit worried. What does he know about me? Or is this about a case I’m working on? But why would Forensic Science offer help, without us asking? He’s a big guy with piercing eyes, yet when he stands against his door he also looks worried. Something is going down here. “Lunch!” I smile, “I know a nice place not to far from here. Then we can discuss this test of yours.” As I walk out he smiles like he knows, that I know, it’s not about a test. No one listening to this conversation should have anything to worry about. That I feel I need to say such things, within our own headquarters worries me deeply. Ever since the Trump administration things have been going downhill. Clever thinking mixed with poisonous politics makes our agency as dangerous for our own country as any outside terrorist organization. And what kind of wheel am I in that machine?

On our way to lunch he makes sure we cross a small park. Halfway he takes out his phone and puts it on off. He gestures me to do the same, while he also takes out his SIM card. I follow suit. “I’m sorry to make you do this, mr. Jackson. I’ve been observing you. And I’d like to keep that observation restricted to only me.” “That sounds very creepy, dr. Kumar,” I retort. “It is rather my intention, mr Jackson, to prevent it from becoming creepy in any way. Dare I expand your boundaries a bit?” he suggests. I opt for silence. I have no clue anymore what he is getting at. He takes that for a yes. “Ever seen the Minority Report?” he asks me. I shrug, “Loong time ago.” Dr. Kumar nods understandingly, “It’s about the science to predict future crimes. In the movie they use clairvoyants. It’s obvious we won’t do the same, or are even close to predict anything with that kind of precision. But we are making fast advances with algorithms. Using big data, we can predict, to a certain amount, peoples behavior. We can predict, with increasingly higher percentages of probability, where a certain kind of serial killer may turn up. We can pinpoint nodes in crime networks. You know how criminal networks operate a bit like swarms? We may arrest a few, but then others will take their place. With these algorithms however, we can guess who to take out to disrupt the lines of communication enough to stop a whole network, at the least for a longer time. We can help you fight terrorism, predict movements of terrorists, or who they will most likely contact, when they go off grid.” “Ah,” I say, “that is indeed helpful. So we might have already had some help from you before, like through our departments.” I talk normal FBI stuff to him, but I feel something hidden behind his words. He nods. “Indeed, we also do use it for counter terrorism. That is your department isn’t it? But there’s more. We use it to find out where dangers for our government are brewing, think alt-right and antifa and such. And..” I hear him shifting gears. “..We use it to watch our own people, mr. Jackson.” I glance sideways at him, strongly resisting the urge to look around if we aren’t followed.

“For Christ’s sakes man, what are you trying to tell me?” His educated English starts to work on my nerves. “That, mr. Jackson, is that, you’ve become a liability to our agency. Ever since that case with David Royce you’ve entered our orange zone.” “Orange zone what!?” I exclaim, “What the fuck is this spying on our own people? And why on me?” Dr. Kumar makes calming hand gestures and ever so slightly shakes his head Indian style. “Calm down please!” he urges me. Now he looks around.. No, we both look around, but all we see is some pigeons and a few lunch breakers hurrying by at a safe distance. “Code orange means you may have morals. They may kick you out, just to be sure, when you might go red. I fear the FBI is being misused for the wrong purposes,” Kumar informs me. I sink down on a bench. This is all quite a bit to let sink in. “What do you mean, misused?” I ask with clenched jaws, trying not to shout for the whole park to hear. “Who do you think the FBI works for?” he asks me. “Justice?” I try, with a dirty taste in my mouth. “Come on, mr Jackson, you’re black. Try again.” “What are you playing at?” I demand. If this is a trap, any other answer than justice might get me in trouble. “Protection,” dr. Kumar ignores my resistance, “protection of interests. More and more budgeting of the FBI goes to home land security kind of programs. We already spend quite a large portion of our budget for counter terrorism on monitoring social activists, and I don’t mean the violent ones. I mean considerate caring people who think, write and protest big business, perhaps because they mind about the environment, social justice..” I can’t help to look deeply disbelieving. “No, mr. Jackson, you wouldn’t know, because you’ve tested to not be helpful in such programs. You’re not one of the people, who have no hesitations to discredit, arrest, pressure social protesters. Such agents work in different teams. And no one tells them or you how many of them work in such details. The numbers might even worry them.” Dr. Kumar seems to know much more, and think about it, than I would have thought. It’s clear he’s not just another computer guy. And he’s warning me about something.

“I mean, do you know who’s behind all this? Can we stop him? .. Or her?” I add after a tiny second. Kumar sits down next to me. “I fear it is worse than that. You see, this is not a movie with a clear criminal. There’s no: catch him and we’re good. This is not a silly Hollywood story with a clear end boss. This might be one of those ‘victories in Iraq’, you know, where the collateral damages after the victory keep stacking up, because the system as a whole is broken. We live in a very sick system, mr. Jackson, that has it’s own logic,” dr. Kumar lays down his thread of thoughts. It reminds me of ‘Game of Bones’, but this one is, too much for my comfort, closing in on home. The astonishing corruption in our politics, make me and many colleges feel like we’re on our own. We feel we have to make do with laws that only give leeway to arrest the little guys, while the ultra rich crooks in their palaces reign unscathed. I sense I may have missed something of dr. Kumar’s explanation of the algorithm system he has been developing with his team. Dr. Kumar seems to reach a conclusion, “…and thus a green labelled agent, which originally meant not corrupted in any way, has now started to mean, loyal, willing to follow orders. And that’s okay when you chase criminals and terrorists. But when it’s about speaking out or acting up, when the system itself becomes repressive and starts to take out anyone who might resist the status quo in this country, then it becomes a huge problem.” I look at him. The man is bigger than me. He looks stronger than me. He has a much higher rank, let alone position, within the bureau. And he seems deeply worried. “Why are you telling me all this?” I wonder slightly irritated, “It’s not like I have a position of influence in the bureau. You seem strong and capable enough.” The doctor puts a hand on my shoulder. “It is about you too. You aren’t yet caught in the logic of the system. You are one of the few with a free enough mind. And you may help stop a disaster.” I sit backward and sigh deeply. I feel something growing over my head. I repeat, “I may be anti terrorism unit, with a lot of leeway behind our badges, but all in all I’m just an agent, who wields very little influence in our bureau itself.” Dr. Kumar puts his hand on my shoulder again. He comes closer to my ear. “You are more influential than you think. And you have a link to a boy who soon might go red on our radar.” “What boy? Who are you talking about!??” “The boy you put in prison for the wrong reasons, Willem Hollant, mr Jackson.” I only hear ‘for the wrong reasons’. What does this guy know, I wonder? “I mean,” he continues, “If he really would have killed mr. Royce in a botched robbery, you would have tried to get him praised as a hero, wouldn’t you? He killed a wanted terrorist after all. But you, you went after his ass after he escaped. It makes no sense. Our math doesn’t get it. Only when something else, something more important is at play would you’ve let him walk away.” I feel caught and very small. “And what now?” do I whisper. The man next to me now lays some gravity in his voice, undercut with a flavor of sour humor, “Now you help him and yourself to survive, mr. Jackson.” Dr. Kumar rises and starts to walk away. At a few paces he pauses and turns for a moment, and adds, like with an afterthought, “And I’ll try to hide you and him and a few others from our prying numbers. That’s what I can do. But mind you, the new algorithms are kind of fluid. They swarm. If you are the man I think you are, you’ll reappear on the radar some day. Not too soon, I hope. Good luck.” And he walks away. I keep sitting in the park for more than half an hour. Only then do I put my SIM card back and restart my phone.

TESTING

Next day my direct boss wants to see me. “What’s this going off grid in the park, at the same time as doctor Kumar, yesterday?” he asks me bluntly. Fuck. “Oh, that.” I smile. I point my finger at him, “Dr. Kumar will want to hear this. It means his calculations work as he predicted. It was a test. He wanted to check how precise his computer reacts to such kind of irregularities.” My boss sits down, seemingly convinced. While I walk to dr. Kumars office, second time ever, I wonder how close I’m being observed and how much freedom I’ve left to investigate outside the prying eyes of my own organization. In my minds eye, or better ears, I hear a prison door slam shut.

This is a rough draft, first version, slowly building a different kind of thriller in a reality where good vs evil doesn’t exist and normal people all need to help make a difference to prevent a terrible dictatorship.

Available Chapters (thus far)

Part #1: Getting in fast, deep and bigly (Will)

Part #2: The Right Thing (Will)

Part #4: The Dying Light (Willem)