The Silicon Jungle

by Shumeet Baluja

  Another long pause arose before Sebastin spoke again. “This is certainly a lot of information for me to absorb.” He sounded distant.

  Stephen feared he was losing Sebastin, so he quickly went on before Sebastin had time to make an excuse about having to leave, or being called into a different meeting. Most advertisers resorted to any number of excuses the moment the analyses started getting too hairy.

  But Sebastin had no intention of cutting the call short before he understood absolutely everything Stephen had to say. He was quiet only because he was trying his best to make sure he could follow every step. Sebastin was thankful for the conversations he had endured with the engineers at his old company, iJenix—otherwise, he’d be struggling far more than he was right now.

  Stephen launched into a discussion of Lucy, profiles, and hallucinations and archetypes. These were all words that Sebastin thought he knew the meaning of, but certainly not in this context. It was only when Stephen started winding down that Sebastin could begin to understand again.

  “Remember when I said that I thought books were a . . . well, ridiculous thing to look at that didn’t make sense to me? This is my way of getting around that. Sebastin, this is really important. This is what you should have been asking me for . . .”

  Stephen finally paused for a breath before the final push. “I found people like Lucy. The list of books that Lucy read is just one of her attributes. But she’s more complex than that. There are other attributes about her that are just as important—what she bought, which web sites she visited, what she was interested in—what she searched for, and where she traveled . . . Even if some of the people who are like Lucy didn’t read the same books, so what? Many of the people I found are just like her in other ways, I mean dead-on, exact, matches—and some have read the books, some haven’t. That’s not really what’s important. What do you think?”

  “I gave you a list of books—and this is what you came up with?”

  Stephen couldn’t tell if Sebastin was angry or happy. He didn’t know what to say.

  Sebastin continued, “That’s incredible. I’m speechless.”

  “Exactly right. Me and my girl, Lucy,” Stephen said, delighted.

  Sebastin, though, had one more question to ask before he was ready to share fully in the happiness, “How many people are on this list?”

  “5,000.”

  Stephen explained further, “What I mean is that I just gave you the top 5,000 people to keep it simple. They’re all pretty good matches, but it is sorted. The people on top are the ones who matched Lucy the most closely; the people toward the bottom matched less. So, if you’re going to go after the highest-risk people on this list, start at the top.”

  If Stephen could have seen Sebastin, he would have found a man in a state of excitement that went beyond the surprise witnessed by wide-open eyes and a mouth agape. The emotion for Sebastin was a combination of stunned, contented, aware, done. “5,000 people—this, this is really a lot to digest so fast, Stephen. This has really surpassed all my expectations. Thank you.”

  “It’s my pleasure. Hope that it does you some good.”

  “It will. I’m sure of it. Listen, Stephen, let me take you out to lunch to thank you in person . . .” They set a time and exchanged pleasant well wishes.

  Stephen was ecstatic. Someone had made it through all of his analyses, and even though he wasn’t sure Sebastin had completely understood, he seemed to genuinely appreciate it.

  It was approaching 4 p.m. Finally, Stephen’s to-do list for the day was empty. The company-wide “rally the troops” meeting was getting ready to begin; he gladly would have skipped it to hear about Kohan’s night. But, alas, Kohan and the rest were still nowhere to be found.

  -A LIFE CHANGED IN FOUR

  PHONE CALLS-

  July 16, 2009.

  Five thousand people. This was far more than Sebastin had anticipated, and 4,000 more than he needed. One thousand would have met his expectations just fine.

  This assignment was thankfully coming to a close. It had taken months to get the information—much longer than he had predicted. Soon, he would hand over the list to Rajive, get paid, and be done. Then, he could go back and concentrate on what ACCL was really about, ensuring the right to free speech, to a free Internet across all demographics, conquering the “digital divide,” and things that he and the other founders—Mark, Elizabeth, and Nate—actually knew something about.

  So how did he get away with telling Stephen the story he had told him? He had two things going for him: First, the lies he had told Stephen had been vague enough to be plausible if Stephen were to do any research on ACCL. It was true they were interested in free speech and privacy, and their web site said as much. It never mentioned watch lists, but then what site would? Second, with Ubatoo’s reputation for how hard they work their interns, he was confident Stephen wouldn’t bother to do any research on him or on watch lists; he was far too busy. And if Sebastin were pressed to give yet another, third, reason, it would be that he was a salesman, and a good one at that, at least when it came to selling inside Silicon Valley. Selling an intern on a childlike vision of the idealism that surrounded him daily? If he couldn’t do that, shame on him.

  Still, Sebastin couldn’t help but think it would be easier not to live this duplicitous life. He had to hide what he was doing from everyone at ACCL. And despite their ups and downs when they sold iJenix, he had tried his best to come to terms with how much richer they were than he. They would immediately know that something was amiss if they found out he was having meetings at Ubatoo that they weren’t privy to. Besides, all this hassle wasn’t worth the small amount of money Rajive had offered him. It wouldn’t even begin to get him close to what Mark had made years ago.

  He was curious, though . . . How good were the names on the list? Were these really people who should be on a watch list? If they were, shouldn’t this list be worth a lot more than what he was being paid? If what Stephen promised wasn’t too good to be true, the list was worth significantly more. It would at least be interesting to know.

  He would have picked up the phone immediately and called some of the people on the list, but he wasn’t prepared yet. What would he say? He had to come up with a good script. Otherwise, he would just wind up scaring them for no reason. He knew better than to call in the midst of his excitement right now.

  He would give himself until tomorrow to think about it. He had waited this long; he could wait one more day.

  Sorted. The 5,000 names on the list were sorted. The boy, Stephen, had given him the list ordered; the persons on the very top of the list were the ones that were most likely being watched. So, to start with, Sebastin chose a name at random from the very last of the over one hundred pages of names and contact information, Muratt Merdin. If he could verify that this person, from the back of the list, would be a good candidate to put on a watch list, then anybody who Stephen had found who ranked higher, would surely be a good candidate, too.

  Sebastin waited anxiously as the ringing on the other end of the phone heightened his anticipation, like the clicking of a roller coaster before the freefall.

  “Hello?”

  “My name is Sebastin. I’m calling on behalf of the American Coalition for Civil Liberties. May I speak with Muratt Merdin?“

  “Speaking.”

  “Mr. Merdin, this isn’t an easy topic to bring up. You might want to sit down. ACCL is a non-profit group located in California. Our goal is to preserve people’s rights. We are not a government organization, and we are not saying you are in any trouble. But we do have reason to believe that your rights are being violated.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Some of the actions you have taken online or offline may have put you on a government watch list. Please understand. We are only trying to make sure your rights are not violated. We are not affiliated with any government agency in any way.”

  “I didn’t do anything. Am I in some kind of trouble? Are you
a cop?” Mr. Merdin was already approaching hysteria.

  Twenty minutes into the conversation, he had finally calmed Mr. Merdin enough to go through a list of possible reasons why he may have made it onto the list. “Mr. Merdin, I’m trying to help you. If we know why you’re on the list, ACCL can use all of its resources to get you off the list. Let’s start with the basics. Have you flown out of the country recently?”

  “No. Not recently.” A clearing of the throat. “I flew to Turkey last September,” he admitted. “But I have family there,” he quickly added.

  “Anywhere else?”

  “No. I didn’t fly anywhere else.” But there was hesitation in his voice when he said this—a weakness that any attentive salesman would catch.

  “Mr. Merdin, if you’re not honest with me, I can’t help you. Did you travel anywhere else?”

  “I have friends and family in the area.” He paused as if trying to stop himself before saying something more.

  “Where? And for how long? I’m trying to help, Mr. Merdin.”

  “All around there. Turkey, Iraq, Syria—my family is there. I went for two months. Am I not supposed to visit them?”

  “Of course you are, Mr. Merdin. That all sounds perfectly normal. May I ask what it is you do, Mr. Merdin?”

  “I am sure you already know that I’m a civil and structural engineer—for seven years now. Is there something wrong with that? Why are you asking me these questions?”

  “I’m just trying to gather enough information to help you. Tell me, did you visit any web sites that might be considered controversial? Sometimes that causes problems, too. Especially in conjunction with travel.”

  “I always search for any news around the world . . . about home.”

  “Certainly. Who doesn’t search for news about home? Anything else that I should know about?” Next time, Sebastin thought, he would have to ask Stephen for the reason why each person was on the list. This guessing game wasn’t making his life easy.

  “Sometimes I don’t even pay attention to what I click on or what I read . . . I just click sometimes . . .”

  Sebastin interrupted him, “You haven’t found yourself on any controversial political sites or any web sites that someone might consider radical or extremist, have you? Even just out of curiosity, or even by accident. So many times that’s what triggers these alarms.”

  “No, never. I would never . . . Maybe by accident I might have clicked on some link, I don’t know . . .”

  Closer. He was on the brink of getting something. Some admission, some sign—something to verify the list. Sebastin stayed quiet, hoping Merdin would continue.

  Merdin was on the verge of hysteria when he did. “I would never . . . Who would even know? I can’t be in trouble for accidentally seeing some web site. That’s impossible. This is not right.”

  “I agree with you completely. But I’m not the one who put you on the list. I’m trying to be the one who gets you taken off. Mr. Merdin, if I look up all of your searches in the last two years, are you sure I won’t find something that might at least appear suspicious? I’d be happy to go through the list with you. I’m trying to help you. Let’s look up your searches in the past year. It’ll just take a second for me to bring them up. Give me a second.” Sebastin loudly struck a few keys on his keyboard. On Sebastin’s screen, it brought up the game of Mine Sweeper. For Merdin, each key press moved him one step closer to divulging his curiosities.

  “It’s already loaded a few months,” Sebastin confirmed after about fifteen seconds.

  “Already? How did you—”

  “It only takes a few minutes,” Sebastin interrupted. “Let me look for the few months before you left on your trip—September last year you said it was. Okay, here we go, just a few more seconds.” Sebastin tapped his fingers on the table loudly, making sure Merdin heard the taps, could hear time ticking away.

  Another shot in the dark: “By the way, that’s quite an interesting selection of books you’ve read.”

  Merdin didn’t respond. If something was going to happen, it had better happen soon.

  Tap, tap, click, click, tap, tap. Misstep—Mine Sweeper game over. “Okay, let’s see. Let’s start with June of last year. I’ve got it all loaded now.”

  The phone line went dead.

  First one—verified. Innocent curiosity? I would have put this guy on a watch list myself. Nice job, Stephen. Just need to check a few more and we’ll officially be done.

  The second call, made to another name near the end of the list, proceeded like Merdin’s, with the same level of anxiety. The third call was made to a person picked from the middle of the list. He had become enraged and hung up. Not the explicit verification that would have been ideal, but most likely a positive indication nonetheless. He would check a total of five. Two more to go.

  Call number four, a random person, M. Mohammad, chosen from page 8—moving closer to the top of the list.

  The phone rang twice and was picked up. “Hello?” It was a young boy’s voice on the line.

  “My name is Sebastin. May I speak with M. Mohammad?”

  He heard the boy yell for his dad. “Baba! Baba, your phone.”

  In a moment, Sebastin could hear the father scolding his son, “Adam, how many times have I told you never to pick up this phone? Now leave this room.”

  He could hear the scuffling of feet as the boy ran out of the room.

  “How did you get this number?” an angry voice demanded.

  “My name is Sebastin. I’m calling on behalf of the American Coalition for Civil Liberties. Is this M. Mohammad?”

  No answer. After a minute, a dial tone told him no one was on the other end.

  Sebastin was flipping through the list, trying to decide who else to call, when his phone rang. The caller ID displayed the number he had just dialed.

  “Now tell me, what is it you want?” the man on the other end of the line demanded.

  “My name is Sebastin. I’m calling on behalf of the American Coalition for Civil Liberties. Mr. Mohammad, this isn’t an easy topic to bring up. You might want to sit down for it. ACCL is a non-profit group located in Silicon Valley. Our goal is to preserve people’s rights. We are not a government organization, and we are not saying you are in any trouble. But we do have reason to believe that your rights are being violated.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Nothing, sir. I wanted to tell you that some of the actions you have taken may have put you on a government watch list. Please understand, we are only trying to make sure that your rights are not violated. We are not affiliated with any government agency in any way.”

  “What list?”

  “We’ve compiled our own list of people we suspect are being watched unfairly. As I said, I am part of ACCL. My goal is to verify that you are aware of what’s happening to you.”

  “I am on your list?”

  “Yes. That’s why I am calling. I’m trying to warn you.”

  “Warn me? Who are you? Where are you?” the man on the other end of the phone demanded.

  This time it was Sebastin who hung up the phone. No more verification needed from Stephen’s list. He just wanted to give the list to Rajive as fast as possible and be done with it. He shouldn’t have used his name or his own phone. That was hasty. That was irresponsible.

  Within two minutes, Sebastin’s phone rang again.

  “We should talk about your list, Sebastin Munthe of 192 Freyet Road, Los Altos, California. Shall we talk at your house or over the phone?”

  -GIVING THANKS-

  July 16, 2009.

  The deep bass and blaring horns of swing music kept the noise level of Xiao’s Ballroom high. Waiters and waitresses made their way speedily through the crowded room on roller skates, shuttling hors d’oeuvres and drinks to all the gathered engineers and salespeople.

  Thankfully, Stephen found at least one familiar face in the crowded auditorium; Aarti was standing by herself watching the spectacle around them. Still on
a high from his conversation with Sebastin, Stephen wasted no time in telling Aarti about his project and his results.

  He spoke too fast and too loud. He hadn’t even started in on any of the details when she pulled him closer to warn him “I’m not sure you should be talking about any of that here. It’s probably best to keep it to ourselves, don’t you think?”

  Stephen was surprised. “Everybody here works for Ubatoo. I can’t imagine that we can’t tell them what we’re doing.” Then he kept going, undeterred, though now in an urgent whisper, just barely loud enough for Aarti to hear.

  She didn’t protest or warn him again, and though she listened to every word, she had little to say. “I’m boring you with this, aren’t I?” Stephen asked. “I should probably just let you enjoy the food and take a break in the few minutes we have before the meeting starts.”

  “No, Stephen, of course you’re not boring me. This is what we do,” she said as she laid her hand on his folded arms. “No, it’s not that at all. I’m just really surprised to hear about what you’re doing. It doesn’t sound like one of Jaan’s usual requests.” She stopped talking to stare at him, apparently trying to discern something in him that she herself wasn’t ready to reveal. Whatever it was, she eventually decided to continue. “It’s a hard problem to tackle. I’ve been—”

  She never finished her sentence. The lights flashed off and on and the mad dash for the few remaining seats ensued. They soon lost each other in the rapidly moving streams of people. If she wanted to continue, Stephen figured, she would find him again afterward. Knowing her, she probably had some insight from one of her own projects that she thought might help him. She’d probably be right, and it’d probably be something he hadn’t yet considered, but should have. She never continued, though, and he never brought it up again.

  Despite all the organizer’s best efforts, the air of joviality that usually permeated the “rally the troops” meetings was missing. The domestic and worldwide economy had been deteriorating for months. Though Ubatoo seemed to be bucking the outside economic trends, and was still managing to produce revenue and profits at astonishing rates, the fear of the inevitable crisis hitting them was on everyone’s mind. The fear, like everywhere else, wasn’t some far away hypothetical concern—it was personal. The vast majority of the employees, especially the senior members of the staff, were far too disproportionately invested in Ubatoo. Their lofty compensations, as well as their enormous nest eggs, were dependent on the stock continuing to climb. Though nothing had been said regarding this financial crisis and its effects, rumors anticipated that it would be addressed today.