Algorithm

By Despan Kwardem

A sinister government surveillance programme is ‘eating’ up Nigeria’s social media citizens… Nothing would stop it; its obliteration of the government’s haters only a matter of time. And DSP Adams Musa is happy to superintend over it. But now it has its eyes set on his girl – Doris Ayuba – a social media freak whose only hope of survival depends on her ability to stay off her phone. When Musa tries to warn her, Doris gets angry and accuses him of spying on her. And when the Algorithm implicates her in the kidnap of Assistant Commissioner of Police, Badmus Awosika, Musa must find another means to save her. However, the alluring, beautiful and more sociable Cynthia stands in the way.

In this dangerous game of love and deception, Musa must sift through the maze of intrigues, treachery and betrayals within the murky waters of law enforcement politics to find freedom for Doris; a quest that brings him face to face with the frightening dangers of using artificial intelligence in the criminal justice system.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Feb 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781664252929

Despan Kwardem

Despan Kwardem, a civil servant, is a self-published author of the novel, The Seventh Messenger. With a Bachelor of Science degree in Food Science & Technology, Despan’s romance with writing started in 1996 when he decided to document some of his National Youth Service (NYSC) experience in Lagos. It led to the birth first novel idea (still unpublished). After his service year, Despan stayed five years without paid employment and devoted the time to improving his writing skills and pursuing his dream of becoming a published author. Within the course of his career, Despan has written over 300 speeches for Ministers, three of Nigeria’s former Presidents and other top government functionaries. He’s served in several leadership capacities in various Associations including being the Drama Director of his Church Youth Fellowship for six years. He works in the Federal Ministry of Youth and Sports Development, Abuja, Nigeria.

Book preview

Copyright © 2022 Despan Kwardem.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.westbowpress.com

844-714-3454

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Scripture quotations marked (NIV) are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com The NIV and New International Version are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.®

Scripture quotations marked (NLT) are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright ©1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.

Scripture marked (KJV) taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

ISBN: 978-1-6642-5290-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6642-5291-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6642-5292-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022901816

WestBow Press rev. date: 01/31/2022

CONTENTS

Dedication

Acknowledgment

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

About The Author

DEDICATION

To my two sons, Panmun and Gungret,

cyber warriors of the Lord

It was just an innocent post,

But a word was all the Algorithm needed …

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

My first appreciation goes to God Almighty for the

enablement to walk this through to this point.

Next, my profound gratitude goes to my

family for their unflinching support.

And then there’s a flurry of friends – Charles Egu, Lami,

Monikz, Mutashi, Tobi Loba, Dorcas Sekyen Yakubu, Tayo

Olosunde, Fortune Mbangson, Emma Mabitine, Dungze,

‘Yan Within, Bellklyn, Nanji Zingfa, etc – these are they who

would not let me rest; Colleagues at work; My great Yofel,

Garki; My writing family of Abuja Writers Forum (AWF),

whose critiques and suggestions helped refine my craft; and

then silent ‘believers’ who inspire me with such words like, ‘I’m

waiting for your next book’: Precious Reuben, Genshak Golak,

Audu Dan’Aymaya, and many too numerous to mention.

This is all our work.

Thank you!

CHAPTER ONE

April 2027, Abuja, Nigeria - 12.33pm

WITH HIS HEART throbbing a shade faster, DSP Adams Musa followed the triangulated beep tracking Citizen C1802 on his computer screen as she strode out of the Federal High Court building and made her way to the car park, the number 325 flashing in orange inside the fluorescent green triangle. A deputy superintendent of police, he was the lead analyst in an elite unit of cyber police whose duty was to monitor the social media space in Nigeria. They tracked the activities of citizens using an algorithm called SOMAPOL.

Within seconds, the pulsating number dropped to 320. Puzzled, Musa type crisply into his keyboard, calling up the incriminating post that had just depleted her Social Credit Score: #Justice delayed is justice denied – I hate this government’s tactics. Why did she have to do that? He mused within himself. Of all the words in the world, it was ‘hate’ she chose to use!

The beep resumed moving, heading west on the ten-lane Shehu Yar-Adua Expressway. Musa’s heart slowed down: he could predict her next destination …

Home.

Routine bred predictability. And people like Citizen C1802 made his job easier. Not that going home would make any difference. Their crime-fighting weapon wasn’t the gun anymore, or the hot water cannon, or even the accursed baton!

It was data.

Data from citizens careless enough to leave digital footprints. Maybe he should warn her. He picked his phone to call her and then decided against it. They would know! He pushed his chair back and stood. Some hot coffee may calm his fraying nerves. I’m making me a coffee, you want some? he asked his partner Donatus, also a DSP, but his junior by promotion. Today, Musa wore his favourite stone wash jean and tight-fitting D’Tigress T-shirt. D’Tigress, Nigeria’s female basketball team had been anything but legendary in their exploits for nearly a decade now; and he prided himself as one of their biggest fans!

Yeah, that would be nice, thanks, replied the short stocky officer from Enugu.

Then he noticed the absence of the usual cheerful look on Donatus’ face. Hey, wazzup man? he asked, brushing past his thick leather jacket on its hanger in their freezing office where he kept it permanently. Since the cooling was centrally controlled, he had devised his way of regulating the temperature for himself.

Four tables away, Cynthia was buried in her earphone, nodding as she typed into her keyboard. As though she sensed his eyes on her, Cynthia looked up and a smile coloured her oval face; then her lips moved. Even from that distance, Musa read the words easily: ‘… missing your baby? Here for you!’ She hefted her breasts forward. Musa took away his eyes, but not before she blew a subtle kiss at him.

Oh. Nothing, Donatus smiled wryly, relieving him from Cynthia’s torment.

He took two steps towards him, Is it Ugo again? Ugo was Donatus’ girlfriend, who had been giving the young man some bit of trouble recently.

No, no, no, Donatus denied, It’s nothing to worry about.

Musa nodded, I hear you, let me get that coffee, maybe it’ll loosen you up, then carried his short frame to the kitchenette, escaping the hawkish Cynthia.

While he made two cups of coffee, Musa’s mind drifted to Cynthia’s shameless advance. It was becoming unbearable! Why couldn’t she accept he didn’t want her? Well, he had terrible news for her: he wasn’t missing her! Maybe fascinated by her exuberance – she seemed to make life bubble out of everything – which sometimes made him forget his worries; but that was it!

When he returned with the coffee, he found her sitting on his chair, her apparently freshly applied Pink Chiffon overwhelming the atmosphere. ‘Oh my, what is this?’ He lamented silently.

Hey sweetheart, She smile as he handed Donatus the cup of coffee and set his down on his table.

Hey, he replied.

Cynthia picked the coffee and took a sip, keeping her eyes glued on his face, hmm, nice. She thrust it back at him. As he collected the mug, however, Cynthia brushed her fingers over the back of his hand. Finally, he rescued his eyes from her grip and directed his gaze at his computer screen. Although a map dominated the screen, the tracker beeped relentlessly at the head of a blue line that marked her route. I see you’re busy! Cynthia pointed at Doris’ picture at the bottom corner of the screen.

However, before he answered, their boss, Ademola Gbenga, an Assistant Commissioner of Police appeared, what conference is going on here? he asked, staring at Cynthia.

I came to ask– She said, hasting to her feet.

–if the Woman SUPOL has questions, she should direct it at her CO, he growled, not at him!

Yes, sir! Cynthia saluted.

Now, the Woman SUPOL should get back to her duty post! He ordered.

As he looked around, several other heads who converted themselves to instant spectators quickly returned to their workstations. Acting like a god who had conquered Satan, Commander Gbenga turned to Musa, And you, Government pays you to track criminals, he nudged at Musa’s chest with the tip of his stick, And not to be holding social conferences like a cockerel. Isn’t that correct?

Yes sir, all correct. Musa answered, ashamed and irked at the same time.

Good. Now let’s get on with it! He left.

Donatus’ said, "Sorry, Oga."

Musa shook his head, It’s okay. It’s a part of the job, He noticed Donatus had left his coffee untouched, Now you can tell me about that sour look on your face.

Donates pursed his lips, It’s my promotion arrears … he said, my landlord is on my case, and … He left the sentence hanging.

I’ve been there before brother, Musa cut in, picking his mobile phone. Landlords! The worker’s nightmare. He wouldn’t pray their evil for even his enemies. Without proper accommodation for its staff, how did the system expect them to function?

The police salary couldn’t support a family adequately; much less give their children quality education. Even children of officers like them weren’t guaranteed a place in the Police Children Academies or Secondary schools because senior commanders had cornered the opportunities! Sadly, the government had long traded public education to capitalists, who only cared about their profits!

The tone of the phone ringing filled his ear while his eyes strayed to his computer screen.

Doris wasn’t heading home!

CamS056 fed real-time images of her walking the shelves in ShopRite, the mega department store on airport road that had become the toast of the city’s outbound shoppers. Her SCS pulsated up and down as items flew from shelves into her shopping trolley. Yeah, Emma, it’s me. What’s happening to my friend’s arrears nah? Musa spoke into the phone, They’re about to throw him out of his house!

Give me his details, sir, replied his buddy at Central Accounts.

Musa took the phone off his ear and whispered to Donatus, Your details, and relayed the info as Donatus recited them. Shortly, he ended the call and told Donatus, He’ll do something, says to give him a few days.

Turning his attention to the screen, he saw that the rating on C1802 had dropped to 301. He became concerned. Two more drops and she would become an endangered species. He turned to Donatus, Guy, I need your help.

What do you want me to do?

Check what’s happening with the SCS of Citizen C1802.

Donatus typed into his keyboard, then said, She bought a lot of alcohol.

‘Doris doesn’t drink. Why would she need so much alcohol?’ Musa pondered as his mind went into overdrive. Many things could get one into trouble with the algorithm: bad driving, smoking in non-smoking zones, buying too much alcohol, which suggested dependence …

On the contrary, good citizens may get discounts on energy bills, or rent things without deposits, and get better interest rates at banks or even favourable matches on dating websites. The intention was to create a nationwide system that would allow the trustworthy to roam everywhere under heaven, while making it hard for the discredited to take a single step!

What is it with you and this individual–? Donatus asked.

She’s a girl, not individual, He snapped back.

Girl– Donatus corrected himself.

Musa called up his face book page and searched for Doris Ayuba. When the page turned up, he clicked on her pictures, Come and see, he invited Donatus. There, pristine beauty, made in heaven. I’m sure she was among the first humans the Creator made on that first day; and I guess he spent some extra time making her. This is my favourite, He pointed at it.

Doris looked exotic and sophisticated with her purple sunglasses almost covering half of her face. It was taken somewhere on the beach in Lagos. The photographer did a superb job, catching her in the air like that, with both hands spread out like a bird in free flight and legs bent like a gazelle jumping the rocks. Her smile, as wide as the Atlantic, radiated from her face, spreading its warmth all over her body and colouring the entire world. Her light skin contrasted against her purple bikini, giving her that angelic looks that stirred a spark in his heart. She’s an angel, He mumbled, relishing in the excitement tingling his groin.

Yes sir, she is, Donatus agreed in a subdued voice.

And angels don’t belong in G3.

The programme categorised citizens into good, average or bad citizens, by assigning them Social Credit Scores from ten to one thousand. G3, where the bad citizens were, was the lowest of the categorisation. Persons in this category were regarded as untrustworthy citizens with a high potential to commit a crime. Originally designed as a predictive policing tool, the Nigerian government had modified its scope to cover a thousand variables across five data sets, including facial recognition capabilities. It was integrated with over two hundred thousand surveillance cameras which watched the city of Abuja feeding thousands of video images into a Central Servers at their underground office at Central Command - CentCom.

Doris was being careless with her social media activities. He must warn her. Her only hope was to stay off her phone. But it was her oxygen…

Have you told her? Donatus asked.

He looked at him with suspicion, what?

That you love her …

Relief swept over him as he replied, I’m waiting for the right moment.

He didn’t like her lifestyle though, especially her pictures on social media: exposing her cleavages for the entire world to see. Who was she trying to impress? She was too sophisticated and materialistic; yet he found himself attracted to her! Not that he was godly himself, but moderation had served him well. He would have to tame her or cope with her sophistication.

We must help her, He dropped the hint, typing into his keyboard. So far she was doing almost three million negative words on social media. If she continued that way, she would end up in jail sooner than anyone could imagine.

What are you thinking, sir? Donatus obstructed his thoughts.

Musa stared at his colleague, um, um … he stuttered, then chuckled, and cleared his throat, how’s her activity like today?

Donatus typed into the keyboard and hit the enter button, look.

Musa rolled his chair over. In five hours, Doris had made over three hundred posts across her numerous social media accounts, which had generated over a million responses. Out of these, the algorithm recognised over six hundred thousand negative words that might lead to a breach of the public peace.

Give me the week. he said, stunned at the figures.

When the analytics popped up, Musa sighed. ‘This is bad,’ he mused to himself as he rolled back to his workstation, where he inputted the figures into his analytical programme for a predictive analysis. After a while, the forecast came up. At this rate, Doris would hit over seventy million post-reach in another fourteen days. Should a third of those words be negative, then she was well on her way into the National Crime Database (NCD)!

He shuddered, Is there a way you can change her scores? I mean, can you do something about it? Even before he finished asking, Musa knew the question was an erroneous one; and the certainty of its answer. This was one moment he hated that he was not a programmer himself!

However, Donatus surprised him by asking, How do you mean, sir?

He tried to reconstruct the sentence in his head, Um, um … He sighed, and then chuckled, Can you increase her scores; I mean, make it look better?

Now Donatus stared at him, eyes wide, brows arched, mouth half open as though he’d just encountered the ghost of his great grandfather, but sir, you know that’s not possible –

Yeah, I mean, how about halting it from going further down? Musa interjected. If he didn’t halt the depletion, Doris would slide into dangerous grounds. Would he allow the algorithm to incriminate his crush?

Donatus shook his head, Unless we alter the parameters–

Which only the DIG Ops can approve, Musa completed it for him, I understand … He punched his fist into the air! How could Doris be so careless? The officer was right.

Musa would have fewer concerns if Doris just stayed afloat! Extreme low scores would qualify her for PPC—Preventive Protective Custody—a situation where the government took the citizen into custody for a period varying from three to twenty-one days, ostensibly to save them from committing a crime.

So, what can we do? Musa asked.

Donatus stayed silent for a while, but at last he said, Maybe you should just warn her.

Yeah, so she would blame me and distrust me and run away from me. I don’t want her to know we’re monitoring her.

Donatus lowered his head. Musa knew he’d hit the wrong button. Now he must find another way. If Donatus won’t assist him, he would find help from somewhere else. There was no way he would allow Doris to slip into PPC! Although they were not criminals, arrested citizens were, however, detained in a government facility where they were subjected to citizenship re-education, hoping it would reform them. However, being detained alone qualified such a person to earn an ignoble place in the National Crime Database!

The Police Force would deny him the opportunity to marry her! An officer of the law must not be associated with ‘unworthy citizens!’ Doris would make the ideal wife – supportive and entrepreneurial, especially in these difficult times. His meagre salary could barely take him to the end of the month! Her unifying spirit was necessary for keeping the clan together – all his folks looked up to him. Doris was now his personal project. He would talk to Abiola, the company software guy. He wrote the algorithm; surely, he could tamper with it.

Hey sweetheart, Cynthia’s voice cut into his thoughts. Musa became conscious of her palm on his shoulder, her Pink Chiffon perfume washing the atmosphere, I’m ordering lunch, what should I order for you?

I’m not hungry. Thanks. He told her, his voice a little terse, and looked over his shoulder towards their boss’ office.

Don’t worry, he’s gone to Headquarters. Cynthia told him.

She’s moving again, Donatus said.

Who is moving again? Cynthia asked.

Donatus turned the screen a little for Cynthia to see, but she leaned over Musa, her face inches away from his, her ear brushing the side of his cheek. Doris’ picture still filled the screen.

I know; it has to be her! she blurted and turned to leave.

Musa caught her hand, It’s not what you think, Cyn.

Yeah, you’re just doing your job, She retorted icily, and wriggled her hand out of his grip, then walked away.

Musa took a few steps after her, then stopped. ‘There was no use,’ he thought. However, he didn’t return to his workstation. Instead, he headed towards the door, his eyes on Donatus, who looked away and pretended to type something into his keyboard. As he closed the door, Musa glanced into the room. Donatus was dialling the phone. Musa’s heartbeat skipped a beat; so, Donatus wouldn’t even wait a second to report the incident?

The more offenders an officer hauled in, the better their score and the faster their chances of promotion! Reporting law enforcement officers attracted higher points. And serious crimes like tampering with the algorithm, if proven, could mean an automatic promotion for the officer making the report. By this particular incentive, the system made the predator-prey relationship intense and hawkish, thus making it almost impossible for officers to overlook an incident.

Who was Donatus working for? Or rather, who was he taking returns to? Then a more chilling thought struck him: would Donatus report him or extort money from him? Either way, he had effectively placed himself in the hangman’s noose. How could he have been so careless? What would he do now? He closed the door and walked down the corridor.

CHAPTER TWO

SOMEWHERE ON HIGHWAY B4, named Ahmadu Bello Way, a compact 2014 BMW 1Series sped towards Area 11 junction.

At its wheel, Doris clattered on her phone, while ahead the traffic light glowed in green, its luminous timer counting down the last eight seconds. If she stepped on the gas a bit, the car’s 350Nm of torque from its 1.8litre engine may just get her through, No, Lanre, I won’t pay you sixty-k for photos! She screamed an objection as another call came in.

Six …, five …, the seconds counted down.

Doris took the phone off her ear and glanced at the screen. Yakubu’s – Yaks – smiling face filled it. What did little brother want again? She had assured them she would get everything ready for the party. Shoprite had been a disappointment: no Arabian cousous on their shelves! And Uncle Bako’s 70th birthday won’t be complete without his favourite! This was a man who