The algorithm corps just.., p.1
The Algorithm (Corps Justice Book 20), page 1
THE ALGORITHM
A CORPS JUSTICE NOVEL
C. G. COOPER
CONTENTS
Dedications
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Epilogue
Also by C. G. Cooper
About the Author
“THE ALGORITHM”
A Corps Justice Novel
By C. G. Cooper
Copyright © 2023 JBD Entertainment, LLC. All Rights Reserved. Unauthorized reproduction is prohibited.
This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, locations, and events are all products of the author’s imagination. Any similarities to actual events or real persons are completely coincidental.
This novel contains violence and profanity. Readers beware.
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DEDICATIONS
Bob, Connie, Earl, Gale, Glenda, Judith, Kathryn, Kim, Larry, Michael, Nancy, Paul, and Sue . . .
Thank you so much for being my beta readers.
CHAPTER ONE
The video popped to life, taking a few seconds to reach full resolution. When it did, a man dominated the center of the screen. He wore a black beanie, and the lower half of his face was covered by a scarf in some gray and white winter pattern. A small group of people surrounded him, milling about in the aftermath of a speech, all in tailored suits. They were smiling and chatting amongst themselves.
"Here we go," said the voice behind the scarf.
The camera jostled and then panned out a bit, revealing the tree-lined city park hosting the political rally. Senator Greenwood, a gray-haired man, broke from the group and walked to the edge of the stage. With his signature smile in place, he waved at the crowd, a politician very much in his element.
"There he is," said the muffled voice. The camera zoomed back in on the scarf-covered man. His eyes flickered across the stage before locking on the camera. "All right, boys and girls. It’s time for some payback."
There was the sound of an eruption, a great thunderous boom, and debris blasted up from the center of the stage in a thick, gray cloud of smoke and ash. Bodies flung in every direction, eliciting horrified screams from the crowd. The camera shook, and the video cut out for a moment. When it returned, the image was hazy, and the sound was muted, like the park had been swallowed by the Earth. The once-proud stage was littered with human body parts and decorated in blood.
"And that's how it's done, ladies and gentlemen!" the man shrieked through his scarf, his eyes wide with ecstasy.
"Stop it there, please."
The video paused, then the screen went black. A thick silence fell over the room. Someone cleared their throat, and all eyes turned to the man at the head of the table. The placard in front of him read, Senator Bruce Greenwood, Illinois. White bandages covered the left side of the senator’s face. His suit was neatly pinned at the left shoulder—above his missing arm—and he sported a black band of mourning around his once-muscular right bicep.
The senator glared at the man opposite him. "Mr. Manning, are you familiar with this video?"
"Yes, Senator," the CEO of Blinker confirmed.
"And what do you think of the video?”
"It's horrible," Manning said.
"It's horrible," Greenwood parroted, looking around the room. "Is that all you have to say about it, Mr. Manning?"
Manning sat upright, his clean-shaven face devoid of emotion. "I'm not sure what else you want me to say, Senator. There are no words to describe it."
"I'll give you some words then, Mr. Manning. It's a horrifying record of murder, plain and simple. It's a bloodbath caught on film and posted to your social media website for the entertainment of Blinker’s more than one billion active users."
"Now, hold on, Senator—"
"No, you hold on, Mr. Manning. I did not spend three months under two inches of gauze for you to interrupt me. My injuries are evidence enough of this heinous crime, but they are nothing compared to what I could not bring here today. I could not, for instance, bring my beloved wife's grave to this hearing. Nor could I bring my beautiful eighteen-year-old daughter, who is at this very moment lying in a hospital bed in a coma. No, my injuries and this list of names were all I could bring with me today.”
Greenwood held up a crisp sheet of paper. He read ten names aloud, letting a short moment of silence pass between each one. He then placed the paper back on the table in front of him. Meeting Manning’s eyes again, he said, “These are the folks who had their lives brutally extinguished that day. Colleagues and their loved ones—and my loved ones." Greenwood’s throat worked as he choked down a sob.
"Operation Bounty Killer was a tragedy, Senator,” Manning said, his tone soft but firm. “I offer my condolences to your family and your friends."
"I didn't come here for your condolences, Mr. Manning. I came to ask you what you gained by disseminating this footage."
Manning leaned forward, his keen eyes narrowing. "I'm not sure exactly what you mean, Senator. Gained?"
"This footage appeared on Blinker, did it not?"
"Yes, sir, it did."
"And Blinker has processes in place to locate and take down posts that are inflammatory in nature, does it not?"
Manning’s lawyer whispered in his ear.
The CEO clasped his hands on the table in front of him and leaned forward. Gaze intent on Greenwood, he said, "Yes, we have that capability."
"Then please explain to me, Mr. Manning, why this video did not qualify for removal. You bear responsibility for the vetting process and any inflammatory content missed by it, do you not?"
"Please remember, Senator, that I've come here voluntarily. I would like to prevent this from ever happening again."
"Answer the question, Mr. Manning,” Greenwood said, his volume increasing, his voice beginning to shake. “Do you or do you not bear responsibility for the dissemination of this video? Yes or no."
Manning hesitated. His lawyer leaned over to deliver further instruction in his ear.
"It's a simple yes or no, Mr. Manning."
Manning grabbed the tall glass of water in front of him, took a sip, and put it back down gently.
"Senator Greenwood, you have been through hell. There is no doubt about that. I understand why you want to punish someone for the events that transpired, but your ire is misdirected. Have you—has anyone in this room—taken a moment to appreciate the great dilemma faced by social media companies?” Manning paused, looking around the room.
No one said a word, so the CEO continued.
“Senator Greenwood and honorable members of this committee, we live in a country where free speech is held up as the gold standard. It is so important that our founders chose it as the very first constitutional amendment. And yet . . . when something terrible happens, our first instinct is to hide it. To sweep it under the rug. We don’t want evidence of humanity’s darkest moments. We don’t want to prove we are capable of violence, racism, or bigotry. But where is the line between what is free speech and what is worthy of suppression?"
"You are not answering the question," Senator Greenwood said in a low growl. He looked as though he wanted to leap across the table and throttle the CEO.
"I'll get to my point quickly, I promise," Manning said. "We at Blinker do not make suppression decisions lightly. They take careful evaluation and time. There is no catch-all rule, especially not for historic events, however terrible. As soon as we discovered this video, we did, in fact, manually review it and decide to suppress it. Blinker has a policy against sharing grisly content. But in the very short time it took us to complete our review, the video went viral. And once it went viral, it spread to every other social media platform in the world.
“To tell you the truth, Senator, I wish I could bear responsibility for this video’s dissemination, I really do. It would make handling future instances much simpler. But the truth of the matter is that the responsibility lies with forces beyond my control, forces born of the infinitely complicated dynamics of social media sharing.”
Greenwood slammed his palm onto the desk. "You condescending son of a bitch," he said, struggling to his feet, his face red with rage. “You let this bastard spread his poison all over the world!”
Senator George Foley banged his gavel. "Senator Greenwood," the committee chair said, "please take your seat and let's have some order here."
Greenwood ignored him. "I'm not gonna let you sit there and preach to me about moral dilemmas!"
The senators on either side of Greenwood rose to guide him back into his seat. When they’d all settled down, Senator Ed Roberts of Wyoming leaned into his mic. Tan, tall, and lean, the new face in Washington held a passing resemblance to a younger John Wayne. Given his family’s generational cattle ranch and horse-breeding, the media had quickly dubbed him “The Duke.”
"Mr. Chair, may we call for a thirty-minute break?" Roberts said.
Greenwood seemed to come to his senses. He looked around the room, embarrassment evident on his cheeks.
"If there's no objection," Foley said. "Thirty minutes."
Senator Roberts caught Manning’s eye and motioned to the side of the room. Manning nodded.
"How do you think that went?" Senator Roberts asked once everyone had filed out of the room.
"Pretty much the way I expected," Manning said, his mask of indifference transforming into crestfallen exhaustion. "How long do you think this is going to go on?"
"As long as he wants it to," Roberts said, nodding his head toward Greenwood's empty chair.
Manning rubbed his temples, using a little too much pressure. He’d built his social media empire and fortune from nothing but dreams and grit. Threats against Blinker were nothing new, but they were always growing in complexity.
"You can't blame him," Roberts continued. "He lost a wife and probably a daughter. He should still be in the hospital right now, but he pulled a lot of favors to get on this committee. "
"I wish there was something I could say to him."
"There isn't. I hate to tell you this, but you're just going to have to sit there and take it."
"I know."
"Hey," Roberts said with a smile, "we'll get through this, Miles. Hang in there. It'll be over before you know it."
Manning sighed. "Thanks."
Senator Roberts patted the younger man on the back and watched him go, hoping they would all have the strength to get through this. One of the hardest things a country had to do was weigh itself in the balance, only to find itself wanting.
CHAPTER TWO
DANIEL BRIGGS — LAS VEGAS, NEVADA
He rinsed the last grounds from the coffee machine, then wiped down the sink with a paper towel and set the coffee filter out to dry. When he walked back into the meeting room, he paused to stare at the poster board on the wall.
We believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity, it read.
Sanity, he thought. Would be nice if I found it.
Daniel took his time rearranging the chairs from one big circle into neat rows, the way the regular churchgoers liked it. Once everything was in order, he completed a last-minute once-around to pick up little bits of trash. He came across an empty mini of Fireball tucked behind a curtain. The discovery didn’t surprise him. Some of the poor souls attending these meetings were so deep in the clutches of their illness that they tapped in even while listening to the message that could save them.
Sighing, he threw the waste into a trash can, pulled out the bag, and tied it in a knot.
He was just clicking off the lights when a voice textured by a million cigarettes grumbled from the hall, "You done being janitor yet?"
Daniel smiled and stepped out into the hallway. The old man was sitting in a wheelchair, his legs thin and useless. He had long white hair, a beard that almost touched his belly button, and eyes that twinkled as they looked at Daniel.
"Only because the work is done for the day, Sarge," Daniel said.
"You need a shave, young man," Sarge said. "You’re starting to look like a caveman.”
"You missed the meeting. I almost called to make sure you weren't at the pub down the street."
Sarge barked a laugh, which turned into a cough with a troublesome rattle beneath it. "Oh, look who's telling smart ones now. Could it be that thou floateth on the famous pink cloud?"
Daniel chuckled. "I swear, sometimes I think you get up in the morning just to see how much of a hard time you can give me."
"What can I say?” Sarge shrugged. “When I've got a pigeon, I ride him hard, even if we have to fly through a few pink clouds to get to our final destination. Now come on, why don't you push this old war dog down to the Denny's? A stack of flapjacks sure sounds good."
Daniel wheeled Sarge out the door, depositing the trash bag in the dumpster as they went. The old man was Daniel's new sponsor. Though it had been many years since the marine sniper had picked up a drink, he'd recently found something slipping from his grasp. It was that thing mentioned on the poster board: sanity. So, he'd come back here, to Las Vegas of all places, because it was where he'd regained his sanity before. Sin City wasn’t known as a place to seek wisdom, but for some reason, Daniel found it here. Just the kind of cosmic joke he liked.
His original sponsor had died years ago, but at the end of his first meeting back, Sarge had greeted him with a weathered smile and patted the seat next to him, like he’d been waiting for Daniel to arrive. When Daniel, lost in his despondency, hadn’t made a move to come over, Sarge had wheeled to his side, pointed a finger at him, and said, "You need a sponsor, and I'm it."
Daniel had been too dazed to object, and so the long journey back to emotional sobriety had begun.
"How they hanging today?" Sarge asked, fishing a Winston out of his pocket. It was crooked at the tip.
"Good," Daniel said.
"Now, don't give me that crap. Tell me how you feel, dammit."
"Isn't it the acting that's important, not the feelings?"
Sarge waved a hand. "Sure. So, why don’t you act like you're human and tell me how you feel? How 'bout that?"
Daniel nodded. "I feel good. Five out of ten."
"Say more," Sarge said, lighting his cigarette.
"My heart doesn't feel as heavy. Like somebody took the pack off my back for a minute."
"Okay. Anything else?"
"No, that's all I can think of."
"All right, we acknowledged your feelings and got them out of the way. Good riddance. Now, let's have it your way and talk about the actions you took this fine day.”
Daniel grinned, appreciating Sarge’s blunt nature. "I got up, took a shower, came to a meeting, cleaned up the meeting room, and now I'm doing some service work pushing an old war dog to Denny's for a pile of flapjacks."
"Har-har, very funny," Sarge said. Then, in a softer voice, he added, "You're doing good, kid. Remember, one day at a time. One minute at a time, if you must. Start a day over whenever you damn well want. You don't want to end up like me, strapped to a wheelchair for the rest of your life."
