I usually felt kind of peaceful around moored boats. There was something exciting about the possibilities of pulling up the anchor and sailing away without a second thought. Once they set sail though, I was suddenly less keen.
The boats lined up in the Sovereign Harbour Marina were not cheap. Most of the gleaming sailboats looked more expensive than the crumbling flats that lined the seafront. Lyons had called Maestro on the way over, and he’d agreed to help us.
“Apparently it’s called the Nautilus,” said Lyons, as we made our way down the thin walkway across the water, looking for the right boat.
Nestled in between the towering sailboats was a much smaller, wooden-paneled fishing boat.
“That’s the Nautilus?” I asked, pointing to the name painted in an italic font across the bow. “I thought you said it was a yacht!”
Lyons shrugged, and we stepped onto the deck. I knocked on the small cabin door, but without waiting for a reply, Lyons pushed the door open and stepped inside. The cabin was dark, lit up only by the glow of a laptop screen and rows of tiny blinking lights that made up a large bank of servers. In fact, there wasn’t much in the tiny cabin that wasn’t blinking or making a low, whirring sound.
As I followed Lyons in, steadying myself against the gentle rocking of the boat, I felt something wet brush my ankle. I looked down, half-panicking that we were sinking, and saw something small and hairy licking my leg.
“Rocco!” I squealed. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“No toastie for you today, mate. Leave her alone,” I heard a familiar voice say from the back of the boat. Rocco stopped trying to eat my Converse and trotted toward it obediently.
“Gwen, this is Jamal Childs, aka Maestro,” Lyons said. “He’s going to have a little snoop round Connector for us.”
“In a totally legit and legal way, of course.” Jamal smiled, spinning around in his swivel chair to greet us. “Nice to see you again, Gwen.”
I stood there, my mouth hanging open, and stared at him. Jamal, my most loyal (and usually only) customer was Lyons’s undercover master hacker?
“Wait, you two know each other?” said Lyons.
“Yeah, he hangs out at the van to leech my Wi-Fi.” I looked around the cabin. “So this is where you live?”
“Well, after your friend here”—he pointed to Lyons—“got me off with a suspended sentence, my parents kicked me out. So this is my new ‘base of operations.’ ”
“And you’re really Maestro?” I scoffed. With his suede loafers and a smattering of artfully crafted facial hair, he looked more like a wannabe Abercrombie & Fitch model than a cybercriminal. “So that’s what you’ve been using my internet for then, hacking into the Bank of En-gland? No wonder it’s always so slow.”
“I’m really more of a hacktivist than a cybercriminal—” Jamal started.
“Sorry to break up your little reunion, but we don’t have time for this,” Lyons interrupted. “Jamal, we have reason to believe someone might be using the Connector app to conduct criminal activities.”
“Whoa, slow down there,” Jamal said. “That kind of talk ends in a lawsuit. Developers like Dragon, which makes Connector, can’t be held responsible for any harm that comes to users of the app. It’s all in the terms and conditions.”
“Three people have died, Mr. Childs, and one is currently in intensive care,” Lyons snapped back. “I’m not interested in terms and conditions; I’m interested in saving lives.”
My little pep talk in the car must have worked, because I was witnessing a whole new side to Dandy Lyons. One I kinda liked.
Jamal shifted slightly in his chair. “I’m sorry. Where are my manners? Piece of fruit, Detective?” he said, gesturing to a bowl of apples and bananas on his desk.
Lyons ignored him. I held up my phone and showed him Parker’s profile.
“We need to find out who made this profile,” I said.
Jamal squinted at the screen, then looked back at Lyons.
“Are you sure this is police business?” he asked. “I’m not sure I should be doing this, with my suspended sentence and all…”
Lyons tilted his head at him. “Speaking of police business, maybe I should tell DCI Forrester exactly what you’ve been up to in your little offshore command center?”
“Look, I’m just a tech guy, mate. I fix bugs,” Jamal said, holding his hands up.
“Really, and exactly what have you been using Gwen’s IP address for, hmm?” Lyons asked.
Jamal fiddled with his glasses. “Listen, any data Dragon keeps on its users is protected by strict data protection laws. It would be totally illegal to pull that sort of info.”
“Okay, Jamal, we get it. Now we’ve got all the disclaimers out of the way, can you help us, or do I have to start pulling out some plugs around here?” Lyons said.
Jamal picked up an apple from the fruit bowl and took a large chomp. “Short answer: no,” he said. “I mean, I wish I could, but it’s not that simple.”
“What are you talking about?” Lyons said. “When we nicked you, you were matching all your little mates with Instagram models. I know you can hack the app, Maestro.”
“Well, that’s altogether different, my friend. I simply learned how to manipulate the algorithms, thus making my associates highly desirable, resulting in a greater ratio of elite matches.”
“In English, please,” Lyons said.
“He’s saying he increased his mates’ chances of matching with certain people,” I said.
Lyons thought for a minute. “So someone could have manipulated the app to give Gwen specific matches?” he asked.
I pulled the napkin out of my back pocket and showed Jamal the biro-scribbled names. “Like these guys?”
“Well, not quite,” Jamal said. “Look, all these dating apps work off algorithms. Sure, they all look a little different, but under the surface of amusing fonts and cupid logos, they’re all the same. You’re shown a random selection of profiles of people who meet your criteria—age, location, gender—and then you can simply swipe yes or no. If two people both say yes to each other, that’s a match and you can chat. The mechanics are simple.”
“We know how dating apps work, Jamal,” Lyons said firmly.
I coughed loudly and gave him a sharp look.
“Of course you do,” Jamal continued. “Like any app, they’re gamified to make it addictive and keep you coming back. The apparent randomness of which profiles you see adds an exhilarating element of chance, and the notion that—just like in the movies—romance is a magical power that only St. Valentine himself can control. ‘The One’ could be just around the next corner, or in this case, the next swipe.” Jamal took another bite of apple. “But in reality, they all have a secret algorithm built in that’s designed to keep you trapped in this Kafkaesque nightmare. It throws all the most-attractive, most-liked people at you when you first open the app, lulling you into thinking the city is full of beautiful singletons desperate for two awkward drinks in a noisy bar. The endorphins that shoot through your brain when that ‘match’ message flashes up on your phone keep you swiping, like lining up three cherries or getting Mario to jump on one of those mushrooms.”
“So who decides who’s attractive or not?” I asked. “Who gets to be the judge of the beauty contest?”
“Companies like Dragon Ltd created a universal definition of attractiveness. They’re able to use deductive reasoning to rank you on a desirability scale.”
“A what now?” I said.
“It’s called an Elo algorithm,” Jamal went on.
“Ah, yes, I’ve heard of it,” said Lyons. “Same thing they use to rank chess players.”
“I knew it!” I cried, punching him on the arm. “I knew you had a nerdy hobby.”
Jamal finally finished gnawing on his apple and threw the core out the open window. I heard the plop as it hit the water. He swiveled round in his chair and reached for the fruit bowl again.
“Here, let me show you,” he said.
He picked out some bananas from the bowl. There were three or four greenish-yellow ones, and the rest were beginning to brown. He mixed them up and laid them in a vertical line on his desk. Rocco looked up at me hopefully.
“Which one would you pick?”
I pointed to one of the yellower ones.
Jamal moved it to the top.
“And what would you say to this one, Detective?” Jamal waved another yellow banana at Lyons.
“I’d eat it,” Lyons said.
Jamal put that banana under the one I chose.
“Everyone starts with the same score,” he said. “But if someone likes you, and swipes right, that lets the computer know you’re attractive, and you get a point.”
Jamal picked up one of the browning bananas and placed it at the bottom.
“And if they think you’re gross, and swipe left, you go down the rankings.”
“Why did my banana go underneath Gwen’s?” Lyons asked.
“Your score is weighted by the attractiveness of the people who swipe yes to you. So if you get a yes from Ryan Gosling, it’s worth more points than, say—”
“This guy,” I said, jerking my thumb toward Lyons.
He ignored me.
“And so on,” Jamal said, taking the rest of the yellow bananas and moving them to the top, one by one. “Until this.”
He gestured to the row of fruit. All the yellow ones were at the top and the browns were at the bottom.
“Ugh.” I grimaced. “So the more people who swipe right on you, the better score you get?”
“Yes,” said Jamal. “And if you have a low score, and you swipe on someone with a high score, not only do they go up the ranking, you go down. The good stuff rises to the top, like with these bananas here.”
Jamal swiveled back around to his laptop and began tapping away.
“The algorithm will pigeonhole you based on who you swipe right on,” he went on. “And if you swipe right on everyone, you’re penalized heavily cos you’re not selective.”
“So if I am swiping away, thinking all these guys I’m seeing are gross, it’s because the app thinks I’m not attractive and is serving me people who are rated the same?” I asked.
“You need to have a specific taste that they can quantify,” Jamal said. “In an Elo system, it’s very, very difficult to climb the rankings once you’ve got a bad score.”
“So the app only works if you’re young, good-looking, and happy to show off your boobs?” I scoffed. I don’t know why I was surprised. These apps were all coded by middle-class, heterosexual men, so of course they were going to cater to their tastes. “Basically if you don’t fit the stereotype of conventional attractiveness, then you’re screwed?”
“Sure. But it’s not just Connector,” said Jamal. “All dating apps work like this. A six-foot-one model with washboard abs will always outrank a funny, interesting, normal person. That’s why you wouldn’t catch me on this thing.”
I felt slightly offended.
“Think of it this way: imagine the person you love most in the world,” Jamal said.
I couldn’t help but think of Noah.
“Now, could you reduce that person to five pictures?” he continued. “Could you sum up everything you love about them to just a handful of photos?”
He pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose.
“You can’t, but these apps have to reduce people to their most basic qualities. That’s because our brains are designed to only select between five and ten options. In the wilds of the Serengeti, Homo sapiens didn’t have a hundred options, they had about five, and four of those would kill you. That’s why humans have a negative bias. The brain is built to be suspicious, to play it safe. To swipe left. Because back then, pretty much anyone could be an enemy, even the people you thought were your friends. You had to be vigilant, because if you weren’t…” Jamal drew a finger across his throat.
“So, what sorts of profiles do well?” Lyons asked.
“According to Dragon’s research, the top three things singles look for are nice teeth, good grammar, and confidence. Teeth show you’re healthy, correct spelling shows that you’re educated and, by extension, your class. And self-confidence proves you’re psychologically stable. So any profiles that exhibit those traits tend to rise to the top.”
“Psychological stability?” Lyons raised an eyebrow.
“Basically, human beings are attracted to people who are happy,” Jamal said.
I flashed them my best smile.
“Give me a second,” Jamal said. His laptop hummed quietly as he ran his hands over the keyboard. A few minutes later, a spreadsheet full of names and numbers appeared on the screen.
“Here, take a look at this,” he said. “This is every profile on Connector within a thirty-mile radius, along with their rating.”
“Their rating?” I asked.
Jamal picked up one of the yellow bananas from the desk and started peeling it.
“You’ve all got a rating.” He smiled at me. “Your surname is Turner, right?”
I nodded.
He tapped on the keyboard, and suddenly my name popped up on the screen.
“Here we are,” he said. “Gwen Turner, one thousand and four, not bad.”
“What the hell does that mean?” I asked. “I’m the one-thousand-and-fourth most popular woman on Connector?” I wasn’t 100 percent sure if that was very good or very offensive.
I put the napkin on the desk, folded my arms, and thought for a moment. “Wait, am I a yellow banana or a brown banana?”
Jamal smiled. “Look, you’re one thousand and fourth in the whole county, that’s probably top ten in Eastbourne.”
I considered this, and was slightly less offended.
“Wait,” said Lyons, grabbing the napkin. “Are these names on your spreadsheet here?”
“I’ll need a little more than just their first names,” Jamal said.
I got out my phone and showed him the screenshots of the profiles.
“Let me see what I can do,” said Jamal, and spun back around to face the computer.
He tapped away for a few minutes before leaning back and scratching his chin.
“Well… they’re all very high, toward the absolute top, actually,” he said thoughtfully as he studied his screen. “But that doesn’t mean they didn’t earn that ranking. Maybe they’re just super-hot guys with nice teeth and perfect spelling?”
Lyons looked at me.
“Nope,” I said, shaking my head. “And none of them seemed that psychologically stable either.”
“You’ve just explained—at length—how only the best profiles rise to the top, how our brains naturally reject anyone who seems suspicious. So don’t you think it’s a little strange,” said Lyons, “that the five people on this list, three of whom are dead, are at the top of this spreadsheet here, Mr. Childs?”
“I’m telling you, the system can’t be hacked by just anyone,” said Jamal.
“But let’s just say, if someone did artificially put these five people at the top of the rankings, then there’s a massive chance I would have seen them,” I said.
“Seen them, yes, but there’s no guarantee you would match,” said Jamal.
“Hmm, well, yeah, but to be totally honest, I wasn’t being too choosy who I swiped yes to,” I said.
“You bypassed your brain’s negativity bias, Gwen. And by going on a date with just about everyone you matched with, all ‘Parker’ had to do was watch and see what order you met them in,” Lyons said to me.
“Um, okay, it wasn’t ‘everyone.’ ” I scowled at him.
It occurred to me that all this time, I thought I was picking complete losers, that I just had terrible judgment, or I somehow magically attracted knobheads, like that was all I deserved. But no, they were being served up to me, by men who were playing the system to meet women.
Lyons turned back to Jamal. “Speaking of Parker, is his profile on your spreadsheet here?”
I held up my phone in front of Jamal’s face to show him.
“Let me see, fairly unusual name,” Jamal said, tapping a few keys on the computer. Three profiles called “Parker” popped up on the screen, and he picked the one with the same profile pic.
“Here he is,” Jamal said. “Nice-looking guy.”
“What information is on there?” Lyons leaned forward urgently. “IP address, bank account details? Anything?”
“Just the email address he used to sign up to the app.”
“What’s the email?” I asked.
“PrinceCharming007@rajakov. net,” Jamal said.
“Wow,” I said. “Was ‘GodsGift69’ taken?”
“Could we use that to get into his account? Guess his password?” Lyons asked.
Jamal shrugged. “You could try. Most people choose obvious passwords, something personal to them, something they love that’s easy to remember. What else do you know about this guy?”
“Um, he likes rum raisin ice cream and Christopher Nolan movies?” I offered.
“Everything on his profile is likely fake,” Lyons said. “We don’t know anything about him.”
“I could have a look at his activity on the app, see what else he’s been up to on there….”
Jamal tapped a few more keys and more numbers scrolled across the screen.
“Weird, says here he’s only got one match,” he said, pressing Enter.
Suddenly my face filled the screen.
“Oh,” said Jamal. “It’s you.”