The Digital Manhunt
When the call finally came from Technopia in 1993, Yoo Jae-won felt a flicker of unease. It was good that the long-awaited contact had arrived, yet refusing it would only complicate matters. Of course, there was never any thought of backing down now. If the FBI declined to cooperate, he would simply assemble his own hunting team and begin the pursuit of the Unabomber immediately, exactly as planned. The real problems would begin after a successful capture. Without a search warrant, he could easily face lawsuits in return. Evidence obtained through illegal entry into the Unabomber’s hideout would be inadmissible in court, making any trial difficult. The simplest way to avoid such headaches was to let the hunting team carry out a true hunt—becoming Judge Dredd in the flesh. Yet that approach carried far too much risk. The Unabomber might deserve death, but pulling the trigger invited enormous liability. Even with maximum secrecy, any exposure could prove disastrous. The United States did not permit private vengeance, and Yoo Jae-won himself could end up facing punishment. Moreover, murder posed a religious problem. Though he led the cutting edge of the IT industry, his faith remained absolute. He had met God and struck a bargain, after all; that was how the wheel of time had turned backward and placed him here. Whether that God was the Christian or Islamic version hardly mattered—He was divine. When death eventually came, Yoo Jae-won had no desire to stand before Him as a murderer and be sent straight to hell on an express train.
In short, an FBI refusal would multiply the complications several times over.
“Internal discussions took longer than expected, which is why the call is late.”
“So you’re calling now because a decision has been reached?”
“That’s right. We’ll be counting on you from here on.”
Team Leader Skinner brushed aside the complicated feelings with a single, light request. Yoo Jae-won, who had been tense not knowing what the man would say, felt his heart settle. Since a formal request for cooperation had arrived, he could simply follow the official FBI route instead of pursuing private revenge.
“The problem is that many still don’t understand. Before we begin, we’d like you to explain your computer analysis methodology, Chairman Yoo. Choose whatever time suits you.”
“No problem. I can do it tomorrow.”
“Is that really possible?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t say so otherwise.”
“Understood. Then we’ll see you tomorrow.”
Yoo Jae-won arranged the meeting without difficulty. Capturing the Unabomber as quickly as possible was best for both himself and society; there was no time to waste. After hanging up, he immediately began packing. America was an enormous country. The Unabomber Task Force was based at FBI headquarters in Washington DC. Driving there would require an entire day behind the wheel. Even flying would take several hours. A same-day round trip was impossible, so he needed clothes and equipment.
“Can’t forget the Shell Book.”
More important than clothing was the Shell Book—the device containing the big-data analysis tool he had worked tirelessly to create while waiting for the FBI’s call. He had no idea whether anyone on the Unabomber Task Force would grasp its capabilities, but since they had asked for an explanation, he would provide one as thoroughly as possible.
The next day, Yoo Jae-won and his party arrived in Washington DC, where the Unabomber Task Force was located. Their number totaled twelve. In addition to Kim Dae-seok, who accompanied him everywhere, ten members of the security team on emergency standby made up the large entourage. Until the emergency alarm Remington had activated after the Unabomber’s parcel bomb finally switched off, this was how they would have to travel.
“Welcome.”
Team Leader Skinner himself waited at the airport, underscoring Yoo Jae-won’s importance. Though Skinner’s expression never changed, a hint of surprise crossed his face at the sight of the large security detail. It was understandable; he had prepared only a single vehicle for the pickup and had not expected such a sizable party. It posed no real problem. Kim Dae-seok’s support team had already arranged rental cars the moment they landed. Yoo Jae-won and Kim Dae-seok rode with Skinner while the security personnel followed in the rentals. Their destination was the Unabomber Task Force.
Shortly afterward, they arrived at a building that closely matched Yoo Jae-won’s expectations. The task force occupied an entire annex attached to FBI headquarters, its entrance under heavy guard. Fortunately, news of today’s visit had apparently not leaked; no reporters were in sight. Given the location, only Yoo Jae-won and Kim Dae-seok entered the building. The rest of the security team remained outside. An attack on FBI headquarters by a criminal belonged in action movies, after all.
“Oh-ho.”
Inside, they found a wide-open lobby. When the annex had served its original purpose, it would have featured an information desk and seating for visitors. Now, however, it had been extensively renovated for the Unabomber investigation. Briefing boards stood throughout the lobby, and people moved busily in front of them, writing notes. Several offices lined both sides of the lobby, each filled with investigators. All were members of the Unabomber Task Force, recalled to duty because of the parcel bomb sent to Yoo Jae-won.
The drama really was high quality.
Yoo Jae-won had never set foot in this space before, yet from the moment he passed through the security checkpoint, familiarity outweighed any sense of strangeness. The layout matched the Netflix drama he had watched so closely that it triggered déjà vu. Even the wary glances directed at a newcomer were identical to those in the show. Clearly, the drama Yoo Jae-won had seen had pursued extreme realism.
“This way.”
Team Leader Skinner led them to the second floor. Unlike the bustling market-like atmosphere downstairs, the second floor consisted entirely of private offices. If the ground floor housed the operational teams, the upper floor was reserved for leadership. The offices were larger and furnished with more luxurious equipment. A separate, soundproofed conference room stood ready—their final destination.
Eight people waited inside: investigators from the document-analysis section of the Unabomber Task Force and one criminal profiler responsible for the broader investigative picture. Among them, Yoo Jae-won’s gaze settled on the profiler. The man wore a name tag reading “Fitz” and possessed a massive frame—over 190 centimeters tall and roughly 90 kilograms. In the drama, this was the protagonist who would play a decisive role in capturing the Unabomber in 1996, three years from now. Because Yoo Jae-won had intervened, Fitz’s future was now uncertain. He felt a twinge of discomfort; his actions could be seen as stealing Fitz’s glory. Yet by catching the Unabomber two years earlier, dozens of future victims would be spared. That thought eased his conscience.
“Everyone knows who this is. This is Yoo Jae-won.”
“Hello.”
At Skinner’s introduction, Yoo Jae-won greeted the room. Through Skinner, he received the names and positions of everyone present. A faint undercurrent of discomfort lingered. A victim participating directly in an investigation was unprecedented. Yet with the case stalled for years and the Unabomber active again, there was no room for hesitation. Moreover, the man before them was no ordinary citizen but the chairman of ID Group—the very person who had identified the parcel bomb and reported it to the task force. Though deeply displeased, they had ultimately arranged this meeting.
Yoo Jae-won was not oblivious to the atmosphere; his expression hardened naturally. Still, that was all. These were not people he would meet again once the matter concluded, so there was no need to force goodwill.
“Let’s begin.”
Skinner’s commanding voice dispelled the lingering tension. The meeting opened with a briefing on the analysis of the parcel bomb sent to Yoo Jae-won. Criminal profiler Fitz rose and moved to the whiteboard, switching on a slide projector. Slides—an antiquated device Yoo Jae-won had never seen in his own office—were apparently still standard issue here. The conference-room lights dimmed, and the first image appeared.
“This is the pipe bomb found inside the package. It was an aluminum pipe packed with C4 explosive—120 grams, enough to destroy an entire house if detonated. The perpetrator also added steel ball bearings and nails to increase lethality. The detonator was electrical; opening the package in any direction would complete the circuit and trigger the explosion.”
As the slides advanced, detailed images of the disassembled bomb appeared. At the mention of 120 grams of C4, Yoo Jae-won reflected on his life since regressing. He had committed a few questionable acts, but nothing that would have gotten him killed by such a device—especially not one loaded with ball bearings and nails inside an aluminum pipe.
“A letter was also recovered. Because it came from an undetonated package, its readability is excellent.”
That was precisely why Yoo Jae-won had proposed computer analysis based on documents: nearly every Unabomber parcel bomb contained a letter. The Unabomber had a great deal to say. Almost without exception, packages sent to intended victims included letters explaining why the recipient had been chosen and why they deserved to die. Sometimes the letters mocked the victim. Though the Unabomber’s logic was objectively incoherent, steeped in paranoid delusions, the letters revealed his distinctive patterns. These tendencies only intensified over time; in September 1995 he would anonymously mail a fifty-page manifesto titled “Industrial Society and Its Future” to victims’ families and the media.
“Most of it consists of criticism directed at Chairman Yoo.”
This letter was no different. It branded Yoo Jae-won a traitor accelerating the transformation of society into a machine-dominated industrial order for profit and declared that the sender had mailed the bomb to stop him. Perhaps because this marked the Unabomber’s return after six years of inactivity—and because the target was such a prominent figure—the letter ran to three pages. Usually the Unabomber sent only a single sheet, sometimes merely a palm-sized note. The length was considerable. Reading it, Yoo Jae-won marveled that even nonsense could be written at such length. At the same time, he felt a surge of satisfaction.
The big-data analysis engine he had built to catch the Unabomber operated through two primary components. One analyzed the stylistic and linguistic features of the Unabomber’s writings; the other extracted matching information from the broader data pool based on those features. Naturally, the first engine had to perform well for the second to achieve high accuracy. The more document data the Unabomber had left behind, the better. Of course, Yoo Jae-won did not actually need such complexity. He already knew the Unabomber’s true identity. He could simply pretend to run a search and, at the appropriate moment, surface a document closely linked to the man. That approach, however, would only work in Korea. When Skinner had explained the delay on the phone, the chief reason cited was internal skepticism about the usefulness of computer analysis. The FBI was already quite proficient with computers, and its experts were highly skilled. Many of the consultants assisting the Unabomber Task Force possessed strong technical knowledge. Searching based on the Unabomber’s textual evidence was already standard procedure for the task force. In such an environment, waving a magic wand as he had in Korea and producing an instant answer would only invite suspicion.
“It’s my turn now, isn’t it? Then allow me to present the verifiable and rational computer-search methodology you’ve all been waiting for.”
That was why Yoo Jae-won had prepared a logically airtight explanation, from theory down to actual source code. He had no intention of making every man in the room understand it completely. He would operate separately from the document-analysis team anyway. All he needed was for them to share the Unabomber’s existing texts with him.
The next day, Yoo Jae-won returned to San Francisco. Without stopping at home, he and his party headed straight for Coyote City, far to the south—the site of the twelve-thousand-node cloud data center. Even after his previous visit, optimization work to improve the cloud system’s performance had continued and was still underway. At the same time, the system continued to serve as the server backbone for Nextcomcast’s various internet services. Today, one additional task was assigned: analysis using a program given the simple name “Unabomber Tracker.” Though he had not disclosed it to others, the program employed high-level machine-learning algorithms and therefore demanded enormous computing power.
“Whoa! One hundred percent utilization!”
Data Center Director Joseph, watching Yoo Jae-won at the control console, was visibly startled. Understandably so—this was the first time the system had reached 100 percent utilization outside of specially designed benchmark programs.
“It will stay at 100 percent for the next several days.”
The cause was the machine-learning program now analyzing the Unabomber’s textual evidence that had just been fed into it. It was something of a flaw that history’s most significant machine-learning program would cut its teeth on analyzing a mad bomber’s writings. Still, catching a bomb-wielding murderer was meaningful work.
“This is a joint operation with the FBI, so please prioritize stability above all else.”
“Yes, sir! We will ensure the system does not go down during the operation!”
Director Joseph gave his assurance. With years of experience managing everything from massive mainframes to modern servers, he was more than capable. Yoo Jae-won’s party left the data center in his hands and finally returned home.
Ten days passed. The cloud system, which had been running at full load nonstop—from textual analysis to big-data searches—finally halted. An emergency was declared at the data center, but the cause proved minor. The search results Yoo Jae-won and Team Leader Skinner had both been waiting for had finally arrived.