users who might want to stage some kind of protest at his compliance over the investigation of Buckett and Hodgkin, but as the march went on, news began to spread that the Fishbowl founder was in the crowd.
As the march moved into Boston Common, where a stage and screens had been set up for the speeches, order began to break down. The front rows, flanked by security guards, were overtaken by others pouring into the common. Someone yelled that he could see Andrei Koss. Suddenly there were people all around him. Sandy grabbed hold of his arm to keep from being separated from him. Two of the security guards who had accompanied the front row of marchers were with them as well; they managed to hail over a couple more guards, who came pushing and shoving their way through the crowd.
Andrei and Sandy came to a stop, surrounded. People were holding up phones trying to get a picture of Andrei.
‘Talk to them,’ said Sandy.
Andrei looked at her uncomprehendingly.
‘Talk to them, Andrei!’
She pushed two of the security guys slightly apart, reached out a hand and pulled someone through. He put up his hand towards Andrei for a high five. Instinctively, Andrei hit it.
‘Andrei Koss! You rock!’
Someone else came in. Then someone else. Then a couple of people together. Soon the security guards were moving people through as if they had planned to do it all along. Most of the people just yelled, ‘Hey Andrei,’ or something like it and took a photo or grabbed his hand. There seemed to be no ill will over his policy after Denver – on the contrary, everyone just seemed excited to see him. Some wanted to talk, trying to tell him what Fishbowl meant to them as the security guys tried to move them on. They had stories about someone they had met, a connection they had made. Others had an idea for what they wanted from the site. Sandy was the master of ceremonies, holding the security guys back until they were done, then reaching out a hand for someone else.
Andrei didn’t know what to say or do. Mostly he nodded and shook hands and bumped fists and said it was great to meet them and tried to smile as they took a photo on their phones. There were students, office workers, stay-at-home moms, off-duty cops – a kaleidoscope of the city passed in front of him, all wanting to touch his hand, say a word, hear his voice, make some kind of connection.
Then a big man of around thirty with a blond goatee came through the ring, grinning widely.
‘I’m Barry Diller, man!’
For a second Andrei didn’t make the connection.
‘Barry Diller, Andrei!’
Andrei got it. The Dillerman.
‘Andrei Koss!’ Diller put both his hands around Andrei’s head and planted a kiss on his forehead, then grabbed him in a hug.
‘Hey!’ yelled one of the security guys.
‘It’s OK,’ said Andrei.
‘Giving data to the Feds,’ said Diller, standing back from him. ‘That was a dangerous thing, Andrei.’
‘It was only—’
‘I know. I stood up for you. You had to do it. I know you’d never betray us.’
Suddenly Diller reached into his jacket. For a split second Andrei remembered the warnings he had had about disgruntled users. He had an intimation of danger. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Diller’s hand clasped something in his jacket. Out of the corner of his eye, Andrei saw a security guy lunging at him. Then Diller’s hand was out and the security guy had an arm around his neck and Diller held up a … phone.
‘Hey!’ he yelled angrily at the security guard. ‘What the fuck are you doing?’
The security guy let go of him.
Diller put his arm around Andrei’s shoulder, thrust the phone out in front of them and took a photo. He looked at the screen. ‘Cool.’ He looked back at Andrei and clenched a fist, second and fifth fingers raised as if at rock concert. ‘Fishbowll! To me, it’s always got two ls!’
‘OK,’ said the security guy. ‘Come on. Let’s move.’
Barry Diller held up his hands. ‘I’m going.’
He took a step, then looked back into Andrei’s eyes. The two fingers of his fist were extended again, pointing straight at Andrei’s chest. ‘Don’t betray us, Andrei.’
That day in Boston was the first time Andrei had come across the users of the service he had created in any number. He knew better than anyone that Fishbowl had 300 million registered members, but that was just one number in a long series