by Mark A Biggs
From my vantage point, hiding under a desk in the administration area, I saw his door being closed. With great effort I crawled out from underneath the desk and attempted to stand. Using the desk as a lever I hauled myself onto my feet only to see my two walking sticks still under the desk. In the next room I imagined the computer flickering into life and instead of starting in Windows, Bill would be welcomed by a screen that read:
‘Insert Boot Disc.’
Struggling, I lowered myself down on to my knees, gripped the walking sticks and once more pulled myself up.
In my imagination, I saw Bill as he checked under his desk to where the computer lived, and observed the CD drive open. Someone has been in the office and hacked into my computer, he would think. At any moment he would, once again, open the door between the two offices but this time he would be looking for signs of a break-in.
I slipped out into the hallway and, in what seemed to take an eternity, moved out of sight from the reception window and then past the other entry to the CEO’s office. I did not look back but knew that Bill would open the reception door and look up and down the corridors. Was I seen, or had I managed to slip away unnoticed?
‘You’re back early,’ observed Olivia.
Slightly out of breath and pausing between words, I recounted the events of the evening. ‘If it were not for Jana I would have been caught. Bill must have come back to do some evening work. Jana delayed him just long enough for me to get out but I didn’t have a chance to restore his computer password. He will know someone was in his office.’
‘Do you think Jana knew that you were breaking into the office?’
‘I don’t know but I think you should pay him a visit.’
‘Good idea Max; do you want to come with me?’
‘No, I can’t. The break-in has taken too much out of me. I’m feeling just a little off.’
‘You will be okay after a good night’s sleep. I’ll see you at breakfast.’
With my mind churning over what Olivia would say to Jana, I turned to leave the room.
‘Max!’
‘Sorry,’ I said and gave Olivia the mandatory, but always welcome, kiss goodbye.
* * *
Olivia
Jana’s room was one corridor away, a left then right turn. As with all places within our nursing home, it took only a minute before I was outside his door. So as not to alert the nearby residents, all of whom love a little gossip to fill what otherwise can be quite dull days, I gently knocked on his door.
‘Come on in Olivia,’ Jana called out.
He would have been a striking man in his day. Standing a little over 6 foot 3 inches tall, his face was dominated by sharp contours whose lines spoke not of age, but of profound wisdom. Sporting his long beard, it could have been Gandalf or Albus Dumbledore welcoming you. Looking around his room, I almost expected to see a pointy hat or a staff standing in the corner.
‘Close call tonight Olivia.’
‘Indeed it was Jana.’
‘Tea?’
‘White with none.’
While Jana slowly and methodically made the tea, I continued my inspection of his room. We spend a lifetime collecting. Trophies may represent our interpretation of success in a particular hobby or sport. There may be relics which hold intrinsic personal value, perhaps signifying learning or special recollections from important times, places, and people. Here, we had only sixteen square metres to house that lifetime of memories. The scant items, pictures, books and other things that rest upon our shelves may not represent the important stories in our lives. Most of us try to gift those to family in a benign hope that they will value them as we had done. In truth, those with no true monetary value soon find their way to the local op shop. On the side table next to Jana’s bed was a picture of a young Jana in uniform. He had a beautiful woman upon his arm. There were no pictures of children or grandchildren and only a few decorative trinkets neatly sat upon the shelves. Two small paintings adorned the walls and on the writing desk, next to a small pile of books, WW2 medals and another picture of the same woman from the bedside table. The room was ordered meticulously, everything placed just so, the same way in which Jana presented himself.
Jana followed my gaze to the medals and photograph.
‘Our generation were all touched by war, not necessarily in bad ways, but in aspects we could never imagine. But you know that—a computer with access to the internet is that what you’re after?’
‘It is but may I ask how you know?’
‘I have spent my life observing, listening and learning. This morning I saw you outside of the office and tonight I watched Max. It makes sense that it’s not money you were after.’
‘And tonight—when you called out my name?’
‘Max would have heard me distract Bill and so it was obvious one of you would come and see me. The rest was a 50—50 chance. While I’ve been waiting for you, I’ve come up with a way you can obtain access to a PC.
‘Tomorrow is Wednesday. As you know, after dinner, Max, Lilly, Pan Rose and I will play cards until about 10.00pm. In his room, Pan Rose has a computer with an internet connection and he has no password. Wait until we start the game and come back to the card table when you are done.’
‘Thank you,’ I said and, finishing the last sip of tea, I rose to go.
‘When do you leave?
A raised eyebrow acknowledged my surprise but I said only, ‘Sunday. Goodnight Jana.’
At breakfast, ever mindful of flapping ears, I suggested to Max that, when he had finished reading the paper, we should sit outside and enjoy what may be the last of the warm days of autumn. No one else had chosen to go outside this morning so we settled, in private, on a bench overlooking a nicely maintained garden bed.
‘Well, how was Jana?’ asked Max.
‘Surprisingly, he was expecting me,’ I said, to which Max replied with a grunt. ‘And he has guessed we are going to break out of here.’
‘Are we that obvious?’
‘Who would know? To Jana perhaps.’ I then detailed Jana’s plan for tonight.
Unlike Max, I find plenty of activities and people to share my day. Today was no different. In the later part of the afternoon, I kept to my ritual of reading and doing crosswords with Max. The day passed quickly, which was surprising, as I was waiting for the card game to begin.
I delayed twenty minutes before excusing myself from watching the game. After making my way to Pan Rose’s room I found the door unlocked which was a bonus, though picking it would have taken a matter of seconds. When I entered I saw that the room was identical to all of the other residents’ chambers, with the only difference being a few personal effects and ornaments. The rooms even smelt the same, the distinctive aroma of old people, described by some as the sacred scent of stale urine.
On the writing desk sat a computer and, as Jana had said, Windows opened with no need for a password. My night’s task was simple; all that was required was to book two airline tickets to the UK and two nights’ accommodation at Heathrow. I observed that Pan Rose had no printer, but it would be a simple matter of using our Gmail address for the bookings and then accessing and printing the tickets once in Melbourne.
After I typed ‘Flights to the United Kingdom’ and pressed the enter key, Google returned numerous hits. Choosing the first hit, Virgin Airlines, returned, to my disbelief, what were neither virgins nor airlines.
From the computer screen, images of ladies of an Asian persuasion appeared. Some were wearing airhostess uniforms with no accompanying knickers. They all had bulging pert breasts which their scanty tops were unable to contain. Interesting. Men never grow up, I said to myself, now typing the words Flight Centre.
This time the search was not hijacked and the web page appeared on the monitor. Using the search menu, I quickly entered—Flights to London between 4th and 11th April – and pushed the enter key.
To my dismay, pop up ads for all sorts of pornographic sites accompanied the results. Most of t
he ads were not raunchy or erotic but hard core; no uniforms this time. ‘Malware, the computer is infected with Malware. Our Mr Pan Rose is a dirty old depraved man,’ I said aloud, but in a whispered voice.
Clicking the back button only spawned another pornography site. I discovered a long time ago that my definition of sexual liberty differs from others. While I support freedom from guilt for consenting adults, what I saw on the screen was exploitation.
Max and I had once touched the seedy world of sex slavery and human trafficking when gathering intelligence on Russian Mafia gangs suspected of illegal arms sales in the Middle East. That trail took another unexpected turn and we entered the underworld of child pornography. What started as a gun sales enquiry ended with a two year search assisting child exploitation units from around the world to find the girl in a picture. A worldly person, I was still unprepared for the graphic imagery depraved people wanted to see, or the scale, debauchery and viciousness of the exploitation. The image of that one twelve year old girl still, at its choosing, chills my dreams. She came to represent the unprincipled evil of crime gangs that had no moral boundaries and were motivated only by greed. We found her, the girl in the picture, and along the way rescued a hundred other children. In those quiet moments when the girl in the picture stares back at me, I would like to think we saved the children but, in my heart, I know it was too late. The deep lingering psychological damage was done. I felt the anger slowly rise as Pan Rose’s images evoked the past. It was unlikely that any of the young women on his computer screen participated freely in the acts they displayed. Bondage, drugs, threats or forced prostitution were a sad reality for many who appeared on the internet. Through aggressive policing, things had improved marginally in Europe since we investigated the Russian Mafia but, as Pan Rose’s computer revealed, any success only moved the crime syndicates to new battlegrounds.
If I wanted to use this tainted computer I would have to remove the Malware. Fortunately, some thirty minutes after starting the clean-up, I was safely back at the Flight Centre web page; this time unaccompanied by pop up boobs and bums.
Two business class tickets to London on Wednesday 30th March 2011, leaving Melbourne airport at 5.00pm via Dubai. It was quite a long process entering dates of birth, addresses, passport numbers etc., but finally I was taken to the payment page—Enter credit card details—choose—Visa, American Express or MasterCard.
Checking the Visa Card box, I progressed to input the credit card details, all the while feeling strangely uncomfortable. Perhaps it has been the unsavoury journey into the world of dirty old men that caused this momentary unsettledness. Pausing, my finger rested on the mouse button; a simple click and the airline tickets would be purchased. There it is, MasterCard which should be spelt MasterCard. I had no doubt that this was a fake website ready to steal our identity and money. No virus protection is a bad choice at any time, let alone for a person who surfs the sleazy world of pornography, I thought. I found once again the anger at Pan Rose rising within me. What to do before I left? Make it so that when he logs into his computer a message appears on the screen saying, ‘Dirty old man?’ To do so was terribly tempting but silly, I concluded. Staring at the screen, I decided to disable his computer; forever. He will just think it’s broken, I said to myself.
After leaving Pan Rose’s room I made my way back to the card game. In one way I was no more successful than Max had been yesterday but, in another, I triumphed. One thing was for sure, however; escaping was proving a greater challenge that I had anticipated.
‘Good evening gentlemen and ladies, how goes the high rollers?’
‘Max has won almost all of the matches,’ said Jana.
‘Pure skill,’ said Max.
‘I’ve come to bid you all a good night. Max, I will see you at breakfast,’ I said, giving him a peck on the lips before heading for my room.
* * *
Max
After cards I was feeling more weary than usual, which is difficult even for me to believe. For a second night, I didn’t go to Olivia but, instead, returned to my room and went straight to bed. Looking at the clock I saw that it was 11.00pm. With some annoyance at being unable to sleep, I opened my eyes to study the time. To my surprise it was already 7.00am; the night had vanished in an instant. I could count on the one hand the times I had experienced that sensation; the total surrendering of time. Bad dreams had become my constant companion of the night over the last few years. A real night’s sleep, I thought rolling tentatively out of bed, now late for my morning paper and coffee.
I was always the first for breakfast but this morning, to my surprise, Olivia was already seated at my table.
‘Good morning Olivia,’ I said as I plonked myself down next to her. Then speaking, not in a whisper that would arouse suspicion, but in a low voice unlikely to be overheard, I said, ‘Did you book the tickets?’
‘Not exactly!’
It was unlike Olivia to play coy but I couldn’t resist playing along. ‘What does “not exactly” mean?’
‘Unfortunately it means NO, but it was an educational experience nonetheless.’
Olivia then proceeded to give a censored, but detailed, account of our fellow inmate’s viewing habits and his lack of any cyber security. By the time she finished her report, we were no longer the only people at breakfast; Alcatraz was waking to another day. Before too many other people arrived and our privacy became compromised, I said, using my most official, but satirical, voice, ‘Operation report for Thursday 24 March 2011.
‘No airline tickets,
‘No hotels booked,
‘Taxi for Sunday not ordered,
‘No train tickets,
‘UK car not booked,
‘Situation normal m’lady.’
‘Good morning Max and Olivia; we received a letter from your daughter-in-law Jane saying you’re going home with them on Sunday for a month’s stay.’
We hadn’t seen Nurse Sian approach and were startled when she spoke. Quickly regaining composure and hoping she had not overheard my disheartening operational overview, I took a sip from my coffee before saying, ‘Good morning Nurse. Olivia and I planned that stay during their last visit but we thought it best to wait until you received the letter before talking to you.’
‘I hope that was the right thing to do,’ Olivia added.
‘Yes, we do hope we have done the right thing?’
That’s quite all right Max and Olivia. I’ll arrange for our pharmacist to make up your medications for the next four weeks and have them put into dosette boxes. Oh and don’t forget, your family will have to sign the “Residents’ Outing Register”. If you think of anything else you need, please let me know.’
Smiling, Sian left our table and swept through the room nodding and greeting other residents before vanishing as quickly as she had appeared. I imagined, after my antics on Monday, that she was secretly pleased to see me gone and wondered if she thought that, somehow, I was behind the CEO office break-in. Since the scooter theft, the atmosphere at the home was, in some way, different. An atmosphere of expectancy, a buzz, could be felt in the dining room. We were trying to be sly in our escape preparations but there was without doubt a ‘disturbance in the force.’
‘Max, Max. Planet Earth to Major Tom. Jana just said good morning to you.’
‘Sorry Olivia. Good morning Jana, I was off with the fairies.’
‘That’s a dangerous place to be around here,’ said Jana, smiling and giving an enthusiastic chuckle.
‘Please join us, Jana,’ said Olivia while pointing to the vacant breakfast setting on our table.
Without hesitating, Olivia leaned across the table and, in a whispered voice, said to Jana, ‘Pan Rose was a good plan but his viewing habits, let’s say, have rendered his computer inoperable.’
‘I see.’
‘Most things we can take care of when we get to Melbourne but it’s imperative that we book a taxi for Sunday. Any ideas?’
A short period of silence foll
owed and I became aware of the other conversations which now filled the room—each indistinguishable from the other, unless you focused in on one in particular, then the air of jumbled words suddenly took form and, with it, meaning.
‘I have a simple plan,’ said Jana. ‘Max, you steal a mobile phone, use it to book the taxi and then return it before anyone notices it missing.’
‘Excellent, but it’s not the planning that’s been causing the grief, it’s the execution,’ Olivia said, while looking directly at me.
‘Olivia, that’s a little unfair. You did no better than me breaking into a computer.’
‘Max, let me count the ways. Let me see, getting Jane to send us home, your driving test, stealing Aunty Vera’s Scooter… shall I continue!’
‘You can be a harsh woman sometimes,’ I said in a jovial tone while casting cute puppy eyes in her direction.
‘Max, Olivia, no fighting now. I have a plan. See the mobile phone on Maureen’s table? Olivia, you distract Maureen, I nick the phone and give it to Max who will be waiting in the corridor. When you’re finished with it, Max, just drop it and walk away. Whoever finds the phone will take it to the front desk and, when Maureen notices it’s gone, it will be returned by staff who will assume she dropped it. What could possibly go wrong? QED, as they say.’
For once the execution went like clockwork, I ordered a taxi for Sunday at 5.30pm and it was to meet us outside number 35. As Jane and Gordon always left at 5.00pm sharp, a thirty minute window was available if anything went wrong.
Checking for watching eyes, it was bombs away as the phone fell to the ground. A quick kick with the left boot moved the phone closer to the wall. Hurriedly I moved away, one stick after the other.
From behind, and in an accusatory tone, a voice called to me, ‘Max! Did you drop something?’
My blood pressure and heart rate jumped in unison. Turning slowly revealed only Jana, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
‘I’ll come over and hit you with my sticks, both of them.’ I said, lifting one stick and then the other.