All through his early life Giuseppe Verde had dealt with the attention and derision that came from being named after someone famous, in his case the composer of Il Quattro Staggione (The Four Seasons). Because Verde’s namesake was his mother’s favourite composer, Madelena Verde thought that she would bring luck to her son’s life by naming him after the great man. Whether or not Giuseppe had been a lucky through his life was debatable, but luck certainly did not come to the last person to mock Verde’s name. In his mid twenties Verde had received into his office a middle aged potential business associate who had laughed good humouredly at his name. Unfortunately the man’s humour was lost on Verde. Losing control Verde, who had been seated behind at desk, had lunged at the man over the desk. With two of his men holding the man, Verde cut out the man’s tongue with a serrated knife from the kitchen. No one had commented on his name since.
Verde continued to watch the airport over his newspaper as he sipped his coffee.
As he listened to the announcements broadcast over the loud speakers, he thought to himself that the passengers moving across the terminal floor reminded him of ants. But Verde was not just watching the airport and not just listening for announcements; he was also in communication with his people. In Verde’s ear was a small earpiece, hardly noticeable to anyone who was not looking for it, and on his lapel was a small microphone that looked like a Canadian flag pinned to his suit. Both devices were designed to be as small as possible without compromising reception, transmission or reliability. They were the state of the art in miniaturized communication and very expensive.
Verde, although diminutive and almost completely bald except for a small semi-circular ring of hair around the back of his head, was actually a very clever man and much brighter than many people initially gave him credit for. He could also carry himself with great presence. Sitting in the coffee shop dressed in an Armani suit, he very much looked the part of a successful entrepreneur or of a senior executive of a large company. Even if not quite elegant, the man certainly had a class of his own.
There were, however, times when Verde was a different man altogether. He could be cold, hard and, when required, ruthless, because he was neither a businessman nor an executive in the usual sense. Like a coin, Verde was two sided. Appearances could be deceiving, he often warned his people.
Verde spoke into the pin. “Check,” he said curtly.
Through the earpiece Verde could hear his team checking in. “Station three,” said one man. “Station five,” said another. “Stazione quattro,” said a third. “Station two,” said the last.
Verde could not believe his ears. Even if it was the new man, it was inexcusable that any of his men should not speak English while in the open. How he hated training new people, he thought to himself. Thank God these transmissions were encrypted but what if someone had heard the man speak into his microphone? Verde was livid. “Station four!” called Verde through clenched teeth as loud as he could yell without being overheard. “English only you imbecile!” he reminded his man.
“Si, Pattrone,” came the response in Italian.
Idioto! Verde was now so incensed that his face boiled red. More Italian! He would have to remember to keep this idiot away from him in the future. “Idiot!” yelled Verde again, this time too loudly. A few customers in the coffee shop turned around to look at him. Verde smiled at them politely and pointed to the newspaper, as if an article had infuriated him.
“I am … sorry,” came the cowed reply from station four in heavily accented English. “Forgive me, sir.”
Verde ignored the apology. He took a deep breath in an attempt to calm down and then looked at his watch. “Not long now,” he said to his team quietly. “Stand by.”
***
“Want a coffee?” Jim Kincaid asked Ben Gould. Ben was seated right next to him.
“Sure,” said Ben. “But I’ll get it,” he volunteered. He then stood up and reached into his pocket, pulling out a number of coins. He counted them quickly, and put them back in his pocket.
“What would you like?” asked Ben.
The two had been sitting near an arrival gate as other passengers continually walked past them. They had only been in the airport for five minutes when Jim had decided he wanted a coffee.
“Sit down!” protested Jim. “I offered. I can get the coffees.”
“Really,” said Ben, his arms on his hips. “And how much money do you have today?” he asked in a tone that not only denoted irritation but also indicated that he had dealt with this problem before.
Jim put his hand in his pocket and brought out two quarters and a dime. He then dug into his back pocket and pulled out a wallet. When he opened it a piece of lint fell out. Other than that, it was empty. Jim looked back at Ben sheepishly. “A large coffee, please” said Jim. “Double cream. Triple sugar.”
Ben decided not to harp on Jim’s constant lack of money but he saw no reason not to harp on his eating habits. “You’re going to kill yourself this way, you know that?” said Ben.
“Oh sure,” said Jim. “But what a way go!”
Ben smiled. “Anything else?” he asked.
“Yeah, something,” said Jim, making clicking sound with his lips. “But nothing sweet.”
“How about one of those – you know – pepperonis?” asked Ben.
“You know I can’t eat that stuff!” complained Jim. “I guess I’ll just have the coffee.”
Ben sauntered off to find a coffee shop while Jim remained seated across from the carrousel where his mother would have to pick up her luggage. Jim now had a little time to think. What was he going to do with his mother for another whole weekend? On her previous trips he had taken her to the parliament buildings, the Canal, the Mint and the Tulip Festival. The only thing new he could think of was the National Art Gallery. But man, how he hated art galleries!
A few minutes later Ben returned with a coffee for each of them. Ben passed Jim a coffee and then opened his own. Steam streamed through the opening in the lid of the cup. Ben looked down at his coffee and at the steam escaping through the lid. The coffee would take a while to cool down.
“Explain to me again why you can’t eat pepperoni,” Ben demanded. “I mean, I know why I shouldn’t eat pepperoni. For Christ’s sake, I’m Jewish! But you’re – you’re a damned Catholic!”
Jim opened his coffee, took a sip and winced. “Shit that’s hot!” he said, putting the cup down. He then turned to Ben. “You want to go through this again?” asked Jim, a little exasperated.
“Yeah, let’s go through it again,” said Ben. “What else are we going to do while we sit here waiting for your mother?”
Jim shrugged. “Let’s see,” he began in a mocking tone. “A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, someone managed to convince my parents that we good Christians should follow all of the laws of the bible, not just the ones in the New Testament. You know – all of the Old Testament laws, the old Jewish laws. For example, that means following the laws about kosher food. So my parents don’t eat pork or seafood. And neither do I.”
“But I thought Catholics did whatever the Pope said.”
“My parents do that too.”
“I’m still lost,” said Ben, scrunching up his face and showing it to Jim. “Why don’t all Christians follow the Jewish laws then?”
Jim thought about the question for a moment. “As near as I can figure, the New Testament superseded the Old Testament. Ergo, Christians do not have to follow all of the Jewish laws.”
“But Christians follow the Ten Commandments,” said Ben. “And those are in the Old Testament.”
“I didn’t say I understood it all,” said a frustrated Jim. “I just know what my parents believe. And, besides, it kind of makes sense to me too.”
“But you follow the rules without really understanding them,” said Ben.
“I understand them,” said Jim. “I just can’t reconcile our rules with the rules other Christians follow.” Jim paused and then continued earnestl
y. “Look, I have followed these rules all of my life. Whether or not I understand the reasoning, I’m like Pavlov’s dog. I’m conditioned. This behaviour has been engrained in me.” Jim was getting very defensive. “Maybe I wasn’t given electric shocks but I grew up with this stuff. I just don’t think I can change now.”
“Ok, ok,” said Ben holding up the hand that was not holding onto his coffee. “Let’s leave it for now. When does your Mom’s plane arrive?”
Jim looked up at one of the television screens giving arrival information. “The board says she should land in about fifteen minutes.”
Ben took a sip of his coffee and nodded.
“Ben?” said Jim.
“Yeah?”
“If I forget to tell you later, thanks for taking off the afternoon to come pick up my Mom.”
“Hey, not problem,” said Ben. “Think I’d rather be working?”
Jim smiled. As the two continued talking neither noticed the man watching them. Clad in a light grey overcoat about thirty feet away, the man was seated at the next group of chairs. With a tourist-style camera around his neck the man may well have been a tourist except for his distinctly business-style dress. Every few minutes he would pick up his camera in an apparent attempt to take a picture of the airport. But every time he pressed the shutter button he took a picture of Ben and Jim.
“By the way,” said Ben. “Did you hear the latest about White Cell?”
White Cell was an infamous hacker, consistently one of the first to discover new computer viruses. He was what was known in the hacker circles as a “white hat” hacker. Instead of creating the well publicised viruses that annoy people, delete files and crash systems, White Cell searched the internet to find those annoying viruses. What made White Cell unique was that, instead of merely advising computer users of the existence of new viruses, White Cell took proactive approach to stopping them. Once he had identified a new virus or strain he would develop his own antivirus and release it out into the wild. His antivirus would then seek out and destroy instances of the virus he had discovered. Then, once his antivirus had successfully disinfected a computer, it would send a message to the computer user advising him of the problem and how it had been cured. Once the user community discovered that White Cell was truly helping to destroy viruses, a fan club had been formed for those who truly appreciated White Cell’s brand of vigilante tactics.
The White Cell name was itself a play on the virus analogy. Just as biological white blood cells seek out and destroy foreign organisms in the body, in the same way White Cell’s antivirus programs identify and destroy the computer viruses found in computer systems.
“No, I haven’t heard anything recently,” said Jim, answering Ben’s question about White Cell’s latest. “Something new happen?”
“Yeah. There was a new Word macro virus discovered the other day and he’s already released his cure.”
“Neat,” said Jim, in a reverent tone.
I wonder,” said Ben thoughtfully.
“What do you mean?”
I mean that it all sounds too convenient, doesn’t it?”
“Too convenient?”
“How can it be that he is always there first?” asked Ben. Jim’s eyebrows twisted together in surprise.
“You don’t think he’s the cause and the cure, do you?” asked Jim.
“I just wonder,” said Ben.
“No way!” exclaimed Jim defiantly. “This guy is not making any money from this. I mean, why would he create a virus just to turn around and release a cure for free?”
“Why does anyone write a virus?” asked Ben.
***
A few hundred feet away from Jim and Ben two men sat talking near the window. Both were dressed in business suits and both had briefcases stationed near their feet.
“But what are our chances?” asked the first man in a very serious tone.
“Oh, our chances are very good, sir,” said the second man, clearly upbeat. The Senate has already approved the budget and we are just waiting for the Department of Homeland Security to approve NAT as a vendor.”
“What’s there to approve?” asked the first man, clearly a little annoyed. “It’s not as though we’re based in Iran.”
“I know you are a frustrated,” said the second man, trying to be understanding. “But you’re paying me to look after this project and I assure you that everything is well in hand. As you know, I have done this work before.”
The second man, Stephen Brucken, was a Washington consultant with numerous contacts throughout the US government. He had been hired by Toronto-based North American Technologies (NAT) to assist its bid for the latest Department of Homeland Security outsourcing contract. NAT wanted to supply and maintain all of the department’s computer and security systems, a monumental undertaking.
The first man was NAT CEO Sheldon Mintz, one of the computer industry’s most admired men.
“What else do you need from me?” asked Mintz, his hands in his pockets.
“Nothing, sir. Now it’s just a waiting game.”
“I hope I don’t have to wait very long,” said Mintz, turning to look out of the window. “But while I’m waiting, you will keep me informed?” Mintz was not looking at Brucken when he answered the question and it came out as more of a statement than a question.
“Of course,” said Brucken.
Mintz pulled his left arm out of his pocket, looked at his watch and then turned around to look at Brucken. “When’s your flight?”
“Not for another half hour.”
“Have you checked in?”
“Yeah,” said Brucken. “Upstairs. And I have to go back up there to the departure gate.”
“Fine,” said Mintz. “Let’s get a coffee. You can fill me in on a few more of the details before you go upstairs.”
***
Shifting uncomfortably in the row of airport chairs near Mintz and Brucken, Cindy Lyndon waited for the arrival of Penny Stein. At 5’8” tall with dirty blonde hair, hazel eyes, a huge smile and an infectious laugh, Cindy was a bombshell that had to be constantly kept busy. Waiting was certainly not her strong point. She had told Penny yesterday that she would be happy to pick her up at the airport but Cindy had only been waiting a few minutes and was already thoroughly bored. She looked at her watch. Another fifteen minutes before Penny’s plane was due to land.
Cindy tapped her fingers on the armrest of her chair and looked around the airport for something to occupy her time. By nature a people watcher, she decided to simply sit where she was and watch the people in the airport. What else was she going to do? It would be at least half an hour before Penny could land and appear through the arrival gate to collect her luggage. Cindy looked up and down the terminal for someone interesting to watch.
The airport was full of people, some moving together in clumps, others moving in different directions. Who were all these people and where were they going? Everyone was moving so quickly that she had a difficult time finding someone of interest. But then she saw something interesting. At the far end of the terminal, far from where she was sitting, a large group of men seemed to arrive in the terminal together, but none of the men had any luggage. Were these men picking up someone? It was too late in the day for a day trip. Perhaps they were just businessmen because they were all wearing jackets and ties.
As Cindy continued to watch the men she became more and more intrigued. After a few moments the men split up, each man heading to a different part of the terminal building. Some continued to walk toward the airline baggage service desks; some spoke with security guards; others simply walked the length of the terminal looking around.
As Cindy watched the men move deliberately through the terminal, she noted how the other passengers and airport employees concentrated on their own business, oblivious to these men. But the men, moving slowly through the throngs of people, definitely had a purpose all of their own. Still intrigued, Cindy stood up and began walking through the terminal towards the men. This
was like being a detective, she thought. She waited for some of the men to pass her by and then she turned and followed them, observing them from behind.
As she followed at a discrete distance she passed by a coffee shop and noticed something else. A well-dressed man was sitting in the window watching the same men that Cindy was following. Watching the man in the coffee shop, she thought she could see him speak into the Canadian flag on his lapel. Cindy wondered whether she was observing something important.
As she walked, she began to think more clearly about what she had seen and wondered if she was imagining too much. Perhaps she just had too much free time on her hands here. Perhaps she had watched one too many movies. She looked at her watch and estimated that she still had twenty minutes before Penny would be ready.
Then, in an effort to validate her conclusion that she was imagining too much, Cindy took another look at the man sitting in the coffee shop. She was startled to see that the man, who had clearly seen Cindy looking at him, was looking right back at her. She averted her gaze, looked down at the floor, and kept walking. When she had passed by the coffee shop she looked back at the window. Good, she thought to herself. The man was not looking at her any more. But she was now convinced that there was more to this than her imagination.
Cindy quickly found another seat and sat down. The men who had arrived a few minutes ago were still moving through the terminal building speaking to various employees. She was still curious but also a little unnerved. What was going on here?
***
Giuseppe Verde was surprised to see the girl looking at him as he spoke with his team. He quickly recovered from his surprise and decided to see if staring at her would stop her from staring at him. When she quickly looked away he knew that she was not going to be a problem. She had seen something unusual and was probably staring at him subconsciously. Verde knew from years of hard experience that no professional would look away so indiscreetly. This girl was not a concern.
Verde looked at his watch. “Be ready,” he said quietly and without emotion into his microphone.
White Cell Page 4