White Cell

by B Regan Asher

  He parked Ben’s car on the road and walked up the short stone driveway and the flagstone steps to the Tudor mansion. It did not look like the house in his day dream because it had a much smaller front lawn but the house itself was not that dissimilar from the one he had imagined. The front yard was small for the house but it was meticulously landscaped. As he walked up the front steps he noticed that there was a camera underneath the front portico. He looked up at the house and also noticed several other cameras at various points along the roof line. He dismissed the security measures as typical for a neighbourhood such as this and then walked up to the oversized oak double doors and pressed the bell. He waited. His heart was beating fast, he was perspiring out of every pour, and his skin was crawling. But he stood fast. One of the doors started to open and, at that point, the world around him stopped. There was no sound. There was nothing but the sound of his heart beating in his ears. He wondered what Verde would look like and decided he would be a big, hulking man, just like in his dream: a beast. The door opened wider but he could only see the shadow of someone there.

  Then the door was opened fully and Jim Kincaid relaxed a little. A dark skinned woman in a black and white maid’s uniform opened the door.

  “Yes?” asked the maid, the single word laced with an unusual accent. Jim had heard that many maids in Toronto were from Eastern Europe but this maid was too swarthy to be European. Jim decided that she might be from the Caribbean.

  Jim’s words stuck in this throat. “I …,” he said with great effort. “I’m Jim Kincaid,” said Jim. “I’m here to see Mr. Verde.”

  The maid smiled. “Yes, Mr. Kincaid,” she said, he accent less obvious that it had been a moment earlier. “Mr. Verde has been expecting you.” She opened the door wider to reveal an opulent front hall. “Please,” she said, indicating the Jim should enter the house.

  Jim walked into the hall and looked around in amazement. His apartment could have fit into this hall four times over. The floor was an unusual pink and grey marble and the walls were covered in paintings that had thick frames, most of them in an antique gilt finish. Many of the paintings were lit with tiny lights like those used in museums. The staircase was the most awesome thing Jim had ever seen. It was a double staircase with a thick, dark oak railing but each spindle was thicker than Jim’s leg. Continuing to look around the hall, Jim noticed cameras placed discretely though the house along with other sensors that looked like motion detectors. Jim had read about this kind of security during the research he had conducted at the beginning of his hacking career. But, again, Jim dismissed the security measures as being typical of this type of home. Jim was looking up at a crystal chandelier, about the size of Ben’s car, when his thoughts were interrupted.

  “This way, sir,” said the maid. She pulled on Jim’s arm, leading him through a spacious corridor, also lined with paintings, and into a study. “Mr. Verde will be with you in a minute,” said the maid. She then closed the two double doors behind her.

  The room in which Jim now stood was very dark. The walls were panelled in dark oak, the doors were dark oak, the bookshelves which took up a significant amount of wall space were dark oak, and the large desk which stood in front of a large window and faced into the room was dark oak. Most of the chairs were also constructed of dark oak and finished in leather. Jim selected a leather chair in front of the desk and sat down. To his surprise he was not so nervous anymore. Perhaps it was the fact that there was no going back or perhaps it was his fascination with the house. He had seen houses like this in the movies but being here was something altogether different. He smiled to himself. The house was so overdone it was funny. Then he started thinking about why he was here and he started to get nervous again. Just then, the door opened.

  Jim turned around and saw something that he had not expected at all. The balding, diminutive man who entered was dressed in blue jeans and a red and white striped cotton sweater. This man did not look at all threatening. Jim stood up and faced the man.

  “Mr. Kincaid,” said the man, holding out his hand. “I am so pleased to finally meet you. I am Giuseppe Verde.” The man spoke with a very slight Italian accent. Jim was surprised by the way the man presented himself, not like a mobster, but like a gentleman. The man had real class, a trait he had not anticipated.

  Jim walked over to the man and shook his hand. “I am very sorry I am late, Mr. Verde,” said Jim. “The traffic was terrible.” Jim had decided that apologising for his tardiness would be better than ignoring it.

  Verde dismissed the apology with a wave of his hand. “You know,” he said, smiling. “With our roads the way they are, who could help but be late?”

  Jim was slowly beginning to feel at ease. Verde was not the animal he had thought he might turn out to be. But something was bothering him. Somehow, the man looked familiar.

  “Mr. Kincaid,” began Verde. “You look familiar to me. Have we met?”

  “I don’t think so, sir,” said Jim. “But I was also thinking that you look familiar to me.”

  “Ah,” said Verde. “Perhaps we have then. But never mind.” Verde looked at his watch. Jim had noticed the watch when Verde had entered the room because it sparkled with diamonds, not only around the face, but all up and down the band. “Have you had lunch?” asked Verde.

  “No sir,” said Jim.

  “Good,” he said. He leaned out of the study doorway and bellowed in a booming voice, “Antonio! Due per pranzo!” He then turned to Jim. “Let’s have lunch first,” he said. “It’s hard to conduct business on an empty stomach.”

  Lunch was set up on a patio overlooking the back garden. It was served by the maid who left Verde and Jim alone on the patio once they were settled. The lunch consisted of a garden salad with a raspberry dressing and pasta with vegetables in a tomato sauce. Jim was surprised there was no meat on the table. He had been dreading the possibility of a pork lunch but he not idea what he would have said if a suckling pig had appeared before him.

  “Please,” said Verde. “Try it. Antonio makes a fantastic linguini.”

  Jim tried some of the pasta and looked up at Verde, wide eyed. “It’s fantastic,” said Jim.

  “Of course,” said Verde. “I told you. Antonio makes a fantastic linguini.”

  Jim couldn’t help himself. “I am surprised that it is a vegetarian lunch,” he said. “I thought Italians liked meat.”

  “You think I don’t have a file on you Mr. Kincaid? I know you’re kosher. I even thought of having a kosher meal here but I was not sure you would believe it was kosher. So a vegetarian lunch seemed the way to go.” He laughed when he saw Jim’s look of disbelief. “In my business Mr. Kincaid, I have to know my clients better than I know my own mother.”

  They continued to eat their lunch, with Verde asking about Jim’s childhood and why, as a Catholic, he kept kosher. He seemed very interested in Jim’s opinions on everything from politics to religion. Finally, when they were finished with the meal Verde rang a silver bell. The maid came and took away the dishes. She then brought out two small bowls of something that looked like sorbet for dessert.

  “Gelato,” said Verde. “Italian ice cream. Try it. You will like it.”

  Jim did enjoy the gelato. When it was gone and the maid had removed the bowls, Verde pushed back his chair, crossed his legs, and turned to Jim.

  “Now,” said Verde. “Why don’t you tell me how you ended up in so much financial trouble.”

  Jim gave Verde the history of his computer hobbies, of how he worked with computers at work and in his spare time, of how he had overspent on his server room and how the banks had been calling him to pay back the money on his credit cards. He did not, however, tell Verde about his hacking exploits.

  “So,” said Verde. “I have appeared at the perfect time?”

  “Yes sir,” said Jim.

  “How much money do you need?” asked Verde.

  Jim swallowed hard. He had no idea if Verde understood the depth of his problems. But the question had
to be answered. Verde had to know.

  “$25,000,” said Jim, looking down at his feet.

  Verde laughed out loud.

  “Is that too much?” asked Jim.

  “$25,000? That’s all? My dear Mr. Kincaid, I usually don’t deal with loans under a half million dollars. But I like you Kincaid. I really do. And you have made the trip all the way to Toronto.” Verde stood up and poked his head into the house. “Carlo!” he called. A young man with dark hair brushed back appeared and Verde said something to him in Italian. Verde then returned to the table and looked at Jim. “Carlo is getting your money,” said Verde.

  The maid then came out onto the patio carrying a tray with two small glasses. Verde took the glasses from the maid and handed one to Jim.

  “Frangelico,” explained Verde. Jim took the glass.

  “Have you every tried Amaretto?” he asked Jim.

  “Once,” said Jim.

  “This is much better,” said Verde. “Amaretto is made with Almonds but Frangelico is made with hazelnuts. It is a more delicate flavour.”

  Verde raised his glass to Jim’s. “Salut!” said Verde.

  The patio door opened again and Carlo stepped onto the patio carrying a briefcase. Verde took it from him and the Carlo disappeared back into the house.

  “Here you go Mr. Kincaid,” said Verde, passing the briefcase to Jim. “$25,000. Make good use of it.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Jim, placing the briefcase beside his chair. “Mr. Verde?”

  “Si?”

  “What are the terms of the loan, sir? I mean, before I accept the money, what is the interest rate and when do I have to repay the loan?”

  “Of course,” said Verde. “Stupido!” he said to himself, hitting his forehead with his hand. “I always forget some of the details. I normally charge twenty five percent per year.”

  Jim’s face turned white. He thought to himself quickly. At that rate the interest alone would be over $6000 per year. There was no way he could afford that.

  “But for you,” continued Verde. “For you I will charge ten percent per year.”

  Jim quickly recalculated the interest in his head. Ten percent was $2500. He could afford $2500 per year. Sure he could.

  “Thank you, sir,” said Jim. “When do I have to repay the loan?”

  “Whenever,” said Verde. “You can repay it as fast as you like. But I can also recall the loan for any reason whenever I like. The banks do the same thing for lines of credit. Doesn’t that sound fair?”

  Jim thought about it. Even if Verde did recall the loan he was still better off with the money today.

  “Yes sir,” said Jim. “That sounds fair.”

  Verde and Jim continued to talk for another twenty minutes. Verde was very interested in Jim’s job, career plans and interests. Then, Verde asked some very specific questions.

  “Have you ever been involved in network security? Or encryption?” asked Verde.

  “Not directly,” said Jim. “I am aware of what is going on but I do not have to get directly involved in security in my day to day work.” Jim again avoided saying anything about his hacking exploits and what he knew about security from those efforts.

  “Bene,” said Verde. “I am glad I could help out such a fine young man.” He held out his hand. “The interest is payable the first of each month,” he said. “The directions for payment are in the briefcase.”

  “Thank you very much for your help, Mr. Verde,” said Jim.

  “I am in the business of favours, Mr. Kincaid,” said Verde. “I have done you a favour today. Perhaps one day you will be in a position to do me a favour as well.”

  “I hope so, sir,” said Jim. “I really appreciate what you have done for me today.”

  Ten minutes later Jim was back in Ben’s car with the briefcase sitting on the seat beside him. He started the car and looked at the clock. It was 2:30. He had enough time to visit his mother for an hour and get back to Ottawa by 8:00. He drove the car away from the Tudor mansion and then pulled over to the side of the road once he had turned the corner. Looking around, he checked to ensure no one was watching. He then leaned over to the passenger seat and unsnapped the briefcase. Inside there was a large envelope and $25,000 in cash. Jim smiled broadly, quickly closed the briefcase, and pulled away from the curb. As he drove out of the Rosedale neighbourhood he could not contain himself and he yelled out loud at the top of his lungs “Yahoo!”.

  Jim was already on the highway, heading back to Ottawa when he slammed his fist down on the dash. “Shit!” he exclaimed. In all his excitement he had forgotten to see his mother. He took the next exit, turned around and headed west toward Yorkdale. Jim pulled up to the Holiday Inn at 3:08, parked the car and entered the hotel lobby. He picked up a house phone, called his mother and met her in the hotel coffee shop. Mrs. Kincaid gave her son a big hug when she saw him.

  “How are you doing Mom?” asked Jim.

  “I’m fine Jimmy,” said his mother. “I am so glad to see you.”

  “You weren’t hurt were you Mom?”

  “No Jimmy, but it was a frightening experience.”

  “Did you call the insurance company?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are they looking after you?”

  “Oh yes. They have been very good. They have even called the hotel and the hotel is sending the bill directly to them.”

  Jim looked relieved that someone else was looking after his mother. “That’s good, Mom,” he said. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “No, Jimmy. I’m just glad to see you,” she said. Then she looked concerned. “You look tired, Jimmy. Are you alright?”

  “Oh sure, Mom,” said Jim. “I’ve just been working hard.”

  Mrs. Kincaid got a wicked grin. “Do you have a girlfriend now Jimmy?” she asked.

  “No Mom,” said Jim. He then decided his mother needed to hear something positive even if it wasn’t likely to happen. “But Ben’s girlfriend has a friend. She wants me to meet her.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing, Mom. I don’t really want to go on a blind date.”

  “Why not?” asked his mother indignantly. “You have nothing to lose,” she said. “I want grandchildren Jimmy. You should call her.”

  Jim said nothing. “Do you need anything from the house Mom?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “No, I’m fine Jimmy.”

  Jim left his mother at 4:15 and was back in Ottawa by 8:30. He returned the car to Ben’s parking space, took the briefcase to his own apartment, and then returned to Ben’s apartment building. It was almost 9:00 when Jim arrived at Ben’s.

  “How’s your Mom?” asked Ben, when he opened his apartment door.

  “She’s actually doing quite well,” said Jim.

  “Come on in,” said Ben, ushering Jim into a small living room. Ben retrieved two beers from the kitchen and then sat down across from Jim.

  “Were you able to do anything for your Mom?” asked Ben, passing Jim a beer.

  “What?” asked Jim, distracted. He was thinking about the briefcase full of money sitting in his apartment.

  “Your Mom,” said Ben. “Were you able to help her at all?” He was still holding out the beer.

  Jim took the beer. “Not really,” said Jim. “But she seemed to appreciate me being there.”

  “That’s good,” said Ben. For the first time ever, a conversation between the two friends was turning awkward.

  “By the way,” said Jim. “Thanks for the car.”

  “No problem,” said Ben.

  Silence. Ben and Jim sipped their beers and looked at nothing in particular.

  Ben had a thought. “Have you decided what you are going to do about the bank on Monday?”

  Jim’s eyes widened. “Why did you ask that?” he asked defensively.

  “I don’t know,” said Ben. “I know you have a problem and I’m showing some friendly interest. That’s all.”

  “Oh,” said Jim, a little embarrasse
d. “I am hoping a new job with a bigger pay check will solve the problem.”

  “Did you get an offer?” asked Ben.

  “Not yet,” said Jim.

  Ben frowned. “Jimmy,” he said. “How are you going to make the payment?”

  “I don’t know,” said Jim.

  “Just let’s not count our chickens before they hatch, eh?”

  Jim said nothing.

  Chapter 13 - Back to Normal

  Sun May 9th

  When Jim finally awoke on Sunday he looked at his clock, saw that it was already 12:14, and so discovered that he had slept through the entire morning. A little disoriented, he sat up in bed and tussled his hair, trying to remember what had happened the day before. When the memories of Saturday came back to him a wide smile appeared across his face as he remembered the briefcase full of money. He jumped out of bed, crouched on the floor and pulled the briefcase out from under the bed. Opening it on the floor, he stared at the stacked piles of bills inside. He looked at the contents of the briefcase for a long while, thinking to himself how it represented his salvation. When he had enjoyed the view long enough, he closed the briefcase and replaced it under the bed.

  After showering and dressing, Jim sat down at the kitchen table with a coffee, orange juice and the Ottawa Citizen. He drank as he read and was not surprised to see yet another front page article about the airport kidnapping. After all, there had been a front page article about it every day since the kidnapping had occurred. Today he read how the kidnappers had finally made concrete demands, though the RCMP was not making the demands public.

  When he was done at the table, Jim decided to re-enter his server room. With his debt problems behind him, he felt he could now reorganize the room and get ready to return to “business as usual”. The room was still covered in statements and it took an hour of hard work to restore his retreat to some semblance of order. He sat in his chair and spun around in it a few times. He had not felt this good in a long time. He then retrieved the briefcase from his bedroom and brought it into the server room. He opened it and carefully counted the money. There was $25,000, exactly.