White Cell

by B Regan Asher

  Before Ben could respond the waiter arrived with their breakfast. As usual, the presentation was top notch, the food looked delicious, and everything smelled great. But none of that seemed to matter to Jim. When the waiter left, he just picked at his food.

  “I’ve got to admit,” said Ben. “That you’ve managed to get yourself into a real bind. I think your real problem is to figure out how to pay back all that money. You’re in worse trouble while you’re still indebted to that guy.”

  Jim was silent. He turned back to his breakfast and started eating with a little more enthusiasm.

  “Jim?” asked Ben. “Is there something you haven’t told me?”

  Jim looked at Ben. “Maybe,” he said. He then told Ben that Verde had forgiven the loan and had given Jim a new list. He decided to leave out the part about the bonus cheques.

  “The only thing you told me about was the first list,” said Ben.

  “Sorry,” said Jim sheepishly.

  “So, even without a debt they are still pressuring you,” said Ben. It was a statement, not a question. “You’re going to call the RCMP,” he said. “And you’re going to call them right now or I’m going to call them.”

  “You’re not serious?” asked Jim.

  “Watch me,” said Ben. He slid out of the booth, got up and began walking to the front of the restaurant where he had two pay phones.

  “Wait!” said Jim. “I’ll do it.”

  Ben returned to the booth. “Can I at least finish my breakfast first?” asked Jim.

  “Go on,” said Ben. “Finish it.”

  Jim ate everything on his plate and drank all that his bladder could hold. Then, without any excuses left, he could procrastinate no longer. “Alright,” he said. “Here I go.”

  “Good luck,” said Ben.

  As Jim walked to the front of the restaurant everything seemed to move in slow motion. Jim had the feeling that his life, as he knew it, was going to change in a profound way. He walked around the booths and tables and waiters and waitresses and bus boys until he finally arrived at the front of the restaurant where the line was longer than it had been when he had arrived. There were two pay phones and, thankfully, neither was being used. But neither phone had a telephone book.

  Jim borrowed a telephone book from the cashier, looked up the number, put a quarter in the phone and dialled. The call was answered by an automated attendant, greeting Jim first in English and then in French. Finally Jim was given a number of options from which to choose. Working his way through the maze of automated choices, Jim was starting to get frustrated. Just about to give up, Jim tried pressing zero.

  “GRC, comment puis je vous aider?” asked a female voice in French. Jim knew that GRC was RCMP in French but he thought it was an awfully perky voice for the RCMP. It was certainly too cheery for a government employee on a Sunday.

  “I need to speak with someone about a problem,” said Jim.

  “What type of problem, sir?” asked the voice, switching to English without any hesitation.

  “It’s complicated,” said Jim. “But it involves loan sharking, extortion and murder.”

  “One moment please,” said the voice, still perky, and apparently unperturbed by Jim’s list of crimes. The phone began ringing again and Jim felt the butterflies in his stomach start to flap their wings.

  “Enquêtes Générales,” said the man who answered the phone in French. “Sergeant Lafleur.”

  “I have information about several crimes,” began Jim. “These are very serious crimes but I don’t know who to contact.”

  “Why are you calling General Inquiries?” asked the sergeant, switching to English but with something remaining of his French accent.

  “I don’t know,” said Jim, more than a little distraught now. He had not expected to have to work so hard to find someone to talk to. “Who should I talk to?”

  “What kind of crimes?” asked the sergeant.

  “Loan sharking, extortion and murder,” said Jim.

  “Hold on. I’ll transfer you.”

  Jim waited for a few minutes. “Special Investigations,” said another mail voice. For the third time Jim explained why he was calling.

  “Alright, sir,” said the man. “I can take down your name and contact information and someone will get back to you.”

  “Do you know when?”

  “No sir, I don’t. But we are pretty backlogged lately. This terrorist episode has really drained our resources.” Jim could not believe what he was hearing. This man, this policeman, thought they were too busy to investigate crimes? They were too busy to worry about murder?

  Jim gave him his name, address and telephone number and hung up. He returned to the booth where Ben was waiting eagerly for the result.

  “Well?” asked Ben.

  “They say they are very busy and they will get back to me,” said Jim.

  “You’re kidding, right?” asked Ben.

  “Unfortunately not.”

  “Who did you talk to?” asked Ben.

  “I don’t know. Some guy in Special Investigations.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You have to call back,” said Ben. “And this time you should ask for the people working in Organized Crime.”

  Ben expected Jim to resist but he then saw in Jim’s face something that said he too wanted something to happen. Jim did not say anything but simply left the booth again to make the second call. This time, when Jim called and asked for someone working on Organized Crime, he was put right through.

  “Beaulieu,” said the woman who answered the phone.

  Jim repeated his reasons for calling.

  “And your name is?” asked the woman.

  “Jim Kincaid.”

  “Your name sounds familiar,” said the woman. “Is there any reason I should know your name?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Jim.

  “Hmmm,” said the woman. “Were you at the Ottawa airport at the time of the kidnapping?”

  Of course the RCMP would have his name from that investigation, thought Jim. “Yes,” he said.

  The woman now seemed much more interested. “Hold on one moment Mr. Kincaid,” she said. It took at least five minutes for her to return to the line. “Mr. Kincaid,” said the woman. “Inspector Desjardins would like to meet with you. Where are you now, sir?”

  “I’m having breakfast in a restaurant.”

  “That’s fine, sir, but where is the restaurant?”

  “I’m at Cora’s, the downtown Ottawa Cora’s.”

  “Hold on,” she said, placing Jim on hold again.

  The woman came back on the line. “Have you noticed anyone following you?”

  Jim was very surprised at the question. “I … I think so,” said Jim, working hard to get the words out.

  “Okay,” said woman. “Can you meet Inspector Desjardins at the Tim Horton’s in the Rideau Centre in one hour?” Tim Horton’s was a national chain of coffee shops.

  Jim looked at his watch. It was coming up to noon. “Sure,” he said. “I guess.”

  “Good. He will meet you there in one hour,” said the woman. “Try to ensure you are not followed,” she added and then hung up the phone.

  Jim had wanted to ask if it was alright for Ben to come too but he decided that, since she had not said to come alone, there should not be a problem. He returned to the table and filled Ben in on his second conversation.

  “Good,” said Ben. “I’m glad you’ve finally started to do something about it.”

  Chapter 21 - Desjardins

  Sun May 16th

  Jim was very nervous as he and Ben walked along Wellington Street and approached the Rideau Centre. “I’m really nervous,” said Jim. “What if he’s more concerned in my hacking career?”

  “Why don’t you just worry about not getting killed,” said Ben. “You have to put this whole thing in perspective.”

  It was 1:55pm when they walked into the Tim Horton’s. Lo
oking around, neither Jim nor Ben saw Inspector Desjardins. Since the coffee shop was almost empty, it would have been be difficult to miss him. Despite all of the coffee they had had at breakfast, they ordered two more large coffees and sat down in a far corner of the coffee shop, sitting side by side with their backs against the wall. As Jim raised the mug to his lips his hand trembled.

  “You’re really shaky,” noted Ben.

  “I know,” said Jim. “And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.”

  A few minutes later a big man with blonde hair and a large, stone face walked through the revolving door into the coffee shop. Jim and Ben immediately recognized Roger Desjardins. He also saw Ben and Jim right away. Jim was surprised that he was dressed so casually, in a yellow golf shirt and jeans. Desjardins nodded at them and then bought himself a coffee before joining them at their table.

  Jim was still shaky when Desjardins sat down. “Alrighd,” said Desjardins in his heavy French Canadian accent. “What is going on?” Desjardins was looking right at Jim and made no comment on Ben’s presence. But Desjardins knew of Ben from the airport.

  Jim told Desjardins the entire story Verde story from beginning to end, leaving out nothing except his White Cell identity and most of his hacking exploits. Desjardin’s eyes opened wide when Jim described how easily he was able to gather information on the people of interest to Verde but he never interrupted Jim’s flow of thought. Ben gave Jim a quizzical look when he realized he had not heard about the bonus cheques.

  “You deposited the cheques?” asked Desjardins.

  “No, sir,” said Jim.

  “Alright,” he said. “Your have very serious problem.” He paused. “I’ve heard of circumstances like this and you could well be in danger.” Damn it, thought Jim, he knew he was in danger. If he was not in danger why did he call the RCMP? Desjardins continued. “Normally, we’d be working on your case right away,” continued Desjardins. “But right now we are very busy with the kidnapping of the Transport Minister.”

  Jim’s face dropped.

  “But we have more to discuss yet,” said Desjardin, looking directly at Jim. “For one, did you see anyone following you today?”

  “No,” said Jim. He then looked at Ben.

  “No,” said Ben.

  “How did you know we were being followed?” asked Jim.

  “I didn’t but organized crime often decides to watch their new recruits very carefully,” said Desjardins. “That is why I am dressed like this,” he said, using both hands to indicate his shirt. “I do not want anyone to know who I am, at least not easily.”

  Ben and Jim looked at one another but said nothing.

  “Alright,” Desjardins continued. “Now I need to know more about your capabilities, Mr. Kincaid. I need to know exactly what you have been doing and why. You must be truthful with me today if I am to help you in the future.”

  Jim looked at Desjardins. The man seemed serious. The question was how much to tell him. If he told him about White Cell he could be in even more trouble later. Jim decided to tell him a lot of what he had done, including some of his hacking exploits, but he left out his White Cell identity. He also left out the full range of targets he had compromised. Jim felt that White Cell represented too big an opportunity for Desjardins to ignore. As he told him about the various computers he had managed to break into he assured Desjardins he had never stolen anything, even information.

  “Then why do it?” asked Desjardins.

  “The challenge,” said Jim.

  “So,” asked Desjardins. “Give me some examples. Have you hacked into banks?” he asked.

  Jim looked at Ben, who nodded. “Yes,” said Jim. Jim felt like Ben was now his attorney and he was glad for Ben’s support and advice. He needed someone to advise him and Ben seemed as good a someone as any.

  “Police?”

  “Yes.”

  “Armed forces?”

  “Yes.”

  “CSIS?” Desjardins was referring to the Canadian Security Intelligence Service, Canada’s equivalent of MI-5.

  Jim looked at Ben. Ben nodded. “Yes,” said Jim.

  Desjardins leaned back in his chair. “Really?” he asked. “You have broken into all of these computers and you have not taken anything? After you broke in you simply left?”

  “Yes,” said Jim.

  Desjardins pursed his lips. “I don’t think so,” he said. “I have dealt with hackers before and I know that something always drives them. True, it is rarely to steal money but it is usually to make a point, to place a virus, to show someone what they have done. A hacker is a hacker by nature. And what you are telling me is all wrong.”

  Jim looked at Ben and, again, Ben was nodding. This time Jim resisted Ben. “No,” said Jim. “I didn’t take anything.”

  “Then I can not help you,” said Desjardins. As the big man started to get up, Jim felt something touch his ribs. Ben was jabbing him with his elbow.

  “Tell him,” whispered Ben.

  “No,” said Jim, whispering back.

  “Tell me what?” asked Desjardin, turning to sit back down.

  “Tell him or I will,” Ben told Jim.

  Jim sat frozen, unable to speak. It was unclear to Ben whether or not Jim would tell Desjardins he was White Cell. Ben turned to Desjardins. “If I tell you,” said Ben. “Can you promise that Jim will be protected from prosecution?”

  Instead of looking at Ben, Desjardins looked at Jim. “You are in no position to make demands. Your life may be in jeopardy Mr. Kincaid but if you do not tell me everything I simply can not help you.”

  Jim just sat there. The coffee shop had turned into that foggy world of unreality. The voices he heard were echoes in the distance but, through the fog he did hear Ben say something to Desjardins. What was it he had said? Jim replayed the words in his mind slowly. Did he hear Ben right? And then he knew it was over.

  “Jim is White Cell,” Ben had said.

  Roger Desjardin’s eyes opened wide. Whatever the inspector had expected, it was not this. “Mon Dieu,” said Desjardins.

  Jim heard Desjardin’s words through the fog, and, when he recognized them, they jolted him out from his foggy world. Everything had now changed. The police knew about White Cell. The secret was out.

  “Now,” said Desjardins nodding. “Finally, that makes sense.”

  “Can you protect Jim?” asked Ben.

  “Without more concrete evidence that Mr. Kincaid is in danger, there is little I can do,” said Desjardins. “As I told you, the kidnapping has us very busy as I am sure you can appreciate.” Then, the inspector leaned across the table and said in a conspiratorial voice, “The British are coming tomorrow to help. The whole force is so embarrassed. We are all working 18 hour days to solve this kidnapping. If the British solve it first, the future of the RCMP is uncertain. I will do what I can to help, but right now my hands are tied.”

  After Desjardins left, Ben and Jim sat at the table, side by side, looking out the front windows at the people walking on the street outside. “That sucks,” said Ben. He then turned to look at Jim. “I’m really sorry,” he said. “I thought they would help. And now I think I may have gotten you into even more trouble by telling them about White Cell.”

  Jim surprised Ben with his reply. “You meant well,” said Jim. “And I’m actually a little relieved. I have had this fear of being found out for such a long time.” Jim sighed. “Now it’s out of my hands.”

  “You’re kidding?” asked Ben.

  “No,” said Jim. “And, you know what? Now that the RCMP knows what’s going on, if this thing with Verde escalates, they might actually do something. At least they know.”

  ***

  “What did you tell him?” asked Charles Gordon in his deep, slow voice.

  Gordon and Desjardins were standing alone in a corridor at RCMP Headquarters. Desjardins had just told Gordon about his meeting with Jim Kincaid and Ben Stein.

  “I told him that we were very busy with the kidnapping
and that there was not much we would do without evidence that he is in danger.”

  Gordon nodded. “What an idiot,” he mumbled to himself. “Turning to the Mafia for a loan.”

  “I know,” said Desjardins. “But he’s a smart kid.”

  “So what do you suggest we do?”

  “Well,” said Desjardins with his typical French Canadian contemplation. “I think we can get him to help us.”

  “How?”

  “He’s probably one of the best hackers around, right?”

  “Right.”

  “And he needs our help, right?

  “Right.”

  Desjardins looked at Gordon as if the conclusion was obvious. Gordon shrugged.

  “We make a deal,” Desjardins finally said. “We help him with his problem if he helps us with ours.”

  “How will you ever get that past LaFleur?” asked Gordon referring to Pierre LaFleur, Chief Inspector and their immediate superior.

  “LaFleur is so worried he’ll jump at any chance of solving the case. You heard what he said. We’re the scapegoats if MI-5 finds Marsdon,” said Desjardins, referring to Alex Marsdon, the kidnapped Transport Minister.

  “I don’t know,” said Gordon shaking his head.

  “Well then, what’s your plan?” asked Desjardins “Wait for your pink slip?”

  Gordon winced. “Okay,” he said. “I guess we don’t have a choice.”

  “I have a good feeling about this kid,” said Desjardins. “He’s very smart. More importantly, I get the feeling we can trust him.”

  “Trust a hacker? Isn’t that an oxymoron?”

  “We have no choice,” Desjardins reminded him. “And we’re running out of time.”

  Gordon said nothing but he conceded the point with a slight nod of his head.

  ***

  It was almost three o’clock when Jim turned the key in the lock to his apartment door. He went to the refrigerator and poured himself a glass of orange juice then, sitting in front of the television, he sipped his juice and flipped through the television channels. Finding nothing on television, he retreated to his server room and began looking for more information on the people on Verde’s list. As he continued looking through the maze of information from banks, employers and e-mail servers, he could not help but think about what he had turned into. He was a spy for the Mafia. The Mafia!