White Cell

by B Regan Asher

  ***

  Immediately after hanging up from the conversation with Verde, Jim called Desjardins.

  “Verde’s gone,” said Jim.

  “I know,” said Desjardins. Then, puzzled, he asked, “How do you know?” Jim filled Desjardins in on his conversation with Verde.

  “Sacre Bleu,” said Desjardins. “This is not good.”

  “How could this happen?” asked Jim, incensed. “You were supposed to have him. How did he get away?”

  “We had him trapped in his house in Toronto,” explained Desjardins. “We thought it was over but he … well, you’re not going to believe this … he had an underground tunnel! And he had a ton of surveillance equipment, so he knew we were coming. We had cordoned off his street but he also owned the house behind him and that’s where the tunnel went. He got in a car and drove away on a street that we weren’t watching.” Desjardins caught his breath. “There was no way we could know,” he said.

  “Now what do we do?” asked Jim. “Verde has my girlfriend and he’s going to turn her over to someone called The Butcher!”

  “He called you on the red phone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good,” said Desjardins. “That call we can trace easily. We made special arrangements for that phone.”

  Jim wondered why, if Desjardins could trace the call he hadn’t already done it. “Well, trace that call!” yelled an exasperated Jim Kincaid. He took a deep breath to calm himself down. “What happened in Quebec City? Did that part work?”

  “Yes,” said Desjardins calmly. “We have Godin and he is talking. We now know that his group is hiding the Minister in Quebec City and we expect rescue him within the hour.”

  “Well,” said Jim. “At least there is some good news.”

  “Don’t worry Jim,” said Desjardins, still calm. “We’ll find Penny.”

  “You always get your man?” asked Jim disdainfully.

  “Not always,” conceded Desjardins. “But usually.”

  “What about what Verde wants?”

  “We’ll try to prepare something just in case,” said Desjardins. “But no one is going to approve the destruction of evidence so let’s hope it doesn’t come down to that.”

  “Yeah,” said Jim. “Let’s hope.”

  ***

  Desjardins immediately had Verde’s call to the red phone traced. It took less than a minute to get the results because the trace was set up to be automatic.

  “A telephone booth in downtown Toronto,” came the answer over his cell phone.

  “Merde,” exclaimed Desjardins. How was he going to find the bastard now?

  ***

  After the call to Desjardins, Jim decided he would have to find Penny himself because the RCMP seemed much more concerned with the Transport Minister. That was, after all, their top priority. He returned to his monitor and, using his White Hat programs, started searching for transactions on Verde’s credit cards. Jim could only hope that Verde had not been ready with new credit cards on such short notice.

  After twenty minutes of searching and re-searching the bank records, Jim had to conclude that Verde had new credit cards because there were no recent transactions on his old ones. If Verde did have new credit cards it was very unlikely he would have used them before today. Still, it was going to be very difficult to find the new card numbers unless Verde had somehow unwittingly linked them back to him. Jim initially tried searching for cards based on Verde’s name and then based on his address. Nothing. Jim struck the table with a fist, the keyboard leaping off the table and clattering back. What could link him back to Verde? Jim gave this some thought. If he was not using his own name or his own address, could he be using a variation on these? Jim recalled reading something once about how, when people try to disappear, they often link their new identifies back to their old ones. For some reason people just can not resist keeping something of their previous selves.

  But what name would Verde use? What was Verde? Italian? What was the English word for Verde? Jim used a free internet translator to find that Verde was Green in English. He should have known that, he thought. But what about his first name? The translator could not translate Giuseppe so Jim had to go elsewhere. He searched the internet and found a web site that indicated Giuseppe was the Italian version of the English name Joseph. Jim was excited now as he searched through many more credit card databases because he did not know which credit card Verde would use. He searched for another half hour before he gave up. There were a lot of Joseph Greens, but none that could be Verde because all had transactions before today.

  Jim slouched in his chair, defeated. He would have to depend on the RCMP to find Verde but he did not believe they would find him in time. Then Jim had an epiphany. He decided that the last name was probably correct, that Verde would not be able to help but call himself Green. But Verde probably knew he had to change his first name. The question was, would the name start with G for Giuseppe or with J for Joseph.

  Jim searched for George and Gordon Green. Then Graham Green. He switched to the J’s: Jim and Jordon Green. Nothing. Then, he tried James Green. Jim could not believe his eyes when an American Express record popped up on the monitor before him showing that a card was issued to James Green and that it had no transactions before today. Jim was elated and sat up straight in his chair. He then found several transactions that had occurred in the last hour. He had found the bastard in a northern suburb of Toronto.

  ***

  “Turn around,” said the voice behind Ben. Ben turned around to see the man who had been watching him from outside the coffee shop. The man’s hands were in his pockets, probably concealing a gun, thought Ben. Ben looked around but there was no one to signal for help. “Into the washroom quickly,” said the man, indicating the direction with a nod.

  Ben walked into the washroom and turned around to look at the man. The man was big, at least six feet and 220 pounds, and Ben realized there was no way he would be able to overpower him. He just hoped Cindy saw that the man had followed him to the telephone both and that she had run for help. Ben stood frozen, looking to see what the man was going to do.

  The man let the door close behind him and then he checked each stall, ensuring there was no one else in the room. Then the man withdrew his right hand from his pocket and Ben could see that he was holding onto something. Knowing what the man would be carrying, Ben watched carefully until the hand pulled a gun out of the pocket. Ben blinked. The hand was not holding a gun. It was holding a badge.

  “Constable Mike Arnault,” said the man, holding up the badge. “RCMP,” he said as if the letters were a statement in themselves. “We’ve got to get you somewhere safe.”

  Ben let himself relax, having stood frozen waiting for God knows what. He almost fainted from relief.

  ***

  “Yes?” asked Jim when he picked up the telephone.

  “It’s Desjardins.” He paused. “Bad news – we’ve lost Verde.”

  Jim laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” asked Desjardins. “I thought you’d be upset.”

  “The mighty RCMP!” laughed Jim. He stopped laughing. “Don’t worry. I found him.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He’s at the Hilton Hotel in Markham,” said Jim. It has to be him!”

  “We have to get there fast,” said Desjardins. “I’ll call Gordon. He’s already in Toronto and he will be able to get there very fast.”

  “I want to go too,” said Jim. “I have to go.”

  “Best not Jim,” said Desjardins. “You’re much safer where you are. You’ve already said someone’s following you.”

  “Send a policeman with me to the airport and have a policeman pick me up in Toronto,” said Jim. “I’ll bring a laptop with me in case you need any more information.” Jim was adamant, so adamant that he had already started motioning to Gary to come closer.

  Desjardins sensed Jim’s determination and sighed. “I’m not going to convince you, am I?”

  “No
pe,” said Jim. Jim covered the handset and spoke to Gary. “I need a laptop quickly,” he said. Gary nodded and started to leave the room. “With a wireless internet connection,” Jim called after him. Jim returned to the telephone. “Will you arrange everything, including the flight?” he asked.

  “I’ll take care of it,” said Desjardins. “But you be very careful.”

  “I will.”

  “And Jim?”

  “Yes?”

  “You know you can’t be there before Gordon? You know it will all be over when you get there?”

  “That’s fine,” said Jim. “I just need to be there. Even if I’m late.”

  As Jim hung up the phone, Gary appeared with a laptop. “It’s not the best,” said Gary. “But I knew you were in a hurry.”

  Jim looked at the laptop. It was not the most current incarnation but it was only a couple of years old. “It’ll do fine,” said Jim. He then proceeded to copy his main files from the server onto the laptop. He had just finished with there was a knock on the door. Jim opened the door and found an RCMP constable standing there.

  “Jim Kincaid?” he asked, looking down at Jim from his six foot three inch stature.

  “That’s me,” said Jim.

  “We have to go now!” said the constable emphatically. “I only have fifteen minutes to get you on the next flight to Toronto.”

  “Well, what are you doing standing here then?” asked Jim, pushing by the constable on the way to the hall.

  For the second time in as many days Jim is in a police car racing through the streets of Ottawa with red lights flashing and siren wailing. The sun was setting and the red lights reflected off of the buildings and cars they passed. Jim kept looking behind them, watching for the man who had been following him. When he realized that the same black sedan had followed every turn he turned to the constable.

  “We’re being followed,” said Jim.

  This constable was not like the first kid he had been sent. He was an experienced policeman. The car accelerated until they were doing highway speeds. Jim looked behind them. The car behind had to speed up as well or it risked losing them. Then, suddenly the constable pulled the car over to the curb and stopped. Jim watched the sedan behind them. It had been following too closely and had no choice but to pass them. When the sedan turned the corner at the next intersection, the constable pushed the accelerator to the floor and sped away from the curb as fast as the car could go. By the time the sedan had turned around the block the police car would be gone.

  When they got to the airport, the constable left the flashing lights on and ran with Jim to the departure gate. With the constable’s uniform and identity badge they by-passed airport security, but not without a telephone call to confirm their assignment. Since September 11 airports everywhere were taking no chances. Running to the gate, Jim saw the attendant closing the door to the ramp. When the attendant saw Jim and the policeman running toward her she immediately opened it and the two men ran down the ramp, the metal structure shaking with each foot fall.

  The door to the plane was just closing as they turned the corner to the plane. The attendant inside, unaware of their approach, locked the door just as Jim reached it. Jim banged with his fist on the outside of the door until he heard the latch unlock and saw the door open.

  “In a bit of a rush are we?” asked the attendant, turning to look at the policeman.

  “Just didn’t want to lose my frequent flyer miles,” said Jim, out of breath.

  Jim collapsed into his airplane seat and looked at his watch. It was already 8:06pm and it was already getting dark outside. He looked up at the movie screen and saw that the airline was showing a news broadcast. He picked up the headphones and listened. The announcer, a tall thin man with a strong French Canadian accent, was standing in front of a small bungalow, police cars with red and blue flashing lights all around him, camera lights illuminating his face, everything else in shadows.

  “…and so this tiny suburb of Quebec City is now the centre of attention for the entire country. We have been told that Alex Marsdon, the federal Transport Minister, has been rescued in a dramatic joint assault by the Sûreté Special Forces and the RCMP. Three terrorists were killed during the assault but the Transport Minister is unharmed, except for the atrocities previously carried out by this kidnappers. The Transport Minister has been taken to an undisclosed hospital for treatment and is reported in good spirits. This is …”

  Jim took off the headset and closed his eyes. There were more things to be done yet but at least one part had worked out. He had kept his part of the bargain by finding the Transport Minister so the RCMP was going to have to help him with Verde. But the uncertainty of what was going to happen tonight was eating at him. He thought of Penny. Then he thought back to the broadcast and did allow himself a wry smile.

  ***

  When Jim arrived at Pearson International Airport in Toronto he was met by an OPP constable who took him to the Hilton hotel in Markham. Even with the police lights flashing and siren wailing, it took twenty minutes to get to the North East suburb through Toronto traffic. When they arrived, there were more police lights everywhere. It looked like a disaster area and was completely cordoned off. In the OPP squad car Jim had no problem getting through the check point.

  Jim left the car and wandered through the hotel parking lot. He had had to make his way through a myriad of hotel guests, who had obviously been asked to wait outside, and what seemed to be a battalion of uniformed policeman. Jim looked briefly for Inspector Gordon but realized that finding him in this maze was going to be hopeless.

  Jim was moving toward the front door of the hotel when he saw several very tough looking men in expensive suits being led out of the hotel in handcuffs. They were surrounded by no less then eight policemen. Jim became concerned when he realized he had seen no sign of Penny. He was now running through the parking lot looking for anyone who might be Penny or Gordon. He did this for five minutes without success and then looked back at the front doors of the hotel.

  What he saw froze him in his tracks. Two ambulance attendants were wheeling out a stretcher. On the stretcher was a body bag, something Jim recognized from all of the police shows he had watched on television. The lights under the hotel portico lit up the attendants and the stretcher so that Jim could see every detail. The body bag would not have bothered him so much if it had not been for the fact that a piece of a shirt stuck out from the top of the body bag, somehow stuck in the zipper. The material was pink but, worse than that, the material was the same pink shirt material with horizontal and vertical navy lines that Penny had worn one of the times he saw her. That was their second date, thought Jim. And then he realized that the corpse, the person inside the bag, was Penny. Penny had not survived the assault and it was all his fault. Jim knew he had not known Penny long enough to love her. What he did know was that, giving the time, he would have fallen in love with her. He did not know what to do. He just stood there watching the police lights reflect off the hotel windows and watching the stretcher be wheeled out of the hotel. As he stood there a hand touched him on his shoulder.

  “You made it,” said a familiar voice. Jim turned around to see Gordon standing next to him.

  “You incompetent bastard!” yelled Jim, punching at him. He hit Gordon in the stomach and then aimed for his face. Gordon held his stomach and then ducked.

  “What the …?” asked Gordon. Jim then turned away from him and ran toward the two ambulance attendants.

  When Jim reached the body bag he looked at the material sticking out at the zipper. It was definitely the same shirt than Penny had been wearing only a few days ago. He had known from the first time they had met that they were soul mates. Now, he would not have the chance to know her. Now, after this, he may never have the chance to know anyone. He had read that this kind of trauma could scar you for life. A tear appeared in one of his eyes and his vision started to blur. God, he thought, a tear was so out of character for him.

  He l
ooked around and saw Gordon coming toward him. He looked at the ambulance attendants and saw them staring at him. He looked at the reflection of all of the flashing lights in the windows of the hotel. It was so surreal. Then he knew he had to see Penny one last time. He had to say goodbye. He had to apologise. All of this was his fault.

  He reached down to unzip the zipper but it was caught on the material. He shook and shook the zipper but hit would not give. Then he gave one, big pull and it unzipped enough to reveal the face inside. He looked carefully. He blinked and looked again.

  ***

  When the policeman looked at Ellen Kincaid’s living room he was shocked and appalled by the amount of blood over everything. The blood had splattered on the furniture, the walls, the rug and the picture window. It was wholly disgusting. He walked over to Ellen Kincaid’s body and looked down at her slumped in her favourite chair. Even with blood all the back of her head, her arms, and hands, she looked so peaceful with her eyes closed.

  The policeman kneeled down beside her and took her hand. “Mrs. Kincaid,” he said. “Mrs. Kincaid,” he repeated. “Wake up please. Everything is going to be okay.”

  Ellen Kincaid opened her eyes and looked into the kind face of the plainclothes policeman. “I was shot,” she said.

  “No,” said the policeman. “You were going to be shot.”

  “But the blood,” said Ellen Kincaid. “My blood is everywhere.”

  “No Ma’am,” said the policeman. “That’s the blood of the man who was going to shoot you. That’s the blood of the man I shot.”

  ***

  Jim Kincaid looked down at the face inside the body bag a third time. He could not believe what he saw. The face was that of Giuseppe Verde, but his body was dressed in Penny’s shirt. It was a preposterous picture, this sixty year old stocky Mafioso in a girl’s pink shirt. The shirt was stretched tightly over his torso and arms and hair protruded from under the collar. Jim couldn’t help himself so he started to laugh. He was so relieved, he kept laughing until he looked up at the entrance doors to the hotel and saw Penny walking out, wrapped in a blanked, escorted by two policemen.