6. In The Shadows

Café-bar «House of Beer» is a dark café in an old part of ancient Krakow. We find a more-or-less quiet table in the shadows at the back, where we can talk and drink. The drink comes first and is excellent: the House of Beer has so many different beers from so many different countries that it's not easy to make a choice. Scarlett advises me to try some Polish beers, which go from «surprisingly good» to «I have to remember this one, so I can order it next time». To repay the favour, I order for her my favourite Luxembourg's Triple, and at the second round, I tempt her to try a Belgian Kriek, which makes her fall in love at the first sip (not of me, in love of the beer, it's delicious).

Between drinking, we fill the time with talking.

"First, talk to me about the company, about your work there, your colleagues, and your boss.", I say.

"There isn't much to say. When I started there, we had fifteen people working for the company, but then computers came in, so we fired the typing department, and it would be cheaper to let specialists handle specialist's services, so we fired the bookkeeper and the cleaning lady, and we had an external company to look at our business model, so we fired some more colleagues… Three and a half years ago, it was just the Boss and me. We each had our task: I worked and made money, while he talked and spent it."

"Is he married? Children? Parents? Other relatives?"

"Not that I know of. What kind of woman wants a man who's always at work or travelling around the globe?"

This is a marvellous medicine for my moral worries. I promised Scarlett to help her with her revenge, but it feels better when we don't have to make arrangements for the crying widow and her orphans when the mission is over.

"What's the name of the company?"

"Look at the front page of the newspaper. It's on that table over there."

Suddenly I'm back into the real world, the world in which I'm getting paid for doing spy work, the world that has invented all the explanations of my mission of yesterday.

«Eco-terrorists put pressure on Climate Conference»

«The business centre of Krakow suffered a painful blow yesterday morning. At exactly 10:00 AM, the moment of the official start of the World Climate Conference about Global Warming, a bomb destroyed the office of Treesome Ltd, the Polish market leader of import of tropical wood from the Amazon rainforest. Several environmental organizations have claimed the action: they want attention for the ruthless way aggressive companies destroy nature on our planet. The attack puts pressure on the negotiations that take place during the conference. At the moment the bomb went off, there were no employees in the office. The rest of the building was evacuated immediately. Thanks to the efficient work of the emergency services, there were no injuries or casualties.»

Thinking about cutting down the rainforest, the metaphor of the sparrow comes to my mind. When a sparrow builds her nest in a tree with a «will be cut down next month»-sign, we laugh about the stupid animal; it's doing all that work for nothing. Human intelligence makes us feel superior to animals, but we don't read the signs, and we don't think about our future either. We cut down the tropical forest and burn as much oil as our energy addicted economy can afford, until there's no future left. I'm not sure about the measures, the bombing that the LSD ordered me, but I do feel proud and useful to be part of an organization that tries to convince others to think ahead, instead of brainwashing the world with their slogan «contamination first!». There are so many clean alternatives for burning oil. If we would only plant two trees for every one we cut… Our wood would be a bit more expensive, but it would be an investment in the future for our children…

I shouldn't care.

I have no children.

I have a job to do.

"Treesome?", I ask.

"The sellers, the buyers, and us; all three making money with the same product. At least, that's the idea. The sellers are mainly small local companies; they work hard against low prices. The buyers are factories and construction companies and wholesale traders and Do-It-Yourself supermarkets; they always want the best quality and the highest discounts. We are the middleman with the contacts and the expertise; we handle the transport, the import and the paperwork. Most businesses are organized like that."

"Your job was the transport, the import and the paperwork, while the Boss talked with the contacts."

"Exactly. He used to be at the office every day, first in and last out, even worked at weekends, but when I was the only employee left, he spent more and more time at home, doing his emails and phone calls there." Scarlett's nails dig into her palms as she clenches her fists: "If he's forgotten me, I'll make him remember me. I'll make him want me again."

"Is that what you want? Do you want him to want you again? Do you also want your ex-husband to come back to you, to beg you on his knees to forgive him, to take him back again after what he did to you? Is there a future in taking your old job back?"

Suddenly, Scarlett looks old. The afternoon's events have drained her of all feelings; delivering packages the entire morning, at maximum speed for minimum wage, moving from the centre to Jungleland, giving away everything that reminded her of a better past, fighting the junk and the smell of piss, fighting to get her money back from her landlord, and now realising there is also a future, but not sure what that should look like… She has no emotions left. If her capacity to feel had not been exhausted, something in her would have protested against the plan taking form in her mind. She must hate Adam Kowalski like nobody can hate any other in the entire world, but she can't feel. She can only think, and her thoughts are very practical.

"I want revenge. After that, I'll think about the future. If we use today to solve today's problems, we will have tomorrow for the problems that show up later. After all, tomorrow will be another day. All I want now is the balls of Adam Kowalski on a plate. And I want another one of these delicious Kriek beers."

"That can be arranged."

I love Poland. In some countries, you have to fight your way to the bar and wait for ages until the bartender takes notice of you, but in this place, all they need is one word in the universal language of the hand and the feet, and ten seconds later, the waiter serves you a drink and a smile.

We touch glasses to celebrate life and to sweeten up this sour moment of truth. Scarlett says: "Fancy me. I thought I earned my degree in life. I had a one-step plan to prove it. I had a guide in my pocket for fools. I loved my husband and lost him. I loved my work and lost it. I was sure, so sure, but all that love taught me was: who is the Boss. Love is an emotion that makes you vulnerable, fragile. It's not an attitude that helps you in a ferocious jungle of money, business, sex, violence and power. Love taught me to hate. I hate the Boss. I want his dick on a plate. He screwed me, but he'll never screw anyone else."

"That doesn't solve our initial problem of how we can get close to him. He has no longer an office to go to. We can forget about his home; the place is a fortress. Getting in there is Mission Impossible IV. Any ideas to get him out of there are welcome. Does he meet people?"

"He used to meet clients and suppliers at the office, but that's no option anymore, as there is no office left. He also had meetings in bars and restaurants, but no fixed times or places."

"We can settle a meeting. We hire a limo. I dress up as a chauffeur (he doesn't know me), I pick him up and I drop him off at a place where you're waiting for him. I help you tie him up and I leave to return the car, hoping to see you again but not expecting it."

Scarlett likes the idea: "It sounds like a plan. We have to become a new client, a big one, from Brazil, eager to enter the Polish market. Do you speak Portuguese?"

"I speak seven languages, but not Portuguese."

"We should prepare well. If we say we're Mr Woodward from Woody Woodpecker Ltd in Manaos, the Boss will google us and find out that Woody Woodpecker is a fictional character."

"I can handle that. My colleague #2, The Nerd, can do magic on the Internet. Mister Woodward is a good name. It sounds like someone who's not afraid to sign a 100-million-euro deal."

Rapidly, I search the Internet and come up with «Brazil Wood Exporters», a company that's big enough to have secretaries who wouldn't know if a Mister Woodward works for them when someone would ask. I send a message to The Nerd: «please make Internet profile for Mister John Woodward, independent salesman for Brazil Wood Exporters. I need this as a cover for my disguise» and send the message. Five seconds later I get a reply: «John will be there in 30 minutes».

"John Woodward from Brazil Wood Exporters is available for a meeting.", I say.

"Our next step is to find a place where we can… talk with the Boss. If we take him to an abandoned warehouse in an abandoned industrial park, he won't step out of the car. If we take him to a penthouse suite in a five-star hotel… they will hear him sing in the basement. We can't have that either."

Scarlett has a point here. I try to help: "We can take him to the woods. Do you have natural gorges here, where… accidents can happen? No, that's not going to work. After you've… taught him a lesson… nobody will believe in an accident. What kind of accident leaves the victim peeled like a potato, pinched like a piñata and poisoned like a polecat?"

"Peeling him… That's a good idea. I hadn't thought about that one. Please, help me remember we must buy a blunt potato knife, next time we see a hardware store…"

Suddenly I think of a good and simple solution: "We should take him home. We make an appointment with him, in a bar or an exclusive restaurant, and when he enters, I park the limo in front of the door, go in and tell him there's been a change of plans, that the assistant of Mister Woodward, a gorgeous lady, is waiting for him in her suite. When he steps into the car, you enter after him, with my gun in your hand, and we take him to his house to… finish the negotiations."

Scarlett is delighted: "Oh, that's a good plan. I have a contact where we can rent the limousine. We can pick «Blaszczykowski» for the meeting; it's the hottest restaurant in Krakow. There's a waiting list for reservations, but I know the owner. Well, I know his wife Maja. She's my friend from the gym. I might arrange something. We don't have to enter the place, just impress him with our reservation, right?"

I like the plan.

Scarlett wants to do business: "Give me your phone. I'll call his new secretary right away, to see if the Boss is available for an appointment."

She takes my phone and calls a number. Someone picks up, says something I can't hear, thanks to the background noise of the House of Beer, and breaks the connection. Scarlett returns the phone to me and explains: "She efficiently said that the Boss already has a full agenda for the next two weeks, orders and offers should be sent by email, and the office is closed for the next month, due to construction activities."

"Did she pick up the phone this late? In an office that was bombed two days ago?"

"She isn't a woman. She's a machine with a female voice, working 24/7. Her name is SecretAppy. You install her on your phone and she does everything for you: she answers phone calls, she makes appointments and holds your agenda, she fills in the forms that you scan and send her, she arranges your flight or orders new stock, she makes invoices and contracts, and she calls debtors to remind them their payments have not been received yet. You don't even have to touch a keyboard; you tell her what to do by talking to your phone. The only thing she doesn't do is bring you coffee, but I didn't do that either, not even once in the twenty-six years I worked there. I'm an office manager, not a waitress. In Arab culture, making coffee is a man's task."

"SecretAppy?", I ask.

"Yes. It's a virtual secretary, invented by a Polish company. I was fired because my boss hired a program to do the same things that I did, for only 10% of my salary."

The beer motivates Scarlett's creativity. She bends over and says in a low voice: "Now we can't make an appointment via the phone, perhaps… we can hack that program. Perhaps we can change the agenda of the Boss for tomorrow night. If we can do that, if we can find a weak spot in that app, if we can prove that a real flesh-and-blood person could do that work better, I would get my job back. The only thing we have to do is crack that program. You can do that, right? You're a spy. Spies do that kind of stuff. Don't they?"

Scarlett has a point here. This might be a way to come closer to our goal. There's only one problem: "I'm just a runner, Scarlett. I'm not a real spy. The only thing I know about electronics and programs is how to use them. I can tell my spiPhone to call someone, or open a website where I can book my flight, or play my favourite album of the Rolling Stones, but I really have no idea how those programs work or how I could crack them…"

Scarlett falls back in her chair, disappointed. She puts her elbows on the table and her head in her hands: "I knew this was hopeless."

I have an idea: "No, it's not. I have a friend who knows everything about software and hardware and hacking and cracking. Well, «friend» is perhaps not the right word. He's my colleague. His name is Number 2, but we all call him The Nerd. I'm not sure if he wants to help me, or if he can, but we can always ask. If you don't ask, you will never get an answer."

I take my spiPhone and say: "Lovely Sweet Dear." (That's how I activate my spiPhone. The first letters of the password stand for LSD and the phone checks the sound of my voice to identify me). "Record message. To #2, The Nerd. «Dear friend. Do you know the program SecretAppy? It's made in Poland. Can you crack it? I need access for a user called Mister Adam Kowalski, born 30 May 1947, phone number +48-555-112233. Can you fix that for me?» End message. Send message."

Five seconds later I have a reply: «I might if I try, but the order should come from #1, as you know.»

I send a message back: «This is not for the job, at least not yet. I hope you can do me a favour. I can do you a favour in return. What's your favourite book?»

Scarlett looks surprised: "You do someone a favour by sending him a book? How about flowers, a bottle of wine, invite him to the cinema or dinner in an exclusive restaurant, or buy him a diamond ring or a new Ferrari or some other small present with hardly any practical use but looking nice?"

I smile reassuring: "He's a nerd, Scarlett. He's the nervous nerve system that connects all the parts of the LSD, the one who doesn't sleep until he has found all the answers to the riddles we need him to solve. He lives in the shadows, in a dark and secret bunker below the building of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. He doesn't go out, he doesn't drink anything but black coffee, and his only passion is to sit behind screens. I sometimes call him «my friend», sometimes I feel like going down to his cellar to visit him, to disconnect him from the Internet, but it's against the rules; they don't allow anyone to see him.

» What do nerds do to relax? They read books. Well, that's not just a nerd thing. Many people read books, including myself. Sometimes, I invite myself to an «Osterman Weekend»; I call it like that, after a novel by Robert Ludlum that I had to finish after reading the first chapter. When I have two days free, I take a book, I find a comfortable chair in the sun, and I start reading, only interrupted by coffee, lunch and dinner, a little nap and a little walk. At the end of the second day, when the book is finished, I feel like I just returned from a long holiday. If you imagine how my life is, always travelling around, living in hotels, you can imagine why I have over 50.000 books on my spiPhone, to relax, to practice the seven languages I speak, and to learn interesting things, for the job and also for my personal life. How does a 22-year-old know as much as I do? I read books. You should read more too."

There comes the reply from The Nerd: «There's only one book I like: «Fifty Shades of Snow White» by S.M. James, but I already have that book; I read it every morning before I go to sleep. Why?»

I wink an eye to Scarlett and reply: «I know that book, I met the writer, and right now, I stand next to the woman who Miss James used as her model for the character of Snow White. If you do me a favour, I'll send you a photo of her, with a personal message to you».

«Give me an hour…»

I raise my fist in triumph: "We've got him, Scarlett. He's going to help us, crack the program for us. All we have to do is send him a picture of you. But… You need to act. Have you read that book, «Fifty Shades of Snow White»?"

"No. I've heard a lot of buzz about it, but I have no idea why."

"It's a kind of… naughty. The story is about a young, male student. He interviews a successful woman, the owner and manager of a multi-national company. She's young, beautiful and thrillionaire. The impossible happens: the woman falls in love with the student and he can't resist. So far, it all looks like a five penny novel, but the interesting part lies in the characters. Snow White, the rich bitch, is extremely dominant. She starts friendly and impresses the student with glamorous dates, like a trip with her private plane, a meeting with the President of the United States, dinner on the top floor of the Eiffel Tower, and a visit to the Oscar night in Hollywood where she hands out the Oscar for Best Porno Movie of the year. When they end up in bed, she turns out to be an S.M. lover. She shouts insults at the student, she hits him with a whip, she treats him like a dog, she spits on him, she spanks him, well, you should read the book to find out what a dirty mind can think of to entertain herself in the bedroom. Point is that the student likes it to be her sex slave, and all the men who bought the book identified with him. Apparently, there are millions of men who want to be dominated and humiliated by a strong woman. You, as a woman, can not imagine yourself in a relationship with a man who spanks you or spits on you or shouts ugly words at you. Such a man can never be a good father for your children or a good partner for your future. No woman would allow a man to behave like Snow White, not if he had all the money in the world and all the power that Snow White has in the book. Men are different. Men like it to be treated like dogs. The book sold millions. Look at The Nerd. He just confessed he reads it every day before he goes to sleep. Men get horny when a strong woman treats them badly…"

All the time Scarlett listened, surprised, amazed, astonished, dumbfounded, flabbergasted, until she couldn't hold it anymore: "Are you sure? That's just a story, right? You've made that up. Men are not like that."

"Not all men, but many men bought the book. Miss S.M. James is now a young, rich thrillionaire with more sex slaves at her feet than she can handle. Everywhere she goes, men throw underwear at her or wear dog collars or rubber masks or…"

Scarlett interrupts me: "I'm not interested in Miss James, Red. I just realised I never understood why my ex-husband left me for that rich widow. Now, I know: I should have spanked him instead of preparing his dinner. I should have spat on him instead of washing his socks. Silly me, whispering sweet things in his ear; he wanted me to shout and insult him… I wasted my time with work, household, TV and gym. I should have read books instead."

"Don't worry, Scarlett. You'll get a second chance: act like the Snow White in the book. We need photos that make my friend The Nerd so horny that he can't resist but help us. Do you have a pair of stern glasses?"

"No. Why?"

"Because Snow White is a stern businesswoman. Your clothes and your hair are perfect, but your face is much too friendly. Practice a bit on acting, dear. Think about the moment when your ex-boss crawls in the dust on the floor in front of you, howling like a dog, begging you for mercy… You're in charge. He has to give you your job back, with a pay rise, and you want free weekends, and a bonus, and permission to put the costs of your make-up and your hairdresser on your expenses. You are Snow White. You dominate this man… That's the attitude. Let's ask that old man in the corner over there if we can borrow his reading glasses for two minutes."

* * *

Fifty-seven minutes later I get a message from The Nerd: «I've been searching, I've been waiting, I've been trying, but I can't crack the program. I did find the database file, though, and I managed to get access to the database table with the usernames and passwords. The username of Mister Kowalski is JohnnyBGoodKowalski, as I could confirm with the phone number you gave me. Follow this link <the link>, log in with password «MarvinBerry1955» and you can see everything the user can see. I suggest you don't make changes, because the user would notice and contact the manufacturer to upgrade the security».

I try the link and the login, see that it works and log out to reply: «Thanks. Here are the promised photos» I attached the photos I made of Scarlett, with the rimless reading glasses on the top of her nose, looking like my mum when she found out I just drowned the goldfish. I added a text too: «The next time your friend asks you to help him, you do it right away, or I'll come over to spank you. Do you understand? No regards, just regrets. Snow White»

I get an immediate reply: «Wow! Thanks! But… She's black! I thought… Snow White…»

I answer: «Can you imagine any white woman as proud and dominant and overwhelming and beautiful as this? Come over and tell her yourself, if you dare. Why do you think the book was a million-seller? The plot was lousy, the vocabulary was poor, the tone urgently needed a tuning fork, but… no flat character, all round with curves. Snow White made it a hit. Now you know why. Isn't she all you've ever dreamed of?»

«No. Sorry. I mean… She's perfect, even more than perfect. I wouldn't dare… Why is one of the photo's all red?»

«She's wearing a red dress. That's a close-up from (her) behind, quite close, lots of behind, it doesn't even fit in the fisheye lens of the spiPhone.»

«WOW! And she's standing next to you? I'm jealous… If there's anything else I can do for you, as a favour, just let me know.»

I smile at Scarlett: "You have a fan, Snow White. The Nerd is completely in love with you. If you want, I can get you a job in Hollywood. I know some people at the studio that has bought the film rights of the book. They want Hillary Clinton to play the leading character, but if I send them these photos, they'll give you the role immediately. Nobody dares to say «no» to the woman in that photo. You're a born actress."

Scarlett is amused by the compliment, but dominant in her priorities: "Thanks, Red, but no. I don't want a job in Hollywood. I want my old job back, with a pay rise and a bonus… and my hairdresser and make-up on my expenses, of course. Come on. We have work to do."