Chapter III
As soon as we arrived at Joshua’s place, we went down into the basement at once. He took a T-shirt and jeans from the rack and handed them to me: “Here you are …”
“Thanks, man!” I took the clothes. “Turn on the computer. We’ve got loads of work to do!”
“OK!” He said and pushed the power button. “The party must go on!”
It didn’t take me all too long to put on what he gave me.
“Am I looking alright?” I beckoned his attention.
“Almost like me!” he laughed.
I sat down in front of the monitor, while Joshua took his tablet and settle himself on the bed.
“I will begin by browsing Facebook and you check Instagram and Twitter”
“OK, boss!”Joshua acquiesced.
In our hacking activities, we got used to working as a team, each with his own part to do, and, as far as the Internet was involved, finding Alberta became our next task.
I typed “Alberta” into the search box on Facebook and it crossed my mind that probably only one click separated me from the girl of my dreams. But as soon as I pushed the Enter key, it was not relief that filled me; rather it was the realisation of that the task was not going to be all that simple.
“Do you know how many girls with the name “Alberta” have their pages on Facebook?” I asked Joshua, staring at the monitor.
“And how many exactly?” he echoed my question several seconds later, his eyes still fixed on the tablet screen.
“Four thousand!” I said in a voice that was slightly louder than necessary.
My communication with Joshua would have definitely appeared rather strange to an outsider. It was as if we were separated by an Internet line – my answer also came with a delay of several seconds and we didn’t even look at each other as we spoke. And that was also a habit of ours acquired while chatting online during our operations, such an “I-am-busy-doing-my-part-of-the-hacking-stuff” type of communication. Messages on the “Bed” were rare, short and usually contained jokes to laugh, problems to solve or facts to marvel at.
“Wow!” he exclaimed. “Do I get it right that you are going to check all those profiles.”
“I have no other choice but to do exactly that. I will keep doing that, until I recognise her on a profile photo,” I answered.
Silence, broken only by the sound of mouse clicks, restored.
“I have so far checked all pictures hashtagged #Glutton, but haven’t found her,” Joshua uttered several minutes later.
“Try #partyindaQuins,” I said. “And the like. And don’t forget to search for similar things on Twitter …”
And once again we plunged into our work.
Several hours later I realised that it was already morning and we had spent all that time trying to find Alberta on social networking websites. We had got too carried away by the task we were dealing with to take heed of the time and, following our habit, had barely exchanged a few words with each other, aside from brief “reports” about the results of our search and sharing impressions of some funny photos or messages. Not a single one of those four thousand girls on Facebook with this name proved to be the one I was looking for. Browsing Instagram and Twitter, trying different hashtags was equally to no avail. I felt weary and upset realising that I would probably never see that girl again.
But I wasn’t going to give up that easily.
“Simon, looks like you started going through the same pages over again?” Joshua said, coming up to me and laying the tablet on the table. “It’s no use. Either she hasn’t accounts on social networks or for some reason it was a wrong name that she gave you, or, at least, not the one under which she is registered there. And if the former option sounds way too fantastic, the latter … maybe “Alberta” is what her friends call her or, maybe granny, but her real name is different.”
“No, that is her real name!” I interrupted the flow of Joshua’s thoughts, tapping the keyboard buttons. “Firstly, her friend addressed her as Alberta. Secondly, I called her “Berry” and she said that only parents addressed her like that. And I think, parents aren’t supposed to call their daughter that way, unless her real name is Alberta.”
“I don’t know, man! I mean, why haven’t we found her yet then? And … what are you typing?”
I knocked a few more keys and pressed the finalizing “Enter”.
“I have posted a message on Facebook and on Twitter and hope it will be reposted by my friends and followers.” I answered. “Have you heard of the Six Handshakes Theory?”
“Explain …” Joshua stroke his chin.
“Each person on this planet is only six handshakes away from anyone else on average. So, me and Alberta are bound to have common friends or friends of friends and so on…”
“Do you know that the experiment proving this theory was conducted back in 1967?” my friend objected. “So it is rather questionable whether this is still true in our era of Internet?”
“The studies undertaken by Facebook confirmed that any two users of this social networking site are only several contacts away from each other,” I said. “So, this must work!”
“But only if she has an account there!” Joshua said. “Or her friends do, or, at least, somebody who knows her personally and who could pass on your message to her.”
“This is, therefore, a pretty reliable method” I smiled. “I haven’t yet met anyone who would not be on Facebook.”
“Yeah, her grandma might come across your message on Twitter!” Joshua snorted.
“That’s just it!” I smiled again.
“Let me look at what you wrote there!” Joshua bent over the table and started reading out loud. “Hello! My name is Simon Parker and I am trying to find the girl who has rocked my world. I hope you will help me. In case you know somebody whose name is “Alberta”, tell her about me. If she understands what you are talking about, give her my contacts on Facebook or Twitter. Please, help me find Alberta!”
My mate looked at me and smiled.
“It is so sweet!” he said sarcastically and then added. “You must also make a touching video and post it on YouTube!”
Joshua grinned.
“That’s a jolly good idea!” I replied, going straight to “youtube.com” without much ado.
“Matter of fact, this was a joke!” My friend uttered in astonishment.
“I know, man. It is something else that I am going to do,” I reassured him. “Even if I make a video requesting help with finding Alberta, just what are the odds somebody will get to watch it?”
“Apart from the two of us?” My dear friend smiled with a helpless gesture. “Probably not many will.”
“Exactly … so I will ask a person who has ten million subscribers on YouTube to make a video about my situation!” I said typing a message, “He is a professional Youtuber!”
“Do you know him personally? … Wait… what are you… You’ve typed “Dear Ryan”… for what… Are you going to leave a message right among the comments under one of his videos?” Joshua was surprised seeing what I was doing.
“Yeah,” I answered, “he bases his videos on questions left by his subscribers in the comments section and for him to do this a comment must begin with “Dear Ryan!”
I finished typing and pressed the Enter key. My comment-message-question instantly appeared under the latest video of the famous YouTube personality, “Dear Ryan, can you help me find Alberta?”
“And what’s next? Why do you think that he will make a video to answer your plea?” Joshua was puzzled.
“I am not sure. But there’s no harm in trying!”
The Internet offered masses of opportunities and I decided to try as many as possible.
“And how is he supposed to understand what you are asking for?” my friend inquired.
“If he becomes interested in my question, he will follow the links to my social networks account in my profile and find all necessary info there,” I answered. Then I ch
ecked the time on my smartphone.
“OK, I gotta go” I said, getting up from my chair and only at that moment I did realize just how long I had been sitting motionless in front of the monitor – my muscles had become totally numb.
“If you go straight away, you will miss the delicious cake that my mum cooks every Sunday morning!”
“Now that is a most tempting offer, but I have to refuse. I am way too tired to stay,” I said and thought to myself “…and my parents will be worried if they wake up and do not find me sleeping peacefully in my room”, but I chose to keep my concerns to myself. “Thanks for all your help, man!”
“Oh, shut up, what else are friends for,” he said, leading me to the exit. “Don’t forget to keep me in the loop about the results of your handshakes…”
“OK! I will”
Once out on the street, I cheered up a bit – the fresh morning breeze did the trick. But as soon as I was on a bus, all that pep disappeared without a trace. The journey back home felt much longer than the journey in the opposite direction which I made the day before, because of the lack of iPod that had vanished somewhere in the pool. My only entertainment was to gaze around, trying to shake off the drowsiness that overcame me. Once at home I tried to keep a low profile, not wanting to wake my parents on their well-deserved day of rest. I fell asleep as soon as I got into my bed.
I was aroused in the afternoon by my smartphone that was ringing persistently. For a second it felt like everything that happened to me the night before was a dream, but the traces of water still visible on my mobile device screen brought me back to reality.
“Hey, Josh!” I answered.
“Hi, bro!” I heard Joshua’s vigorous voice. “You are never going to guess, what I have thought of!”
“Give me a sec to clear my mind,” I said and sat up, leaning on a pillow. “I am all ears.”
“Dude, we were acting like slaves of stereotypes!” I heard him yell out of my smartphone, “Prisoners of our comfort zone! My, we never left it!”
“Honestly, I don’t quite get what you are talking about!” I muttered, “Didn’t you get any sleep since I left you? Mind you might get overworked and all that.”
“I am talking about your girl!” he yelled. “Still wanting to find her? I know why our search produced no results!”
His words suddenly began to make sense. “Then tell me …”
“All steps that we have undertaken to find Alberta were based on modern stereotypes of what a young girl should be like!” Joshua launched into explaining his theory. “She must have social network accounts using her own name, regularly update their content, sharing new hashtagged photos and actively communicating with other people on there, and so on…”
“OK, let’s assume you’re right,” I agreed.
“But this strategy did not work!” my friend yelled so loud that I had to move the smartphone further away from my ear. “So it’s time we chose a different path. I mean, we need to give up on the path of stereotypes. What would we do if we found ourselves in a similar situation but in a different epoch, with no Internet at hand? Now, don’t answer, I’ll tell you! We would try to search for her in the old school manner, only it wouldn’t called “old school”, and I have already undertaken something along those lines…”
“What is it?” I asked impatiently because at that moment I began to realize that he was probably talking sense.
“I rang up the local radio station and read your message – the one you posted on Facebook and Twitter– on air,” Joshua replied. “She may happen to hear it! What’s more, today, at the Yankees’ game, your message – well, a slightly cut version of it – will be shown on the stadium’s large display screen. Do you realize how many people are going to see it?!
“And how did you manage that?”I wondered. “I thought that one’s got to wait for months on end if one wants his message displayed there.”
“Now that is no concern of yours, boy? Maybe I hacked their system and set the rotation of messages in the way that I needed, or maybe …, well, whatever, mate!” He wasn’t supposed to say something definitively over the phone, but I was pretty sure he was grinning at that moment. “Also, tomorrow you will find your message in the local newspapers. And, if you ask me about the chances that a modern-day young girl reads papers, I will tell you – none! But we’ve decided not to follow stereotypes and it is pretty fit to our path. So, what do make of it all?”
“Bro, I don’t even know what to say. You’ve got me totally gob-smacked here! Your idea‘s either genius or totally crazy!” I was really confused because I did not quite believe all those tricks would be much help but I was anyways glad that my friend was trying to help.
“I think a simple “thanks” should be quite enough,” Joshua laughed, “and also, in case I ever run into the bad luck of losing the girl of my dreams, you’ve got to promise you’ll be the first to rush to my rescue!”
“That you can be jolly sure of! And thanks a million, man,” I said. “Honestly, I did not expect anyone to be all ago about helping me.”
“You are welcome!” Joshua replied and – yeah it sounded like that! – yawned. “Now I am dropping dead with sleep … I’ll give you a buzz later.”
“Bye,” I pushed the tiny End Conversation button on the screen of my smartphone.
Despite my initial skepticism about Joshua’s idea, I realised that was at any rate better than nothing. Still, I pinned my main hopes on Internet as my never-failing sheet anchor. Forcing myself out of bed, I instantly installed myself in front of the computer to check whether I had any messages with news of Alberta. And what I found was several hundreds of questions on social networking websites from my friends who were dying to know who the girl was, and how I had come to know her, and what was so special about her. For all that, I had not received anything that would have advanced me in my search.
“Could Joshua be right after all?” I reflected realising at last that Internet was going to be of little help. “We are prisoners of common stereotypes and in that case pasting up ads on lamp posts would be way more effective than searching on social networking sites!”
On the other hand, social networking sites were always at hand, so I spent the rest of the day going once again through Facebook pages of girls named Alberta, as well as posts on Twitter and photos on Instagram under a variety of hashtags related to parties and partying. But checking it over again produced no results.
Monday morning began very early for me, because I had to go to school. I was a senior student after all. Taking a shower and getting dressed, I headed for the kitchen, for breakfast with my parents was waiting. Mum was making an omelet (at least, that’s what it smelt like) and Dad was sitting at the table and reading something on his tablet (or, at least, so it seemed).
“Morning, Simon!” Hearing me coming, Dad distracted for a second from what he was doing. My father worked as a teacher of history and used every morning, or rather each breakfast time, to absorb information, usually fresh news, in order to be, as he himself puts it, “in the swim, updated on what is happening around the world, because anything that occurred just a minute was already History!” It was in fact me who had given him this tablet in order to see his face in the mornings, because before it was always hidden behind large newspaper sheets. This moreover was my way of getting rid of the annoying rustle of paper filling the kitchen.
“Hello, Dad!” I answered, settling myself just opposite him. People say I look so much like my dad – same dark hair, same height, and same eloquent eyes.
“Morning, sweetie!” Mum said, still absorbed in her cooking. “Care for an omelet? It will be ready any minute!”
“Sure!”And did I have a choice?!
I have much less in common with Mum – I am different in appearance from that petite ginger-haired woman. That did not in any way get into the way of us being very close and with amazing mutual understanding being the key word in our relationship. Even with me being naughty as a young chi
ld, she never punished me and always had a story about herself once making the same mistake. It was thanks to that that I realised since I was very young that by doing something foolish I would prove nothing to anyone and learnt to be responsible for my own decisions. And even whenever I did mistakes, it was not a thrashing I received, but a chance to correct it. She also worked as a teacher, teaching math to kids.
And just as Mum served breakfast and sat down with us, the doorbell rang all of a sudden.
“Who could that be?” Mum seemed to read our minds, because the visitor, whoever he or she was, was quite unexpected.
“I’ll open!” I volunteered to find out an answer to that question and was already about to get up.
“Stay where you are!” Mum stopped me and, putting her hand on my shoulder, she almost forced me to remain sitting. “I’ll manage myself!”
She went into the entrance hall and several seconds later the sound of the door opening was heard.
“Hello, ma’am!”A man’s voice, loud and confident, filled the house.“Does Simon Parker live here?”
“Simon, who is that man?” Father whispered to me.
“I don’t know…”
“Ye-es…” Mum’s voice sounded slightly unsure, she was obviously baffled by what to think of the early visitor. “And you are..?”
“Cyber Crime Investigation Agency,” the man said. “Special agent Clark Atwood! Is Simon here now? I have a few questions to ask him?”
When I heard this, for a split second I was overcome by fear. But it was not the special agent that I was afraid of. Of course, like all hackers, I had done some things in my life that could well result in criminal prosecution, but I was pretty confident, the CCIA would never be able to prove anything. I always duly got rid of all evidence, never leaving any traces that could put anyone on my track. The question was rather – how did they manage to track me down? I mean, me – Simon Parker who lives in New York, not Connor, the leader of the Skynet gang, who had never left anything that could eventually reveal his real identity…well, except one thing. This question put the wind up me, because the only person from the team who knew my real name was my best friend Joshua … Soit was betrayal I was afraid of. They could have got on to him, and he might have betrayed me. However, I quickly banished this creepy thought from my mind and tried to concentrate on what I should do next, because at first I was supposed to have a conversation with the representative of CCIA, and nothing in my countenance or conduct should have betrayed my nervousness (because he must have been well –trained to spot things like that).
“Come in …,” Mum said hesitantly.
“Simon, what have you done?” Father inquired in a menacing whisper.
“I don’t know…,” I shrugged my shoulders. My parents did not know their son was a hacker, and that was clearly not the best moment for them to find out.
Mum and the agent entered the kitchen. He proved to be a plump grey-haired man, of a pretty ripe age, with a voice that was absolutely ill-fitted to him, because it sounded way too aggressive for his stereotypical “kind old man”’s countenance…
“Hello!” Dad instantly got to his feet to greet our “guest.” “May I ask what the reason for your visit is?”
“Good morning!” The agent looked around and, focusing his gaze on me, added. “I want to ask this young man a few questions, if you don’t mind.”
“I did hear about your intentions, but what I want to understand is why it is Simon that you want to interrogate … what happened?” Dad insisted.
“And you are…,”Agent Atwood retorted.
“We are his parents!” Mum informed him, jumping ahead of Dad who had just opened his mouth.
“Then do not worry, I’ll definitely tell you everything” Clark Atwood smiled. “What’s more, I even insist on your presence here, because your son is a minor… But, could I take a seat first?”
“Certainly,” Mum uttered, gesturing at a chair.
“Thank you!” The agent said taking a seat. Mum and Dad also sat down.The omelet was hopelessly forgotten.
“Mister and Missis Parker…” The special agent embarked on explaining, stopping now and then to cast glances at the screen of his smartphone as though checking new text messages.“Last night an attempt was made to gain unauthorized access to the confidential information of one very large international company. As you can imagine, had the intruder received the data he sought, he would have used it with mercenary motives – sold it off to this company’s competitors. Moreover, we even know who exactly had ordered that attack to be … It wasn’t their first attempt to obtain commercial secrets of their market rivals, but that time they change executors. We in the CCIA were ready and reacted instantly. We managed to track down the computer from which that attack was made, and it was located in the basement of a certain house in Quince…”
“I don’t understand, why is Simon supposed to be involved in all that?” Mum interrupted his monologue.
“Patience, Mrs. Parker. On the keyboard of that computer, as well as elsewhere in the basement, we found fingerprints of two people,” Mr. Atwood said. “The probability being high, one of them was behind the attack … The first was identified as our prime suspect – Joshua Miller, he has already been arrested. If we manage to prove his guilt, he will go to jail for a good five years. And I want to speak to your son about the fingerprints of the second person. Now… is that clear so far? ”
“I am sure my son had nothing to do with this whole affair!” Mother was almost screaming at that point.
“Is Simon suspected of something?” Dad kept calm or at least it seemed so. “If so, I think this conversation should only continue in the presence of a lawyer …”
“Oh, you’ve got me wrong altogether!” the agent laughed. “If I suspected your son of involvement in the actual hacking, believe me, I would have detained him right on the spot! But the only thing I want is to find out the truth. Innocent people have nothing to fear.”
Suddenly he stopped laughing and, still looking at me, said with an insinuating voice, “but if you was indeed mixed up in something, it will be far better not to wait until I find out everything myself. And be sure, I will. If you agree to cooperate with us, I guarantee that you, considering that you are a minor, will not go to prison. The maximum punishment you can be sentenced to will be community service… ”
“Simon, will you talk to Mr. Atwood or do you prefer to discuss it all with us first?” Dad asked me.
Since the very moment when the special agent entered the room, I was listening eagerly, hanging on each phrase of his, trying to figure out what was the truth and what a mere tactical subterfuge for the sake of investigation. I was happy to find out that my initial fears about Joshua’s possible treachery was wrong. But, on the other hand, my spirits sank when I thought that my friend had not listened to my advice and had obviously landed himself in trouble. I wanted to help him somehow, but first I needed to find out whether that was at all possible.
At least, Joshua wasn’t caught sitting in front of the computer, this would have furnished the CCIA with all evidence they needed against him. In cases where hackers are involved, it is usually very hard to prove who exactly was in front of the computer at the time of the attack. That is even harder than to find out the exact location of that computer. And, apparently, Mr. Atwood was counting on my testimony. He knew that I had been in Joshua’s basement recently and either had known about his plans or had been personally involved. And that is why the special agent obviously reckoned on intimidating me with the prospect of a prison term, proposing either to become a witness in the case, an informer, to put it bluntly, or, alternatively, commuted punishment, like community service. And he clearly reckoned to convince me to be cooperative and tell him everything I know about Joshua. But this was not what I was going to do.
“I will answer all your questions,” I said and got up. “But later… now I’ve got to be off to school…”
“Simon, if you agre
e to talk with Mr. Atwood, than do it now!” Mum said.
“Don’t press him! He probably needs time to think,” The agent said looking at my mum and then turned his attention back to me, reaching into his pocket for his card and offering it to me. “When you are ready, call me. But don’t delay that for too long…”
I stretched out my hand to take the card, but Mr. Atwood only let me grab it after he winked and added, “…otherwise, I will find out everything myself! But I’ve already warned you about the consequences of that…”
With yet another smile Mr. Atwood got up and headed for the entrance door. I followed him because I didn’t want to discuss what had just happened with my parents at that time, so I preferred spending a few more seconds with him rather than with Mum and Dad. Bad my parents followed us.
“And…” the agent said when already standing in the doorway, “Simon, do not leave the city … just in case … I would not be quite pleased to have to put you on the wanted list altogether.”
“Good bye, Mr. and Ms. Parker!” Clark Atwood went out. “Simon, I hope to see you soon.”
“Simon, what was that?” Dad took my hand, preventing me from leaving the apartment together with the special agent.
As soon as the entrance door closed after Mr. Atwood, he asked, “Are you really involved in what he was talking about?”
Mother just hugged me.
“It’s gonna be alright!” I uttered, releasing myself from Mum’s embrace and picking up my bag that was lying all ready on the floor. “Don’t worry!”
“Why did you refuse to talk to that… what was his name… Atwood?” Dad asked.
“I just need time to think,” I answered and went out.
“Think about what?” Dad called after me, but I had already disappeared inside the elevator. I realized that my parents had heaps of questions to ask me, but I wasn’t quite in trim to provide answers for the time being.
At school I was hardly able to concentrate my mind on studies, what with all those thoughts swarming inside my head, in spite of all my attempts to take my mind off the weekend events – meeting Alberta, Joshua’s arrest. My mind rambled through possibilities, what I should have done but I was practically unable to do almost anything. Right until the classes were over I didn’t really talk to anybody, even though a lot of friends and acquaintances came up to me, inquiring why I hadn’t answered the messages they had left on social networking sites and whether I had succeeded in finding that girl or not. But I wasn’t going to explain anything, so I fended off with answers that supposed to demonstrate my disinclination to continue that conversation, like “I don’t know”, “No”, “Let’s talk later”. That was how I whiled away the time until the classes were over. But on my way home I got a call from Joshua!
“Hello, man!” I said.
“Hello, Simon!”
“How are you?”
“I am fine, I was released on bail,” he said. “I need to talk to you … and it is not to be discussed over the phone.”
“OK, we must get together and talk,” I agreed, “The Central Park, one hour from here! The Bank Rock Bay bridge as usual! ”
“OK!”
While walking to the meeting place I felt like in a trance – different thoughts flooded over me. They sharply appeared in my mind and, a second later, sharply disappeared. Those feelings could only be compared to what one must feel when solving a tricky math problem, which at first glance isn’t supposed to be resolvable. So one has to feverishly go over different formulas, overcome by frustration to an extent, unless one of them appeared to be fit for bringing the result. But I didn’t have the formula of solution to the task of helping my best friend and the only thing I could again and again analyze the poor available data, hoping that conversation with Joshua will change something.
When I got to the Bank Rock Bay, he was already there. Joshua was staring at the water, leaning on the bridge rail. I came closer and stood near him.
“I am glad to see you, mate…” Joshua slowly raised his eyes at me. This was probably the first time ever that I saw him without his regular smile. “Me too. How are you?”
“I am in serious trouble, Simon,” he answered. “Sorry for getting you into this mess…”
“I wish you could see my parents’ faces when the special agent came in!” I smiled and added, “Honestly, now I badly want to say “I’d told you”, but you, probably, have already understood it yourself.”
“Yeah, I should have listened to you,” he said quietly. “Now I wouldn’t be facing possible five years in prison…”
He remained silent for a moment.
“At least, I will move from my mum’s basement!” He forced a smile which didn’t look quite natural however.
“What did your lawyer say?”
“The CCIA didn’t have direct evidence against me, but they had a combination of circumstantial pieces, which would be quite enough for the court to sentence me…,” Joshua paused. “Nevertheless, they most likely wouldn’t take any chances and will offer me a deal – a confession in exchange for a reduced term. But they wouldn’t be in a hurry to do that, – first they will try to find incontestable evidence, which would allow them to avoid this. And you know what I think about this whole situation?”
“It’s hard to guess,” I shrugged my shoulders.
“Maybe I should leave the city, so long as I have an opportunity?” Saying this, Joshua looked at me. “I could, for example, go to Mexico or even further away, start everything from …”
“Do you really think it is a solution?” I interrupted him.
“I don’t even know what to think. I just don’t want to go to prison,” he once again shifted his gaze to the water.
“Joshua, how long have we been friends?” I asked and, without giving him a chance to reply, continued, “Four years… During this time, we have carried out dozens of hacker’s attacks, and each of it could have got us into really big trouble. And, it seems to me, we have gone way too far…”
“Not we, I have,” he interrupted me. “You had warned me, but I didn’t listen. And now we both know the result. I am going to jail… As soon as I am free again, I will take to something totally different from hacking. I am obviously not good at that… I don’t know yet what exactly this is going to be, but I am pretty certain that it will be something legal!”
At that moment pieces of a puzzle began to fit into a whole picture and I finally realised that I had the solution. The desperate situation which I previously wasn’t able to do anything about now fully depended on my actions.
“Honestly, that is exactly what I wanted to hear from you. I know how you can be saved,” I declared.
“How?!” Joshua stared at me, his voice sounded slightly confused.
“I will confess instead of you!” I answered. “They don’t have any direct evidence proving that the attack was perpetrated precisely by you in person, and also my fingerprints were found on the key board of your computer …”
“But the punishment …”
“I am a legal minor, and that means they won’t be able to send me to prison,” I interrupted him. “The worst punishment for me would be community service!”
“It might ruin your whole life! I can’t ask you to do that”
“You don’t need to!” I took out the smartphone and the card which special agent Atwood gave me that morning out of my pocket. “I prefer to work a bit for the society rather than see my friend in jail.”
“Simon, think again,” Joshua tried to stop me as I was dialing the number. But his attempts were in vain. I was the only person who was able to help him and couldn’t have possibly chosen to act in a different way.
“Hello, Agent Atwood. Simon Parker speaking. I’ve got something to tell you,” I said unhesitatingly as soon as I heard “Hello!” at the other end.
At that moment I felt a sudden relief and even something of a triumph, such that is supposed to be felt when a tricky math task is successfully accomplished
.