As Eddie came to the far side of the bridge, a red scooter flew past him. Long, brown hair streamed from under the white helmet of a woman driving with intention, leaning forward, elbows up. She turned at the first stoplight beyond the bridge and vanished into the outskirts of Kotka.
Eddie arrived at the front gate of the academy in less than twenty minutes, a quick five kilometers but a time that he knew he could beat tomorrow. He slowed to a walk, hoping the fresh sea breeze would dry some of his sweat as he made his way through the parking lot.
The gleaming buildings he had seen from the bridge now rose in front of him. Recently planted birch trees lined the walkways. Fronting the main building, an architectural oddity with a forty-five degree roofline slanting towards a prominent Kotka logo. There were elaborate gardens, meticulously manicured with soccer-sized shrubs and yellow lilies. Victor Niemi designed to impress, convincing any visitor, friend or foe, that his club was not just here to survive but to dominate well into the future.
After cooling off to a presentable appearance, Eddie slipped his phone in his back pocket and strode up to the main entrance, where he was to meet Jack. As he reached for the oversized, carved door handle, he glanced back at the parking lot. At the end of the row, parked by itself, was a red scooter.
24
With the blue LED of his Bluetooth device glowing outside his left ear, Victor Niemi paced in his office, trying to interrupt the caller on the other end.
"Philip, I can assure you that FC Kotka has not, in any way, violated UEFA rules on player performance…," said Victor. "Yes, sir, I understand, but let me clarify…"
He heard a soft knock on his door and saw Anna through the glass. He motioned her into his office.
"Yes, we are very aware of the dangers but, sir, you have offered no proof of any violations by our players. I agree that Peter Borg's situation during the Madrid game was unusual. Our team neuroscientist examined him in the dressing room and found no reason to hold him out. In fact, she just walked into the office, let me put her on."
Anna's eyes widened as she tried to wave him away from including her. Victor switched the call to his phone's speaker, anyway.
"Anna, I have Philip Knightly from UEFA's compliance division on the phone. He called with some questions on Peter Borg's status during the Madrid game. Philip, this is Dr. Anna Lehtinen, our team doctor, and neurosurgeon," said Victor.
"Hello, Mr. Knightly, what questions can I help with?" said Anna giving a scowl to Victor.
"Well, Dr. Lehtinen, as I was telling Mr. Niemi, we received an anonymous tip about the Kotka-Real Madrid game two days ago. There appear to be several questionable medical practices that we would like to know more about," said Knightly.
"Even though, as I reminded Philip, this was not a UEFA-sanctioned tournament," said Victor while looking at Anna with a raised eyebrow.
"Yes, you've made that clear, Mr. Niemi. But, Dr. Lehtinen, as I reminded Mr. Niemi, UEFA has authority to investigate medical and performance practices among its member clubs, of which FC Kotka is one," said Knightly. "Specifically, can you review the incident involving Peter Borg during that game?"
Anna composed herself.
"Of course. Late in the second half, Peter suffered a severe headache, which required our training staff to assist him off the field. I examined him in our training room at the stadium, but the headache subsided within a few minutes. I completed our standard neurological status check, and he passed. So I cleared him to continue playing," said Anna, choosing her words carefully and trying to sound matter of fact.
"Why was he put into an ambulance by your trainer on the field, but then that ambulance was stopped before leaving the stadium?" asked Knightly.
Victor stared at Anna.
"I understand your concern. I believe our trainer thought Peter needed to be examined at a hospital, but we reminded him and the EMT crew that I was there and could look at him immediately. If I thought he then needed more services, we would have, of course, taken him for more treatment," said Anna, trying to add a cheerful tone.
Victor nodded at Anna approvingly.
"In your medical opinion, Dr. Lehtinen, what do you believe caused this sudden, severe headache followed by a miraculous recovery within minutes?" said Knightly.
"To be honest, sir, I don't have an answer to that," said Anna. "But we examined Peter again after the game and found no lingering effects. So, I'm looking at this as a one-off event that we have logged in his medical chart and will continue to monitor," said Anna.
"Are you satisfied with our answers, Philip?" said Victor.
"Yes, for now," said Knightly. "And congratulations to your team. Their domination of two great clubs was impressive. Almost too good to be true."
"Anna, can you tell that Philip is a United fan?" said Victor sarcastically.
"Mr. Niemi, I am perfectly capable of putting my team allegiance aside while I do my job."
"Well, Philip, while you do that job, I would suggest you keep your accusations private until you have definitive proof of anything. And we will continue to train our players to improve, even if that doesn't sit well with a few envious but much larger clubs," said Victor disconnecting the call.
Anna exhaled with a sigh of relief and looked out onto the field below.
"Thank you, Anna, that went fine. Just a meddling bureaucrat," said Victor.
"A meddling bureaucrat from UEFA," said Anna looking back at Victor.
"They're always sticking their noses into things, especially when asked to by the big boys," said Victor.
"Do you think that's where this came from?" asked Anna.
"Absolutely. In this world, you don't beat teams like United and Madrid without someone screaming scandal. This will all blow over."
"Until this happens again to Peter or one of the others," said Anna.
"You and your folks will figure out what happened and make the adjustments," said Victor.
A silence fell between them. Anna felt a returning surge of uneasiness that tensed her into knots. She tilted her head side to side then rubbed her neck. Avoiding her stare, Victor checked his phone, then changed the subject.
"By the way, can you remind me of my password? It's been so long that I've forgotten how to navigate around," he said.
"Why do you want to login to Kognitio?” asked Anna.
"Because I'm interested. Just show me how to look at those basic reports you sent me," said Victor.
"OK, but please be careful," said Anna as she logged into her tablet. “We haven’t added all the security that we have planned.
She reset Victor's password then had him login to enter a new one.
As Anna demonstrated the software and how to run the standard dashboard reports, Victor's eyes glazed over.
"I'm heading out on a trip tonight. Please be near your phone if I have questions," said Victor.
"When will you be back?" asked Anna.
"Two days at the most. Continue with phase two and keep me updated."
"Who's that guy?" asked Harry, nodding to the corner of the field.
Charlie stopped dribbling to look up.
"No idea. Maybe a scout?" said Charlie.
"Yeah, genius, like they're going to let scouts from other teams watch us," said Tristan joining the English duo.
The man with dark glasses, shoulder-length braids, and a Badgers cap was standing in the shadows just off the playing surface thumbing through his phone.
"Dude, that's Eddie Alonso, the guy that played in MLS," said Toshi kicking Charlie's ball back up to him.
"Oh yeah, Pete and Benny's coach. I saw him in Stockholm. What's he doing here?" said Harry.
"Hey Coach, what's Eddie Alonso doing here?" said Charlie.
Walking onto the field, Stuart looked up from his old-school clipboard, which he preferred over the tablet given to him when hired.
"No idea," said Stuart. "Where's Borg and Gilbert?"
"Still in the training room," said Aleks, stretching
a few meters away from the group.
Signaling the start of practice, Stuart blew his whistle loud enough to be heard well beyond the field. He stole another quick glance at Eddie, annoyed that no one had told him he would be there.
Peter and Benny sprinted out onto the field to join the team warm-ups that had already started.
"Sorry, Coach, that was my fault. Benny was helping me," said Peter, steadying himself as he came to a stop.
"Helping you with what?" said Stuart.
"It’s nothing. I'm ready to go," said Peter, taking a half step back for balance.
"That's good to hear. Now, lead your team in two sprint laps around the field for being two minutes late," said Stuart with no expression. "If they're not fast enough, you'll do another two."
The boys moaned and fell in line behind Peter at a brisk pace.
As they rounded the far corner of the field, Stuart watched Peter and Benny give a fist bump to Eddie while the other players admired the American coach. Stuart pulled out his phone from his shoulder bag, firing off a text to Jack, asking why he did not inform him of today's visitor.
Winded, the boys returned to resume their warm-ups. Stuart weaved between them, recapping the previous weekend.
"First, gentlemen, congratulations on your performance in Sweden," he said. "Your team chemistry was impressive, and you showed no intimidation."
"Yeah, they kinda sucked," blurted Benny.
Stuart shot a glare back.
"Sorry, coach, my bad," said Benny, lowering his head.
"As I was saying, I saw some good progress, but we still have work to do," said Stuart. "Today, we're doing small-sided scrimmages, 4v4. Borg, split the teams up evenly."
Peter formed teams, adding Benny, Pavel and Aleks to his. Stuart nodded his approval of the line-ups and moved to the sideline to watch. Jack emerged from the tunnel and joined him.
"Hey, sorry about that. I meant to give you a heads-up on Alonso," said Jack looking up at Stuart.
"Why is he here?" said Stuart, keeping his eyes on the players.
"Karen Borg called me in Stockholm and requested it," said Jack. "She's been hearing about Peter's issues and wanted him here."
Stuart looked down at Jack, head tilted to one side with raised eyebrows.
"She doesn't trust that we'll take care of her son?" said Stuart. "That's all I need is a meddling mother and her chaperone coach."
Jack shrugged with no reply. They watched the scrimmages in silence until Jack asked, "So, what do you think happened to Peter in that Madrid game?"
Stuart shook his head slowly. "I don't know," he mumbled. "I thought he was done, not only for that game but for the summer. Five minutes later, he's back on the field, finishing the game. Ask Dr. Lehtinen."
Jack made no reply. Stuart thought for a moment.
"Does Alonso have anything to do with this?" said Stuart, eyeing him from across the field.
"No clue," said Jack.
Stuart gave a side glance at Jack.
"Isn't it your job to have a clue?" said Stuart.
"My job is to find them and bring them over here. Then they're all yours," said Jack, smiling.
Stuart scowled back at him.
"I'll see what I can find out and get back to you," said Jack, his grin disappearing.
"Quickly," said Stuart as he walked back on the field.
25
Eddie felt the awkwardness of his presence at practice. Stuart's lack of any greeting or even acknowledgment made it clear that he wasn't welcome. He hoped Jack would be an intermediary, but that was a lot to ask of a man who ties sweaters around his neck and leaves sunglasses on top of his head. Seeing Peter out on the field eased Eddie's concern after Stockholm, and the boys seemed genuinely happy to see him there. All outward appearances showed a normal, if not extravagant, setting at Kotka. No secret labs or unorthodox training, no shady looking evil scientists conducting sketchy human experiments. And compared to the first few minutes, he remembered more stress and screaming at his college practices. He climbed up to a third row seat, staying at the far end of the field, to take in the rest.
This first morning revealed no secret sauce to their success. The drills were well organized but nothing unique. The coaching dialogue sounded intelligent but expected. To take a group of talented but unheralded young players to an international tournament and come back with a trophy was both intriguing and puzzling. With his time here limited, Eddie knew mere observation was not enough. He needed to talk with his guys, especially Peter, to uncover anything extraordinary behind the scenes. He felt an obligation to Karen, and, to an extent, Sam to give them peace of mind that Peter was in good hands.
With practice over for the day, Eddie made his way back through the spaceship building then out to the parking lot. The red scooter waited for its driver. That must have been her, he thought. Did she notice him on the bridge? There was no turn of the head or any sign of recognition, but why should there be?
For Eddie, it started as a simple attraction to a smart, beautiful woman. Now it had evolved towards suspicion. Along with Victor, she seemed to hold on to a secret. And so far, no one with Eddie's knowledge of the brain had asked the right questions. He knew he couldn't just walk into her office and start an interrogation. That would be the end of his all-access pass. He had to talk to her privately, away from campus, if she would speak at all. They shared the same commute, but he could hardly flag her down on the bridge, especially at the speed she drove that scooter.
Leaving the academy grounds, Eddie thought of calling a taxi for a trip into town for a few essentials. Instead, the cloudless day convinced him to continue on foot. It turned out to be a wise decision.
Stepping out of Victor's office, Anna texted Jami back at CBTC.
"FYI, Victor asked for his login credentials, but he’s never used the system in the past. I showed him how to view the basic dashboard. Do me a favor and monitor his access. Don't know why he's so interested again."
The text reply came immediately.
"He's already logged in again, but this time from a different IP address hidden behind a private VPN. Activity logging is still in beta. With his full credentials, he, or his login, can do anything."
Anna sighed as she exited the elevator into the lobby. She knew that Victor did not understand how to change or damage the software, even if he wanted to, but it felt like leaving the keys to her car with a toddler. A breach was unlikely, but there was still a risk. As she passed the front doors, she glimpsed the back of a man with brown dreadlocks leaving. Anna detoured to the window next to the white pine doors. It was him, the same one that caught her eye up in the stands in Stockholm. She watched him cross the parking lot then break into a jog towards town. While the campus was hardly a locked-down fortress, not just anyone can walk into the building without an invitation. Still, she wouldn’t mind meeting this mystery man. She shook her head, telling herself she had no time to pursue him or why he was here.
Returning to Medical 1, she sat down at the tiny desk that she kept in the corner of the room. So many complications were coming at her from all angles. Anna longed for the sterile world of her lab back in Helsinki. Instead of testing undergrads with a shortlist of variables, this real-life experiment with vulnerable boys was under the auspices of a man who did not have the patience for privacy, process, and structure. She felt the stretching of her ethical boundaries. She had compromised her medical school vow to do no harm when Peter convulsed on the field for reasons she still had not diagnosed.
As she peered out the windows at the boys returning, she imagined a scenario where she could just walk away, shutting down Kognitio and end the project. There would be substantial monetary consequences, which would set her research agenda behind. But she also feared she was nearing a point of no return with Victor and Dmitry, a sense that quitting would soon not be an option. She looked into her mother's eyes staring back at her from the framed photo on her desk. When life became confusing and jumbled her prio
rities, those eyes could stop the world from spinning and put her feet back on the ground. She was the reason to endure this new world of inflated egos and shifty intentions. Being able to give back the artistry of music to her mother justified the long hours, the setbacks and the need to scrounge for research dollars.
She stowed her tablet in her backpack, locked her office door, and made her way down the long hallway. Crossing the parking lot to a patch of shade from three towering pines, Anna breathed in their scent, holding it in her lungs before exhaling. Leaning against one trunk, she looked straight up at the glint of sunlight peeking through the canopy. The trees were always there when she needed them; when she found out about her mother's accident in London, when she was on the verge of quitting her neurosurgery residency at Mayo and when her Helsinki lab was out of money. Now her knight in shining armor, Victor Niemi, had faded into a shadow of murky motivations that forced her to reconsider her mission.
Anna lowered her gaze and turned to run her hand along the ash-gray bark. She missed working with her hands, the tactile touch of delicate, intricate surgery that she invested years in learning. Cutting out a tumor or relieving a blood clot in a patient's brain offered a new life for them and a sense of accomplishment for her. Now, her daily routine was more cerebral, filled with ideas, data, and communications. Vague notions of neuropsychology replaced the pragmatic outcomes of neurosurgery. The all too familiar anxiety crept in as she stood there staring at the academy. She flung her backpack over her shoulders and pulled on her helmet. Climbing on the red scooter, Anna turned the key. A hand reached over hers and turned it back.
The Playmaker Project Page 13
