The Playmaker Project

by Daniel Peterson

  Startled, she let out the yelp of a puppy whose tail was just stepped on. Anna spun her head around to see a tall man standing over her with the sun directly behind his head. She shielded her eyes to make out the face.

  "We need to talk," he said.

  "Stuart, you scared me," she said.

  "I'm sorry, but this can't wait until tomorrow."

  "What?"

  "Can you please explain Peter Borg's behavior over the last two weeks?" said Stuart, standing uncomfortably close. "And why is his US coach here?"

  "Let's start with the second question. Who are you talking about?"

  "Eddie Alonso. He was in Stockholm, and now he's here. I saw him at practice today. Some story about Peter's mom sending him."

  Anna thought of the brown-dreaded man leaving the building.

  "You obviously know more than I do. I've never met him."

  Stuart stepped out of the glare. He softened his tone to sound more confused than upset.

  "I'm worried about the roller coaster that Borg has been through. The mood swings and the headaches that come and go at will," said Stuart.

  Anna studied Stuart's face for a moment. It seemed to be a genuine concern from a perplexed coach.

  "I admit he’s been through a lot so far," she said, pondering her next words. "It may be the normal stress to perform. We see it often with young players."

  "Please. I was once a young lad trying to impress, and I've coached plenty of them," said Stuart locking eyes with Anna. "Could it be part of your mysterious cognitive program?"

  Anna bought a few seconds as she removed her helmet.

  "Yes, it could be from some of that. But to be completely honest with you, I can't discuss it."

  "Dammit, why not? I'm the head coach of the team. I am responsible for these boys."

  Anna looked back at the academy, then her eyes trailed off.

  "Niemi? Did he tell you to be quiet?" said Stuart.

  "Please, Stuart. I'm, as you say, between a rock and a hard place here."

  "Are the boys aware of what you're doing? How about their families?"

  "We have all the proper release statements signed."

  "Oh, now you're a lawyer? These aren't multimillionaire superstars, Doctor, they're just naïve, young men. And you’re messing with their heads."

  Stuart's tone was ramping up towards incredulous.

  "Stuart, I'm sorry, I really shouldn't say any more. If you have questions, please ask Mr. Niemi."

  "Oh, you bet I will. I didn't sign up for this. My players will not be lab rats."

  Stuart pivoted into the sun and stormed off.

  Anna felt the knot in her stomach grow. She sat on her scooter, staring into the surrounding forest. This secret was becoming too heavy to hold in her head. She needed someone to talk to, someone she could trust.

  26

  The red scooter did not respond to the first turn of Anna's key. Annoyed by the machine's unexpected stubbornness, she looked down at the round dial in front of her but found no blinking red light or warning message. After a brief pause, she tried the key again, and this time the Vespa sputtered to life. Anna shook her head, thinking about the overbearing Helsinki dealer who had sold it to her, claiming, "she purrs like a kitten."

  With Stuart trudging off, Anna jerked her helmet back on and shoved her sunglasses against her nose. The adrenaline in her veins surged from surprise to anger after being confronted by Stuart. On the way out of the parking lot onto the frontage road, she took the first corner a bit too fast, causing the rear tire to drift from under her. With a tap on the brakes, she righted the ship only to squeeze and twist the throttle even harder. The scooter coughed and wheezed under the demand for speed, prompting a string of Finnish profanity to fly out of her mouth.

  The commute to her seaside bungalow was only ten minutes, not long enough to clear her head. She detoured through town to take advantage of the fresh air before crossing the bay. But the Vespa refused to leave second gear, crawling through the streets, annoying the cars behind her. Anna surrendered her detour and headed for the bridge to Musalo, hoping her two-wheeled warrior would last until she returned home to the far side of the island.

  Halfway across the bridge, she learned the answer was no. The scooter lost all power, coasting like a glider to the side of the road. Anna used the handbrake to bring the bike to a complete stop, then hoisted it up onto the sidewalk to appease the line of impatient drivers behind her. She sat for a moment to consider her next move. She could leave the scooter and walk home, but that left her with no transportation for tomorrow.

  "Just enjoying the view, or could you use some help?"

  Startled, Anna suppressed a squeal but held up a hand in defense as she spun around.

  "You're the second man in the last half hour to sneak up behind me," said Anna with no hint of a smile.

  Through her sunglasses, she hid her surprise that it was the man with dreadlocks. But now, up close, she took in the complete picture; soft brown eyes, high cheekbones, straight, snowy white teeth, and a two-day stubble that she wished wasn't there.

  "Yes, it is a nice view, but it seems this thing isn't going any further," she said.

  "Hi, I'm Eddie," he said, holding out his hand after wiping it on his shirt. "So, it just quit on you?"

  "Hello," she said, taking his hand but not revealing her name. "Yes, it just lost power."

  "Usually, it's the battery on these Vespas. Did it hesitate when you first started it?"

  "Yes, but then it started on the second try," said Anna shrugging her shoulders.

  "Well, that's easy to fix. Unfortunately, I don't have a car here, but do you have someone who can pick you up?" asked Eddie.

  Anna feigned ignorance of the Good Samaritan's identity, being careful with her reply.

  "Uh, yes, but I may have to wait for a bit for them to arrive," she said, tapping a message on her phone.

  "Well, I can help you move it to the other side of the bridge and wait there with you," said Eddie.

  "OK, but you don't need to stay. I'll be fine," said Anna, taking another long look at his face. "Have we met before?"

  Eddie smiled. He grabbed the handlebars and began pushing the scooter while walking alongside.

  "Not actually met. I've been attending the FC Kotka games in Stockholm and now I’m here. I used to coach two of the players back in the US," said Eddie. "I remember seeing you there. You're on the team medical staff?"

  "Yes, mainly for their cognitive performance," said Anna. "You were down on the track during the Madrid game?"

  "Guilty. Peter was one of my guys, and when he got hurt, I hurried down there with his dad."

  As they walked, Anna took off her helmet and hung it on one of the rearview mirrors. Eddie tried to keep his eyes straight ahead but couldn't resist glancing at her as they talked. What he had admired from afar was striking up close.

  "Well, I'm happy to report that Peter is doing fine now," said Anna sticking to the rehearsed script.

  They reached the end of the bridge with the sidewalk trailing off away from the road towards a more peaceful path across a freshly cut stretch of grass and trees.

  "So, is this a good spot?" asked Eddie.

  "I'm sorry, a good spot for what?" said Anna, distracted by her own internal debate whether to trust this handsome man.

  "You wanted to wait on your own for your ride to pick you up."

  "Oh, right." Anna checked her phone. "Actually, I haven't heard from them yet."

  "I'm happy to continue walking as far as you like," said Eddie.

  "Are you staying far from here?"

  "About another kilometer that way," said Eddie, pointing to the left. "I'm at the Ansalahti Resort."

  "Well, I'm right up the road from there. Would you mind going a bit further?" said Anna.

  "Not at all. I could use the exercise."

  Just like the front desk woman, Anna smiled in disagreement about his fitness.

  "I'm sorry, you said you
r name was Eddie?" said Anna.

  "Eddie Alonso."

  They walked a few steps in silence.

  "I'm Anna, by the way, Anna Lehtinen," she said.

  "Nice to meet you, Anna. I assume that's Dr. Lehtinen?"

  "Yes, a neurosurgeon. In fact, I did my residency at Mayo Clinic. Peter and Benny are from Minnesota. Is that where you coached them?"

  "Sure did. Mayo's about two hours from St. Cloud, our hometown."

  "Minnesota is so much like Finland, especially in the winter," she said, rolling her eyes.

  "Which is only six months long," said Eddie smiling.

  Eddie felt that tinge of excitement that comes when an attraction becomes a connection. But he guarded it with caution, still unsure what her role was with Peter's strange journey so far. At this point, he thought it best to take things slow and not scare her off. "So, how long have you been back in Finland?"

  "Two years at the University of Helsinki. I loved the US but always planned to come home," said Anna.

  She measured every word carefully as if she would have to defend her testimony later. But as they continued through a grove of scattered birch trees that predated any civilization or sidewalks, she felt more at ease.

  "If you don't mind my asking, how long have you been with FC Kotka?" said Eddie with a polite, interested tone.

  "Since the beginning of the year," said Anna looking straight ahead.

  "And if you don't mind me asking, why did you come all this way to watch Peter and Benny?" asked Anna.

  Eddie paused. She was doing her own bit of detective work.

  "You know, I heard about all the amazing success they were having here and just wanted to come over and observe. I thought maybe I could learn something for my coaching back home. So when the Borgs offered to fly me over, I jumped at the chance."

  "Peter's father paid for your trip?" said Anna looking at the ground as she walked.

  "Well, technically, Mrs. Borg paid. I couldn't afford to stay at the Ansalahti on my teacher's salary, that's for sure," said Eddie.

  Anna turned her head to look at Eddie, who smiled. It was not a polite or smug smile, thought Anna. Something about his answer eased the tension from her face as if a key had unlocked it. It was a warm, genuine, nice-to-meet-you smile that melted any evil assumptions she still held onto. She felt the connection, too, and wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  They emerged from the park to a short beach road that ran parallel to the sea. The breeze smelled of salty brine with a waft of sea life washed ashore. The endless horizon peeked through a row of brightly colored cottages lined up like toy soldiers.

  "Well, I'm just down this road, so I can take it from here," said Anna. "Can you find your way back to the resort?"

  "Probably not, but I'm sure Google can," said Eddie as he leaned the scooter towards her. "I'm pretty sure you just need a new battery. Let me know if you need any help with that."

  "Thank you," she said as her hands brushed his, taking the handlebars. "And it was nice to meet you, Eddie Alonso."

  "Hopefully, we'll see each other again before I leave on Friday," he said. "I'm fascinated with your work here."

  "Perhaps," she said as she pushed the scooter away.

  She made a point not to look back as she walked away. Even if he saw which cottage she entered, that would be reassuring. Those brown eyes showed no ill intent. Instead, they were kind. His smile was warming. Anna was cautiously optimistic about him, even if he was going away in a few days.

  Her phone buzzed again from the message she had ignored on the walk home. She checked the screen to see the first line from Victor, "Meeting with Dmitry tomorrow. Send me that data." Reality had returned. She sighed, unlocked her front door, and stepped inside. Before closing the door, she stole a glance down the road at the man with the dreadlocks, now a distant shadow. "Nice to meet you, Eddie Alonso," she whispered to herself.

  27

  When visiting a city for the first time, Victor Niemi always arrived the night before to familiarize himself with his surroundings. He feared unfamiliar places where he couldn't take control if needed. Whether it was a boardroom or a restaurant where he was closing a deal, he insisted on having leverage over his adversary. And to Victor, that was anyone not working for him.

  On this trip, that advantage was already lost as Dmitry had chosen a city that had eluded Victor's travels, Warsaw, Poland. Anticipating his Saturday morning meeting, Victor arrived on Friday evening via his Gulfstream. After checking into his suite at the Hotel Europejski, he strolled up the street onto the Old Town market square to the Bazyliszek Restaurant, known for its Polish delicacies. Not a man swayed by local customs, he insisted on two of his Finnish favorites, ice-cold shots of Ström vodka and a plate of reindeer sausage.

  With his back to a wall, Victor took in the scene in front of him. The pastel buildings surrounded the tourists wandering through the souvenir vendor carts. Poland's largest city had rebuilt itself since the Germans had destroyed over three-quarters of the downtown on their way out of town almost eighty years ago. They had also invested heavily in commercial and military satellite upgrades over the previous two decades, especially from Haukka Communications. That made Victor a frequent visitor to the Polish Space Agency in Gdansk. But Warsaw would always be the proverbial home of Poles worldwide, and he could see that their city was on the rise.

  Victor's buzzing phone snapped him out of his contemplation. A message from Vlad Konstantine, right-hand man to Dmitry, announced they were to meet in the hotel lobby at 7am the following morning. He shared no other details. Just like Victor, Dmitry also preferred home-field advantage dictating the time and place of meetings. Victor allowed no other FC Kotka investor to pull strings like Mr. Bogdanov. But then, Dmitry brought more than just money to the club. When Victor needed doors to open internationally, a word to Dmitry would unlock them all. He didn't care to know precisely how Dmitry's influence operated, only that it did. Victor still controlled ownership of the club, and Dmitry had never asked for more equity despite his sizable working capital input. Don't poke the bear, thought Victor, and for sure, don't kill the golden goose.

  He finished the sausage and downed his last shot of vodka. Then he left a 100 euro note for his 20 euro bill on the table.

  On his walk back to the hotel, he passed by a statue of Adam Mickiewicz, considered Poland's national poet who campaigned tirelessly for his country's independence through the middle of the 19th century. The Nazis deliberately destroyed the bronze sculpture, standing over four meters tall, in 1944. But the Poles salvaged and rebuilt it by 1950, with the remaining pieces of the monument finally returned to them in the 1980s. Ironically, in the morning, Victor was to meet with the man who spent every waking hour of his early adulthood denying Polish citizens of their freedom.

  While they had communicated for almost three years, this was only the second time that Victor had met Dmitry in person. The first was at an event at the Bogdanov villa in St. Petersburg after Victor had just bought FC Kotka with Dmitry's help. It was a small affair with only a dozen in attendance. Oddly, once everyone had arrived, Dmitry made an initial appearance, said a few words about the need for more science and technology in soccer, then vanished from his own party. Vlad and his security team politely confiscated all phones at the door so that guests could take no photos. They permitted only limousines driven by Dmitry's staff on the grounds.

  Technically, Dmitry's name was nowhere on the legal papers of FC Kotka. It was an investment company, PRL Investments, that owned the one-fifth stake in the club with only Victor aware that Dmitry was its sole benefactor. A small, private Austrian bank handled the cash infusions via wire transfer. When they brought Anna on board, Victor swore her to secrecy about Dmitry's identity and never revealed the amount of money invested or the equity stake that he owned. It was Dmitry who had championed and approved Anna's research program and was now eager to hear an update from Victor.

  The next morning at five minutes be
fore seven, Victor left his suite, not sure how to dress for the day. He assumed breakfast in the hotel cafe but still dressed in a suit and brought an overcoat just in case. He positioned himself at the end of a long hallway in the main lobby lined with white columns and carpet specked in blue, like Kotka blue, thought Victor. Since his memory of Dmitry's face had faded, Victor searched the passing guests for a glimpse that might trigger a response. After ten minutes, Victor felt a tap on his shoulder.

  "Mr. Niemi, I am Vlad Konstantine. Mr. Bogdanov is expecting you. Please follow me."

  They walked through the lobby then down a stark, cement stairwell to the ground floor. At the bottom of the stairs, Vlad stopped and turned around to face Victor.

  "My apologies, sir, but I must search for any weapons," said Vlad with no expression.

  "No. I am the CEO of Haukka Communications and FC Kotka. You will not search me," said Victor with a scowl.

  "Then Mr. Bogdanov cannot meet with you. That would be unfortunate," said Vlad in his robotic Russian tone.

  Reluctantly, Victor took off his suit coat.

  "Fine. But do not touch me," he said, glaring at the wall.

  Satisfied with the visual scan, Vlad held out his hand.

  "Your phone, please."

  "Dammit, is this really necessary?" said Victor handing him his phone. "Do you mind telling me where we are meeting?"

  Vlad put Victor's phone in his breast pocket then opened the stairwell door, which led them out a side entrance onto the loading dock and facing Piłsudski Square. Standing next to a delivery truck was a man smoking a cigarette, six feet tall, bald but with a wisp of hairline wearing a black three-piece suit, a white shirt, and a red tie. Vlad nodded Victor towards him.

  As they approached, Victor watched the man flick his cigarette to the ground then turn to lock a gaze on him. There was no expression from his drooping eyes as his hands went into his coat pockets. Vague memories from the party in St. Petersburg confirmed the man's identity.