The Playmaker Project

by Daniel Peterson

  "Victor, a pleasure," said Dmitry, expressionless.

  "Mr. Bogdanov, so good to see you again," said Victor holding out his hand and smiling.

  Now face to face, Victor remembered the distinguishing mark on Dmitry's face, a three-inch scar along his right cheekbone that had not faded well.

  "Let us take a walk," said Dmitry as he lit another cigarette.

  With Vlad about ten paces behind, the two men crossed the square past the papal cross. It was erected to commemorate the Mass celebrated by Poland's native son, Pope John Paul II, in 1979 at the height of the anti-Communist protests. Beyond the massive plaza was the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier built on the site of the former Saxon Palace. As they continued into the adjacent gardens, Dmitry finally spoke.

  "Do you know what these monuments represent to me, Victor?" said Dmitry.

  Victor shook his head.

  "Failure," said Dmitry. "They all represent a failure to preserve this city, this country for the Union."

  "A failure by whom?" asked Victor.

  "By those of us entrusted with the vision of Lenin and Stalin."

  "Us?"

  Dmitry briefly glanced sideways at Victor.

  "In my twenties and thirties, I worked for the Party here in Poland," said Dmitry. "We tried to make it work, but we were too weak. We crumbled under pressure and allowed them to have control."

  "Them?"

  "The masses. They did not understand what they were doing but drew strength in numbers. We capitulated and lost the Union," said Dmitry stamping out his cigarette with his foot.

  To their left, in an open grassy area lacking statues, were ten young boys, playing soccer with trees as goalposts. Victor felt an opportunity to change the subject and get on with the real purpose of the meeting.

  "Did you receive the player data that Dr. Lehtinen sent?"

  "Yes. It's a start," said Dmitry, watching the boys nearby in their carefree game.

  “And you received the credentials?"

  Dmitry nodded still focused on the boys.

  "There is only one level of access built, so you should be able to get you what you need," said Victor.

  "Excellent. Victor, be assured that you are doing the right thing. We have focused athletes for too long on shaving seconds off their speed or adding millimeters to their muscles. Our technology will spotlight the only real difference maker," said Dmitry, tapping his forefinger to his temple.

  "Indeed. And our academy team upset Manchester United and Real Madrid in Stockholm this past weekend. Quite a performance, and our experimentals exceeded even my expectations," said Victor with glowing eyes.

  "You need to raise your expectations," said Dmitry, killing Victor's enthusiasm with a wave of his hand. "As I said, we are only scratching the surface with this technology. Soon, there will no longer be poor decisions or as the pundits like to say, mental mistakes. All choices will be optimized. At least for those with the technology."

  "Of course. And Dr. Lehtinen has begun the second phase," said Victor.

  "Is there anything else that Dr. Lehtinen requires?" asked Dmitry, still focused on the boys in the park.

  "Work continues on the next prototype. Given our secrecy, they have to do it all in-house, which involves expanding the lab with the necessary tools."

  "How much?" said Dmitry, turning to Victor.

  "Eighteen million euros," said Victor, inflating the number that Anna had given him. "We can split it, extending the same intellectual capital agreement."

  "Done," said Dmitry, turning to Vlad with a nod. "What happened to the Borg boy?"

  Victor shifted nervously. "Dr. Lehtinen does not know yet."

  "How can she not know, it is her system?" said Dmitry, repositioning himself in front of Victor.

  “She is looking. It may be related to the anger issue.”

  “Anger issue?”

  “When Peter fought Aleks, defending Benny. He got quite rough.”

  “Tell her not to change that. Aggressive loyalty is an asset,” said Dmitry, turning away. "Who is aware?"

  "Only she and I," said Victor.

  "Is anyone asking questions?"

  "Reporters, UEFA," said Victor. "And Stuart Pennington."

  "You understand the sensitive nature of this?" said Dmitry.

  "Yes, but I feel that Coach Pennington needs to be brought into the circle. It is only a matter of—"

  "No!" snapped Dmitry as he stamped his shoe to the pavement.

  Vlad took three quick steps forward before Dmitry turned with his hand raised slightly. Victor felt a shiver down his back with a strange sense of fear.

  "No one else will know about the project," said Dmitry in a hushed voice, stepping closer to Victor. "Will Mr. Pennington become a problem?"

  "A problem?" said Victor.

  "Will he be a threat to us?" said Dmitry, enunciating his words.

  A realization jolted Victor that they had now entered a new realm of reality, where he was no longer in charge and disloyalty would be punished. Given Dmitry's history of dealing with problems, he quickly assured the Russian that his coach would not be one.

  With a turn towards Vlad, Dmitry patted his hip then kept walking.

  Vlad approached slowly. Victor's eyes darted between the two men with a rush of adrenaline. Two steps away, Vlad pulled his gloved hand slowly from his coat's hip pocket. Victor cringed, not knowing if he should run or attack. He blinked to help focus in the pre-dawn light.

  "Mr. Niemi, would you mind returning to the hotel on your own?" said Vlad as he handed Victor's phone back to him.

  Victor's shoulders collapsed in relief. "I guess I have no choice," said Victor, turning to watch Dmitry walking towards the boys in the park.

  "I'll contact you about the additional funds in the morning," said Vlad as he hurried to rejoin Dmitry.

  Victor stood for a moment staring at the backs of the two men. He wanted to remember both of them as he was unsure when he would see them again. In the world of billionaires, eccentricity was typical. But Dmitry was more secretive than odd, more detached than crazy. While Victor was on a mission to win trophies followed by a windfall of millions of dollars, he sensed Dmitry was also intent on winning but at a much different game.

  28

  As Dmitry continued through the park, he felt his secure phone vibrate in his pocket. He removed it and checked the caller ID, paused with his eyes shifting away from the screen, then managed a faint smile before answering.

  “Yes?”

  "We're in.”

  "Good. Let's start with the data. Then, once we have a plan, we'll alter the code," said Dmitry.

  "Can they track us?"

  "No, it's just a beta version. But Yuri, you need to move quickly."

  Known to the world as a cognitive scientist, Yuri Rovsky's true talent lived in his manipulation of systems, both digital and biological. He understood the strengths and weaknesses of human relationships and their communications. As Dmitry would say, humans become weak when faced with adversity, leaving crucial steps uncompleted. Years ago, before Poland, the two of them had spent hours debating world affairs while skipping university classes. Despite their spotty attendance, they both graduated with honors; Dmitry earned a double major in Russian literature and physics and Yuri in neuroscience. While Yuri continued on to his doctorate in cognitive science, Dmitry slipped away to assist his country, officially as a bureaucrat in the Kremlin's foreign service division. But unofficially as a doer of tasks that required a rare combination of specialized skills and sparse conscience.

  Back in the eighties, as Poland wrestled itself away from the Soviet grip, Dmitry identified and eliminated the traitors to the Party by arranging uncanny coincidences that made them disappear. For his service, he received, according to rumor, large swaths of Polish real estate stolen during the Second World War from their rightful owners in the name of the People's Republic of Poland. Before the post-war restitution process could sort out the confusion, he sold the propert
ies to a network of western banks and real estate syndicates pocketing, in one estimate, fifteen billion euros. Despite his newfound wealth, Dmitry was ashamed of his countrymen's capitulation to Western ideals and political pressure. Just as he and Yuri had predicted back in school, human frailty had caused the teachings of Lenin to fail. Now, with a fortune to invest, Dmitry dreamed of building a new breed of warrior which, Yuri always reminded him, started and ended with the brain. Winning at sports provided a microcosm test bed to try out the technology before advancing to more global contests. Finding a wealthy but trusting team owner in Victor Niemi only accelerated the plan.

  "What about new commands?" asked Yuri.

  "Very subtle ones to begin," said Dmitry. "We need Borg to show the same staunch and vigorous loyalty, but now in defense of our team. His emotions will drive his decisions, and thus, his actions.”

  "And how will we know?" asked Yuri.

  "The data will confirm. We'll get the rest from Ruchkin. He's familiar with Borg's non-compliant side. Can you establish access without the login?"

  "Of course. As long as the system stays online, I'll create a backdoor."

  "No fingerprints. I want to tell Niemi that we no longer need access and that he can change his password," said Dmitry.

  "Like a ghost in the machine," said Yuri.

  "If you fail, our mission fails," said Dmitry.

  "Impossible, Dmitry, that's why you hired me," said Yuri.

  Dmitry held a distant stare past the monuments in the park.

  "Yuri, we finally have the technology we need. This is our chance, our time."

  Dmitry killed the connection and gestured towards Vlad.

  "Watch Stuart Pennington. I want to know who he is, where he goes, and who he talks to. Get inside his phone, email, everything."

  Vlad nodded.

  "We will not allow the weak to control us again," said Dmitry, turning up his collar as he turned into the cold wind.

  29

  Peter could feel a presence next to him as he leaned over stretching on the practice field. He looked up to find Aleks, the teammate who he had drawn blood from six days ago, standing over him with a hand extended. Peter stood up to accept the gesture of goodwill, surprised to see half a grin on Aleks’ face.

  “How you doing, man?” asked Peter.

  “Better. I am sorry I went after Gilbert,” said Aleks.

  “He’s got a mouth that won’t quit. So, I don’t blame you.”

  “You did last week. I can still feel it,” said Aleks rubbing his jaw.

  “Yeah, sorry about that. Not sure what happened to me, I just lost it.”

  “How’s your head?” said Aleks.

  “Weird but OK. Strange dreams,” said Peter.

  “Me too. Like I’m playing all night, the same sequence over and over,” said Aleks.

  “Exactly! I’m glad I’m not the only one.”

  Aleks leaned in closer.

  “Hey, Pavel and I are heading into town tonight, join us?”

  “OK, as long as we’re back before curfew,” said Peter.

  Aleks snorted a smile, shaking his head.

  “You Americans are so paranoid. What are they going to do, send us home?”

  “Probably not, but I can't get sent home. You haven’t met my dad.”

  “Bring Gilbert too. We will have some fun,” said Aleks as Stuart’s whistle ended warm-ups and started practice.

  Benny couldn’t quite believe Peter when he broke the news.

  “Seriously, dude? We’re actually going to go out to party?” said Benny with wide eyes.

  “Shh. Only until curfew. We’ve got to be back here by 10pm,” said Peter.

  “Is Toshi in? What about the lads?”

  “No, it's just you, me, Aleks, and Pavel.”

  “Oh, buzzkill. Let’s bring the other guys,” said Benny.

  “No, it’ll be good for us to hang with the Russians. We need to make it up to them.”

  “Don’t punch ‘em in the face. That’ll help,” said Benny, holding up his fists.

  “I won’t have to if you don’t piss them off,” said Peter, smirking at his friend.

  Standard academy protocol was to inform the front desk whenever you left the academy grounds. They locked the front gate and doors at 10pm, requiring any tardy arrivals to ring Franz, head of security. If he had to let you back in, he would dutifully add your name to a list for Coach Pennington to review in the morning. So far, no one had tested this rule, so the boys could only guess at the possible punishment.

  To avoid the others from hearing about the escapade, Aleks had given instructions to leave separately under varying guises at distributed times through the evening. He marked the rendezvous point as the bistro just east of the academy along the Keskuskatu boulevard. From there, it was only three blocks to the evening’s destination, the Karaoke Captain, known as the wildest, if not the only, dance club in the otherwise sleepy downtown of Kotka.

  Pavel and Aleks were the first to sign out on the log with Chinese food as their stated target. Thirty minutes later, Benny claimed a coffee bar with a view of the bay as his choice of leisure that evening. Peter, always a student of history, feigned interest in a maritime museum in town that on this particular night was open later. Benny had twisted Peter’s arm plenty of times back home to sneak out on clandestine runs to classmate parties. Unfortunately, Peter always broke the secrecy, letting his parents know his whereabouts. When word would ultimately trickle back to Mrs. Gilbert, she would usually ground Benny for the next few weekends.

  To maintain his streak of honesty, Peter insisted the foursome at least poke their heads into the museum, even though it was out of their way. At least his conscience would be clear he didn’t bear false witness. Aleks and Pavel refused, preferring to stay at the bistro, sipping espressos until Peter and Benny returned twenty minutes later. On their stroll through downtown Kotka, the Minnesota boys noticed the similarities to St. Cloud. Low-rise brick buildings, some brightened with green or orange facades. Leafy streets with cracked sidewalks running past storefronts with faded awnings. Even with signs in Finnish, they could guess the nature of each enterprise with only a glance inside. The number of pedestrians diminished with each minute of the setting sun as shopkeepers locked their doors for the evening. In St. Cloud, darkness in the summer was a signal to start back home. So, beginning an adventure at this hour caused a bit of anxiety for Peter and excitement for Benny. They entered the museum, made eye contact with the ancient seafarer staffing the desk, staring at a few of the colorful exhibits then exited before Benny broke something.

  “Feel better?” said Pavel with a raised, sarcastic eyebrow, as they returned to the bistro.

  “The museum was pretty awesome,” said Peter. “You guys would like it.”

  “He signed the visitor log just so there’s a paper trail,” said Benny with a headshake.

  Under the brightening streetlights, the unlikely foursome headed towards the club, which was one half of a one-story, lowly concrete building with an all-night laundromat next door. The Captain, as the locals called it, was brightly lit with red and white signage in an elaborate script font. They queued up in the night air, waiting for the bouncer to admit them. It seemed anyone out for a good time in Kotka was there. Teens in torn jeans and piercings, thirty-somethings in shorts and flip-flops and adults not trying at all to act their age buzzed outside to the pounding beat of dance tunes from the last three decades.

  “How did you find this place?” asked Peter with a look of awe.

  “Snapchat. It's the only club within fifty miles,” said Aleks.

  “And it's open until 4am,” said Pavel.

  Benny smiled and eyeballed Peter.

  “Well, we won’t be here to close it,” said Peter.

  “Uh, maybe,” said Aleks.

  Benny high-fived Aleks and Pavel in agreement.

  By the time they got into the club, it was already 9:15pm. Aleks and Pavel went right to the bar to orde
r shots. Benny stopped to watch two local girls slaughter their way through a Katy Perry song on the karaoke. After they smiled and giggled at him, Benny didn’t care if they could even spell the song title. Peter surveyed the crowd, packed together at either the dance floor or the bar. It had been a long three weeks at the academy. He reasoned he had earned a drink, but just one.

  “Borg, get over here!” called Aleks from the bar.

  Peter sliced through the sea of humanity to find his teammates in front of a line of shot glasses.

  “What is this?”

  “Russia’s finest,” said Pavel.

  “Alright, I’m up for one,” said Peter, clinking glasses with the group.

  Peter threw back the transparent poison only to make a choking, disfigured face as he slammed down his glass on the bar.

  “You’re trying to kill me!” he said, shaking his head with his eyes closed.

  “Stoli 100 proof,” said Aleks slapping Peter on the back.

  Not to be outdone, Benny finished his first shot only to be egged on to down a second. The party had begun.

  Peter ordered a beer to cleanse his soul of the Stolichnaya.

  “Is that what you drink at home?” asked Peter.

  “Only on special occasions like this,” said Aleks with a grin that Peter had yet to see.

  “No wonder you guys make fun of us,” said Peter as he grabbed an empty seat at the bar. “I’m already done for the night.”

  Aleks looked at Pavel, then at Benny, who was still watching the karaoke twins.

  “Peter, I want to show you something,” said Aleks pulling out his phone. “It's a video of Pavel and I at our villa near St. Petersburg.”

  Aleks started the clip and turned the phone towards Peter.

  “Wow, this is yours?” said Peter holding the phone closer to avoid the glare of the dance floor lights.

  “Yes, it belongs to our family," said Aleks. "You should visit."

  The phone buzzed with an incoming call. Peter showed Aleks the caller ID with the face of a gorgeous girl that Peter guessed was about his age.