"It's OK, he's with me. Eddie Alonso, meet Franz Schmidt, head of security, and a lot of other things around here."
"He needs an ID badge," said Franz with no expression.
"Yes, he does. Can you get one for him?" said Stuart with a pat on Franz's shoulder.
Franz grunted and kept walking while giving a side glance at Eddie.
After eight years of being Victor Niemi's assistant, Helen Lavola knew the rules of "no calls." When her boss was on the road heading out for a night of debauchery, when he was stalking his prey during a final takeover negotiation, or whenever she found him early in the morning staring out his office windows still wearing the previous day's clothes, she activated her filter of dozens of incoming phone calls. Since his return from Warsaw, he had not been interested in debauchery or takeovers and had spent too many nights sleeping in his office. Despite her cheery greeting, he only managed a curt reply with no eye contact.
The daily parade of agents, media, and even season ticket holders started ringing his phone early. Helen dutifully answered the ones that mattered only to tell them that Mr. Niemi was traveling and not available. She enjoyed her role as gatekeeper to one of Europe's best-known billionaires, feeling a particular pride in deciding who would be granted an audience. At Victor's request, she had followed him from Haukka Communications when he set-up shop at FC Kotka. There were far fewer executives to deal with here, but the contacts were no less demanding. Telling another club owner or player's agent that her boss would "return your call at his earliest convenience" did not always sit well with them.
Victor had made it clear who had green light access at all times, a list that she could count on one hand. Stuart and Anna made the cut, as did his attorney and whoever was his latest love interest. The fifth person on the list rang him at 6am that morning. Recognizing the voice, Helen put the call through.
"Good morning, sir," said Victor, with unconvincing confidence.
Helen often left the door leading into Victor's office open a few inches so she could hear him summoning her. When he wanted privacy, he would usually get up and close the door. This time he left it open, perhaps startled by the caller's early contact. It didn't seem like eavesdropping since just about everything in Victor's world passed across her desk first. So, she leaned back in her chair, listening to at least Victor's side of the conversation.
"No, I had not heard that. Who told you this?"
"Then he will deal with it, that's his job."
"Sir, that's an overreaction. I'm confident he won't be a problem."
A long pause followed.
"No, I will make that decision, not you."
Helen looked down at the red light on her phone to see the call ended abruptly. She busied herself on her computer, putting her headphones on to complete the ruse. Victor burst through the door and, without a word, disappeared into the elevator. He turned to face the closing doors when their eyes met briefly. Helen had seen anger, even rage, before from her boss, but this face had a new twist of angst. She kept the no-calls filter on for the rest of the day.
32
By the time Stuart arrived at the Ansalahti, it was already dark with only the solar-powered lighting along the path to show the way back to Eddie's cabin. Anna had arrived a half hour earlier, so Eddie started a campfire outside his back door to avoid being alone with Anna in the cabin. Not that he hadn't thought about that scenario, but his overriding priority was to first sort out the situation at the academy.
They rambled on with small talk about Minnesota, a few recent neuro studies and favorite coffee spots in Kotka. Not that Eddie minded a reason to look into her eyes, but he felt an obligation to fix a problem rather than start a relationship. She seemed eager to talk, letting down her guard a few times with a comforting smile and lilting laugh. It relieved him to see Stuart's text that he was finally on his way but was sorry that the brief moment with Anna would end. Stuart had suggested this location as there was little chance of being spotted in public. Eddie understood the warped world of big-time soccer with the media following every move. He could only imagine the scrutiny that a former player of Stuart's caliber must have to endure, even years after leaving the bright lights of Anfield.
Stuart turned the corner of the cabin and stood in front of the fire, his 6'4" frame casting an imposing shadow behind him.
"You made it," said Eddie, rising from the split log bench next to the firepit.
"Right, sorry about that. Had to drop my bloody car off at the shop," said Stuart with his eyes squinting to adjust from the darkness to the campfire glow.
"Hello, Stuart," said Anna, still sitting.
"Hello," said Stuart, nodding politely.
"Car acting up?" said Eddie, shaking Stuart's hand.
"Yeah, something dripping underneath. Then the worthless 'check engine' light. The shop was on the way. But I waited half the night for the Uber," said Stuart.
Stuart pulled up a red and orange webbed folding chair that had been leaning against the back wall. It seemed in grave danger of collapsing under his massive frame.
"So, what did I miss?" asked Stuart.
"Nothing. Eddie and I were just chatting," said Anna sipping her tea from an oversized mug.
"Help yourself," said Eddie pointing to a cooler on the ground.
"I could use one," said Stuart.
"Well, this was my idea, so I'll start with a brain dump," said Eddie.
"Nice one," said Stuart with a raised eyebrow reaching for a beer.
Starting back a few years to when he first arrived at North High School, Eddie described his first encounters with the boys, when they were sophomores. He explained how American football in the Midwest was like traditional soccer in Europe, different sports, but similar popularity. In the U.S., a teenage boy either put on a helmet on Friday nights or he didn't. Football filled the stands, not just with other students and families of players, but the whole town. A decent fish fry with a few beers to loosen up from a week of work, then head over to the high school to see how this year's team looks. Reporters would write up a detailed preview in the local paper with the same serious analysis reserved for NFL teams. There was little attempt to remember that these were kids, already emotionally burdened with homework, acne, and freshly laminated driver's licenses.
Stuart saw the similarities.
"My parents sent me off to Liverpool academy at age eight," he said. "Not that I minded, it was a dream to play for the Reds, and it crushed me when they recommended I come here for a few years. My only ambition was to get back to Anfield."
"And you did," said Eddie raising his beer can.
"And it was glorious. Every man, woman, and child in that town lives and dies with that team. Much like American football, but I can't believe anyone in the world is more passionate than those in the Kop."
"So, why did you leave?" asked Anna, trying to join in.
"The playing days were over, I knew that. The mind asked questions, but these old bones couldn't answer. The Liverpool brass urged me to get my coaching badges and wait for a vacancy on their staff. But then Victor came knocking."
Eddie stoked the fire with a new log.
"Do you regret the move here?" asked Eddie.
Stuart stared into the flames. The cicadas in the trees filled the silence while his eyes shifted among the flames.
"He sold me. He told me I'd have the freedom to build my academy, train my boys the right way. The facilities are top class, and the atmosphere in Kotka is growing."
"But?" asked Anna.
Stuart looked across the fire at her.
"You tell me," said Stuart.
Anna didn't seem surprised by the challenge.
"He sold me too," she said. "It was always about the money. Money for research, money for software —"
"What software?" said Stuart interrupting. "Pardon me asking, but at the board meeting two months ago, I overheard Niemi talking up some kind of licensing deal. Was that for software?"
"F
or tracking player development," she said.
"Your research at Helsinki was in brain enhancement. Is that included in the software?" asked Eddie.
Anna looked like a cornered deer with her eyes dancing in the firelight between her two predators.
"That's part of the deal. I really can't talk about my work here," she said. "I don't like that, but it is what it is."
Stuart looked over at Eddie, exasperated.
"Or what?" asked Stuart, with his palms facing the sky.
"Or I lose it all. He'll pull all the money, and I'll be back in Helsinki, writing endless grant applications."
Eddie sensed the tension and the need to take a different route.
"The reason I asked us to get together tonight is Peter Borg. He's had quite a ride since he got here. His parents are worried, well, his mom is, and so am I. And I get the feeling that neither of you knows the whole story or want to talk about what you do know," said Eddie.
"I agree. I'm the bloody coach, and I don't know what's going on," said Stuart, sitting back in his undersized chair.
"Anna, I understand your work is confidential. Yet, you agreed to be here tonight. Why?" said Eddie leaving an opening.
Anna pressed her lips together, looking at the ground. "I wanted to hear from the two of you. What your concerns are," she said.
"My concern is an eighteen-year-old kid who's playing out of his mind but tearing himself apart," said Stuart unfolding his legs and leaning forward on his elbows. "That's my concern, Doctor."
Anna shifted her position on the log bench. Eddie turned his shoulders towards her and tried again with a soothing voice.
"Here's the thing, Anna. Peter and Benny are like little brothers to me. I look out for those guys, that's why I'm here. But right now, Benny and I don't know who Peter is anymore. His mood swings, his headaches, his incredible jump in performance, they're all so sudden. I've watched Stuart train them. He's taught them a lot, but that's not what's messing with Peter's head. So, there's got to be something else. What is it?"
"My team and I are working with all the players on new ways to learn, new methods of skill acquisition—"
"Bullshit!" said Stuart standing up, sending the lawn chair backward. "Ever heard of 'first do no harm'?"
"Yes, I took that oath in medical school," said Anna looking up at Stuart.
"Well?" said Stuart, holding out his hands.
Anna looked away.
Stuart started pacing in the shadows like a caged animal. "I am sick of the whole thing," he said. "The 'win at all costs' mentality. It has only deteriorated since I retired. Parents, coaches, everyone. Using these kids like lab rats trying to find the one in a thousand that will make them money then tossing the others into the trash."
Eddie sat back and let Stuart continue his rant.
"I came here to do things differently. To treat kids like humans, not just future money machines. But Niemi has changed. It is getting bizarre here. And Doctor, your program, whatever it is, is hurting Peter Borg. You need to make a choice. Or I'll make it for you."
"Is that a threat?" said Anna, her eyebrows furled.
"Sure, if that's what it takes. I'll report you and Niemi to the league, to UEFA, to the damn UN if it does any good," said Stuart pointing a finger back at Anna.
Anna stared back into the fire; her lips pursed again with her hands folded in her lap. Stuart waited for a response. Getting none, he headed down the footpath, phone in hand. Eddie got up to follow him.
"You OK?" asked Eddie walking alongside Stuart around the cabin.
"Hell no, I'm not OK. I'm going home."
When Eddie realized Stuart was calling an Uber and not the UN, he offered some hope.
"Trust me, Stuart, we'll get this fixed," said Eddie.
"Probably not until I'm gone," said Stuart, looking at Eddie for a second then huffing away.
33
Like every other morning, Benny hurried out his door and down the hallway to catch-up with Peter for the walk to the training field. But unlike every other morning, Aleks and Pavel had already met the Kotka team captain, leaving a few minutes earlier. The three were laughing at something when Benny jogged up behind them.
"Hey fellas, how's it hangin'," said Benny breaking into the conversation.
The Russians turned to look at Benny but didn't respond.
"What's up, Gilbert," said Peter in a less than enthusiastic greeting.
Since the split-up on Saturday night, Benny had hoped for a thaw in relations. Peter's dismissive glance burst that bubble.
"Just checkin' in," said Benny. "Didn't see much of you guys yesterday."
"We don't need you to check on us," said Aleks. "Did you call Pennington?"
"Hell no, I'm no narc," said Benny.
"Well, somebody did. He wants to see us before practice," said Peter with an accusing look.
"I'm guessing Franz told him," said Benny.
"Thanks to you," said Pavel.
"What does that mean?" said Benny.
"If you had stayed with us, we could have convinced him to stay quiet," said Pavel.
They walked out into the sunlight, the new trio in front with Benny trailing behind. The rest of the team was standing around Franz, who was on his phone with his back turned.
"Hey, it's the party boys!" said Harry with a smile.
The others turned to look with secret admiration given to rule-breakers, knowing they would never have the guts to do what they did.
"Are we still a little hanged over?" said Toshi.
"It's hungover, Toshi," said Peter. "And that was Saturday night, so we're good."
"So, what do you think Coach will do to you guys?" said Charlie.
"Who cares? We do what we want," said Aleks fist-bumping Peter.
Franz ended his call and turned towards the boys. His face, usually intense like he had just run twenty miles, was pale, even ashen. His piercing blue eyes flitted from boy to boy, trying to find one to focus on. He motioned with his hands for everyone to sit down. Looking up at the gray, overcast sky, he exhaled deeply then began to speak.
"I've just received some terrible news. Coach Pennington has died."
The heads of every player jerked up with eyes wide, mouths open.
"That was the Kotka police on the phone. A morning fisherman found his body floating in the Gulf of Finland near the 355 bridge," said Franz. "I'm sorry, boys, that's all I know. I have to go speak with Mr. Niemi. Practice is canceled. Go back to your dorm rooms and do not speak to anyone about this until I get back to you."
The boys stared at each other, then the ground, confused by this grenade that was just rolled into their circle.
"Go on," said Franz, seeing no movement. "Stay there until you hear from me."
Peter stood first, gesturing for the others to follow.
Franz trailed the group as they wandered off the field, down the hallway, and towards the elevators. When the last boy was on his way upstairs, he crossed the lobby to the private, blue, and white elevator. Pressing the call button, Helen greeted him through the video screen.
"Come right up, Franz. Mr. Niemi is waiting for you."
As the elevator doors opened, Franz's stunned look met with Helen’s tear-filled greeting.
“Oh, Franz, this is just awful,” she said. "Go right in.”
Without a word, Franz stepped into the massive space scanning the room for Victor. The FC Kotka owner emerged from his conference room, phone in hand, gesturing for them to step out on the balcony.
"What do you know?" asked Victor in a hushed volume.
"The police know very little. They located his car in a repair shop in town. He dropped it off last evening, according to the shop owner. He left in an Uber. They estimated the time of death to be between 10 and midnight. We don't know where he was or who he was with," said Franz.
"Cause of death?"
"Coroner is doing an autopsy later today. No wounds, no sign of struggle. Most likely, he drowned."
&n
bsp; Victor paced, searching the sky for answers.
"Franz, do you think it was an accident?"
"With what we know, yes."
"How did the boys take the news?" asked Victor.
"As expected. It shocked them. Trying to process it," said Franz. “And Helen looks upset.”
Victor lowered his eyes to look at Franz.
“Did you tell her?” asked Victor.
“No, I assumed you did.”
Victor checked his phone again.
"This will be international news in less than an hour," said Victor. "Our official position is that we are shocked and saddened by the loss. It was a tragic accident. We are cooperating with the Kotka police in their investigation but have no information to share on Stuart's state of mind, etc."
"A possible suicide?" asked Franz.
Victor looked up from his phone.
"Why do you say that?"
"There is no other explanation. I do not think he just fell off that bridge. And if he did, it's only about five meters. With the shape he was in, he should have easily survived the fall and swam to shore."
"Then what made him drown?"
"The coroner's toxicology report should tell us that."
Helen, appearing at the door, interrupted, "Dr. Lehtinen is here to see you."
Victor waved to bring her in.
"What does she know?" asked Franz.
"Nothing yet. But I'm about to tell her," said Victor.
"I will organize the press briefing and follow-up with the coroner," said Franz.
Anna and Franz exchanged greetings as they passed each other. Helen tried to leave the massive office doors slightly open, but Victor walked over to close them. Back on the balcony, he gave Anna the news. She recoiled in shock, genuinely surprised. She raised her hand to her head, two fingers slowly stroking the corner of her forehead, her eyes on the floor in front of her then up into the air and back down again. Victor watched her reaction carefully.
"So, at this point, we don't know where he was last night. Only that he dropped off his car for service. Three hours later, he was dead," said Victor.
The Playmaker Project Page 17
