Anna nodded. “They must have figured out how to redirect it.”
Eddie caught up with Anna as her pace quickened. She explained the entire system along with the Kognitio software. She and her team would need to bring the boys into the lab to remove the chips. It was a simple procedure requiring less than an hour, but the key would be to do it without Niemi's knowledge.
"And given the events of the last 24 hours, someone may try to stop us," said Eddie.
Anna looked around as if to check for others listening despite the beach being deserted. She leaned her head closer to Eddie.
"Dmitry Bogdanov," she whispered.
"Who's that?"
"I'm not exactly sure. He's an investor in FC Kotka but lives in St. Petersburg. And Victor seems scared of him."
"Victor Niemi? Scared of someone?"
"Yes. He never wants to cross him. And I'm reasonably sure that Victor gave him his login to Kognitio."
Eddie thought for a moment.
"OK, let me try to figure out who this guy is. Is there anything you can do in the software until we get those chips out?"
"Jami is working on it.”
"Who's he?"
"My longtime research associate, back in Helsinki."
"Do you trust him?"
"With everything. We've been working together long before this all started."
"What does he know?"
"He knows about Stuart. He knows this is getting complicated."
Eddie huffed at the understatement.
They continued their planning until they reached the second bungalow.
"Do you feel safe here?" asked Eddie.
"For now, yes. Victor told me to go back to Helsinki for a few days, and I agreed. So, he won't know I'm here."
"Which is why they may come here to turn over the place looking for things."
Anna allowed herself a slight smile. "You read too many spy novels. I told you they probably already have access to the software. They need nothing in this house," she said. "Jami and I are getting two disposable phones to communicate. You should get one too so we can stay in touch."
"Good idea."
They stood together, both realizing they couldn’t do this alone. Eddie reached out for Anna's hand. "We'll get through this," said Eddie, giving a reassuring squeeze.
Her face relaxed for the first time in weeks. Then she smiled.
"Thank you. And I'm sorry," she said, squeezing his hand back.
He watched her walk in the back door and turn on the light. His hunch had paid off. Anna was only guilty of unintended consequences. Her technology was brilliant and had developed it with the best intentions. Her mother might play another concert in her lifetime. It could revolutionize recovery for brain-injured patients. It just might allow a former soccer star to play again. Eddie shook his head to erase the thought. No time for imagining what if. Right now, this wonder tech was in the wrong hands and it was on him to get his guys home safe.
36
As the boys returned to their dorm, they broke off into small groups, bewildered by the news of the morning. Harry and Charlie pulled Toshi aside to talk. Aleks and Pavel secluded themselves at the far end of the player lounge. Peter closed the door to his room behind him. That left Tristan and Benny to sit together silently. Few of them had been around death before, especially with these disturbing circumstances.
Peter stood in front of the picture window in his room that overlooked the game field. He expected feelings of sadness or at least shock, but none came. To him, Stuart had been a decent coach, but a new one would show up soon, and life would go on. There was a tinge of guilt for the way he treated Eddie, but as Aleks had explained, he needed to let go of the past if he would ever get to the top, including Benny. Aleks was a good friend and only wanted what was best for him. He was surprised their relationship got off to such a rocky start. And whatever happened to Stuart, it was irrelevant to their overall plan to dominate the international game.
A text message buzzed his phone. On cue, it was Aleks.
"We're heading out. Meet downstairs in ten."
"Who?" replied Peter.
"You and me."
He briefly considered Franz's warning to stay put, then responded with a thumbs-up.
With no real apprehension, they strode out of the dorm and towards downtown. The first few blocks passed without a word. Both boys checked behind them a few times to be sure they got away cleanly. Then Peter broke the quiet.
"No Pavel?"
"Not for this," said Aleks.
"For what?"
Aleks nodded forward.
"You will see."
They continued into town past the same low-rise buildings that lined the streets on their outing to the dance club. It all seemed mundane in the daylight. Despite the gleam of the academy, Kotka was still a sleepy, forgotten habitat far away from the world's attention. Peter preferred the excitement of Helsinki or Stockholm or even the allure of London or Madrid that his dad described.
Just beyond the museum where Peter had a short-lived interest, Aleks pointed to a two-story brick house. It was large by Kotka standards, old but stately with manicured flower beds and a matching wall surrounding it. Aleks buzzed the security pad, and the iron gate swung open.
"Who lives here?" asked Peter as they walked up the stone path to the front door.
Aleks just grinned as he pressed the doorbell.
"Peter Borg, my man! How's it hangin'?!"
"Jack?! Man, I didn't expect to see you here," said Peter looking at the effervescent, brightly colored director of player development.
"Yeah, I pop up all over the place. Dude, it's so good to see you," said Jack as he bro-hugged Peter and gave a fist bump to Aleks. "And you brought my favorite Russian."
"Actually, he brought me," said Peter. "Do you live here?"
"When I'm in town, I stop in. Come in, you gotta meet someone."
They stepped through the front foyer comprising a grand staircase, and an ornate chandelier hung from a soaring ceiling. Framed team photos of football teams from the previous century covered the walls, illuminated by halogen spotlights. The furnishings were tasteful antiques. The floor creaked with age.
They passed through the kitchen, large enough to feed an entire team, and into a spacious sunroom surrounded by lead glass windows, opened at forty-five degrees by antique hand cranks. Mature pine trees threw shade across the gardens in the backyard with a warm, dry breeze entering through the windows.
A man dressed in a dark purple tracksuit stood up from a black leather sofa. Documents spread across a table in front of them.
"Peter Borg, I'd like you to meet Josef Rychter," said Jack.
Peter shook hands with the shorter man. His handshake was limp, closing around Peter's fingers as if made of glass.
"Nice to meet you, sir," said Peter, waiting for clarification on who exactly he was meeting.
"Likewise, Mr. Borg. Jack has told me quite a bit about you," he said with a thick accent. Peter tried to place it. It definitely wasn't like Stuart's proper English and different from the thick Finnish dialects of the area. Small, round glasses, a reddish mustache, and just a few remnants of hair completed a rather lackluster appearance.
"Josef is a world-class coach, originally from Poland, but is now working with us. We're super excited about having him here," said Jack, bubbling with zeal.
"Great. Welcome," said Peter, searching for the appropriate response.
"It is a fascinating opportunity," said Josef. "Unfortunately, one that comes at such a sad moment."
"Oh, so you'll be coaching us at Kotka?" asked Peter.
"For a short time. Jack will fill you in," said Josef as he gestured for everyone to sit.
Jack patted an overstuffed armchair to let Peter know where he should sit. He crossed the room to a liquor tray by the windows.
"Pete, I'm so stoked to tell you about this. It's gonna blow your mind," said Jack as he brought back a bottle and four shot glasses.
"But first, we drink!"
Before Peter could refuse, Jack handed him a full glass.
"I hear Aleks introduced you to the best vodka in the world last week?" said Jack, winking.
"Yeah, I almost died," said Peter looking at Aleks, who raised his glass to him.
"I gotta say, it's an acquired taste. You just gotta keep at it. Nostrovia!" said Jack as he clinked glasses with the other three.
Peter downed his shot quickly. Jack was right, this time it tasted less like poison, but still made him close his eyes and wince. Josef watched Peter with no expression.
"So, here's the dealio. One of our big-time investors wants to bring back one of Russia's great clubs. Ever hear of FC Leningrad?" said Jack with raised eyebrows.
"Uh, no, sorry," said Peter.
"Exactly! Well, it was the most successful club in Russia in the early twentieth century. Those team photos in the hallway? All champion teams from the 20s and 30s."
Peter checked with Josef on his left, who was still watching him and then glanced at Aleks, who was sitting on an oak dining chair to his right and slightly behind him. They both seemed to monitor his minute by minute reaction.
"Petie, we're talkin' showtime soccer here. We already have a 20,000 seat stadium lined up in St. Petersburg. But that's only until a new, bigger one can get built. Money is not a problem as we're fully funded. Josef will be our first manager, and we're set to play in the Russian National League next season."
"That sounds great. What does that have to do with me?" said Peter.
Josef slid down the couch to within two feet of Peter.
"We will sign several elite players from around the world," said Josef. "But we need strong, young talent ready to play from the first day. I want you to be on our team. You and Aleks will make an impact together on the field."
Aleks leaned forward to bump Peter on the shoulder.
"You and me, Borg. What do you say?"
A flurry of excitement raced through Peter's brain. This was it; this might be the opportunity he was waiting for.
"I know what you're thinking, big guy, show me the money!" said Jack reaching over for a document on the table.
He handed Peter a sheet of paper with a bulleted list of highlights.
"Take a look at this. I'll summarize the deets. A five-year contract with a six million dollar salary in year one. Dude, that's American dollars but earned in Russia so we won't worry about those pesky US taxes. A fully furnished apartment overlooking the Baltic. Your choice of a luxury car. Only the best facilities and travel arrangements. We're talking first-class the whole way," said Jack, nudging Peter with every sentence.
Peter swallowed hard but couldn't suppress a grin.
"So, what happens to FC Kotka?" he finally asked.
"Peter, your loyalty is admirable," said Josef. "Our friends there will continue to grow as part of our organization as a development team for FC Leningrad. But you don't need them anymore. You have demonstrated superior skills and playmaking ability."
Peter looked back at Aleks.
"So, just Aleks and I will come over?"
"Yes, for now," said Josef. "Perhaps others will follow."
"Dude, I'm telling you, I've been around the world, and it don't get any better than this," said Jack. "What do ya' say?"
Jack put the contract on the table and handed Peter a black fountain pen.
"This is all amazing, but I need to talk to my parents," said Peter, leaning back.
"No, see, that's the thing, you don't," said Jack. "In Russia, you're already of legal age to sign contracts. And what would they say, 'Son, we don't think making six million dollars a year is a good idea'?! C'mon dude, it's now or never."
A door opened on the other end of the sunroom. Josef stood up immediately with Jack and Aleks a second behind. A man dressed in a dark suit and white shirt entered briskly with his eyes fixed on Peter. He walked straight at him, waiting to hold out his hand until he was face to face. Balding, he had droopy brown eyes with a three-inch scar on his right cheekbone. He was taller than anyone in the room, and his presence was imposing.
"Hello Peter, I am Dmitry Bogdanov."
His grip was aching. Peter thought he should give handshake lessons to Josef. He smelled of tobacco, but with a scent, unlike anything Peter had encountered. His red tie was perfectly knotted, his shirt starched at the collar.
"Hello, it's nice to meet you," said Peter in his best adult voice.
"I am the principal owner of FC Leningrad, as well as a major investor in FC Kotka. As Josef has told you, we have chosen you to join our senior team," he said.
"Yes, they were just going over the details," said Peter.
"Is everything satisfactory?"
Peter saw Jack standing behind Dmitry with a nervous look, nodding to agree.
"Yes, it's a very generous offer."
"Excellent. Let us begin the journey together," said Dmitry as he stepped back and motioned to the document on the table.
With all eyes on him, he sensed no other option but to sign the contract. He sat down on the edge of the chair, picked up the pen, and signed his name at the bottom.
Dmitry opened his arms, so Peter stood to embrace him. A glancing kiss on his right cheek, then his left sealed the deal. Josef, Jack, and Aleks each shook his hand with the same greeting, "Welcome to Leningrad!"
Peter turned to see Dmitry exiting through the same door as quickly as he entered. A man of few words, thought Peter, which seemed to be more effective than the boisterous Niemi. This is how things get done in the world, Peter convinced himself. Move up and don't look back. For years it was Benny and Eddie, but now it was Aleks and a curious, little man named Josef. He sat back down as Jack poured another round of Russian poison.
Descending the front steps alone, Dmitry entered a waiting black Mercedes sedan. He looked to his left with no expression at the man seated next to him.
"From this moment on, he sees no one from his past. Get him across the border by tomorrow morning."
Vlad nodded and exited the car.
37
Eddie realized the time had come. Confronting Victor Niemi topped his list of best next steps. With Stuart gone and Anna in hiding, Eddie picked up the baton. Never having met the tech billionaire, Eddie considered the irrepressible Jack Issac to be his access point. While he carried no respect for the glorified scout, Eddie felt he could use him to get to Niemi. Jack appreciated the tight connection between Eddie and the Borg family, so his ultimatum to Jack would be he either work with him, or Peter would go home. Rather than preempt his request with a text message, he dialed Jack's number, hoping to speak with him. The call went unanswered with no voice message. Screw it, thought Eddie, he’s going face-to-face with the top man.
Standing outside the front entrance to the Ansalahti, he hopped on one of the bright blue bikes that the resort loaned its guests for island sightseeing. If Stuart had left in an Uber and never made it home, Eddie wasn't about to test fate. He would make the twenty-minute ride to the academy himself with a plan to burst into the owner's suite unannounced with his battery of questions. It wasn't a plan but only pure adrenaline.
Within ten minutes, he arrived at the west end of the 355 bridge. He saw the police tape, orange in Finland, marking off the point where police had pulled the body of a large, athletic man from the bay the day before. He crossed the bridge and continued to the academy front gate.
Eddie ditched the bike behind a flower bed, dusted himself off, and strode in the massive front doors. On the far side of the lobby, he spotted the blue and white private elevator standing apart from the bank of public ones. Eddie assumed that was Niemi's. With a press of the illuminated button, a woman's face on the video screen startled him.
"Yes, how can I help you?"
"I'm here to see Victor Niemi," said Eddie, staring into the red-light camera above the screen.
"Mr. Niemi does not have any appointments today. Your name, please?"
"My name is
Eddie Alonso, and I have no appointment."
"Why do you need to meet with Mr. Niemi?"
"It’s regarding Coach Pennington."
The woman paused. The screen went blank. Eddie looked around, half expecting to see a security team coming for him. The elevator door opened, and he stepped inside.
By the time he reached the top floor, Helen had closed the doors to Victor's office and circled her desk to greet the visitor.
"Hello, I am Helen Lavola, Mr. Niemi's assistant," she said, holding out her hand as Eddie stepped forward.
"Hello, Helen, and thank you for allowing me up here," said Eddie, accepting her firm but cold hand.
"Mr. Niemi is very busy today. What questions can I answer for you?"
"Well, I'd like to discuss those with him. I can wait here until he's available," said Eddie.
Helen hesitated, looking around the outer office.
“And what relationship do you have to Coach Pennington or the team?” she asked.
“Actually, no relationship. But I am a friend of Peter Borg and Benny Gilbert.
"Are you related to them?" she asked as interrogation more than conversation.
"I am, or was, their coach from back in Minnesota. Peter’s mom asked me to come over here when she heard he had a few adjustment issues."
"But she didn't come herself?"
"Yes, well, she thought this was best."
"You must forgive us. It's been a sad and exhausting twenty-four hours around here."
"I can imagine. That was terrible news about Coach Pennington.”
“Oh, so you have heard?”
“Yes, Benny let me know,” said Eddie trying to maintain eye contact while also taking in the surroundings. “In fact, I would like to talk to Mr. Niemi about taking Pete and Benny home. It's too much for them."
Eddie glanced over at the pictures on Helen’s desk, trying to make a personal connection.
"Are those your boys?" he asked.
"Yes, Jakob and David," she said, looking back at them.
"They're very handsome young men. Do they play soccer?"
"David does. Jakob's not that interested in sports," she said with a softer tone.
The Playmaker Project Page 19
