The Playmaker Project

by Daniel Peterson

Eddie stopped. He gave Victor a devilish grin.

  “You and I are going to St. Petersburg,” said Eddie. “And we’re bringing the green-eyed monster with us.”

  46

  At FC Leningrad, Dmitry Bogdanov was the undisputed boss. But over the last six months, there had been an ongoing tug of war between his top lieutenants for the number two position. Josef Rychter claimed his long association with Dmitry going back to their days together in Poland. This gave him the upper hand and a superior level of trust. Yuri Rovsky personified the future of Bogdanov's conquests in both football and what Dmitry liked to call international influence. This dependency on the intersection of cognitive science and technology was in his control.

  Dmitry let this natural rivalry play out, believing that the intense competition and slight suspicion between them would keep them hungry to outperform each other. He was also careful to share only pieces of his grand plan with either Josef or Yuri to prevent any future coup or culpability if compromised. Dmitry trusted Josef with the geopolitical and operational details while Yuri led the technical development of their human assets, specifically Aleks and Peter, for now. The two young footballers were an experiment to see if a brain-computer interface could alter not only human decision-making power but also the power of persuasion to perform tasks to which they might typically object.

  With Peter now part of something more than just FC Leningrad, whether he realized it or not, Dmitry knew it was time to test his level of resolve to complete an assignment. Aleks needed a partner he could trust both on and off the field.

  After seeing the success of Kognitio at Kotka, Dmitry tasked Yuri with tweaking the system for purposes beyond football. Instinctive decision-making was in demand throughout Dmitry's world, with more variables and higher stakes. And fierce loyalty could be programmed, not just encouraged.

  There was a knock on the door of Yuri's computer lab. It was game time.

  "Gentlemen, please come in," said Yuri.

  Peter and Aleks entered the room to see Yuri standing in front of an oversized holographic image. Josef rose from a black leather couch along the far wall under another mural-sized digital screen.

  "You messaged us to meet you here?" said Peter.

  "Yes, you are right on time," said Josef ushering them further in with a hand on Peter's elbow.

  Peter's eyes scanned the darkened room. He noticed Yuri holding a tablet device with a row of blade computer servers installed in a rack behind a secure glass door. Josef guided them over to a floating, video image of an elderly man in a wheelchair having dinner with a younger woman at a crowded restaurant

  "Who are they?" asked Aleks.

  “Mikhail Sidorov and his daughter Sophia,” said Josef, zooming in with a swipe of his hand. “Memorize their faces.”

  Peter shifted his gaze from Josef to the video.

  "The Sidorov family has become quite antagonistic to Mr. Bogdanov’s efforts to help working families in Estonia. They are planting false stories about our objectives and raising concern with our allies. In short, they have become disloyal.”

  Aleks nodded his head. “I understand.”

  Peter looked at his new friend. “I’m sorry but I don’t.”

  "Peter, as Mr. Bogdanov explained to you, anything that you do for us will be for the greater good of working families. We would like you two to form a partnership; to perform like one as if you were sharing a brain."

  Peter glanced at Aleks, who smirked back. "More like 60-40," said Aleks with an elbow to his teammate's ribs. Peter smiled back. He didn’t understand why, but he liked Aleks. And if Aleks had no qualms about this extra task, then Peter would go along.

  "Nothing illegal, I hope," said Peter, with a shove back at Aleks.

  "Oh, Peter, you overthink," said Josef with a pat on the young American's back. "We think of it as a means of communication, as a way to send a message about our intentions. Now, what could possibly be illegal about that?"

  “Just channel that freak we all saw back Kotka when you destroyed my face,” said Aleks, rubbing his jaw.

  Yes, just do what you're told, thought Peter. He trusted these guys, although he could not call out specific reasons why. They seemed like old friends, perhaps a favorite uncle or cousin. Just as Eddie and Benny used to be, now Josef and Aleks were part of his extended family.

  Yuri walked them down the hallway to a set of black doors emblazoned with the double eagle logo of FC Leningrad. After walking the boys out, Yuri returned to the lab.

  "Borg is a bit suspicious," said Josef. "You can take care of that?"

  "That is part of the test," said Yuri, still focused on his tablet. "The full upload will happen tonight during their sleep. The memory replacement takes time, depending on the individual. We will gauge his commitment tomorrow morning before you leave."

  "And you included all the project knowledge in the upload?" said Josef.

  "Everything that you provided, maps, targets, as well as face recognition and our latest version of telepathy," said Yuri without looking up from his screen.

  "And they will complete their objective?" said Josef.

  Yuri looked up but not at Josef.

  "You know this," said Yuri with a sigh. "I can only present opportunities, provide data, and make suggestions. Kognitio uploads memories, the ones that we create. Carrying out the objective is an autonomous decision for each of them. But, yes, they will complete their mission."

  "And you know that we will both answer to Dmitry if they do not execute properly,” said Josef, with a glare. "We cannot wait any longer."

  "If anyone ties us to the actions of Borg and Ruchkin, it will not matter," said Yuri, his eyes returning to his screen. "Stay focused on your tasks, Josef."

  Josef was unaccustomed to taking directions, but Yuri's technical brilliance kept him in charge, at least for now. Sending a rookie operative out into the wild was risky, even with Aleks watching his back. Things could go south in a hurry. When the field operations hit the fan, Dmitry would rely on Josef to clean up the mess and send Yuri back to his lab.

  Josef gritted his teeth and smiled.

  "Yes, good advice. I'll keep Dmitry updated," said Josef.

  "I already have," said Yuri as he walked out of the room.

  47

  Victor Niemi's Eurocopter EC-135 took off from the University of Helsinki helipad at dusk, heading east across the Gulf of Finland into Russian airspace. Along with the owner and his pilot was an American soccer coach with brown dreads, high cheekbones, and a tattoo of pine trees on his right shoulder. The trees reminded him of his favorite place and how to stand tall in the face of adversity. During the one hour flight, he rehearsed the story that he and Victor would tell Russian border control at the St. Petersburg airport when they landed. His well-traveled life as a former football player left its mark in his passport, tucked inside his leather jacket. The reason for his visit was to join Niemi, the billionaire owner of Haukka Communications, for meetings with the leadership team at FC Zenit, the reigning champions of the Russian Premier League.

  Zenit had dominated St. Petersburg football for decades since the downfall of FC Leningrad and had no intention of relinquishing their crown to Dmitry Bogdanov. In a public show of defiance, Victor called on Konstantin Zirkhov, the go-to sports agent in Russia, who passed the word on to the Zenit owners of their chance to secure a major marketing sponsor, while tweaking the nose of their upstart competitor across town. The Zenit brass sprang into action. The joint itinerary included appointments and appearances throughout the city over the next two days. Victor provided the talking points to round out the story that the local football-crazed media would undoubtedly cover. According Victor’s ruse, a multi-million euro sponsorship deal by Haukka Communications was in play, and Zenit was rolling out the red carpet. Victor's new point man was an American former football star who looked good in front of the cameras.

  Zenit planned to livestream the event starting with a preview show at Gazprom Arena, the gleaming
, architectural wonder that Zenit opened for the 2018 World Cup for a staggering price tag of over half a billion euros. Of course, the club’s owners were not aware that Niemi was bluffing, as they hoped the Haukka deal would trigger a flood of western money into the club. Local stations and Internet sports outlets carried the feed as club dignitaries waited for the arrival of their guests.

  Someone inside the stone fortress of Leningrad was also watching. Victor was playing an obvious hand, and Dmitry knew it was time to call his bluff. Angered but also impressed, Dmitry analyzed Victor's snub, refusing to underestimate his rival. He touched the screen of his secure phone.

  "I want the American to visit us," said Dmitry.

  "For what purpose?" said Josef, who paused his own viewing of the crosstown festivities.

  "To show the world that Leningrad can compete with anyone, especially Zenit," said Dmitry. “And that I don’t need Victor Niemi’s money.”

  "How does this help our mission?” asked Josef.

  “It is my mission and I change it when I like,” said Dmitry, with a chilling calm. “Perhaps I can lure Alonso away while Victor watches on television," said Dmitry.

  "What if it is a trap?" said Josef. "What if that is what Niemi has planned?"

  "I have already considered that. But he is two steps behind.”

  “And what about Borg and Ruchkin? They leave tomorrow," said Josef.

  "Delay it. That can wait," said Dmitry. "And if all the media eyes are on us, I want them to see the future star that I stole from under Victor's nose."

  "On camera?"

  "Yes, our own cameras," said Dmitry. "But first, get in touch with Mr. Alonso when he lands. Invite him to visit FC Leningrad. Do not take no for an answer."

  Josef agreed and hung up.

  Dmitry fingered a text.

  "The American coach is visiting us later today. Complete the upload. And keep your eyes on Borg."

  The reply arrived promptly.

  "Understood."

  48

  Josef Rychter knew his way around Pulkovo Airport, especially the VIP service that shuttled passengers directly to and from planes via Audi A8 L executive cars. He would often meet Dmitry in the luxurious lounge if only for a few minutes between flights. His counterparts at Zenit were also frequent hosts there as world-class players and their agents would fly in for visits, much like Eddie Alonso later that day. He strategically waited in Terminal 1 until he was sure that the Haukka helicopter had landed, to not tip off his presence to the Zenit contingent. As Victor and Eddie moved through the room to the waiting limousine, Josef would pounce.

  Through the wall of windows overlooking the gate area, he saw the chopper landing at the helipad less than one hundred meters away. Its only two passengers exited under the slowing prop. Greeted by a ground crew, they bypassed the Audis, preferring to walk the short distance to the terminal entrance. Josef had done his homework on Eddie Alonso. Just a few years ago, he could have played at a club like Zenit or Madrid or one of the big English clubs. He still had the look, dressed in fitted jeans, a brown leather jacket, and Italian sunglasses under a raggedy ball cap. Not much taller than himself, Josef recognized the athletic gait and the muscular upper body still ready to play. Victor, who was at least four inches taller, had let money fatten his bank account and his midsection. Josef understood why the billionaire had brought Eddie along for the cameras.

  Crossing the walkway to the lounge entrance, Josef flashed his credentials and greeted the attendant.

  “Hello, Mr. Rychter, nice to see you again.”

  “Good morning, Ivan.”

  “The Zenit staff is here,” said Ivan, hoping to earn points with his influential guest.

  “Yes, that is unfortunate. But I will stay out of their way,” said Josef smiling.

  Two suited men and a young woman were standing by the door leading to the jetway. Josef recognized the woman as Zenit’s vice president of marketing, only from her insistence to appear in their commercials. Fortunately, they had never met, so he maintained the element of surprise. He figured the two men to be security brutes or her underlings. As Eddie and Victor entered, she greeted them with a European embrace and introduced her two compatriots. While Victor made the introductions, Eddie gave a polite smile as he scanned the room. Josef made his move.

  “Excuse me, but are you Eddie Alonso?” said Josef, hurrying to the group with hand outstretched.

  The two assistants stepped between to intercept his path.

  “Yes, I am,” said Eddie, peering around them.

  “Forgive me, I am Josef Rychter, a football coach here in town and a longtime admirer of your style of play. We had hoped you would bring your game to Europe several years ago.”

  “Yes, me too. But fate took me another direction,” said Eddie, with a modest shrug.

  “That’s what I remember, a nasty injury,” said Josef. “What brings you to St. Petersburg?”

  Eddie turned to Victor and his hosts.

  “Actually, Mr. Niemi and I are meeting with FC Zenit.”

  The young woman began fidgeting impatiently, turning away from Josef to try to cut short their conversation. Victor cleared his throat.

  “Mr. Niemi, a pleasure to meet you as well. I am the senior manager of FC Leningrad. We hope to one day be able to compete with the likes of Zenit,” said Josef.

  Victor glared at Josef.

  “Leningrad?” said Victor. “You’ll need to say hello to my friend Dmitry.”

  “That’s right, you and Mr. Bogdanov were business partners,” said Eddie, with feigned surprise.

  “They were. Unfortunately, they had a disagreement,” said Josef pausing a moment for effect. “Perhaps we could, as you say, mend the fences?”

  “Not today, Mr. Rychter,” the Zenit woman said, ushering her visitors away with her hand. “We will be very busy meeting our top management.”

  Victor and the Zenit entourage turned away across the lounge. Josef tapped Eddie on the back. Eddie turned back halfway as the group continued.

  “Mr. Alonso, if you have some time this afternoon, Mr. Bogdanov and I welcome you to visit our facility. It is only a few minutes away.”

  “Actually, I have always admired your stadium,” said Eddie. “I would like that.”

  “It would be my honor to provide a tour,” said Josef, smiling and slightly bowing. “I will pick you up at your hotel at, say, 3pm?”

  “Sure, that works. I’m at the Four Seasons. Forgive me, but I need to go,” said Eddie as he shook hands again with Josef.

  “See you soon, Mr. Alonso,” said Josef smiling.

  As they exited the lounge, Josef typed a message on his phone.

  “Our visitor is confirmed.”

  49

  On any other day in his football career, Eddie would have relished the opportunity to speak with the owner of a major international football club while touring their towering stadium, even if it was in Russia. This was the pinnacle, the elusive dream made real, in every young athlete’s imagination. Play in front of tens of thousands of adoring fans while pocketing tens of millions of dollars. But this day had a singular aim. This tour was only part of the mirage that he and Victor had constructed to save one of those young, vulnerable stars of the future.

  He knocked on the suite door at noon. It opened a moment later.

  “I have all the towels I need,” said Victor, with a deadpan face then closing the door.

  Eddie just waited. The door opened again.

  “Anna was right,” said Eddie. “You are a wiseass.”

  Victor snorted at his own joke, opening the door wide then walking away. He dressed in full battle gear, a dark gray Armani suit, a starched white shirt, and Kotka blue silk tie. But just to remind everyone that he ran with an exclusive crowd, he donned a pair of snow-white, collector-edition, Air Jordan 1 sneakers that cost more than twenty new pairs. He looked the part of a maverick CEO, driven enough to get what he wanted but rich enough to do it on his own terms.

>   They walked from the foyer into the living room, with two mint green, arched sofas facing each other with a walnut dining table for twelve lurking behind. The ceiling soared twenty feet over their head with windows looking out on the lush landscaping below.

  “So, this is their junior suite?” said Eddie, scanning the ornate furnishings.

  “I’m afraid so. The presidential suite was taken. Apparently, the king of Sweden is visiting,” said Victor.

  “Yet, you are on the front page,” said Eddie, picking up the local newspaper from the table.

  “Zenit is king here,” said Victor as he motioned Eddie out on the balcony. “Quite a performance back at the airport.”

  “Yeah not bad,” said Eddie. “He’s picking me up here at 3pm.”

  “Excellent. Did you mention Peter?”

  “No, but I will when I’m there. I’m sure they know of our past relationship.”

  “I guarantee it. So, they’ll be careful but willing.”

  Victor pulled an iPhone from his breast pocket and handed it to Eddie.

  “Follow Anna’s instructions,” said Victor. “Time to go. Zenit is waiting downstairs.”

  “By the way, are you actually talking to them about a sponsorship deal?” asked Eddie.

  Victor looked back at Eddie, expressionless for a second, then winked.

  As they exited the elevator into the lobby, the paparazzi cameras were everywhere, so Eddie maintained his plastic smile until he entered the waiting limousine idling at the grand entrance. Inside, Victor did the talking to the Zenit staff during the twenty-minute drive and as they walked up to the club offices on the top floor of Gazprom. Eddie was impressed but not surprised that Victor could easily lapse into Russian during the conversation. He knew his role was to just play the famous ex-jock attached to Niemi’s marketing plan in Finland and soon with their eastern neighbor. The day dragged through lunch and into a string of mind-numbing meetings where Eddie continued to pretend. Finally, Victor made up a reason for his famous player to head back to the hotel while he continued schmoozing the club representatives.