The Playmaker Project

by Daniel Peterson

  At 2:45pm, Eddie checked into his own room at the Four Seasons, which was well-appointed but not to the level of Victor’s grand suite. He sat on the edge of the bed, checked the iPhone again, and then made his way down to the hotel lobby at exactly 3 o’clock. The media had thinned out with some staying for the less heralded arrival of Sweden’s monarchy. But Josef strode through the main entrance, making a show of greeting Eddie in front of the reporters. As they turned to head out to Josef’s car, a few photographers exchanged surprised looks and snapped a few frames hoping to figure out the connection later.

  They drove through the open gates at Leningrad stadium with two armed guards standing aside with only a polite nod of the head as the car passed. Waiting inside was a small contingent of club staff, including the team’s video crew, who was capturing both still shots and live coverage. Underneath the protruding roofline protecting the revolving door entrance, Dmitry Bogdanov stood with his hands folded in front of him as if a doorman. Like Josef, he was not a handsome man, his shoulders hunched, his mouth in a pout. He opened the front passenger door of Josef’s Mercedes while the photographer positioned himself to capture the handshake. Eddie emerged smiling and greeted the FC Leningrad owner. An assistant took the keys from Josef and drove the car away. The three men made small talk for a live video stream to capture their welcoming of the young American coach to one of the oldest football clubs in the world. As per Dmitry’s standing order, all communications inside the stadium gates were exclusively their own, which they would edit for public consumption. Dmitry always controlled the story, and this encounter with Eddie Alonso was to be no different. Once inside, he excused his media personnel, and the trio moved down the concourse towards a walkway into the stadium’s main bowl.

  Inside the cavernous ellipse where thousands of fans would enter the stadium, Eddie could see an aisle straight ahead, leading to the seats and the field. The lights were on for an afternoon training with loud Russian pop music blaring over the speakers. To his right, there were a few glimpses of renovation, they had installed new lighting over the concession stands, HD screens lined the walkway waiting for paid advertisements. A fresh coat of paint, red and black, did little to mask the musty smell of the century-old brick and mortar.

  As the group emerged from the walkway, among the sixty thousand seats surrounding the emerald green grass, Eddie sensed the adrenaline of a packed crowd on game day. This was the rush that he remembered, the thrill of anticipation followed by a victory celebration. Nothing else had ever given him such an exhilaration. He let it soak in for a moment.

  “This is no Gazprom Arena, but I prefer history and tradition over glitter,” said Dmitry as he turned in a circle showing off his team’s home.

  “Yes, as I was telling Josef, I am a big fan of the culture and memories of old stadiums,” said Eddie trying not to hold his gaze too long on the players below.

  “We understand you have some history with one of our new recruits,” said Josef.

  “Yes, I coached Peter Borg back in Minnesota. One of my favorite players.”

  “You have done a fine job with him. He has a bright future here,” said Josef.

  That gave Eddie an excuse to find Peter on the field. Seeing him alive and well, he felt his shoulders relax a bit.

  “Pardon me for saying so, but Mr. Niemi was surprised with his sudden departure from Kotka,” said Eddie.

  “Victor pretended to be surprised. He knows how the game is played,” said Dmitry staring at Eddie.

  “Peter’s talent would be wasted at a minnow like Kotka. He deserves this,” said Josef. “As do you.”

  Eddie’s eyebrows raised as he considered Josef’s comment.

  “This was always my dream to be part of a big club with a rich history,” said Eddie, his gaze carefully shifting to Dmitry.

  “We have a place for you here, Eddie,” said Dmitry. “I hope you do not mind me calling you Eddie. After all, we are family here.”

  Eddie was surprised the offer came so quickly, but pleased that it did.

  “I have watched film of your time in MLS,” said Josef. “You were becoming world-class.”

  “Well, that was a few years ago and I’m afraid that chance has passed me by,” said Eddie.

  Dmitry stepped closer and gripped Eddie’s elbow.

  “It does not have to be that way,” he said. “We know of your injury. We have technology that can repair the damage and get you back on the field, playing at an even higher level.”

  Eddie was caught off-guard by the Dmitry’s candor, and his crushing clutch.

  “Would this by any chance be related to Dr. Lehtinen’s technology?” asked Eddie, with a raised eyebrow.

  Dmitry stared at him while a slow smile leaked across his face.

  “It is related, as all technology is,” said Dmitry. “But we have advanced its capabilities well beyond what Dr. Lehtinen created or imagined.”

  “We understand that Zenit looks inviting as do the big clubs in Spain, England, and Italy,” said Josef. “But do not underestimate us. Leningrad will rise again. What you see here is a small corner of our universe. So much is still in the shadows.”

  Eddie told himself to focus. He had one mission today, which he had not accomplished yet. He had to continue the charade while forcing his own feelings below.

  “That does sound inviting. I’ve missed the game,” he said.

  “Excellent. Peter will be happy to hear that,” said Dmitry, glancing down at the field.

  “Actually, would it be possible for me to say hello?” said Eddie in his best nonchalant delivery.

  Josef looked at his boss.

  “Of course,” said Dmitry gesturing down the steps. “After you.”

  As Eddie proceeded down the rows of seats towards the field, he kept his eyes fixed on Peter, waiting for the moment their eyes connected. With about ten rows left, Peter jogged back to a line of players after drilling a ball into the upper left corner of the net. At first, he only glanced at the three men descending, but with a double-take he zoomed in to the man in the middle, the one with shoulder-length brown dreadlocks and a widening grin. Peter squinted to confirm, but then turned away continuing the drill.

  “Hey Peter!” said Eddie as he hurried down the last steps and hopped the short brick wall onto the field.

  Peter finally turned to acknowledge him. Eddie held up his hand for a high-five, but Peter only gave him an embarrassed look. Aleks glanced over from the drill line, stunned to see the American coach. Josef caught his eye and gave him a nod that all was good.

  “What are you doing here?” said Peter.

  “Well, I’m here with Mr. Rychter and Mr. Bogdanov, just touring the stadium. And to see you!”

  “No, I mean, why are you in St. Petersburg?”

  “Officially, I’m here with Mr. Niemi as he has some business opportunities with Zenit across town.”

  Peter glanced over at Josef and Dmitry.

  “It is fine, Peter. We invited Eddie here even though he is meeting with the enemy,” said Josef with a half-smile.

  Peter looked back at Eddie.

  “It’s so good to see you and congrats on all of this,” said Eddie as he slipped his right hand into his coat pocket.

  “Yeah, definitely an upgrade over Kotka,” said Peter, looking uncomfortable.

  “We were telling Eddie of the bright future you have with us,” said Dmitry. “And you might be seeing more of him soon.”

  Peter’s eyes quickly shifted back to Eddie, who seized on the opportunity. Inside his coat pocket, he put his thumb on the iPhone’s home button then pressed the volume up and down buttons three times as Anna had instructed him.

  “And I told them that you deserve all of this,” said Eddie with a slap on Peter’s shoulder.

  Peter blinked a few times, shook his head then smiled weakly at the compliments.

  “Are you having any fun here?” asked Eddie.

  “Sure, a little,” said Peter, wrinkling his forehe
ad at the question.

  Dmitry stirred impatiently, signaling Josef to intervene.

  “Your scrimmage is about to start, Peter,” said Josef putting his hand on Eddie’s back. “We will let you get back to training.”

  “Peter, great to see you and keep up the good work,” said Eddie, giving one more hug, this one a bit tighter and more prolonged, as he held down the home button on the phone.

  The three men left as quickly as they arrived, up the aisle between two dozen rows of seats and out into the concourse. Peter stood and watched them disappear, as Aleks called him to join them. He turned and jogged back on the field.

  “What is he doing here?” asked Aleks.

  “Just visiting, I guess,” said Peter, shrugging.

  They lined up for the kick-off. Peter blinked a few times then shook his head. He glanced at Aleks before looking back up into the empty stands.

  50

  When Eddie returned to the Four Seasons at 10pm, he had avoided the main lobby, taking the stairs up ten flights to avoid onlookers and to get a bit of exercise. His knock on Victor’s suite door went unanswered. That was no surprise as Victor enjoyed being doted on by potential business partners, so Eddie didn’t expect him back for several hours. He retreated back down four floors to the standard, everyday luxury rooms. Back in his room, he changed into his sweats and t-shirt, grabbed a water from the cooler then stood in front of the wide window, looking down on the lights of St. Petersburg.

  In his mind’s eye, he replayed the day’s events. Just as he and Victor were playing a head game with them, he only expected the same treatment in return. So, logically, he thought he should dismiss their tease of him getting back on the field. But the idea of Anna’s technology helping him lingered in his thoughts well before that night. Here was the dual advantage of an emerging global powerhouse team combined with an upgraded and accelerated neural training system. At dinner, Dmitry and Josef had invited their mastermind, Yuri Rovsky, to explain in detail how their improved Kognitio could help. Anna had explained synthetic telepathy, but Yuri had already expanded the vocabulary that teammates could wordlessly share on the field. In addition to thinking a command, the new system could embed new memories, be they tactical skill moves or emotional attachments, and in reverse order, overwrite existing recalls. It all seemed a little much for a soccer match, thought Eddie, but Yuri was adamant about its future use, although Dmitry stopped him short of detailing specifics.

  This is what Eddie needed; the restoration of the raw instinct of playing the game. To be able to subconsciously recognize patterns and movements followed instantly by a best choice solution that he could trigger with his talented feet. It was taken from him that night in Chicago, just as the wayward driver took away the virtuoso of Anna’s mother.

  Eddie reasoned with himself as he scanned the skyline. Dmitry had offered a better opportunity with open arms, even though his tactics were a bit shady. Yes, there were questions about his past, the source of his riches and his present day motivations. No, they had not solved Stuart’s mysterious death. But Victor was no saint either. Eddie imagined himself in this city, rich with history and culture. Not the environment that he had envisioned but still world-class. Staying here would let him watch over Peter while resurrecting his career, even if only for a few years. He sat down in the overstuffed chair and put his feet up on the ottoman. He drifted off to sleep in minutes.

  At 12:43am, his phone buzzed him awake with a message, “I’m back.” Eddie rubbed his eyes, stood up and stretched. He climbed up the four flights of stairs and knocked on the door. Victor swung it open, his necktie hanging on his shoulders, his sleeves unbuttoned and rolled up. Despite the late hour, Victor looked as alert as his starched shirt.

  “How’d it go?” asked Eddie, shutting the door behind him.

  “Perfectly, as expected,” said Victor, leading back to the living room.

  “Are you Zenit’s newest corporate sponsor?”

  “Let’s just say the wheels are in motion,” said Victor. “How about you? Did the phone work?”

  “Uh-huh. Take a look,” said Eddie as he swiped open the iPhone to pull up a GPS map. A blue dot appeared at Peter’s apartment.

  “Is that him?”

  Eddie nodded.

  “OK, so far, so good. Did you tell the others?”

  “Yeah, I let them both know.”

  Victor poured a glass of wine from the decanter at the bar.

  “Want some?”

  “No, but I’m going to make a pot of coffee,” said Eddie. “We may be up for a while.”

  Victor pointed to the coffee machine in the kitchen.

  “I assume he tried to lure you in?” asked Victor.

  “Sure did. Said I could get back on the field with their improved technology.”

  “Bastards. He means their stolen technology,” said Victor with scowl.

  “Yuri, their scientist, said they’ve already added a memories engine and better telepathy.”

  “You know this isn’t just about soccer anymore,” said Victor.

  “From the upgrades he mentioned, I wondered about that,” said Eddie. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

  Victor raised his eyebrows.

  “When we were talking to Karen Borg and she said she thinks Sam knew that Peter was in Russia, you cursed him. What was that all about?”

  Victor looked away taking a long gulp of his wine.

  “I’ll tell you when we get back to Finland. First, we have to get his kid out of here.”

  “But if there’s something I need to know to do that, you’ll level with me?”

  Victor nodded. He finished off his wine and poured another glass.

  “Now comes my favorite part,” he said. “Time to piss of Dmitry.”

  He took his wine and his phone into the small den off the living room. Dialing the only number he had for Dmitry Bogdanov, Victor was not sure if anyone would answer at this hour. The phone rang six times but finally a voice answered.

  “Who is this?”

  “This is Victor Niemi calling for Mr. Bogdanov.”

  “How did you get this number?”

  “Dmitry gave it me, of course.”

  “One moment.”

  Victor sniffed his wine as he organized his thoughts.

  “Niemi, it’s late. What do you want?”

  “Hello, Dmitry,” said Victor. “Sorry, I just got back from partying with my friends at Zenit.”

  “I do not give a shit about your partying or about Zenit. Anything else?”

  “Yes, I am calling to warn you. Stay out of my way, or we will crush your beloved Leningrad.”

  “Niemi, are you drunk? We are partners. Why would you threaten me?”

  “Dmitry, I know you talked with Eddie Alonso today.”

  “So what? He is not on your staff, even though you parade him around like a prize puppy.”

  “And you stole two of my players.”

  “Really? Which ones?”

  “Borg and Ruchkin.”

  “Oh yes, Borg. I think I remember Josef telling me about him. Good player. We made him a better offer and he accepted,” said Dmitry. “And forgive me for inviting my own nephew to return home.”

  “I would have appreciated some advance notice,” said Victor, through gritted teeth.

  “And I would appreciate the courtesy of you scheduling an appointment rather than calling me in the middle of the fucking night,” said Dmitry.

  Victor set his wine glass down and switched the phone to his other ear.

  “There’s something else,” said Victor.

  “By all means,” said Dmitry. “I am wide awake now.”

  “Dr. Lehtinen has told me that Kognitio has been compromised and the source code has been stolen.”

  “And?”

  “And I loaned you my login several weeks ago.”

  A smile spread slowly across Dmitry’s face.

  “Do you have any other news from back home that you would like to
share?” said Dmitry.

  “Supo is interested in all of this news,” said Victor. “Including Stuart Pennington’s death.”

  “For which you were arrested, not me.”

  “And now my name has been cleared, but not yours.”

  Victor could hear some movement on the other end.

  “Listen to me, Niemi. So far, you have accused me of kidnapping, technology theft and now murder,” said Dmitry in a slow, measured tone. “Be very careful before you speak again.”

  “I don’t know what else is going on in your world, and I don’t need to. But I own Kognitio, and I intend to profit from it. You can work with me on this, or I can work with Supo to put you in prison. Your choice.”

  Dmitry raised an eyebrow and held the phone out in front of his mouth.

  “You forgot my third option,” said Dmitry.

  “Which is?”

  “I can kill you.”

  Victor wasn’t sure who hung up first, but he knew he achieved the purpose of the call, to rattle the nerves of an unbreakable man. He allowed himself a moment of victory until Eddie joined him in the den.

  “We have a problem,” said Eddie, staring at his phone. “Peter is on the move.”

  51

  “Yes?” said Josef, half-asleep into his phone.

  “Send them now,” said Dmitry.

  “Who?”

  “Borg and Ruchkin. Get them out of St. Petersburg.”

  “Yes, we plan to leave in the---”

  “No, now!” said Dmitry. “Niemi has contacted Supo. And Alonso knows Borg is here.”

  “Understood. I will alert Yuri.”

  “Stay hidden until I contact you.”

  Josef sat on the edge of his bed trying to reorient himself. He texted two of his men, former operatives themselves, to meet him at the stadium. Next, he texted Aleks to prepare for departure and tell Borg, since he still didn’t have a phone. When he did not hear back, Josef checked the GPS location of both, expecting them to be asleep in their beds. Instead, two dots, one blue and one red placed them at a nightclub called The Metro, about two blocks from their apartment complex. He rang Aleks directly but got no answer.