The Playmaker Project

by Daniel Peterson

  Josef rushed out to his car, furious with his assistants as he slammed the door closed.

  “Why are Borg and Ruchkin at The Metro?” he yelled into his phone. “You idiots were supposed to watch them. Meet me there.”

  Josef squealed away from his sleepy neighborhood in a northern suburb of St. Petersburg, It would be a half hour drive, but without traffic, he hoped to cut it to twenty. On the way, Josef alerted Yuri to go to the stadium and pack for all of them to drive to Narva, Estonia by morning.

  Eddie and Victor scrambled down the hall and into the elevator.

  “Where are they now?” asked Victor.

  “It looks like a bar, something called The Metro,” said Eddie. “It’s just five minutes down the road. Markus is meeting us there.”

  “Why the hell is Markus coming?” said Victor, as he tapped his foot waiting for the elevator to descend to the lobby.

  “Because this is getting real,” said Eddie. “And they have badges and guns.”

  They burst through the elevator doors heading towards the main entrance. Their Volvo was waiting for them at the valet stand. Eddie drove, putting Markus on speaker phone as he pulled away.

  “We need to get Borg out of there quickly,” said Markus. “We have eyes on Josef and he just left home on his way downtown. They’ll be there about fifteen minutes after us.”

  “Why are Borg and Ruchkin in a bar?” asked Victor.

  “No idea, other than they’re looking for some fun,” said Markus. “But we’ve also picked up some activity between Dmitry’s team and associates in Estonia. We don’t know what that means but an operation may be in the works.”

  “An operation of what?” asked Eddie.

  “Again, we don’t know. But it may have something to do with the technology you told us about.”

  Victor glared at Eddie.

  “I don’t care, man,” he said, glancing at Victor then through the windshield. “We need to get Peter home.”

  “I’m suing somebody when this is all over,” said Victor, slumping down in his seat.

  “Not before you and I discuss a few more things,” said Markus.

  Victor ignored him. The car pulled up outside the brightly lit entrance.

  “We’re here,” said Eddie.

  “OK, Eddie, you need to be out of there with Peter in ten minutes,” said Markus.

  “What about Aleks?” said Eddie, as he opened his door.

  “No, we’ll let Josef and his men pick him up,” said Markus.

  “OK but Peter may not come willingly.”

  “We’re here to help if you need it,” said Markus as he flashed his lights. “We’ll be on the other side of the street watching for Josef.”

  Eddie shut the door, took a side glance at Markus’ car, then walked up to the entrance.

  52

  Once inside the club, he crept to the side along the wall. Everything flashed back from the last time they were all in a bar together in Kotka. He found a spot behind one of the giant columns holding up the three floors of colored lasers, booming beats, and hundreds of pulsating partiers. Even in his early thirties, he felt old for the crowd. Feeling exposed, he dodged and weaved his way to a back corner, scanning the faces as they came into and out of focus among the spinning lights and shadows. He planned to find the dynamic duo, wait for Aleks to leave Peter's side, then move in to have a word. There was a back-up plan he wanted to avoid, but this was a one-shot, all-or-nothing mission.

  First, he spotted Aleks already draped over by a willing fashionista who had recognized him as a promising footballer. Most of her kind didn't care much if he was Zenit or Leningrad, only that he was on the verge of stardom and money, lots of money. Mixed into a crowd of regulars, Aleks oozed an aura of athleticism and charm. Adoring females quickly surrounded him wanting to be his next dance partner. Jealous males tried to monitor their dates. But for Eddie, this was precisely what he needed, a total distraction so he could find Peter and get on with his objective.

  He scanned the room again then eased to his right along the wall, approaching the main bar, an island oasis bathed in red light, and squeezed in between two scantily clad women. They took turns glancing at Eddie's athletic good looks, trying to place his face with a name. But they knew that it was rare for the Zenit stars to visit the Metro and certainly not alone. When he asked for a bottle of water in his distinct Minnesotan accent, they sighed, rolled their eyes, and continued their quest for fame.

  Eddie took one sip, then spotted Peter on the opposite side of the bar. He stared, waiting for eye contact, which finally happened just as Peter was turning away with two drinks. Peter stopped, stretched his neck forward, and squinted. Eddie's smile was the final identifier as Peter shook his head and turned away.

  "Borg, get over here with those drinks!" said Aleks over the pulsating dance music.

  Eddie felt a surge of disappointment, quickly reassessing the situation. He felt a squeeze on his thigh and a presence next to him. Apparently, one of his young bar mates had deemed him suitable for the night.

  "Dance with me," she commanded with a whisper in his ear.

  "Uh, no thanks," said Eddie. "I'm waiting for someone."

  "Girlfriend or wife?"

  "Neither," said Eddie with a smile, not trying to make eye contact.

  "Asshole," she replied as she released her grip and shoved away.

  "Is there a problem?” said an annoyed voice behind him.

  Eddie could barely make out the voice over the pounding bass. He feared a jealous boyfriend, so turned ready for a fight. Instead, it was Peter.

  “Pete, I’m so glad to see you.”

  “Dude, why are you here?”

  "I'll tell you everything, Pete, but let's go outside," said Eddie nodding to the door. "I'll go first. Meet me in five minutes."

  Eddie headed for the door, taking the most direct route away from the dance floor, making sure Aleks would not catch a glimpse. Outside, he walked to a corner of the building away from the neon entrance lights. Again, he felt like the chance had passed when there was no sign of Peter following him. He stole a glance at the Volvo a block away and Markus’ van across the street. Then a group of four young ladies emerged surrounding their catch for the night. They tried to pull him into their waiting car, but he resisted and waved to them as they drove away. He looked up and down the street until Eddie stepped into the glow of a streetlight. Scanning the road again, Peter made his way towards his old coach.

  "And that might have been the start of a fun evening," said Eddie, smirking.

  "Yeah, well, maybe next time," said Peter shrugging.

  "Will Aleks be looking for you?"

  "Eventually," said Peter, his eyes avoiding Eddie.

  An awkward silence occupied the next several seconds.

  "OK, why am I here?" said Eddie. "I owe you an answer."

  Peter raised his eyebrows but made no reply.

  "I'm here to bring you home," said Eddie. "There's a lot you don't know."

  Peter half shrugged with a subtle shake of his head.

  "Pete, you have a brain-computer chip inserted just above your hairline," said Eddie, pointing to his own forehead. "You have been part of an experiment orchestrated by Mr. Niemi, Dr. Lehtinen, and Dmitry Bogdanov."

  Peter wrinkled his face and turned back towards the club entrance.

  "Pete, wait. I know it sounds ridiculous, but it's true. You've just got to believe me on this."

  Peter stopped after a few steps then turned slowly. "First, that's bullshit. How would I not know there's a chip in my head? Second, even if it's true, who cares? I'm playing for a top European club, making millions and having a blast. Why would I go home?"

  He shifted again, shaking his head then headed back to the door.

  "They killed Stuart," said Eddie.

  Peter stopped.

  "At least we think Dmitry’s people did. Stuart was asking too many questions. Questions about you. This has become more than just soccer," said Eddie
to Peter's back.

  Peter took a few steps backwards then whirled around striding up to Eddie, stopping toe-to-toe with enraged eyes. "I can't believe that you of all people would not want me to have this," said Peter. "I finally can succeed, to make my family proud, my dad proud, and, I thought, it would make you proud. Now you've got some kind of wild-ass story about brain chips and killing people. Dmitry, Josef, Aleks, they're all my friends now, and they care more about me than you ever did."

  "Why did you have the headaches in Stockholm? Why did you destroy Aleks’ face back in Kotka? Why did your skills on the field dramatically improve almost overnight?" said Eddie in a calm but intense voice. "Why do you think Dmitry brought just you and Aleks here to St. Petersburg? And where are you going later today?”

  The last question was an educated gamble. But judging by Peter’s reaction, it was a direct hit.

  "This is why,” said Eddie pointing to Peter’s forehead. “You are being manipulated by a software system called Kognitio. Dr. Lehtinen designed it, but not for this purpose. Victor used it to make you a better player. Dmitry and Josef want to use it for other reasons."

  Peter's eyes dropped to the ground, twitching back and forth. He touched his hairline then looked back with growing panic at Eddie. With a surge of adrenaline, he broke into a full sprint across the street. Eddie took off after him.

  "Pete, wait!"

  The Volvo’s headlights switched on and followed them. Eddie chased Peter down a one-lane alley but was losing ground. A van screeched to a stop at the far end of the alley with its headlights blinding both Peter and Eddie. The van driver’s door flew open, and a black silhouette charged at Peter, who froze, then turned back towards Eddie.

  "Pete, stop, it's OK," said Eddie, with his arms out wide ready for a tackle.

  Peter made a run at Eddie, juking him left then right as Victor jumped from the Volvo to help. With a final feint, he tried to squeeze by on Eddie's left side. Eddie grabbed his hoodie with his left hand and held on until he could reach him with his right hand and block him against the brick wall. Peter thrashed, trying to wriggle out of Eddie's grip. Victor pulled down Peter's flailing left wrist, and pinned it to his side. With Eddie's shoulder planted into Peter's rib cage, Victor stabbed a needle into Peter's shoulder. The struggle lasted for a few more seconds until Peter slouched to the ground. With an arm over each of their shoulders, the two men lifted Peter to his feet, dragging him back to the car.

  53

  After a full set of songs and a bottle of champagne, Aleks and his harem finally stumbled off the dance floor to a VIP lounge. Not immediately spotting his teammate caused no alarm as he continued to frolic with his new fan club. Then his phone buzzed. He pulled away from a sloppy kiss to glance at the caller ID. He lifted his admirer off of his lap and plopped her down on the white sofa next to him, then hurried to the men’s room, escaping the pounding amplifiers.

  “Yes, sir?” he said with his hand cupped to his phone for privacy from anyone in the stalls.

  “Where are you? Where’s Borg?” said the angry voice on the other end.

  “We are not far away. We will head back now,” said Aleks.

  “No, we’re coming to you. Be outside waiting with Borg.”

  Aleks ended the call, then flew out of the restroom on a manhunt for his teammate. There was no time to search the entire building, so he returned to the bar where Peter had been. His eyes scanned the laughing, drinking faces in and out of the flashing lights hoping to see the blond-haired, blue-eyed American who would undoubtedly stand out in this crowd. Seeing him nowhere, Aleks went to the main entrance, stepped outside, and asked the stone-faced bouncer if he had seen his friend.

  “He left about fifteen minutes ago after some other guy.”

  “What did the other guy look like?” said Aleks.

  “Shorter than you, brown dreads, Hispanic.”

  Aleks swore to himself. He plotted his possible next moves, but they all ended with calling back Josef. He took a few more steps down the street, pulled out his phone, and hit redial.

  “Where are you!” said Josef.

  “Sir, I am outside the Metro Bar. Peter was with me,” said Aleks searching the sidewalk frantically.

  “Was with you?”

  “He’s gone. He left here about fifteen minutes ago.”

  “By himself?”

  Aleks began pacing.

  “No, I think the American coach is with him.”

  “Shit. Stay there.”

  The call went dead, and Aleks considered the repercussions of their adventure. He thought about running but knew they would find him. There was no hiding. He just had to deal with it.

  Ten minutes later, a jet black Maybach roared to a stop outside the club. As Aleks approached it, the rear passenger door opened, and a hand motioned him in. He took a deep breath and climbed in. Before he could close the door, the car peeled away from the curb.

  Josef was driving. In front of him, hidden by the massive leather headrest, was a presence he only assumed was Dmitry. They began to canvas the deserted neighborhood of century-old buildings with no streetlights. Aleks wondered how they would find Peter, especially if he left in a car.

  He summoned the courage to break the silence.

  “How will we find him?” he said quietly.

  Josef pointed to the top of his forehead, his eyes scanning the dark sidewalks.

  54

  Eddie gently laid Peter across the spacious back seat and set the timer on his phone to twenty minutes. After pushing the front driver’s seat all the way forward, he climbed in the rear passenger door and set-up the halogen light just above Peter’s head but kept it shining away from the car windows. He removed the sterile instrument pack from under the seat and placed it on top of a clean towel on the floor. Looking around, he went through his mental checklist. Everything was ready.

  “All good?” he asked, leaning out the rear door.

  “Yes, we’re clear for now, but hurry,” said Victor, who was standing outside the Volvo peering up and down the alley, which was deserted, but they were plainly visible from either end. Markus had repositioned his van to watch for trouble. The propofol injection they had used to knock out Peter had an active window of thirty minutes. Eddie pulled his phone from his jacket and dialed.

  “OK, we’re ready,” he said, positioning the phone so its camera could view Peter’s forehead.

  “What’s our time?” said Anna, viewing the live video feed.

  “T plus three minutes,” said Eddie.

  “It will be tight, so we need to get this right the first time.”

  “Step one?”

  “Take the razor and shave a two-inch area at the intersection of his hairline and the center point of his head. Then, douse the area with the disinfectant.”

  Eddie complied with the instruction.

  “OK, done. Next.”

  “You may see the half-inch scar. If not, feel the spot for the slightest bump or raised spot,” said Anna, searching the screen for clues.

  “I don’t see it, but I felt something,” said Eddie, pulling the light closer to Peter’s scalp.

  “Good, that’s the scar tissue and the insertion point. Take the scalpel, hold it like a pencil, like I showed you. Make a half-inch incision at that spot. Have the sponges ready for blood.”

  Eddie picked up the knife in his right hand and held three gauze sponges in his left. He lifted his head to peek out the rear window. Victor was at his station, his head on a swivel for any unwanted visitors. Eddie sighed and refocused on the task at hand but hesitated.

  “Hurry, Eddie, we need to keep moving on this,” said Anna in a calm but insistent tone.

  Eddie leaned in with his left hand resting on Peter’s forehead and his right hand slowly lowering with the scalpel. Just before the tip of the knife met skin, Eddie’s hand began trembling, and he backed off. He looked at Peter’s sleeping face, and the moment overtook him. This young man had done nothing except trust the one
s he loved to help him navigate life’s tough choices. Now, he lay sedated in the back of a Volvo in a St. Petersburg alley with his coach about to cut his head open, looking for a chip implanted without his knowledge.

  “Now, Eddie, do it now,” said the voice on the phone.

  Eddie drew a deep breath and exhaled. He zoomed in and poked the scalpel’s point into Peter’s skin then dragged it back one half inch. At least he thought it was a half inch as blood seeped immediately from the incision.

  “OK, the bleeding will slow in a second. Set down the scalpel and pick up the tweezers. The chip should be just under the skin. You saw a sample when you were here. Like pulling out a big sliver,” said Anna.

  With his eyes three inches from Peter’s forehead, Eddie studied the bleeding wound while gently touching it with the tweezers. He felt an edge then turned his wrist slightly to test if he had the chip in between the forceps. He squeezed, then lifted the tweezers but saw nothing in them except drops of blood. He dipped them in again, found an edge, then pinched. This time he raised the instrument to see the small, bloody piece of silicon that had lived in Peter for over two months. Eddie held the prize up to the phone camera.

  “You got it!” said Anna. “Set it down in the dish. Hold a clean gauze over the incision and pick up the disinfectant. Douse the site again then get the tube of glue. Close the wound like I showed you.”

  Eddie cleaned the cut just enough to see the slit. Then he squeezed a bead of skin glue along the cut line while applying several butterfly bandages perpendicular to it. He wiped Peter’s face with alcohol wipes then put one more gauze pad over the shaved area.

  “Well done, Dr. Alonso. I’ve got T plus fifteen,” said Anna.

  Eddie sat back on his knees and looked out the car window, giving Victor a thumbs up. Then he turned his phone camera towards his face.