God is a Gamer

by Ravi Subramanian

  ‘Yes, Robert. Thank you!’ Adrian gleefully accepted the offer.

  ‘Better get moving. You don’t have much time.’

  After Robert left, Tony confronted Adrian. ‘While I admire your impeccable logic, Adrian, it doesn’t add up. Something is missing from the plot.’

  Adrian looked up. Tony normally never questioned him, but there was an intense look on his face now. He wanted to believe everything Adrian had said but something was stopping him.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Why would a terrorist organization or a religious fundamentalist group do something like this for 5 million dollars? It’s a drop in the ocean for them. One would imagine they would rather strike big.’

  ‘This is running through my mind too, Tony. Maybe, just

  maybe . . . this was a dry run for something larger, something more sinister.’

  ‘I hope not.’ Tony sighed as he walked to the coffee machine. His caffeine-deprived body was demanding espresso.

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  39

  Mumbai

  ‘Breaking news coming in!’ the anchor on Times Now screamed even as a red band flashed on the bottom of the screen. Written in bold on the band were the words: ‘Sensational disclosures in the Malvika suicide case’.

  The anchor rattled on: ‘Malvika Sehgal jumped to her death from the top of Hotel Four Seasons in Mumbai a few days ago. Does her suicide have anything to do with her career aspirations? Are stress and ambition driving people from corporate India to end their lives? We take you now to our political correspondent, Karuna Rawat, who is standing outside the Prime Minister’s Office at 7 Race Course Road . . . Karuna, can you hear me?’

  ‘Yes, Sonia, go ahead,’ Karuna yelled.

  ‘Okay, Karuna, what is the latest development in the Malvika suicide case?’

  ‘Sonia, something sensational has just come to light. Malvika had been recommended for the post of governor of the Reserve Bank of India. Had the recommendation been accepted, she would have taken over from Y.V. Reddy when his term ended this September. We have a copy of the recommendation note here . . .’

  The camera zoomed in on the paper Karuna was holding in her hand. It was a note from the finance minister to the prime minister. Malvika’s name was the first in the list of candidates for the governor’s position.

  ‘Sources in the PMO have told us, Sonia, that the prime minister was not happy with the recommendations and had sent the note back. Apparently someone very senior in the finance ministry was pushing for Malvika’s appointment. It is too early to even speculate if this had anything to do with the Malvika Sehgal suicide case. One thing we are sure of though . . . this is one story that refuses to die down!’

  ‘Thanks, Karuna, this really is a sensational disclosure. Stay with us, we will continue this discussion after a short commercial break.’

  The moment the commercials came on, Sonia asked Karuna, ‘What’s the story, babe? Who is this “someone very senior” that you mentioned?’

  ‘Who do you think?’

  ‘Don’t know. No clue.’

  ‘The finance minister, babe, the finance minister.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘What do you think? She was having a scene with the minister.’

  ‘Who is your source?’

  ‘The principal secretary, who retired yesterday. He told me that the prime minister had returned the recommendation letter, saying he wouldn’t be party to the finance minister making his muse the RBI governor. She was sleeping with the minister!’

  ‘Tell me you are joking!’

  ‘You know me. I don’t joke about such matters.’

  ‘You don’t joke at all, bitch.’ And they laughed.

  Sonia’s face had lit up. This was the scandal of the decade. The CEO of a bank has an affair with the finance minister. The minister recommends her for the post of the RBI governor. The PMO shoots down the idea. The CEO lands up dead. Could there be a bigger story on national TV? Then again, it was too big for her. She couldn’t take a call on running it by herself. She had to run it past the chief news editor.

  40

  Mumbai

  The NYIB deal with eTIOS was hanging by a thin thread.

  Ever since Swami had told Aditya about Matt’s intention to pull out, Aditya had been fretting. A lot depended on whether NYIB continued with them, from the perspective of credibility as well as revenues. Aditya and a few private equity funds had invested heavily in the games at Indiscape. Any adverse hit on revenues at eTIOS would hurt him very badly. His mind was all over the place as he got into the car.

  ‘Dad, you okay?’ asked Varun as he drove. Aditya was in the back seat with Sundeep.

  ‘Just tired. Let’s get home fast. I need to get some sleep.’

  They dropped Sundeep off and headed home.

  ‘Dad,’ Varun said, ‘don’t worry. It will all fall into place.’

  ‘It looks like it’s falling apart.’

  ‘It won’t dad. It will all be fine.’ And he paused. After driving for a few minutes in silence, he asked, ‘Will it impact us very badly if NYIB decides to take its business elsewhere?’

  ‘Look, Varun, we are not a small company. We are one of the largest in this space. So NYIB taking its business elsewhere will not impact us in the long run. It will, however, put pressure on our finances in the short run, particularly given the investments we have made in Indiscape. We have to watch out for that. But more than that, it’s a question of our reputation. There is no insurance for reputation. If NYIB pulls out, we will have serious credibility issues. That worries me more than anything else.’

  ‘I just wish I knew someone there. Some contact who could make it easier for us. Don’t know why, I just hate seeing you and Sundeep uncle so worried about it,’ Varun said. Aditya could feel the pain in his voice. The last few months had brought father and son closer.

  ‘How’s Townsville shaping up?’ Aditya asked.

  ‘It’s looking good, Dad. The Facebook promos have really helped us scale up. We will know the response in a few days. Click through rates have been quite good so far. Hope people like the game and stay on and play. I’ve called for a stock taking meeting with the game designers at nine.’

  Tonight?

  ‘Yes, Dad.’

  *

  Like any other gaming office, Indiscape too came alive at night.

  For someone who had just taken over the gaming business, Varun was quite a revelation. He had a contagious energy. He was able to get people to rally around him. Sundeep was still trying to run the place like a multinational bank—processes, approvals, conference calls, presentations . . . everything that the younger employees despised. Varun was outgoing, inclusive and communicative. Growing up fatherless in the West had made him mature beyond his years.

  At the meeting, the Townsville director presented the latest activation numbers. In three days, they had had over 100,000 hits and over 47,000 people had actually started playing the game. It was a great beginning, far better than the 23,000 figure at the time of the earlier launch.

  Varun looked at the director and said, ‘I told dad that social networks are like a great cocktail party—it’s great to see all your friends there but its true worth is in the ties that don’t exist today. The key driver of social networking is people you don’t know but want to meet. They are the friends of your friends. They are the people you wouldn’t have imagined meeting. If you can strengthen these potential ties, you will have won the battle for revenue.’

  Everyone in the room nodded.

  ‘The activation is on track. What does the design team have to say?’

  A few guys belonging to the denims-and-hoodies club walked up to the head of the table. One of them plugged a pen drive into the computer and brought up a presentation on the large screen. ‘Seventy-five levels have been already built into the game. By the time users complete those levels, we will
be ready with the next seventy-five.’

  Varun had a serious problem with this. It would take the design team at least three weeks, possibly longer, to build the next seventy-five levels. He had not even seen what those levels would entail. Someone should have made sure that those who wanted to play would not be constrained because some idiot decided to launch Townsville with seventy-five levels and not one hundred and fifty. If customers completed the levels and moved on to some other game, bringing them back to Townsville would be extremely difficult. Almost like acquiring a new customer.

  ‘What is the plan for the next seventy-five levels? We agreed that work would begin on that last week, didn’t we?’ he asked, calmly.

  ‘We are working on an innovative design. It will be out of the world, I promise you,’ the head of the team stated.

  ‘What will be innovative about it?’

  ‘It will be a riot of colours and fabulous graphics. People will be able to take town planning, designing and living to an entirely new level.’

  ‘Does it have any potential to get revenues? Anything for which people will have to buy virtual coins? Or pay real money? Is there anything that makes money for us while we incentivize them to move from one level to the other?’

  The guys at the head of the table looked at each other. Varun looked at the director.

  ‘Actually, sir, your dad is strictly against charging customers to play our games. He believes that revenue should come from advertising, not from selling virtual coins, level pass through cheats, and so on to customers.’

  ‘I’m aware of that but that discussion was licked when we decided to advertise on Facebook. We have to make it worthwhile—for us, for Facebook, and for the consumer, in that order.’

  ‘We will put out minds together and come up with an innovative plan. Give us a week, Varun.’

  ‘Fuck your innovation!’ Varun yelled. ‘Look at games on other gaming sites. Look at the most popular ones. You are not smarter than them. Copy. Shamelessly. We are throwing millions into promoting them. Cut the time to market. Tell me what’s working in the market and let’s do the same thing on a grander scale. This is the last time I want to hear someone say innovation.’ After a long pause for effect, he added, ‘I’ll be back at 10 a.m. tomorrow. I want to see the plan for the next seventy-five levels and revenue generation by then.’

  That night, every person in the Indiscape senior management was busy playing games created by competing companies and paying close attention to them to see if they could incorporate similar concepts into Townsville. Varun’s obsession with making it big had begun to burn everyone.

  The next morning, when Varun met with his groggy-eyed team of creative gaming executives, two decisions were made:

  1. The gaming roadmap for the next seventy-five levels would be unabashedly copied from Farmville, a game created by the competition. Copyright laws on gaming were weak.

  2. Customers would be given three easy levels from the beginning of the game. They would bump the drop rate for every third level, from the fourth level onwards—i.e. bump the drop rate for the fourth, seventh, tenth, thirteenth level so on. Drop rates indicated the statistical probability of a customer failing a particular level. Bumping the drop rates would make the customer get stuck at a particular level and hence make him restless. He would then be willing to pay his way through levels. The customer could buy virtual coins with real money to pay for cheating his way through levels.

  But there was one hitch.

  ‘We don’t have enough programmers to put this into motion,’ confided the programme director.

  Varun didn’t betray any signs of worry. ‘Let’s hire them then. And while we are at it, let’s steal them from the competition.’

  41

  Washington DC

  ‘Get the video feeds. They will be the starting points for our investigation,’ Adrian commanded.

  ‘We have the video feeds from the ATMs. They don’t show anything!’

  ‘Not the ATMs, Tony. Get the feeds from the Coney Island Avenue street cameras. Then let’s examine the feeds from the security cameras at all the ATMs again. Layering one on another might give us something to work on.’

  Tony walked out of Adrian’s room. He was back in ninety seconds.

  ‘The feeds from all the cameras around the Coney Island Avenue bridge will come to us by tomorrow. The DOT will share them with us,’ he said, referring to the Department of Transportation.

  ‘Ask them to get off their fat asses and get some work done. Why should it take so long to share feed?’

  ‘They said that they can show us right now but we’d have to go down to their Traffic Management Centre in Long Island, Queens.’

  Adrian looked at the ceiling, scanning from end to end. He turned to Tony. ‘Let’s go. We don’t have time to waste.’

  ‘It’s a four-hour drive, Adrian.’

  ‘Tell them to keep the office open. We will be there in four hours, max.’

  He got into his car. Tony followed.

  42

  New York

  Josh activated all his underground channels. He spoke with everyone who had been a part of the ATM heist, to check if they knew the whereabouts of his roommate. No one did. Stan was his guy. No one had ever met him before.

  Josh figured it was about time for the next phone call, when the phone rang.

  ‘Did you find the rogue?’

  ‘No. I am trying. Every fifth person in New York is hunting for him.’

  ‘You are an idiot. Do you actually think he is in New York, waiting for you to find him? We need our money. How long do you think it will take?’

  ‘I need some time. I will get back to you as soon as I have some information. You need to trust me.’

  ‘We made that mistake once. We won’t make it again.’

  ‘I don’t have a choice.’ Josh sounded helpless.

  ‘You have one. Find the money. Twenty-four hours is all you have. Get the money. Don’t make us come for you.’

  ‘I don’t understand . . .’

  ‘Twenty-four hours.’ The call ended with a click.

  Josh’s hand went up to his forehead. He was sweating, despite the chill.

  He didn’t have much time.

  43

  New York

  Franklin Duster, the officer on duty at DOT met Tony and Adrian in the lobby and led them up to the control room. In front of them was a maze of screens tracking live feed from cameras at various locations across New York City. ‘There are three cameras around Coney Island Avenue,’ Duster said as he brought up one of them on screen. The feed was from the day of the heist. Adrian and Tony watched the entire feed from 9.30 a.m. till 10.40 a.m., the time when the first withdrawal was made from the Coney Island ATM. It did not throw up anything of significance.

  The second camera was out of order. ‘Several cameras are not functional at any given point in time,’ Franklin Duster explained. They moved on to the third one.

  For the first 58 minutes, which they fast forwarded and watched in 20 minutes, they couldn’t zero in on anything of interest. Finally they got lucky.

  At 10.28 a.m., on the day of the heist, three men, two of whom were wearing hoodies and carrying backpacks, walked past the camera. No face shots. Only their backs were visible. Tony hurriedly dug into his bag and pulled out a whole pack of pictures. He sifted through them swiftly, dropping a few in the process. ‘Wait, wait!’ He was yelling.

  Duster paused the video.

  ‘He is one of the guys,’ screamed Tony, pointing at one of the three, who was carrying a backpack and was closest to the camera. ‘Look at his hoody. Maroon patterned. I remember seeing a similar pattern in one of the ATM camera feeds.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Adrian asked. He knew that Tony’s greatest strength was his elephantine memory. Tony pulled out a picture from his pile and showed it to Adrian. It was a screen shot of the image captured by the ATM camera. The pattern on the hoody one of the guys was wearing in the picture matche
d the pattern on the hoody in the feed they were watching. Adrian nodded. He noted the time on the camera and they moved on. ‘Looks like we are getting there,’ he commented before the camera started rolling.

  Both of them looked back at the screen. Duster began to roll the frames.

  ‘Hold it! Can you go back a few frames?’ Tony was staring very intently at the screen. Duster paused the camera and rewound the tape for ten seconds. ‘Stop! Play it now,’ Tony instructed.

  About two seconds later, Tony yelled. ‘STOPPP!’ And then continued in intermittent bursts, ‘Stop! Stop! Stop! Stop! Stop!’

  ‘What the hell are you doing, Tony?’ Adrian was getting irritated.

  ‘Look here,’ Tony pointed to the right-hand corner of the screen where a tall man wearing a tweed coat and a hat stood, covering his face. Duster replayed the video in slow motion. The three guys, who were on the left corner of the screen, did not stop but one of them subtly nodded at the man in the tweed coat. The latter didn’t respond but one could make out a stiffening in his stance, just in time with the nod.

  ‘Who is this guy?’ Tony asked as Adrian noted the time mentioned on the frame and told Duster to move ahead. ‘Why did he suddenly stiffen? I have a strong feeling he knows something about what’s going on.’

  For the next few minutes, they didn’t notice anything that would help them move any further. And then something happened.

  Two men, heads covered, carrying backpacks, came out and walked into a waiting cab. Adrian asked Duster to freeze the frame. He took out the pictures of the ATM video grabs and compared whatever they could make out with the images on screen. The pattern on the hoodie on one matched with the images captured in one of the ATMs in Manhattan. The shape of the patch on the elbow matched perfectly. They were on the right track.