The Game Trilogy

by Anders de la Motte

  He added clothes, toiletries and some other useful stuff before he stopped again. Through the television, the radio was playing a Neil Young song that he recognized, and he sat still in the window and listened aimlessly until the obligatory ad break made him start thinking again.

  So, what exactly were his plans?

  Questions were still buzzing round inside his head like a swarm of angry hornets, but he had no answers. Or rather: he had far too many, and his five days of R&R had unfortunately left him none the wiser.

  Obviously he ought to get out of the city. That was practically a no-brainer.

  But he was fed up of running – completely fucking done with it.

  Wasn’t it actually pretty smart to hide right here, right under their noses? Surely this would be the last place anyone would ever think of looking?

  The problem was that no matter how much of a stroke of genius this Million Dollar Hotel was, he couldn’t stay up here pulling his Anne Frank routine for the rest of his life. He was a social creature, he’d already tried living as a hermit and had almost gone mad as a result. If he carried on along that path it would end with ‘Brooks was here’ and a length of Venetian blind cord from a lamp hook, he was pretty sure of that. And his sister would have to identify his body.

  He finished his cigarette, flicked the butt out of the window, two storeys down into the courtyard. The fall through the air made it glow until it suddenly went out as it hit the damp little patch of grass below his window.

  Whatever had actually happened out there in the desert, it had something to do with his mysterious compatriot Anna Argos, and if he was the least bit interested in making any sense of this whole crazy story, he had to start with her. The only question was how.

  He glanced at the wardrobe again as he felt in the packet for another cigarette, then realized at the same moment that he’d just smoked his last one.

  Fucking bollocks!

  Cigs, he wrote on the list, then began, without any great expectation, to search through the pile of used clothes in the hope of finding a forgotten little fag-end.

  Instead he found himself holding a business card in his hand. The little white rectangle contained a long sequence of hand-written numbers that started with +971, and he was just about to toss Moussad’s contact details in the bin when he realized there was something on the other side.

  ArgosEye.com

  Knowledge . Security . Control

  And suddenly he had an idea.

  A crazy, fucked-up, stupid idea that he turned over in his mind for several minutes before making the decision. It was hardly going to be easy – possibly actually life-threatening.

  But just the thought of what he was considering made him feel insanely excited!

  Better to burn out than fade away!

  12

  Roleplay

  From: customerservice@uscreening.com

  To: goodboy.821@hotmail.com

  Subject: business details as per order number 2352/11

  Company name: ArgosEye.com

  Type of company: Limited

  Address: Sergels torg 12, 111 57 Stockholm

  OMX abbreviation: N/A – company not listed on stock market

  Authorized signatories: Argos, Anna; Argos, Philip J.

  Results and accounts: See appendix A

  History

  The company was originally founded in 1998 by Anna Argos and several of her fellow students at the Stockholm School of Economics (see appendix C).

  According to the company’s business description, it offered IT consultancy services.

  Like many other businesses in the same field, it profited from the IT boom of the late nineties, and at its height had one hundred employees in ten countries, with a turnover of approximately one hundred million kronor.

  A stock market launch was planned but never carried out as a result of the general decline in the market during the early 2000s.

  In 2001 the company suffered a serious decline in profitability, and all its offices except Stockholm were closed, and almost all staff made redundant.

  In 2002 Anna Argos bought out the other partners and took over management of the company.

  Between 2002 and 2005 the company began to focus more on various IT-related communications strategies and slowly began to grow once more.

  In 2006 Anna Argos married Philip John Martinsson, who adopted her surname.

  He became a partner in the company at the same time.

  Martinsson has a background in military intelligence and the security service, where he worked on risk and crisis management in communications. He also worked for the American PR agency Burston-Marsteiner, leaving with excellent references to take up the post of MD of ArgosEye.

  Current activities

  Under Philip Argos’s leadership, ArgosEye has chosen to focus primarily on questions of internet-related communications risk and crisis management, popularly known as ‘Buzz control’ – an area in which, in spite of the company’s relatively limited size, it has quickly become a significant player. Buzz control is regarded as highly sensitive and is therefore surrounded by a great deal of secrecy. It is therefore unclear precisely how many companies have employed ArgosEye’s offices.

  However, according to unconfirmed sources, a number of Swedish and foreign multinationals already use ArgosEye’s services, most likely indirectly through other consultancy agencies rather than as direct clients.

  Internet searches for ArgosEye generate keywords such as ‘internet strategies’, ‘communication’, ‘risk management’, ‘Buzz control’, ‘toplist optimization’, ‘social media strategies’ and ‘crisis management’.

  The company’s turnover and number of employees have increased rapidly in recent years, which has meant that the company has occasionally had difficulties with short-term liquidity. In order to continue to expand, the company will probably have to depend upon an injection of external capital, suggesting that stock market flotation is likely.

  Ownership

  Anna Argos is registered with the Swedish Patent and Registration Office as owning 40% of the shares in ArgosEye Ltd.

  The remainder of the shares are owned by a number of minority shareholders of whom Philip Argos, with 20%, has the largest holding (see complete list in appendix B).

  Other information

  The Argoses first filed for divorce early in 2008, but this was withdrawn before the trial period elapsed. A second application was made during the latter half of 2009, and Roslagen District Court authorized the divorce in April 2010. Shortly after that the villa they shared in Täby was sold.

  Both parties have until recently been registered as living at separate addresses in central Stockholm.

  Anna Argos applied to the Tax Office to be removed from their register as recently as one month ago.

  According to this application, she is currently living in London, England. The extent to which she is still involved in the daily activity of the company is unclear.

  ‘Central Investigation Office, Westergren.’

  ‘Hello, this is Rebecca Normén from the Bodyguard Unit.’

  She was making an effort to keep her voice neutral. There were a few moments’ silence on the line.

  ‘I see. And how can I help you?’

  Westergren’s tone of voice was curt but not directly unpleasant. Not much, anyway …

  ‘I was just wondering how far you’d got with my case? If anything new has emerged?’

  More silence.

  ‘And what might that be, Normén?’

  Nice move – turning the question back on her. Pretending nothing had happened and making her lay her own cards on the table.

  But she had already noted the faint hint of annoyance in his voice and side-stepped the trap.

  ‘I was hoping you might be able to tell me, Westergren,’ she replied.

  Several more seconds of silence.

  ‘I know exactly why you’re calling, Normén,’ he suddenly snarled. ‘You, Runeberg and your
other colleagues have had plenty of time to work something out, which is exactly what I told the prosecutor a short while ago. You can tell Ludvig that we haven’t got anything new to say and that the case is still very much open!’

  The line went dead.

  Rebecca slowly put the receiver down.

  So what did this mean?

  Well, in the unlikely event that it was Modin who filed the complaint against her, then her altered testimony ought to have punctured the entire investigation. The prosecutor was usually quick to write off shaky cases like this, and simultaneously improve the statistics, seeing as ‘case abandoned’ was, oddly enough, a result …

  But Modin had never been the prime suspect, so this whole line of reasoning was probably largely theoretical. For instance, why would Modin report her for misuse of office only to change her mind a few days later …?

  Considerably more interesting were the circumstances surrounding her altered testimony. Rebecca could actually understand why Westergren was so annoyed. Even if Modin had done her best to make her story sound believable when they spoke, it still didn’t sound quite right, more like something she’d come up with later on. But on paper the story worked perfectly. No precise details that could be checked, no absolute contradictions that would sound odd after her original statement. Taken as a whole, Modin’s version of events did actually strengthen her own. So she should really just be grateful for it …

  If David Malmén really was the person who, one way or another, had ‘helped’ Modin to remember, then Rebecca had seriously misjudged him, clearly. Although of course it was also possible that her deputy was acting on orders from above …

  No matter, she could remove him and Modin from the list of suspects, and with them probably the other two members of the team. Which left just the embassy counsellor, Gladh. Not really much of a surprise.

  She was back to square one again – but at least she no longer had to watch her back.

  At least she hoped not …

  Everything was laid out on the stained bedspread. Every item neatly arranged so he could tick it off his list. He felt like some secret agent getting ready for a dangerous mission. Which might well turn out to be the case …

  The paranoia that had followed him halfway round the world had grown stronger, which probably wasn’t that strange really. Somewhere out there people were looking for him, people who wanted nothing more than to get their hands on Player 128 and hand him over to the Game Master.

  But he had to try to shake it off. There was no proof that they had found him, none at all. He was still one step ahead, and as long as he trod carefully and didn’t wake up any guard dogs then that would remain the case.

  What he really needed to do was focus on his new mission.

  He opened his laptop and started to type out a message, but stopped after just a couple of sentences.

  Shit, in the bitter glare of hindsight he could see that picking up the phone hadn’t exactly been his smartest move. Okay, so it was switched off and drained of power. Not even the best batteries in the world would last fourteen months, so he wasn’t worried about being traced.

  His problem went rather deeper than that.

  Even though the phone was physically stone-dead, it was as if it was still sending out signals.

  Inaudible little enticements to the part of his brain that still longed for everything the Game could offer him.

  And that was presumably why he hadn’t been able to leave it where it was out at Arlanda.

  Just holding it felt undeniably good. Feeling the cool metal against the palm of his hand, his fingertips sliding over the touch-screen.

  And for a few seconds, a few wonderful seconds, the feeling was back.

  Introducing Player 128, first runner-up, the public’s favourite – the hottest guy in the Game. Heeeeenrik Petteeerssooon!

  Almost all phones could be charged up the same way these days. A little cable to one of the computer’s USB ports was all it would take …

  But obviously he wasn’t going to switch it on, he wasn’t completely thick, for fuck’s sake!

  There were plenty of other things to be getting on with, ways to keep his mind occupied and at a safe distance from that lethal track. It was just like that mental exercise.

  Whenever you think about the Game, you lose!

  ‘Hi Rebecca, this is Håkan! Håkan Berglund,’ he clarified when she didn’t say anything.

  ‘Oh, hi …’

  She was holding the phone between her cheek and shoulder so she could pour a cup of coffee.

  ‘I’m back in Stockholm and was wondering if you felt like having that meal we talked about. How about this Friday?’

  She took a deep breath.

  ‘I’m not sure that’s such a great idea …’ she began.

  ‘Oh, come on!’ he interrupted. ‘I got the feeling we clicked pretty well, and I’d like to see you again. I can pick you up around seven …’

  She sighed.

  Evidently she’d got Håkan Berglund all wrong.

  The fact that he dared to call at all was pretty surprising in itself, considering how little he’d done to support her down in Darfur. And now he didn’t seem to be the sort who could take a hint.

  She really didn’t like pushy people.

  ‘Sorry, Håkan, but I’ve actually already got a boyfriend,’ she said bluntly.

  There was silence on the line.

  ‘Hello?’ she said.

  But he had already hung up.

  ‘Magnus Sandström?’

  ‘That’s me.’

  He got up from the sofa in the waiting area and followed the receptionist to a small meeting room.

  ‘Welcome, Magnus, take a seat and Eliza will be with you shortly. We’re running slightly late with the interviews, but she shouldn’t be too long.’

  ‘No problem!’

  ‘Great. Can I get you anything while you’re waiting? Coffee, tea …?’

  ‘Thanks, I’m good,’ he smiled.

  She gave him a little wave as she went out, closing the door carefully behind her.

  He made himself comfortable on one of the six metal-tubed chairs around the table. One wall was made entirely of glass and through it he could see straight down onto Sergels torg. The sound of traffic was only just audible as faint background noise. The skyscrapers of Hötorget had to be one of the best office addresses in the city.

  The door opened and a solidly built woman walked in.

  ‘Magnus?’

  He nodded and she marched quickly across the room.

  Her handshake was limp and slightly damp.

  ‘Eliza Poole, head of personnel. Welcome!’

  She gestured at the chair he had just stood up from.

  ‘Sit yourself down and tell me why you’re interested in working for us here at ArgosEye …’

  He sat down, crossed his legs and leaned back.

  ‘Well, I’ve worked for a long time in the computer business, and questions of risk and crisis management in communications have long been a subject close to my heart …’

  HP smiled his smoothest smile, nudged his glasses into place and brushed an invisible speck of dust from the sleeve of his jacket.

  ‘By the way, call me Manga. Everyone does!’

  13

  Raising the stakes

  Pillars of Society forum

  Posted: 21 November, 06:53

  By: MayBey

  If you want something to change, sometimes you have to take matters into your own hands.

  This post has 56 comments

  Shit, it still felt weird not recognizing yourself … Short, cropped hair, clean-shaven, Buddy Holly glasses with clear lenses perched on his nose.

  When they were little some people used to think he and Manga were brothers.

  Sometimes they actually pretended that they were.

  That was where he got the idea from.

  Obviously it had been a total shot in the dark, emailing his CV, but ArgosEye had taken the
bait at once. Manga’s CV was pretty solid, and with a bit of tinkering and a basic course in Photoshop you could knock the world dead. Throw in his own winning personality and the outcome was a foregone conclusion.

  Bearing in mind what the company did, he had coolly calculated that they would Google him, so he had opened accounts on Facebook, MySpace, Spotify and LinkedIn.

  Each profile was adorned with a slightly distorted picture of his face, so that no-one could tag his photograph.

  The real Manga Sandström was far too paranoid to appear anywhere out there with his actual name and picture. And besides, as luck would have it Mangalito just happened to be out of the office – according to the spotty youth in his computer shop, the little convert was on a pilgrimage in Saudi Arabia with his father-in-law.

  He didn’t actually have the faintest idea what he was hoping to achieve with this little charade. The only thing he knew with anything approaching certainty was that Anna Argos’s death was connected to her company – why else would Moussad have given him the business card and asked him to keep his eyes open?

  Her ex-husband was obviously top of the list of suspects. But things weren’t always the way they seemed. There were no simple truths – you couldn’t take anything for granted.

  Especially not if the Game was involved …

  Half an hour on Google had so far left her none the wiser. MayBey seemed to be a play on the English word maybe, and she was fairly sure the misspelling was intentional, which seemed to suggest that the name had some sort of significance.

  Sadly Google hadn’t been much help. The first few hits on the search list were people who had simply got their spelling wrong, followed by a removals company in Albany, New York, then a few people on Facebook whose surname really was MayBey. None of them was Swedish, as far as she was able to tell.

  She switched to Wiktionary and looked up the word maybe.

  Maybe [meibi]

  Perhaps – something which might be true (adv.)

  Indicating a lack of certainty (adv.)

  Synonymous with words such as perhaps, mayhaps, possibly

  You could also rearrange the letters to make three other words: