The Game Trilogy

by Anders de la Motte

  If he had ever really been frozen out, of course.

  It was through Manga that he had hooked up with Erman in the first place. Manga, who he thought he knew inside out. The same Manga whose first Commodore 64 HP had procured from the Fenster in exchange for three stolen car stereos.

  Manga, who always helped out no matter how much you took the piss …

  Ohforfuckssake …!

  He flew up from the bed, trying desperately to find something to take his frustration out on, but ended up just pacing up and down the worn floor. His headache got worse with every step.

  A decision.

  He basically just had to make a decision.

  Swallow the pill, and with it Manga’s story that he, Nora, Hasselqvist and Muscles were the good guys. That they had formed a resistance group to depose the Game Master.

  Or else he didn’t buy it …

  Time to make a decision, Mr Pettersson.

  Red

  or

  Black?

  The revolver was gone. Someone had opened her safe deposit box without leaving any trace, and had removed both the gun and the tin box. Apart from her, there was only one person who had known where the gun was. So he had decided not to wait, or, even worse: he didn’t trust her.

  All bubbles are doomed to burst sooner or later …

  She took her phone out of her bag, scrolled through the contacts until she found the right number.

  ‘Hi, it’s Rebecca,’ she said when the voicemail kicked in. ‘I know I’m only supposed to call this number in absolute emergencies.’

  She paused for a moment and drew a deep breath.

  ‘But I think Henke’s in trouble. Really bad trouble, and I’ll do anything I can to help him. Anything at all …’

  The noise made him leap out of bed. At first he couldn’t remember where he was, but once he’d figured it out, and what he was doing there, he tried to make sense of the noise.

  It had come from the hall. The doorbell, of course.

  He took a few cautious steps towards the front door, but before he got to it someone opened the letterbox. He stopped automatically, then took a couple of steps back into the living room.

  The flat was on the third floor, too high to jump.

  If there was a fire, he was fucked.

  ‘It’s me …’ a voice hissed through the letterbox. ‘Kent.’

  HP breathed out. He went into the hall and unlocked the door.

  Hasselqvist with a Q and a V slipped in and squeezed quickly past him. An acrid burst of nylon-shirt sweat hit HP’s nostrils.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said before HP had time to open his mouth. ‘I wasn’t followed, I pulled every trick in the book.’

  He went into the kitchen, poured himself a glass of water and gulped it down.

  Then another glass.

  ‘Here,’ he panted, putting a supermarket bag on the draining board. ‘Thought your supplies were probably starting to run out.’

  HP opened the bag.

  Milk, baked beans, ready meals, some vegetables and – YES! – cigarettes! Christ, what a relief! He suppressed a sudden urge to kiss Hasselqvist, tore open a pack and pulled out a Marlboro.

  ‘So, what’s happening?’ He took a couple of deep drags.

  Hasselqvist didn’t answer, just gave HP a disapproving look.

  ‘If you have to smoke, stand under the extractor fan …’

  ‘Sure …’

  HP shrugged, but moved a bit closer to the cooker.

  ‘The others are on their way,’ Hasselqvist said. ‘They’ll be here in the next hour or so. You’ll find out more then. Jeff’s got a plan to get us into the Fortress.’

  ‘Okay. So you haven’t dropped that idea yet …’

  ‘Why would we do that? If we can shut down the Fortress, it’s all over …’

  ‘Yeah, right …’

  HP took another drag.

  ‘W-what do you mean?’

  ‘Nothing, Kent, we can talk about it later. I’m going to heat up some grub, do you want anything?’

  ‘No thanks, had a hotdog on the way.’

  ‘Okay, your loss …’

  HP chucked the Findus version of a hamburger into the microwave and blasted it with full force.

  ‘By the way, I’m not pissed off.’

  ‘What?’ HP turned round.

  ‘About what happened out on the E4. The tear gas and all that,’ Hasselqvist elaborated.

  ‘Okay, that’s good …’

  ‘I mean, it wasn’t really your fault … Just wanted you to know.’

  ‘Okay.’ HP wasn’t sure what he was expected to say.

  ‘After all, it wasn’t personal, was it?’

  ‘Nah, course not …’ HP blew a column of smoke towards the greasy extractor fan.

  A short silence ensued.

  HP was squirming slightly. He had sprayed Hasselqvist full in the face with teargas, kicked him in the bollocks when he was already on the ground, and, to top it off, had threatened to smash the bloke’s skull in. But back then he was Player 58, HP’s strongest competition, and someone he suspected of any number of things. Now, in hindsight, things looked very different. If fact he should probably … well …

  ‘Listen, Kent …’ he began.

  But the ping of the microwave interrupted him.

  The dialogue box popped up a few seconds after she switched the computer on. At first she thought it was some sort of automated program update, and clicked the button in the top right-hand corner to minimize it.

  But the window stayed open.

  She tried again, but when that didn’t work she tried closing the programme entirely.

  But the window refused to obey. A two-tone bleep rang out, and then a message appeared:

  Farook says: Hi Becca, Manga here. I got your message but can’t call you back. What’s happened?

  For a few moments she wasn’t sure what to do. The dialogue box didn’t belong to any of the usual chat programmes, she was sure of that, so he must have managed to install the programme on her computer remotely. But how had he managed to get hold of her IP address?

  A new message appeared:

  Farook says: No need to worry, this programme is encrypted and our conversation can’t be bugged …

  Farook says: Tell me, what’s happened to HP?

  She moved the cursor and clicked inside the little text box, which was now showing her name.

  Becca says: How involved in the Game are you?

  It took a minute or so for his reply to appear.

  Farook says: Who have you been talking to?

  Becca says: An old friend.

  Farook says: I thought I was an old friend.

  Becca says: So did I, Manga …

  Another pause, slightly shorter:

  Farook says: Okay, I deserved that. You’re right, Becca, I haven’t been honest with you, or HP. I was part of the Game long before he got involved. But everything I’ve done has been meant to help him. Help you. You have to believe me!

  Farook says: You’ve been talking to Sammer, haven’t you?

  Now it was her turn to hesitate. Manga was better informed than she had expected. She was rather taken aback. But, considering what Uncle Tage had said about him …

  Becca says: That’s right.

  Farook says: Okay, now I can understand why you’re worried. He must have told you a whole load of stuff. That I’m one of the people behind the Game, and that HP’s in great danger?

  Becca says: Is he?

  Farook says: I’m not going to lie to you, Becca. HP’s in trouble. But we can help him, you and me. If we work together.

  Becca says: You lied to me before, pretending you didn’t know anything about the Game. Why should I trust you now?

  Farook says: Because the alternative is trusting Sammer.

  Becca says: And that would be bad because …?

  Farook says: Because he isn’t who he says he is, Becca.

  Becca says: And you are?

 
Another pause, two minutes this time.

  Farook says: Sorry, got to go, I’ll be in touch again soon. You’ve got to be careful, Becca. Really careful!!

  They arrived just a couple of minutes apart, which made him suspect that they’d actually come together. That Nora had hung about out on the stairs so HP wouldn’t work out that they were an item.

  He felt like putting a stop to their little performance, and couldn’t help wondering what Jeff would think about his girlfriend snogging him in Medborgarplatsen underground station.

  ‘Okay, now we’re all here we might as well get going,’ Nora said as she hung up her coat. ‘Let’s sit in the kitchen.’

  ‘What about Manga?’ HP muttered.

  ‘He’s not coming, too dangerous,’ she said, without meeting his gaze. ‘But he can still join in …’

  She pulled a black smartphone from her pocket, fiddled with it for a few seconds, then put it on the windowsill with its screen facing towards them.

  ‘Two more minutes. Can you get the plans out in the meantime, Jeff?’

  The mountain of muscle pulled out a bundle of papers from the bicycle bag he had brought in with him, and put them on the table. HP couldn’t help seeing the stamp on the front.

  Classified information!

  ‘He’s online now,’ Hasselqvist said.

  Everyone looked at the small screen of the smartphone, where Manga’s face suddenly appeared.

  ‘Okay, I’m here. I can see you all fine, can you hear me okay?’ he said, almost in a whisper.

  ‘We can hear you,’ Nora said.

  ‘Good! HP, it’s a relief to see you looking a bit better.’

  HP didn’t answer, and he was gratified to see that this seemed to unsettle Manga.

  ‘Well then, as we discussed before, the Fortress is our target,’ Manga went on after a slight pause.

  ‘A company like PayTag can’t afford to lose the trust of its clients, and even a rumour that they’ve been infiltrated will be enough to pull the ground from beneath them forever.

  ‘What we need to do is introduce the trojan I call Big Boy into their system. It’s designed both to erase and mess up the information on their servers – to cause as much chaos as possible in the shortest possible time, if you follow?’

  The three conspirators in the room nodded, but HP didn’t move a muscle.

  ‘It’s impossible to implant Big Boy from the outside,’ Manga went on. ‘Which means that we need a way in. Jeff, you’ve been looking at the various possibilities …?’

  Muscles straightened up.

  ‘Yes, Kent and I have been through all the options. Every gate, door and camera, and we’ve come to the conclusion that the place is extremely well-guarded….’

  No shit, Sherlock. Evidently it took two sharply honed minds to come to that obvious conclusion … Or else you could just take a look at the plans. The description High security site – application pending in one corner ought to give a bit of a clue. These two morons were the perfect poster boys for a campaign against cousins getting married …

  ‘HP, you look like you want to say something?’ Manga interrupted.

  ‘No, it’s nothing,’ he muttered.

  Muscles gave HP an irritated glance before going on.

  ‘We’ve concluded that the only way in is through the underground tunnel. It used to carry the cables linking the base to the artillery installations along the coast, but now they’ve extended it out into the Baltic Sea …’

  ‘The Fortress uses the tunnel to bring in cold water …’ Hasselqvist went on eagerly, digging out some documents from the bottom of the heap.

  ‘Here are the pictures …’

  All that could be seen were some steep black cliffs and a whole lot of churning seawater.

  ‘The opening is under there, about five metres below the surface. It’s probably covered by a grille, but Jeff can get that open …’

  ‘I did my military service as a diver, ordnance clearance,’ Muscles said in a self-satisfied tone of voice that lowered HP’s already lousy mood to new depths.

  ‘I can cut through the grille, then we can swim through the tunnel into a small cold-water reservoir here.’

  He pointed at the map.

  ‘From there we probably need to climb four or five metres up the side, and then we blow open a door so we can …’

  ‘Hang on a minute …!’

  He had promised himself that he was going to keep his mouth shut, but it was impossible to hold out any longer.

  ‘I’m mean, I’m sorry to interrupt Batman and Robin here, but underwater welding, diving, a bit of climbing and then blowing a door open – seriously?’

  He leaned back in his chair, folded his arms and shook his head very pointedly.

  ‘Someone here has been watching far too many of a certain sort of film …’

  He grinned at Jeff, and was rewarded with an angry glare.

  ‘HP …’ Manga began.

  ‘No, no, hang on. I’d love to hear how Jason Bourne the Ordnance-Clearing Diver here is going to explain how we’re all going to get past those cliffs and then swim how far? Two, two and a half kilometres through that fucking tunnel?’

  ‘Two point three,’ Hasselqvist sighed, earning him another glare from Jeff.

  ‘Thanks, Kent. So, two thousand, three hundred metres of underwater swimming, in total darkness, I’m guessing. Apart from Jason here, is there anyone else who’s got so much as a Open Water certificate from a diving holiday in Thailand?

  No response.

  ‘No? Thought as much. So, if – against all expectation – we don’t end up as drowned cats inside the tunnel, we round off our little swim with a bit of free-climbing followed by blasting open a door?’

  He grinned and shook his head.

  ‘You’re all fucking mad, that’s insane …’

  Jeff opened his mouth as he began to rise from his chair.

  But Nora pre-empted him.

  ‘So what would you do, then, HP? I presume you have a brilliant suggestion …’

  ‘Sure, just give me a minute to think. Anything would have to be better than that.’

  ‘Good, well you carry on thinking, HP. It wouldn’t hurt to have a backup plan. And I have to say I agree with you, at least in part. Underwater swimming doesn’t really make sense. Are we sure the tunnel’s full of water?’

  She turned to Jeff.

  ‘Well, er, it’s an underwater tunnel. It says so on the plans …’

  ‘Yes, I can see that, but if you look at the elevation here …’ she pointed at one side of the plans, ‘… then at least the roof of the tunnel is above water level the whole way. Or am I reading it wrong?’

  She glanced at Hasselqvist, who leaned over the plans.

  ‘No, you’re right, Nora. The inflow is below sea level, but at least half the tunnel is above. Which ought to mean that we can swim instead of diving.’

  ‘Inflatable dinghy,’ Jeff muttered. ‘We take an inflatable dinghy with us, dive in through the end of the pipe, then blow it up inside the tunnel. Then we wouldn’t have to swim …’

  ‘Good,’ Nora said. ‘That sounds much more manageable. Have you got anything to add, HP?’

  HP slowly shook his head.

  ‘Okay, let’s say that, then. We’ll pick you up here the day after tomorrow …’

  ‘Okay, okay.’

  HP practically had to shove Hasselqvist out of the flat. The other two had already left, a couple of minutes apart. Jeff had hardly said a word after HP complained about his lunatic plan. But it had actually been for everyone’s benefit. Him excepted, the gang was made up of cheery little amateurs. If they were going to stand the slightest chance of success, the plan would have to be as simple as possible.

  HP couldn’t help admiring Nora, and not only because she’d had the good taste to agree with him. It had only taken her a quick look at the plans to discover something that the other two idiots hadn’t noticed. It was a bit odd that she and Jeff hadn’t discusse
d the matter before the meeting, but perhaps they hadn’t had time.

  The way she’d managed to turn his protests into a task was also bloody smart. That way she didn’t trample on Jeff’s toes too much, at least not right now. But things would be very different once she saw the alternative plan that he was already starting to piece together. All it would take was a couple of little excursions and a visit to the Fenster’s basement. He had two days. That ought to be enough.

  He locked the door carefully and put the safety chain on.

  A sudden noise from inside the flat made him jump. Two little notes, like a text message arriving. He went out into the kitchen. Nora’s smartphone was still sitting on the windowsill. The little icon for a received message was flashing on the screen.

  He picked up the phone, holding it in his hand for a few moments while he considered what to do. Nora had obviously forgotten it, which probably meant she’d be back shortly. For some reason the idea appealed to him. But on the other hand there was always the risk that she’d show up with her boyfriend, Jeff. If they really were an item …

  There was one easy way to find out. He touched the screen with his finger and opened the inbox. The message was short, just four words.

  You must be careful!! / A.F.

  Okay, that wasn’t exactly what he had been expecting.

  No little where are you? or see you at Medborgarplatsen.

  A.F.– who the hell was that? He didn’t know Jeff’s surname, but his first name didn’t fit either of the initials. But maybe they used different names for lovey-dovey stuff …

  The phone buzzed again and for a brief moment he almost dropped it.

  Are you there?

  He thought for a few seconds, then pressed the reply icon. An empty text box opened up. He paused again.

  I’m here, he typed, then pressed send.

  The reply came almost immediately.

  I’m starting to think one of them is playing a double game …

  He noticed he was holding his breath and forced himself to put the phone down. This wasn’t good. Why the hell had he replied …? But the message fascinated him.

  The sender had to mean their little group, nothing else made sense. So which of them had he meant? Hasselqvist, Manga, or himself …?