The Dying Game

by Asa Avdic

  “Assembly in the parlor in fifteen. Are you ready?” the secretary asked.

  “Yes, I suppose I had better be, because now I don’t have much choice in the matter, do I?”

  The secretary didn’t respond to my question. “Like I said, fifteen minutes.” He closed the door behind him with a bang, and then I was alone in the room.

  I had a hard time understanding what the business executive was complaining about. It wasn’t extravagantly fancy, but it was elegant and clean and tidy, with materials and furniture that appeared simple and inoffensive, but upon closer inspection were of high quality. Sheepskin armchairs, fabrics from Svenskt Tenn, dainty little tables made of upmarket wood. Nothing was cheap or randomly selected. There was a refrigerator full of mineral water, nuts, chocolate, and small bottles of wine and spirits of familiar domestic and foreign brands. Every detail whispered the same, discreet message: class and money. Just one of these pieces would have been worth more than all the belongings of an entire family in Kyzyl Kum. Probably more than their entire house. I walked over to the window and looked out. Behind the house, the cliffs plunged straight down to the sea. The ground below wasn’t even visible if I looked to the left, and to the right was a small beach that appeared to be protected in something like a ravine. A set of granite teeth protruded from the water farther out. I remembered that bay from the drawings of the island, and how the secretary had mentioned that it was sometimes possible to put in there with a boat, if the wind wasn’t blowing. Otherwise you risked being wrecked on the cliffs. The island certainly was small. There weren’t many places to go on it, not many places to hide. Aside from the fact that the whole house was full of hiding spots. I took off my wet tennis shoes and placed them in front of the fire, which was crackling in a fireplace along one of the short walls; then I lay down on the cream-colored bedspread and stared at the wall to try to figure out where the camera and peepholes were. There was a strip of dark, ornamented molding along the ceiling; it would be easy to conceal a small camera there. The peepholes were harder to find, but I found them at last: small, dark holes at the lower edge of the painting that hung on the wall. I rose from the bed, walked over to the wall, and peered into them, but all I saw was darkness. I pictured the secretary standing on the other side, looking back with his pale nocturnal-animal eyes. I lay back down on the bed, running my hands across the woven check pattern of the bedspread, following the lines under my hands with my fingertips and trying to think through the situation. It was concerning that Henry was on the island. It was one thing to withhold information from and play amateur theater in front of strangers; it was another thing entirely, and much more difficult, to do this to someone you knew. And most troubling of all: why was he there? Was he really one of the candidates? I had heard through colleagues in common that things were going well for him at his new job, but had he really been so successful that he was under consideration for the RAN group? I couldn’t get my thoughts in order, and the more I thought about it the more anxious I became, so I got up off the bed, found a pair of acceptable shoes in my bag, ran a brush through my hair, left the room, and went down to the parlor.

  MOST OF THE group had already congregated there. Franziska Scheele was standing in one corner and conversing with the man from the room across from mine. In the other corner, the older man was sitting on a sofa and talking to Katja Ivanovitch. Henry was sitting on a chair alongside them, nodding in interest. He didn’t even raise his eyes when I entered the room. I stopped in the doorway and looked at the people gathered there. My gaze moved on, searching the walls; I tried to locate the place where I had so recently been standing and observing the room from the gap between the walls. I heard steps on the stairs behind me, and when I turned around I saw the secretary and the Chairman coming down the stairs together, chatting with the woman who was about my age. She slipped farther into the room as the Chairman and the secretary went to stand in the center, and the conversations around them immediately stopped as all eyes turned to them. The Chairman cleared his throat.

  “A warm welcome to all of you! On behalf of the Minister I want to say how happy we are that you have all agreed to come here and take part in the first step of this recruitment process. In just a moment, I will go through the schedule, but before I do I want to ask something of you: do not discuss the reason you are here with each other! This might sound strange, but I assure you there are good reasons for this. Absolute secrecy is crucial to the position for which you are all here, so you must simply take me at my word: no discussions about the assignment.”

  He allowed his trusting eyes to rest on each one of us, as if to confirm this agreement, before going on: “Aside from that, you are of course free to get to know each other as much as you want. You’re all colorful people with lots to say, and I believe that you will enjoy one another’s company. So I thought we could begin with a round of introductions, but I’ll keep it short and you can fill in the blanks yourselves at the dinner table this evening.”

  The Chairman turned expectantly to the secretary, who took the floor:

  “So, here we have someone who hardly needs an introduction, since you’ve all seen her on TV. Welcome, Franziska Scheele!”

  Franziska took a small step forward and aimed a regal smile at everyone and no one in the room, perfectly comfortable with being the center of attention.

  The secretary spent another moment running through her virtues and merits, and then, when he moved on to introduce the man in the room across from mine, it seemed incomprehensible that I hadn’t been able to place him. Jon von Post was one of the richest people in the country; he had turned his cheap plastic furniture business into one of the largest and most profitable in Sweden. A few years earlier, he had been on all the “most successful,” “most admired,” and simply “richest” lists in all the papers. But then, somewhat unexpectedly, he had stepped down from most of his ventures and as far as I was aware he was currently only on a board or two. There had been rumors of some sort of scandal, and now that I saw him it didn’t seem at all unlikely. He looked exhausted under his expensive clothing and his tan, and he must have gained fifty pounds since he was last on all the front pages. At least twenty of those seemed to have settled in his face, which was an alarming shade of purplish red. He raised his hand in a restrained wave, as if someone had just allowed him to merge into traffic.

  “And then we have Katerina Ivanovich,” the secretary continued. “She is the only one of you who isn’t here for the job but on the job, you might say. She is here for your sake; you’ll be spending a few days here, after all, thoroughly isolated from the outside world . . .”

  “I simply cannot understand why this isolation is necessary,” Franziska Scheele broke in, with the authority of someone who has spent decades being paid to interrupt others.

  The secretary shot a nervous look at the Chairman, who immediately took over.

  “My dear Franziska, you know that we value your opinions, but may I ask you to trust us this one time? For my sake, if nothing else?”

  The Chairman threw out his hands and gave Franziska Scheele a charming smile, and once again I thought about how clever he was when it came to knowing exactly who needed what. He had just managed to let her know that they both knew it was ridiculous that she should have to play summer camp with other adults, but those were the rules, and both of them would simply have to submit to this charade. And it worked. Franziska shrugged slightly, shot him a gracious glance, and acquiesced. The secretary went on to introduce Katja: “As I mentioned, it is for everyone’s safety that we have a doctor on-site. There is a fully equipped medical station in the basement, where we also keep our only communication radio. We will strive to solve any problems that arise here on the island, but if urgent medical care is the only option, Katerina will certainly have the ability to call for assistance. But it’s not as if you’re going to be spending your time mountain climbing, so . . . still, let me say that Katerina Ivan
ovitch has been one of our most trusted colleagues and has been working closely with the RAN project from the very start.”

  Katja looked embarrassed as the secretary sang her praises. She didn’t seem nearly as comfortable in the spotlight as the two previous participants had been.

  The secretary then turned to introducing Colonel Per Olof Ehnmark. His list of accomplishments went on for quite some time: counterintelligence during both the first and second Cold Wars, international work; he had been inducted into all sorts of orders. I listened with half an ear; instead I was on the lookout for signs of what the secretary had mentioned about him before, now that I knew he was the one staying in the room here on the ground floor. So he was the one who would eventually find me dead, twelve hours from now.

  “And then there’s Henry Fall,” the secretary said suddenly, yanking me from my thoughts.

  “His work on psychological strategy has been positively invaluable within our own organization.”

  Henry flashed his small, neutral smile as the secretary talked about his most recent accomplishments. Now that everyone else was also looking at Henry, I could allow myself to study him. It had been more than two years since I’d last seen him. He looked the same, possibly with a little more gray in his hair and darker rings under his eyes. The secretary cleared his throat and jumped back in.

  “Last but not least, perhaps some of you recognize Anna Francis.”

  He turned to look at me, and I stared down at the carpet as the secretary bragged about my invaluable efforts for the Union in Kyzyl Kum. I suppose I was the only one who thought his voice sounded like it was dripping with sarcasm the whole time. When he was done, I looked up to see how the others would react. I met the colonel’s eyes, which were warm and friendly, but Franziska Scheele pointedly turned away when I looked at her. Henry was gazing attentively at the secretary, who clapped his hands together.

  “And with that, I think we’re finished.”

  “No, not quite.”

  Everyone turned to look over at the sofa, where the middle-aged woman in practical shoes had stood up. “Perhaps I should introduce myself, if you’ve forgotten me? My name is Lotte Colliander. Or am I no longer considered part of this group? Maybe I should turn around and go back home?” She gave a laugh, but it sounded like a bark.

  The secretary looked helplessly at the Chairman, and then the two of them fell all over themselves with excuses and apologies. Of course she shouldn’t go home, of course they were mortified at having skipped over her during introductions. Lotte Colliander tried to appear unmoved, as if it was no big deal, but the red blotches on her neck told me that she was as angry as she was demeaned. Her list of merits was certainly nothing to sneeze at: an expert manager and recruiter, director of HR for a long line of large firms, marathoner; she had double doctorates in business economics and psychology; she was also ranking military. I had never heard of anyone who seemed to be so good at pretty much everything.

  “And with that, I hope you will plan to stay and take part in these initial days, and that you can forgive my secretary, who can sometimes be a little quick on the draw,” the Chairman concluded. Behind him, the secretary gave a start as if he had been struck.

  Lotte Colliander nodded and sat back down without another word, but as soon as the Chairman took his eyes from her she defensively crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Now let’s turn to a brief run-through of the next few days.”

  The secretary reached for a stack of black folders labeled with names, and he began to hand them out as the Chairman continued speaking.

  “Everything you need to know is in the folders you are holding right now. They are personal, so don’t leave them lying around the house. Tomorrow you will be divided into groups to take part in certain exercises, most of which are academic in nature, but some are a little more . . . hands-on, you might say? You can read on for more detailed information. You may spend the rest of today getting to know each other, which will be to your advantage in tomorrow’s activities, so make the most of the opportunity. You will eat dinner together this evening, and there is food and drink in the kitchen on this level as well as in the adjoining wine cellar. You’ll also find food for the coming days in the kitchen, and I assure you that we have really spoiled you. There is no reason for anyone to leave hungry, but you will have to handle the preparation on your own—consider it a teamwork exercise! And now”—the Chairman turned to the secretary—“it’s time for us to head back to the mainland.”

  I DIDN’T ACCOMPANY them down to the pier as the others did; instead I remained in the parlor. Through the window I watched the Chairman, along with Franziska Scheele and Jon von Post, march down to the ladder that led to the pier. From what little I’d seen of them so far, I assumed they were still complaining about the arrangements. Franziska was tripping along on her black high-heeled bootees, and it seemed like the wind might catch hold of her at any moment, lifting her up and carrying her off across the sea. After the first group came the secretary and Katja. The colonel and the hypersensitive Lotte from HR were nowhere to be seen.

  “So. You’re here.”

  I hadn’t heard him coming up behind me. I reflexively turned around. Henry was looking at me with his usual neutral expression.

  “You, too, it’s been a long time! How are you?”

  Henry ignored my pleasantries.

  “I don’t think we should let the others know that we know each other.” He stuck his hands in his trouser pockets and looked out the window behind me, his face still expressionless. He was speaking in a casual voice, as if we were just chatting.

  “Why not?”

  “It gives us an advantage, don’t you think?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Henry chuckled with his even white teeth and turned to me.

  “Haven’t you ever played strategy games? Secret alliances are the alpha and omega.”

  “So the two of us are going to be in a secret alliance?”

  “I think we should.” Henry looked me straight in the eye.

  Once when I was little, I received a postcard from Nour, a colorful card with a holographic surface that showed an empty deck chair on a beach. When you moved the card just a bit, you could suddenly see a happy cat in sunglasses sitting in the chair, one paw lifted in a cheerful greeting. Henry was like one of those cards: a slight shift revealed something completely different, something more unruly, something that was there only if you happened to glance at it at the right moment, from the right angle. And just as in the past, when we worked together and he occasionally showed a glimpse of his secret self, a small butterfly unfurled its wings in my chest.

  “Although,” Henry said, turning back to the window, “perhaps you don’t trust me?”

  My mouth went dry and I stood there without saying anything for a moment, wondering how best to answer that question.

  “No,” I said after a few seconds. “No, I trust you.”

  “So then we have our secret alliance,” Henry said, still in the same casual tone, as if he himself wasn’t sure whether or not he was joking.

  “Okay,” I said, putting out my pinkie. He laughed, gave me a searching look, and then put out his own pinkie. We rather solemnly pinkie swore our new pact, and then he put his right hand back in his pocket and continued to gaze out the window without another word. I remained there beside him, gazing out as well, and thought of all the things I would never be able to tell him. At last I couldn’t help but ask:

  “So what does this secret pact mean?”

  Henry continued to stare out at the gray sea, where we could now see the Chairman and the secretary’s boat leaving land and turning homeward again.

  “We’ll see,” he said. “We’ll see.”

  I EXCUSED MYSELF and hurried back to my room. Once I got there, I lay down on my bed with my shoes on, staring at the ceiling. All at once, e
verything was much more muddled than I had expected. It seemed like the safest option would be to stay away from Henry, but that was also the most difficult plan, and maybe not even the smartest. There was some truth to what he said, that this seemed to be a situation in which a person might need allies, and it was best to play along in order to be believable as a participant. But in addition, there was something about him that made me act like an attention-starved child dancing around with her pants on her head in order to be seen. I realized that it had been this way with Henry ever since that strange e-mail. Every time I spoke to him I began to analyze and criticize everything I had said and done. Had I sounded angry? Did I look too happy? Did I talk too much? Or too little? I had lost the ability to act normal around him, because I no longer knew how he viewed me. Maybe I never really had known and maybe that was why I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

  I reached for the folder I had received from the secretary and opened it. It contained forty sheets of totally blank paper. I stared at them for a while and wondered what could possibly have been in the other guests’ folders. Then I took a pen out of my bag and spent a few minutes writing down everything I had learned from the preliminary materials, which the secretary had forced me to memorize. And then I added my own observations from the afternoon’s meeting. I embellished all I remembered with as much detail as I possibly could—tones of voice, glances, and my own thoughts on what little had happened so far—to make it all stick in my memory. As I worked, I realized two things. The first was how disparate this selection of people truly was. I had reflected upon this earlier as well, that it was an odd group, but now it hit me full force. Neither the Chairman nor the secretary had let a single word slip about what position they were recruiting for, and what it involved, but it was hard to imagine any position in the world that all of these people might be considered for. A TV host, a former military man, a business executive, a marathon-running HR star . . . then it struck me that there might in fact be a common denominator. They were all used to being in control, and controlling others. And with that, I could see how Henry fit in as well. This led me to my second insight: there had not been any information about Henry in the reading material I had seen in the secretary’s office. None of the information I had received fit in with his profile. Thus I knew neither more nor less about him than I had earlier, which was certainly a problem, but more than anything else I wondered once again what this meant. Had he been added later? Was there any other explanation? Why hadn’t I been informed about all of the participants? It made me feel extremely uneasy. At the very bottom of my handwritten document on Henry I wrote, “WHO IS HE? WHY IS HE HERE?” and underlined it with thick strokes.