The Game Trilogy (18 page)

‘Er … yeah?’ HP managed to say, mostly in the absence of anything more sensible.

‘What about the assignments, then? All that stuff you and all the other players do, they just come about by accident, because it’s all a bit of fun, I suppose?’ Erman looked at him inquiringly.

‘Erm, well, I haven’t really thought about that,’ HP said, feeling his dunce’s hat growing.

Erman sighed.

‘No, I’m afraid you’re not one of life’s great thinkers, HP. I suppose you’re the sort who follows his impulses and does whatever suits him, am I right or am I right?’

‘Huh, what, what do you mean?’ HP was pretty sure he’d just been insulted, and quickly adopted his most aggrieved expression.

‘What I mean is that you’re the sort who takes care of himself and doesn’t give a shit about anyone else.’

‘So what’s so wrong with looking out for number one?’ HP folded his arms over his chest and leaned back.

Erman sighed again.

‘Nothing at all, in fact it’s pretty much an advantage when it comes to the Game. We don’t know each other, but let me try a few wild guesses.’

He counted on his fingers.

‘You haven’t got a permanent job, you don’t mind cutting a few corners if necessary and as a result you’ve got a criminal record for various minor offences. And you’ve got little or no family and not too many close friends. Stop me if you think I’m going too wide of the mark …’

He glanced quickly at HP before carrying on, using the fingers of the other hand:

‘You’re also desperate for approval and/or seriously short of cash. How am I doing so far?’

HP was speechless.

How the fuck could this hermit know all that?

Had he checked him out somehow, or had someone blabbed?

‘Easy, my friend,’ Erman chuckled. ‘I’m not a mind-reader. It’s just that the qualities I’ve listed are the things that are valued in a Player – in other words, someone like you makes a good Player.’

He nodded to emphasize what he was saying, as if HP
was a bit thick, which irritated HP more than the quick run-through of his personality.

‘Nothing in the Game is a coincidence, you have to remember that!’ Erman went on. ‘You found that mobile phone because they wanted you to find it. They’d already selected you because they thought you had what it took. First you got a couple of easy assignments so that everyone could see what you were like, pretty much like when they warm up horses out at Solvalla: Place your bets, ladies and gentlemen, and then the Game is up and running!’

HP’s head had gone blank.

‘You … you mean they were betting on me, like the horses?’ he eventually managed to say.

‘Congratulations, Einstein, the penny finally drops!’ Erman grinned. ‘The Game is fundamentally nothing more than an advanced betting set-up, only a hell of a lot more exciting than football or horse-racing. They’ve been playing for years, long before the internet. The men placing bets are called the Circle, and they’re all over the world. You can place short-term bets, from assignment to assignment, or you can place a long-term bet on the End Game.’

‘The end game?’ the tumble-dryer in HP’s head had suddenly kicked into action.

‘Good question, maybe you’re not so slow after all!’

Erman got up and started waving his arms about.

‘Players who reach a certain level get to participate in larger scenarios, and all their assignments lead up to some sort of grand finale, the ultimate test. The Circle can bet on the final outcome, the End Game. Will a Player be able to cope with the pressure, or will he buckle, you get it?’

HP nodded uncertainly. His loony radar had started to bleep. This sounded completely crazy …

‘Best of all, Players don’t usually work out how everything fits together but act purely on impulse, which makes
the Game even more authentic.
A true show of character
, you could say.’

Erman took another turn about the cottage before he returned to the kitchen table.

He gave HP a long, searching look, and seemed to be weighing something up seriously before he went on.

‘Okay, like I said, I don’t usually talk to anyone, and above all never about the Game, but you’ve got a pretty good sponsor who guarantees that you’re okay, and you seem a bit too daft to be playing a double-bluff …’

Erman pulled a piece of paper and a pen from a kitchen drawer and started to draw a pyramid.

‘This is what it looks like. Right at the bottom are loads of small-time players who are happy with a little bit of excitement and a reliable source of extra income, they’re called Ants. The Ants are used for small jobs, like getting hold of stuff, or information, preparing and delivering the tools for various assignments, or helping to film them. Ants never aim for the top, they never become real Players, they just play it safe, if you see what I mean?’

HP nodded quickly. He hadn’t missed the fact that Erman had just called him daft, but this was fucking interesting!

‘I bet it was an Ant who left the mobile on the train for you, and filmed your trial. The guy with the umbrella could well have been an Ant, unless he just happened to be there, it’s hard to tell,’ Erman went on.

‘But all the other stuff: the passcard, the tools for the Ferrari, the flash-bang grenade, the locker at Central Station, the key under the table …?’

‘Probably all sorted by Ants!’ Erman confirmed. ‘The entire Game is built on the Ants. Without them nothing would work, and they’re always recruiting more. There are Ants everywhere: in the police, social security, Telia,
Microsoft, Google, you name it. So you can be sure they knew anything that was worth knowing about you way before they let you find the mobile.’

Erman drew another layer in the middle of the pyramid.

‘The Ants also help to find Players, people like you. The Ant who found you gets a bonus for each assignment you complete, and the further you get, the richer you make him or her.’

HP held up his hand. He had to pause a bit to digest what he had just heard.

So someone had tipped off the Game about him?

Maybe someone he actually knew?

Erman seemed to be reading his mind.

‘You might not even know your Ant. It could be anyone who stumbled over your credentials, an employer, someone in social services, or who dealt with your unemployment benefit claim.’

For some reason the explanation didn’t make HP feel much better.

For him the whole thing had been just a game, a way of passing the time with a bit of a twist. But this …

‘The Players are a different category to the Ants, and they’re used for more advanced and risky assignments, if you see the difference?’

Oh yes, HP got it. The arson attacks on his flat and the shop weren’t the sort of thing you’d get an Ant to do, that took a lot more balls.

‘As you already know, each Player gets a series of assignments,’ Erman went on, as he drew the top layer in the pyramid.

‘They’re all designed to find out how far you can be pushed, and obviously the Circle bet on what the boundaries are. Over time most of you fall by the wayside, but the Game takes that into account. Players are basically no
more than perishable goods, and only a very few have what it takes to stay in the Game. When you sang your heart out to that cop, regardless of whether he was real or not, somewhere in cyberspace was one gang of happy souls who’d bet that you’d crack, as well as a load of others that you seriously disappointed. But you can be sure that someone else has already taken your place in the limelight.’

He drew an arrow through the whole pyramid.

‘The Game goes on always –
you’re always playing the game
, you get it?’

‘But the high score list, the clips and everything? I mean, I was first Runner-up, that has to mean something?’

He could hear how desperate he sounded, but made no effort to hide it.

Erman let out a slow chuckle.

‘HP, HP, HP … You still don’t get it, do you? … None of what you’ve been through is real. It was all just a game, a phone app that seamlessly integrates truth and illusion so well that in hindsight it’s practically impossible to know where the boundaries are. Look up the word
Game
and you’ll see what I mean!’

The look of incomprehension on HP’s face made Erman sigh again.

‘Okay, I’ll spell it out: they’re lying to you, HP! The Game shows you some things that are true, and some that were stitched together just for you. Motivations differ from player to player. Some get turned on by sport – others by girls or music.

‘Whereas you evidently like films and computer games – so the Game gives you your very own starring role, complete with a fan club and everything …’

Erman gulped the last of his coffee before going on.

‘Suddenly you’re the leading man instead of a spectator.
From Nobody to VIP in the space of a few days. The fans out there in cyberspace can’t seem to get enough of you, and pretty soon you can’t get enough of them. And all the Game asks in exchange for this massive trip is a few tiny little assignments …’

He was staring at HP, whose face had gone completely white.

‘Basically it works just like any other sort of addiction,’ he went on. ‘Drugs, gambling, or in your case attention and affirmation – the same mechanisms kick in inside your head. And as the addiction grows, the brain loses the ability for critical analysis. You’ve turned into a
recognition junky!
Anything that doesn’t support or increase the buzz gets filtered out and your imagination fills in the gaps. You believe because you want to believe, and therefore help the Game to paper over the glitches in the app. True or false, right or wrong, it matters less and less. Bigger and longer kicks are all that count, and more of them.

‘But it’s all just a game –
it’s all a fucking Game
, understand?’

He looked expectantly at HP once again.

‘So, to return to your question, my friend. The list they showed you could very well be real, but it could just as easily be something they put together especially for you. Because that’s what gets you going. They’re playing with you, HP, just like you play with the poor bastards on the other end of the assignments, which brings me to the less attractive part of the Game.’

Less attractive! HP thought. How the fuck could anything be less attractive?

He was suddenly feeling like a prize idiot, a fucking puppet that they’d been playing with just for the hell of it. Jerking his strings to see what would happen, and betting on the outcome.

My ladies and gentlemen, guess what will happen if we pull string number four! Will 128 withstand the pressure or not? Will he throw a stone at his sister’s police-car to get a bit of affirmation, and will she survive? Will he crack under pressure and cry like a baby? Ladies and gentlemen, place your bets, and stay tuned …!

His head was spinning fast now and it took him several seconds before he realized that Erman had started talking again.

‘… the assignments really come from? Betting is only one of the Game’s sources of income. As I’m sure you can understand, it costs a hell of a lot to keep something like this rolling. People are playing on several continents, so the financing is pretty damn important.’

He paused to refill their coffee-cups and took a third turn around the house. Once he’d reassured himself that everything was still okay, he returned to the kitchen table.

‘You see …’ Erman began in a low voice, leaning towards HP, so close that he could smell the caffeine cocktail on his breath … ‘this is where it gets really nasty!’

She took the chance to do it while the others in the group were playing indoor hockey and the corridor was empty. She’d declined to join in, blaming the fact that she still felt sore after the crash, and because they’d managed to put together two teams anyway, they didn’t try to persuade her.

According to her rota, Nilla wasn’t supposed to be working today, so she started with her home number. Two rings, then three, four. The answer machine clicked in and she was just about to hang up when she heard clattering as someone picked up the receiver.

‘Hello-this-is-Nilla!’

Her voice sounded more or less how she remembered.

She took a deep breath.

‘Hello Nilla, this is Rebecca Nor … er, Pettersson. Do you have time to talk for a couple of minutes? I’d really appreciate it.’

More clattering, then:

‘Sorry, I was just turning off the answer machine, what did you say your name was?’

‘Rebecca. Rebecca Pettersson.’

There was silence on the line.

Rebecca’s heart was pounding so hard that she imagined she could see her shirt fluttering over her chest.

‘Look, it’s like this, my friend. The Game requires a hell of a lot of money to function.’

Erman counted quickly on his fingers.

‘The Ants, the phones, the server-farms, and last but not least the functionaries, the people who are employed to keep the whole thing on the rails. Then there’s all the money that’s constantly being paid out to the Players, and the rewards for anyone who does particularly well. There are quite a few fixed costs each month, but I’ve done some calculations and they pretty much cover those with what they take from the live betting. The really big cash cow, the golden goose that gives the owners their profit – are the people who commission the assignments.’

HP nodded as if he understood, but in truth he was feeling completely lost.

‘Basically, various customers turn to the Game to get things done, if you follow me?

HP was still looking blank.

‘Things that can’t be done any other way,’ Erman went on, almost manic now. ‘Illegal stuff, get it?’

He drummed his index finger impatiently on the tabletop.

Yes, HP thought he was starting to get it …

‘You mean you can call and order something to be done, and the Game fixes it?’ he said cautiously.

‘Something like that,’ Erman nodded eagerly.

‘This part is Top Secret and is only handled by the Game Master’s closest circle. I don’t know all the details but I think it goes something like this: a customer wants something done, but without there being any trail back to him. It could be information, business secrets, or something more medieval, like messing with someone you’ve had an argument with. The Game has the ability to do all that, although obviously it comes with a serious price tag. Maybe there’s an Ant who can dig up what’s needed, or they can send a Player to get the job done if it’s something more risky. The Game can be used for absolutely anything.’

His face had been getting redder and redder, and somewhere at the back of HP’s mind a little alarm-bell started to ring.

‘So, for example, that lawyer you told me about. At a guess, he’s managed to seriously upset someone, but instead of contacting the Law Society, that person contacted the Game. And in a flash the Game Master conjures up a wheel-spanner and a Player desperate for cred who hates Stureplan lawyers. The customer gets his revenge documented on video, and if you fucked up and got caught and were stupid enough to break rule number one, there wouldn’t be much to tell – at least nothing that anyone would believe. It’s just like Verbal says in
The Usual Suspects:

‘The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist.
You’re just an ordinary nobody, with no connection whatsoever with the person who actually commissioned the assignment. Lee Harvey fucking
Oswald, man! You have to admit, it’s a stroke of genius, but at the same time it’s pretty fucking creepy!’

Erman flew up and started pacing round the little kitchen impatiently.

‘Erm … sure!’ HP agreed, as he tried to squeeze this latest information into his already overloaded brain. This all sounded pretty weird, which was probably understatement of the year …

‘So you mean …?’ he began, mostly out of politeness.

Erman flashed him an impatient look and sat down again at the table. Evidently he wasn’t completely happy with HP’s hesitant response.

‘Obviously, the problem is that there aren’t any boundaries. Okay, so the Game Master can’t actually
force
a Player to do something, that’s one of the main points of the Game. The Player must always have a choice, you know that yourself. Red or blue, right or wrong, in the end it’s up to you Players to decide, and that’s the way it has to be. Even if the Game would naturally prefer a particular outcome, there have to be different alternatives, there has to be an opening for the unexpected, for surprises. Otherwise there wouldn’t be anything to bet on, and thus no Game!’

Erman’s voice was cracking into falsetto.

‘But what the Game does is to keep shifting the boundary of how far a Player is prepared to go. Just look at what happened to you! We’re talking arson, sabotage, GBH, even murder! You only need to look at the paper to see what goes on every day!’

HP was getting more and more convinced that Erman was well on the way to losing it completely. You only had to look at the colour of his face to realize that Eyjafjallajökull was about to erupt.

Not to mention all that creepy staring …

‘You can look at any media outlet you like, and you’ll be able to find the Game in an instant. All you have to do is keep an eye out for phrases like
inexplicable, unknown reasons
and
no obvious motive
, and you’ve stumbled across the Game …’

Erman got up suddenly and ran over to one of the windows. He peered anxiously at the trees, as if he’d heard someone coming.

When he didn’t manage to see any danger he took two quick strides back to the kitchen table and leaned over HP.

‘They’ll take pretty much any job as long as you can pay!’ he snarled into HP’s face, giving him a close-up of a row of yellowing teeth.

‘There’s always some dumb fuck who’s prepared to do it. Some willing patsy who’s already crossed the line. It goes on all the time, in a whole load of different places all round the world. Check it out for yourself if you don’t believe me!’

Erman’s voice cracked again and HP sighed in disappointment. Fuck it, this had all started out so promisingly … Up to about five minutes ago his weird host had seemed more or less kosher. After all, who wouldn’t be a bit weird, out here in the middle of nowhere. But now
he’d
crossed the line, big-time.

The evil organization, the global conspiracy behind all the shit that ever happened in the world! The CIA, Opus Dei, ZOG or the Freemasons, it just depended which lunatic you asked. A placard on your chest and a regular spot in the town square.

I’m the only one who’s worked out the truth!
Yippikayee mothafucker! Game over, thanks for the coffee, time to go now …

‘Well, thanks very much, Erman, this is all good information, but right now I should probably …’ he muttered, standing up.

‘… a cigarette, no problem, but you’ll have to go outside. I’ll blag one off you.’

Looking confused, as if the comment had interrupted his train of thought and made him lose his thread, Erman shepherded HP out onto the front step before the astonished HP had time to protest.

It was nice to get a bit of fresh air, at least, he thought as he pulled out his cigarettes.

He offered one to Erman, then lit it and his own with his trusty old Zippo. He took a couple of deep drags and tried to stop his head spinning.

Okay, so Erman might have a few screws loose, but on the other hand he clearly possessed loads of useful information about the Game. Even if it had seriously messed with his own ideas, he couldn’t deny that a lot of what Erman had said actually made sense, and even seemed logical, if that word could actually be applied in this context.

But the theory of the Global Conspiracy was a bit hard to digest. Serious pulp fiction stuff, all it needed was a couple of serial killers and a dysfunctional cop to tick all the boxes. But what was the line between hard fact and wild fantasy?

They stood there smoking in silence while HP tried to work out his next move.

Really he felt like leaving. That crazy stare Erman had flashed at him a while back had scared him and he suddenly remembered that they were completely alone out here in the bush, with no way of calling for help.

But Erman seemed to have calmed down again now. The mad look had gone and where his face was visible
behind the beard it had resumed a normal colour. Probably it wouldn’t be that risky to hang about a bit longer.

Besides, he had a feeling there was more he needed to find out.

‘So how did you get dragged into all this, Erman?’ HP began tentatively.

Erman took a long, final drag and then flicked the butt into the nettles.

‘I was the one who installed their farm up here.’

He glanced quickly at HP and discovered that he was looking lost again.

‘Server-farm,’ he explained slowly, as if he were talking to a child.

‘The Game has five in total, or at least they did when I got out.’

He counted on his fingers again:

‘North America, South America, Africa, Asia and Europe/Middle East. Seriously massive giant farms that handle all the data in the Game. The servers in there control all the mobile phones, image files, they send out the assignments, gather it all together and store the information, and handle the cash flow. They also control all communication between the Players, the Game Master and the Circle. No farms, no Game, get it?’

HP nodded eagerly, he got it, and more importantly: this was seriously useful information!

‘So you installed the one for Europe?’

‘Europe and the Middle East,’ Erman corrected.

‘That must be a pretty massive farm, then?’

HP was trying to sound impressed. Evidently it worked, because Erman suddenly looked a bit happier.

‘I was pretty much given a free hand. A hefty bank account and a few basic specs, then I was left to get on with it. Almost six months’ work, sixty hours a week. All
the latest technology, as well as a few things that still haven’t hit the market, and maybe never will. NASA stuff, yeah? The Game could get hold of anything, and I mean
anything!
I just had to say what I needed and they sorted it.’

He sighed happily.

‘Sounds pretty sweet!’ HP flattered. ‘But how did they find you? I mean … why you in particular?’

‘Because I was the best, wasn’t I?’ Erman gave him another condescending stare but HP let it pass.

‘Didn’t you get what I told you just now? The Game does its homework, they’ve got informants everywhere and it didn’t take them long to put together a shortlist of people who could do what they wanted to get done.’

He waved two fingers at HP, and HP quickly finished his cigarette, pulled out the packet and lit two new Marlboros for himself and his host.

‘First an anonymous email to see if I was interested, spiced with just enough questions and challenges to get me going. Pretty much like you and your first assignments.

‘It took a while before I realized that they were weren’t just talking theoretically, they really were planning to put together an installation like that up here. When I finally realized it was serious, I couldn’t say no. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, the sort of thing most people in my line of work could only dream of. The only problem was the suits made sure that I never got any sort of credit for it.’

He cleared his throat and spat a gob of saliva towards the nettles.

‘I had to sign loads of documents, but they were basically all variations on rule number one:
Never talk about the Game!
When it was all done the suits came back and checked and once they’d approved everything I had to hand over my keys, passcard and everything.
Thanks a lot, we’ll take
it from here.
I offered to carry on, become the system administrator for the farm. I’d almost have done it for nothing, just to keep working at the farm. And what I’d seen of the Game itself, it all seemed pretty appealing …’

‘But …?’

‘Thanks, but no thanks, we’ve got our own people.
And that was that! Paid off, just like that, after all my hard work. The passcard I handed in had probably been cancelled before I even left the building, and then I was out in the cold. I tried to get remote access to the system a couple of times but all the backdoors had been closed. Then I got a little warning message from the Game Master, and just like you, sadly I wasn’t smart enough to believe it …’

He took a couple of deep drags and slowly let the smoke out as he shook his head.

‘I was having serious trouble letting go of it all, it was my
magnum opus.
The best work I’d ever done, the sort of thing only a very few people in the world could have managed on their own and in such a short space of time. But I didn’t get any recognition at all for it, just thanks for the coffee and goodbye. I was so stupid that I kept on trying to find a way into the system. Maybe I was thinking that if I found some sort of problem, something that had gone wrong that I could fix, making it all work even better, then they’d realize that they needed me and let me back in again. That I was a force to be reckoned with! But there are never any comebacks. Once you’re out in the cold, they never let you back in!’

HP gulped.

That wasn’t the message he’d been hoping to hear.

‘So what happened?’ he asked, even though he’d already guessed the answer.

‘Suddenly I started to get problems. Installations I’d
done elsewhere crashed, programs turned out to be riddled with viruses, and my customers went mad.

‘Then my bank account was blocked, and my phone and internet connections were cut off without any warning, as well as a load of other problems. I worked day and night to put everything right, but after a year or so my business was ruined. The same thing went for me, it was about then that I got ill.’

Erman was suddenly sounding tired.

‘So I left it all behind and vanished from the map. You won’t find me in any databases anywhere,’ he added happily. ‘I don’t really exist. No personal ID number, no bank account, loyalty cards or phone, electricity and water accounts. Completely out of sight of Big Brother!’

‘But how do you get it all to work, I mean, you must still need cash?’

‘You can sort anything if you really want to. It takes planning and work, but it’s possible. Don’t forget, it’s not that long since the internet was pure science fiction! I just do everything old-school, cash only and low tech. It works a lot better than you might think!’

HP shook his head doubtfully. He’d rather take a few deep breaths from the moped’s exhaust than live the rest of his life like this. No TV, no internet, not even electricity! All alone in the dark in the middle of nowhere. On top of what the Game had done to him, it wasn’t so strange that the poor geek seemed to be teetering on the edge.