The Game Trilogy (33 page)
Authors: Anders de la Motte
The screen filled with bouncing smileys.
Farook shook his head before he bent forward and restarted the computer. A two-tone bleep from the machine alongside indicated that it had just received an email.
He changed places, woke up the dormant screen and opened the inbox. A whole bunch of new messages, one each to the tip-off email addresses of the evening tabloids, TV-stations and a number of blogs.
All from the address [email protected], and sent just a minute or so before.
He skimmed through the identical messages.
‘Dear evening paper/TV-station/blogger,
About four weeks ago I found a mobile phone on a commuter train. A shiny one in brushed steel, with a glass touchscreen. It dragged me into a chain of events that
reached its climax in Torshamnsgatan a few days ago, and I’d like to share it with you now …’
Farook had set up HP’s laptop so that no matter what address he emailed, it would route all outgoing mail to one of his own anonymous email accounts. A smart insurance policy, as it turned out.
He highlighted both emails, then pressed shift, delete.
‘Are you sure you want to delete these messages?’ the computer asked.
He clicked Yes.
Then he closed the program, picked up his jacket and got ready to go home.
Betul would have dinner ready, and he knew better than to be late.
This evening they had something to celebrate. The path God had shown him had been far from straightforward. But now his penance was over and his debt finally repaid.
Ma’assalama, brother HP, you’ve definitely earned your Reward, he thought with a smile as he switched off the lights in the shop.
Just before he left the darkened premises, he picked up his mobile phone. A shiny one in brushed steel.
At one end a little red light was flashing.
Game
Copyright © 2013 by Anders de la Motte.
Translation copyright © 2013 by Neil Smith.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition © NOVEMBER 2013 ISBN: 9781443417389
Published by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd, by agreement with the Salomonsson Agency.
FIRST CANADIAN EDITION
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd
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Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication information is available upon request
ISBN 978-1-44341-736-5
RRD 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
for Anette
My warmest thanks to all the Ants out there, without whose advice and achievements the Game could never have become a reality.
The Author
16: Whispers, rumours and reports
18: Oh what a tangled web we weave …
20: I now inform you that you are too far from reality
36: Out of the hole and down the slope
Buzz
[b^z]
To leave, to get away from your current situation
Something that creates excitement, hype or a thrill!
A rush or feeling of energy, excitement, stimulation or slight intoxication
The verb used when posting something (mainly on Google buzz)
To clip, to cut, to shave, to remove, to mow
A method of obtaining immediate attention
Being overly and unnecessarily aggressive
A continuous noise, as of bees; a confused murmur, as of a general conversation in low tone
A whisper; a rumour or report spread secretly or cautiously
Making a call
www.wiktionary.org
www.dictionary.com
www.urbandictionary.com
‘The speed of communication is wondrous to behold. It is also true that speed can multiply the distribution of information that we know to be untrue.’
Edward R. Morrow
‘Nothing travels faster than light, with the possible exception of bad news, which follows its own rules.’
Douglas Adams
From: Mail Delivery Service
To: [email protected]
Subject: Delivery Status Notification
Date: 26 July, 23:44
Failed; 6.2.12.12 (rerouted)
Original message
From:
[email protected]
To:
undisclosed recipients
Subject:
the Game
Date:
26 July, 23.43
Dear newsdesk/TV station/blog
About four weeks ago I found a mobile phone on the train. A nice, shiny one – brushed steel with a glass touch-screen. It pulled me into a chain of events that came to an end out in Torshamnsgatan a few days ago, and I’d like to tell you about it.
My name is Henrik Pettersson, HP to my friends, and I’m 31 years old. (I don’t really see what my age has got to do with anything, but you lot seem obsessed with how old people are, so there you go.)
By now the mention of Torshamnsgatan should have set a few alarm-bells ringing, seeing as that was where the bomb went off. The bomb that was actually intended for someone else entirely. (I’m not going to write their name, you know who I mean and you never know what sort of surveillance filter might pick up this email …)
Back to the mobile phone on the train:
It invited me to play an Alternate Reality Game, where the boundaries between fantasy and reality had been blurred. Little tasks you had to carry out, and film them with the phone at the same time. And those tasks earned you points, giving you a ranking on a high-score list, where your performance could be judged by people watching online. And you got money if you succeeded.
It all sounded cool, so I signed up pretty quickly.
But this particular Game turned out to be way more real than I had imagined.
And way more dangerous …
Try googling the weird shit that’s been going on in the last few weeks!
That police car that crashed at
Lindhagensplan, an abandoned house going up in flames out in Fjärdhundra, not to
mention what happened to the royal procession in Kungsträdgården …
It’s all linked to the Game.
And now you’re wondering how I know that …
Easy – I was responsible for it all.
I got off on the buzz, the feeling that I had an admiring audience out there in cyberspace. Giving me cred for all the things I was doing. And like the sad little approval-junkie that I am, I let myself get dragged into it without protest. I shifted the boundary of what I thought was acceptable so far that I couldn’t actually see it anymore. I even managed to harm those closest to me …
Pathetic, isn’t it? How the hell could anyone do something like that, just to get a bit of public recognition? But take a look at yourselves. How many of you have got Facebook, Twitter or Instagram open in another window as you’re reading this email? Running them as apps on your mobiles and checking them compulsively from the moment you wake up until you fall asleep? My guess is: all of you.
The whole damn lot of you.
So you’re not exactly in a position to judge me!
I’m sure you’ll do your job properly, so I might as well tell you now: I’ve got a sister, Rebecca Normén, she’s a bodyguard with the Security Police. Yes, THAT Rebecca
Normén … You’ve probably written loads about her in the last few days. What with the medal and everything.
Becca’s good at her job, she’s a good bodyguard. A fucking good one, actually. Which isn’t all that surprising, seeing as she’s been in training her whole life, since we were little. She always looked after me. Except for one time when I stepped in and saved her life. Took a bullet for her.
But that’s a long time ago now, we don’t talk about it …
Somehow the Game Master managed to take advantage of our fucked-up relationship, and got me to subject Becca to things I’d rather forget.
She isn’t involved in the Game, at least not the way I am. In fact she even doubts that the Game really exists. But like Verbal Kint says in The Usual Suspects:
The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist.
Anyhow, I’ve given you enough, so get digging.
Check out who really owns that pile of ruins out on Torshamnsgatan. ACME Telecom Services Ltd is just a front. The set-up out there was used to control the Game. Collecting information, sending out tasks, and letting other people bet on the outcome.
Start by finding out what happened to
Erman, the IT genius who installed the servers. It’s not a pretty story …
But once you’ve been dragged in there’s no way out.
You’re always playing the game!
Talk to my old BFF, Magnus Sandström, who almost had his computer shop burned out (but call him Farook or he’ll get upset). Then throw in all the weird stuff that keeps happening. Computer systems that just shut down, sabotage, unexplained thefts. People vanishing – or being killed …
Put the pieces of the puzzle together, think big! Then even bigger!
You’ve got a lot of work ahead of you, but once you’ve got to the bottom of this you won’t believe your eyes.
They’ve been playing for years, poor Erman told me. And I’m sure that’s true.
Be careful – the Game Master’s got eyes and ears everywhere, and will do everything in his power to stop you.
Dig deep, join the dots and – most important of all – don’t trust anyone!
/HP
ps. Don’t waste time trying to find me. I’m long gone by now. Somewhere no-one will ever find me.
Not even the Game Master.
This message did not reach its intended recipients.
It was rerouted and removed by the administrator on July 26 at 23:43
She had been awake just a few seconds when she realized that the man was behind her. Something told her that he had been standing there for a long time under the scorching sun while he waited for her to come round.
She had been dreaming about an al-ghourab – a scrawny little desert raven with shimmering, blue-tinged feathers that had been sitting not far from her on the sand. The bird had tilted its head and looked at her curiously with its peppercorn eyes, almost as if it was wondering what she was doing out there all on her own.
She didn’t actually know if she had imagined it, or if a real raven had chosen to take a closer look at her inert body.
But, real or not, the bird was gone now – possibly scared off by the man’s silent presence.
The man’s return could mean only one thing.
Suddenly she was wide awake – her pulse was pounding against her eardrums.
She took a deep breath before slowly twisting her head to look in the man’s direction.
The sun was reflecting off the object in his hand, blinding
her and making her instinctively raise one arm to her sunburned forehead.
And at that moment she realized that the Game was over.