The Game Trilogy (53 page)

What the hell was going on?

This couldn’t be happening! Brewer’s droop – now – of all fucking occasions! In the middle of a fucking porn film fantasy, and the tool of the trade was letting him down!!!!

How the hell could he be stupid enough to mix drink with acid like some fucking rookie?! He looked down at his deflating pride and joy, and suddenly felt close to tears …

Fucking bastard bloody …

The girls hardly seemed to notice him.

Sophie was lying on top of Rilke, and they were exchanging increasingly animated oral services, but neither
the sight nor the noises they were making did anything to ease his predicament. All he could do was watch.

Completely fucking …

… paralysed.

Unable to move – hardly able to breathe – while the man on top of her did his best to penetrate her from behind.

The hand round her neck, the body pressing her down. His panting grunts in her ear. All so familiar, so … so …

Reassuring …?

And wasn’t this, in spite of everything, what she had really wanted? What she had been looking for the whole time?

What she deserved …

She caught sight of the television screen out of the corner of her eye. All of a sudden he was just sitting there watching as the two women carried on without him. His shoulders slumped, his head hanging.

He looked so small and helpless. Almost sad.

She could see her own reflection in the screen. Her own helpless face superimposed on his. And for a second she could have sworn he was looking at her. That he turned his face towards the camera and looked her right in the eye …

‘You’re my little whore now, aren’t you,’ John hissed in her ear.

Or was it actually Dag?

‘No,’ she replied drily.

And a moment later she broke his nose …

‘Here.’

Rilke seemed to have noticed his condition. She rolled away from Sophie and managed to grab hold of her handbag.

A little blue pill, and another white one.

It took him a couple of seconds to realize.

Then he downed them both, swallowing them with the last dribble in the bottle of tequila.

The effect was almost instantaneous.

He was back!

Back in the fucking Game!

Her swivelling elbow caught him right across the nose. There was a crunching sound of bone and gristle breaking, then she was free. She kicked out with her knees and rolled off the bed. Then both feet firmly on the floor, fists clenched ready to fight.

But this man wasn’t Dag. His counterattack was halfhearted, almost as if he didn’t know what he was hoping to achieve. Trying to slap her from a kneeling position with the back of the hand that wasn’t clutching his shattered nose. He probably wasn’t used to anyone putting up any resistance – at least not properly …

She parried the blow easily and as he tried to get up from the bed she kicked his legs out from under him. He fell flat on the floor and she quickly kneed him in the back as she dragged one of his arms back in a rock-solid shoulder-lock.

Her head was still spinning slightly, but the adrenalin shock seemed to have taken the edge off her drunkenness.

‘Okay, this is what we’re going to do,’ she said, as calmly as she could. ‘In a little while I’m going to let you up from the floor, and then I’m going to get dressed and leave. I suggest that we simply pretend that this never happened. I never actually told you what my job is – I’m a police officer, so if you’re considering attacking me again, I can assure you that you’ll end the evening in the cells of Norrmalm Police Station on suspicion of
attempted rape and assault. Nod if you understood what I just said!’

His head raised and lowered mechanically.

A trickle of blood from his nose was dripping onto the white carpet, but he didn’t say a word.

‘Good! I’ll let you up in a minute so you can sort yourself out …’

She glanced over at the screen, where the three-way seemed to have got going again with renewed energy.

‘But first you’re going to tell me what my little brother’s doing on your television …’

He woke up slowly.

His mouth felt parched, his tongue was stuck to his palate, and the Met Office had just issued a warning about an impending headache. He was also naked. Not that that was much of a surprise …

What was probably more unexpected was the fact that his hands and feet had been tied to the ends of the bed with velvet straps. He twisted to get loose, and felt the patches of candle-wax on his chest peel off. What a fucking night!

The little flat belonged to the company, he had worked
that much out. It was next door to Philip’s own attic apartment, and was evidently used as an emergency crash-pad, probably most often by Sophie, seeing as she had been the one with the key.

He grinned and made a fresh attempt to get free.

He certainly had no cause for complaint when it came to ArgosEye’s personnel policies. Even if in hindsight it felt a bit odd to have shared Rilke with someone else.

So where had the two women gone?

The room was still in darkness, even though it ought to be morning. There was no clock in the room, and his own ridiculously expensive watch was probably on the floor somewhere between the door of the flat and the little bedroom, along with the rest of his clothes.

He was just about to jokily call for help, when he suddenly realized that he wasn’t alone.

There was someone sitting in the armchair over in the darkest corner of the room.

Someone he recognized …

‘Good morning, Magnus …’ Philip Argos said slowly. ‘But perhaps you’d rather I call you by your real name?’

HP started, then tried to stay calm. It was mostly all rather embarrassing, something they could laugh about later over a few beers. But for some reason his heart was still galloping. There was something about Philip Argos’s tone of voice, something creepy. Fucking creepy, in fact …

He twisted to break free, but the ties round his hands were knotted tight.

Philip got up slowly from the armchair and took a couple of steps towards the bed. To his surprise HP saw that his boss had a large bandage over his nose. What in the name of holy fuck was going on?

‘Henrik … Henrik Pettersson. That is your name, isn’t it?’

Obviously she ought to go straight home, get in the shower and try to wash off the whole of this terrible evening as best she could. Just the thought of it was enough to make her stomach churn.

John, or whatever his name was – for some reason she felt certain that wasn’t his real name – may not have been a Dag. Not when it came down to the actual violence. But somehow they still belonged in the same league, the only difference was in the tools they used.

It was all about power, being able to control another person down to the smallest detail.

John was considerably more sophisticated in his approach than Dag ever was. In John’s little world, violence was just a spice, something you used because you could. When you no longer anticipated any resistance. That was probably what she found most disturbing.

They had only met a few times, had talked on the phone and eaten one meal together.

But he had still managed to get such a grip on her that he had dared to do what he did.

As if she had unconsciously been transmitting helplessness signals? Actually, how unconsciously …?

On some level or other she had worked out what type he was the very first time she saw him in the gym, she could hardly deny that. Yet she still hadn’t given him the brush-off. Quite the contrary … she had flirted with him, got all dressed up and gone round to his flat the moment he called. Got drunk and let him take control, and had even wanted him to. But once again Henke had come to her rescue. Saving her from herself.

Fucking hell!

For a moment he thought he was going to shit himself. Then he had to fight a sudden urge to burst into tears.

‘I … I … er …’ he quacked, but Philip interrupted him.

‘Shhhh!’ He put a finger to his lips. ‘From now on, you speak only when I say you can. We’ve got a few little things to sort out, you and I …’

He leaned over HP, showing him his two black eyes.

‘To begin with, I thought you might like to tell me who employed you to infiltrate us.’

He raised his eyebrows to indicate that he was expecting an answer.

‘Er … hmm … What?’ HP mumbled as he desperately tried to snap himself out of the urge to start crying and kick-start his aching brain. ‘I mean … well … No-one did …’

Philip nodded.

‘I would have been disappointed if you’d given up that easily … Henrik.’

He gestured towards the door.

‘As luck would have it, we’re quite good at persuasion …’

Elroy came into the room. In one hand he was carrying two jump-leads. In the other was a car battery.

She was sitting in a rental car a block from the doorway. John hadn’t been particularly talkative, even with his arm in a half-nelson. But she had worked some of it out in retrospect. There had been no DVD to pop out, no hard drive to take away with her. And the reason for that was simple: what she had seen on the screen hadn’t been a recording, but live images.

The trio were only there for one reason. Because John had arranged it. A helpless little doll on the bed, and three
marionettes on the screen. She really did manage to attract some great guys …

In theory the three-way could have been taking place anywhere, and been broadcast via a webcam. But she was convinced that wasn’t the case.

She had made a mistake, albeit perhaps an understandable one given the circumstances.

Instead of just asking general questions about the people on the screen and trying to winkle out a few details, she had immediately blurted out both Henke’s name, and the fact he was her younger brother. John hadn’t said anything, the expression on his face had hardly changed from the moment she dragged him up off the floor until the door slammed shut behind her. But for a split second she still imagined she had seen something when she said Henke’s name. A tiny, involuntary microexpression that his brain couldn’t stop. Surprise, anger and something else, something even less benign.

The expression had only been there for a fraction of a second, but still she saw it.

Half an hour or so ago a dark Mercedes had pulled up outside the door and a well-built man had got out. He got some things out of the boot, but before she could get a closer look at him he disappeared in through the door.

There was something about the man’s posture, the decisiveness of his movements, that finally convinced her.

Henke was inside that building, and not only that. He was in danger.

And it was probably her fault …

The first shock wasn’t actually quite as terrible as he’d expected. A sudden shooting pain that made his thigh muscles cramp for a couple of seconds. Then it was over. Elroy had started just above his knees. Giving him a
warning shock so he realized how serious the situation was, which wasn’t really necessary. He got it. The next shock would be rather higher up …

How the fuck had they cracked his cover? Who had talked?

‘So, Henrik. Both Elroy and I would very much like to know what someone like you is doing in our company, and right now, of all possible occasions …?’

HP opened his mouth before he realized that Philip wasn’t finished.

‘I’m very disappointed in you, I have to confess … We had such great hopes of you, Henrik.’

For some reason the tone of Philip’s voice hurt almost as much as the electric shock he had just got in his thighs, and once again he felt close to tears.

‘Well, it wasn’t …’

BANG!

Another shock, halfway up his thighs this time. The muscles in his stomach and groin contracted into a little ball of pain and he groaned loudly.

Fuuck!!

When he opened his eyes Elroy’s grinning face came into view. These guys were deadly serious. But weirdly enough, fear was no longer the strongest thing he felt, more like …

Sorrow?

As if he were sad about disappointing Philip?

Fucked up!

‘I obviously didn’t make myself clear enough, Henrik. You speak when I give you permission, understood?’

HP nodded.

‘Good! As I’m sure you realize, we know all about you now. You’ve got something of a reputation, to put it mildly.’

Philip gave him a long look, and HP had to bite his
tongue to stifle the urge to reply. But he certainly wasn’t going to give Elroy that satisfaction again. The guy looked almost disappointed as he stood there bent over his legs with a jump-lead in each hand.

‘As you probably know, our company is going through a particularly sensitive time,’ Philip went on. ‘Things are going on in the world around us, things that have great significance for our future. There are forces out there that are trying to stop us, Henrik, and the best way to do that would be to send someone like you. A sharp, unscrupulous individual who is prepared to do practically anything as long as it serves his own interests, if you understand what I mean?’

HP nodded again.

‘Good, it looks as if we understand one another …’

Philip sounded pleased, and oddly enough this made HP feel a tiny bit glad.

‘So, let’s get back to my original question: who sent you to infiltrate us, and what were your exact instructions?’

So what the hell was Henke doing here?

How long had he been in Sweden, and why hadn’t he got in touch?

And who was this mysterious John, and what was his connection to her hapless little brother?

A bleep from her phone interrupted the spiral of thoughts going round her head.

Her heart began to beat faster and she couldn’t help looking round, then checking carefully in all the rear-view mirrors. But it was still early Sunday morning, and not a
car or even a bleary-eyed dog-walker was visible on the street.

She scrolled up to the sender’s number, and spent a few seconds wondering what to do. More angry texts in reply would hardly help, she’d already tried that. But on the other hand the tactic of simply ignoring him didn’t seem to work either. She had to do something about it, something that would make sure he got the message, once and for all.

She tapped menu on her phone and, after a few unfamiliar clicks, she managed to get the web-browser going. It took her almost ten minutes to find the information she was looking for.

BANG!

This time the shocks came towards the top of his thighs. All the air flew out of him, the muscles in his abdomen cramped and for a moment he thought he was going to piss himself. Tears were streaming from his eyes as the cramps slowly faded to a rumbling ache. Fuck, that hurt! A couple more shocks like that and he’d been ready for a care home.

Elroy had his sights set on an even higher target.

‘Next time it’ll be your balls,’ he grinned.

There’s a surprise, you pervy moron
…

Oddly enough, he still wasn’t anywhere near as terrified as he should have been. Scared, yes, no question about that … But not totally panic-stricken and petrified he was going to die, like down in Dubai.

Okay, so a twelve-volt battery could cause a fuck of a lot of pain, and getting his bollocks jump-started wasn’t exactly something he was looking forward to, but at least it was unlikely to kill him.

Well, he didn’t think it would …

He tugged tentatively at the straps. One advantage of his wild convulsions was that the ties had loosened slightly. As he gradually regained control of his limbs, he did his best to loosen them further without anyone noticing.

‘So, Henrik, you seriously expect us to believe that you infiltrated us entirely of your own volition? That you assumed a false identity simply because you were seized with an irresistible desire to get a job …?’

The two men at the end of the bed smirked at each other, and HP took the chance to stretch the loops a little more.

His cover was blown, they knew his name, but the real question was what else they had managed to find out during the night? Did they know he was Player 128, the man they had framed for Anna’s death, or were they happy simply to have identified him as Henrik Pettersson?

He needed to keep a cool head, get them to play all their cards whilst simultaneously keeping his own story close enough to the truth to seem credible.

‘It’s true. Honestly! Why would I lie? I needed a job, I’d heard good things about you but there was no way you’d employ me given my criminal record …’ He paused but there was no electric shock. ‘Manga, the real Manga, I mean, is away, and I just borrowed him … People doctor their CVs every day. The net’s full of fabricated identities. No big deal …’

Still no shock. HP had stopped pulling at the straps. Philip actually seemed to be listening to what he was saying. And why not? For once he was actually telling the truth …

‘Everything I’ve done while I’ve been with you has been real. I’ve done my best. I like the job, the whole deal with the company and … well, everything …’ he concluded, aiming a long look at Elroy.

A few seconds of silence followed.

HP didn’t move a muscle.

‘You certainly seem quite genuine, Henrik …’ Philip said thoughtfully.

HP nodded. It was actually all true, totally fucking true, in fact! For the first time in his life he had a job he liked, regular female company and something resembling a future.

The twelve-volt kick had woken him from the dream, dumped him back in reality, which in a way was actually a hell of a relief! Now at least he wouldn’t have to start each day with a reality check to keep fact and fantasy separate. The only question was: what happened now?

Could he be forgiven …?

Philip seemed to have softened slightly. In spite of everything, he was bloody good at what he did, a fucking self-made guy … ArgosEye’s very own golden boy.