LITMIR.BIZ

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didn’t work?

      But now she was hesitating again.

      How should she start, and what did she really expect to get out of the conversation? Get it all out in the open, once and for all, she repeated to herself. Turn the page at last and put a stop to all those damn notes …

      Not exactly a straightforward aim, and maybe not even possible. Just a few days ago she wouldn’t be bothering with any of this. After all, she’d gone more than a decade without getting bogged down in the past. But after what happened out at Lindhagensplan everything had changed.

      Seeing Kruse there in hospital with tubes and wires everywhere, admittedly a bit brighter now than to begin with, had made her think along different lines. It could easily have been her lying there. Should have been, maybe, just like the note implied; it had been her mistake.

      So that’s why she was thinking of trying to make contact, properly this time. Clear the air, say what she should have said all that time ago, and get some sort of closure. First with his family, then, after that, with Henke somehow. Get him to forgive her for what she’d done, or, more truthfully, hadn’t done … If anything like that was actually possible.

      Their conversation the other day hadn’t exactly given her much hope. She’d tried ringing him but the new number he’d given her had been cut off. Typical Henke.

      But what was she actually going to say?

      ‘The truth!’ a voice inside her head whispered.

      In spite of the heat she shivered.

      ‘So, tell me what they got you to do, and don’t worry about rule number one. In the forest no-one can hear you squeal!’

      Erman let out another rumbling belly-laugh as he refilled their cups.

      ‘To start with, what number did you have?’

      HP was a bit taken aback, to put it mildly. The shaggy geek had tricked him, playing the village idiot even though he knew exactly how the land lay. Fucking brilliant, what a laugh, yippikayee mothafucker!

      But what the hell, he just had to bite the rotten apple and make the best of it.

      ‘One hundred and twenty-eight,’ he muttered, and for the third time in just a few days he told his whole story, right from the start, with a few choice bits missing.

      When he was finished Erman nodded thoughtfully.

      ‘Well, I can certainly understand why you’re here. You’ve got plenty of reasons to be furious, I can see that. But now I’m going to tell you why you should think seriously before getting into round two with the Game Master, if that’s what you’ve got in mind?’

      Suddenly he got up from his chair and walked around the little house, bending down to look out of the low windows. Evidently satisfied, he returned to the kitchen table.

      ‘Now listen carefully, lad, because you don’t really seem to be taking this seriously … unless you’re just a bit crazy. You don’t mess with the Game, if you haven’t already realized that. I used to work for them, so I know more about it than most people, but we can talk about that later. To start with, who do you think has been leaving comments on your page?’

      ‘Erm, well, people who’ve watched the clips?’

      HP had never given it much thought. The answer was fairly obvious, after all.

      ‘Well, it has to be people who like watching cool film clips and don’t mind paying for it. Otherwise the Game wouldn’t work, would it?’ he added, slightly uncertainly.

      Erman shook his head.

      ‘So you really think there are loads of people out there with nothing better to do than watch a load of pranks, and who’ve got fed up of doing it for free on YouTube and MTV?’

      ‘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 …

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