Литагент HarperCollins - The Complete Game Trilogy - Game, Buzz, Bubble

Apart from the business with the stone and his sister, he had been run over, beaten up, given the third degree, had the shit scared out of him and then his flat set fire to.

So in other words, he had plenty of reasons to be pissed off.

But the sickest thing in this whole mess was that in spite of everything they’d done to him, he was still dreaming about getting back in, being forgiven and allowed to carry on playing.

Step back out onto the track to the applause of the spectators.

He could see it was wrong, that it was completely insane, in fact, but he still couldn’t shake the thought.

What if he could get in touch with someone, the Game Master himself perhaps? Say he was sorry and maybe get another chance? The question was just how to go about it? There was no contact list, sadly, and he had a fair idea that he wouldn’t have any luck with the Yellow Pages or Google.

Okay, he still had the mobile phone, but that had been dead since the fire. The battery must be exhausted by now. But all those hours on the sofa had at least given him one idea. Every modern mobile was a sort of little computer. They had at least two different types of memory where it ought to be possible to dig out something useful, if you only knew what you were doing.

Luckily he had the right man for the job. Straight out of One Thousand and One Nights : his own reluctant host, the world’s most browbeaten husband, the artist formerly known as … Manga!

‘I know you’re keen to have a look at this, Mangalito,’ he said an hour or so later, tossing the mobile on the shop counter. ‘It’s all yours. All I need to know is who’s been sending me messages and how I can turn the tables and contact them.’

Manga looked at him lazily over a copy of that day’s Metro without moving a finger, but he couldn’t fool HP. HP could see the corner of one of his friend’s eyes literally start to twitch. And, just like when they were playing poker, all you had to do was sit it out.

Easy peasy!

‘On one condition,’ Manga said after a few seconds of trying to look uninterested.

‘Whatever …!’

As long as it doesn’t break rule number one, HP thought to himself.

Manga grinned.

‘That from now on you call me Farook!’

‘Deal!’ HP said in relief, before he realized what he’d agreed to.

Oh well, if it would make the towel-head happy …

It had been a nice meal. Very good food, and a decent atmosphere. Thai, but without being kitsch the way Asian restaurants often were. There had been no trace of ‘Love Me Tender’ in Thai, or concertina lanterns with selected words of Buddhist wisdom. No, it had all been really good, in fact.

They’d done just the right amount of talking, had kept quiet while they were eating, and he hadn’t even raised an eyebrow when she declined the wine, just as he hadn’t questioned her explanation of a minor traffic accident to cover her injuries. Afterwards they’d exchanged a quick kiss, then they had each gone back home on their own.

She realized that it was the first time that had happened.

So what did that mean? Were they on their way to a proper relationship?

Absolutely not, she decided, firmly interrupting that line of thinking.

They had simply had a nice meal, talked about all manner of things, nothing of any great significance. He had talked about his parents’ farm in Södermanland, and how he had moved to the city to study instead of taking over the farm, and how he had been trying to stay out of the way as best he could.

‘Guilty conscience,’ he had said with a wry smile. Not being able to live up to expectations.

She understood perfectly what he meant. She had listened with interest and occasionally made a comment, though without volunteering the same level of confidence herself. But he had worked that out fairly quickly and hadn’t pushed her in that direction at all.

He was actually a nice guy. Better than she deserved.

‘I’ll call you later in the week,’ he had said, and she hadn’t protested.

She realized that she was looking forward to him calling, in fact.

‘Like some story in a bloody women’s magazine,’ she snorted.

She wondered how Henke was getting on?

But, then again, why should she care?

HP was impressed. After a bit of fiddling about, Manga – no, Farook – had managed to open a compartment on the phone that HP had never even noticed, and had plugged a USB cable into the little socket hidden inside. Obviously he should have known that there had to be a way into it, but he’d been so absorbed by what was happening on the screen that he hadn’t given any thought to the basics, such as how you charged the thing when the battery was exhausted.

As soon as Manga plugged the cable into one of the computers at the back of the shop a little charging light went on, so evidently it would work with any USB power-source.

A bit of nifty typing, then a load of symbols started rolling on one of the computer screens.

HP was by no means a novice when it came to computers, but this was out of his league, no question. Manga was a wiz at computers and maybe he’d be able to find out something useful.

‘This is going to take a while,’ he muttered, and HP agreed without protest to run a few errands in the city. In a fit of generosity, he even brought paper cups of latte back to the shop so they wouldn’t have to drink the bitter brewed coffee from the hotplate.

But when he got back something had changed. Manga seemed to have been practically waiting for him just inside the door. He grabbed HP’s arm and dragged him into the shop, almost spilling the lattes.

‘What the fuck are you doing, calm down!’

But Manga wasn’t listening. Instead he shut the door, locked it and changed the sign to ‘Closed’.

Without a word he pulled HP over to the corner where the computer was.

The three screens were showing a series of film-clips.

HP unscrewing the wheel nuts of a Ferrari.

HP blowing up the Horse-Guards in Kungsträdgården.

HP dropping a stone over a railing at Lindhagensplan and then a car with flashing blue lights rolling over and over until it came to rest with smoke rising from the engine …

His stomach clenched tight.

‘What the fuck are you really up to?’ Manga hissed, giving him an accusing stare.

So much for rule number one, then …

His third transgression in twenty-four hours, this was seriously not good.

Fucking mega not good!

‘Can that thing hear us?’ he said anxiously, pointing at the mobile.

‘What? No, of course it can’t!’ Manga snarled. ‘What the fuck is this about, HP?’

HP gave the phone another quick glance and, just to be sure, pulled Manga with him into the little cubbyhole behind the counter. He licked his lips nervously while he tried to gather his thoughts.

Purely technically, he had only broken the rules once. He hadn’t actually blabbed to his sister, even if the Game seemed to think he had and had punished him accordingly. So really he’d been punished for something he hadn’t done, which meant they owed him one. Besides, he needed Manga, sorry, Farook. Without him he wouldn’t be able to contact the Game.

So you could say that everyone gained from the violation of the rules that he was contemplating. He hadn’t expected Manga to be able to get any pictures out of it. An IP-address, maybe a server host somewhere, that was all he needed to get going. But when it came to technology his old friend was far too smart for his own good. So how could he get Manga to go along with his plan?

‘Okay, it’s like this … Farook,’ he said, tasting the unfamiliar name cautiously.

He had to play this on Manga’s terms …

‘Like I told you, I found the mobile on the train from Märsta the other week, but what I didn’t tell you is that it invited me to play a game. A rather special game, actually …’