He lit a fag, took a deep drag and then sent an almost perfect smoke-ring up towards the nicotine-yellow ceiling.
1992 – PayTag is founded by four dudes at an American university. The basic idea is to facilitate smooth transfers of money over the internet. Theres nothing wrong with the idea, but in purely technical terms theyre ten years too early and the software causes problems. In spite of this, venture capitalists pour money in and they are able to build a number of large server farms to handle the transactions they expect to have to deal with.
1997 – After five years of figures in the red the coffers start to run dry. Following a disagreement two of the founders leave. The other two decide to change direction and in a desperate attempt to exploit their unused server farms they start hiring out space to other companies that need external backup in case their own servers go down. The lads have struck gold and clients start pouring in almost immediately.
1999 – For the first time the companys accounts show a profit, and a fairly healthy one at that, making PayTag practically unique in the IT world.
2001 – BANG! All the air goes out of the global IT bubble, but seeing as the need for backup is bigger than ever PayTag still manages to make a small profit. And oddly enough in light of the stock market collapse, new capital is available. PayTag goes on a serious shopping spree among its bankruptcy-threatened competitors, and soon manages to weave itself into every aspect of the IT sector: installations, service contracts, consultancy – you name it!
2005 – The company is listed on the NASDAQ index. The largest single holding belongs to a foundation which is probably linked to the two remaining founders, but various financial machinations, along the lines of those employed by Ikea, make it pretty much impossible to work out if this is actually the case.
2009 – Another landmark! IT guru and media darling Mark Black is installed as new MD. He immediately sets to work realizing his vision – the Cloud. Clients would no longer merely use PayTag to host their critical backup, but ALL their data. Server spaces are expunged from offices around the world and instead established on the internet – or rather, in one of PayTags heavily guarded gigantic server halls which are now popping up like toadstools in sparsely populated areas all over the planet.
But HP was almost certain that the Game began way before 92, and PayTag actually seemed to have been legitimate for a good few years. Which meant that their paths must have crossed somewhere.
The Game could have been a secret source of finance that stepped in during the collapse of the IT bubble, for instance.
Or else the mysterious foundation that owned the majority of the shares could conceal something considerably more unpleasant than just a couple of greedy little Ingvar Kamprads who didnt want to pay tax.
But the safest way to take the company over probably wasnt through holding shares, or at least not that alone.
They would need some kind of presence on the ground, someone who would make sure that things were run the way they should be, which led him to his latest theory.
The Game had probably planted a trojan inside PayTag. He knew something about trojans having been one himself inside ArgosEye. Something or someone who looked on the surface to be an asset, but who had actually brought something lethal inside the walls. For that tactic to work, the trojan would have to be implanted at the very top of the pyramid. Which meant that there was really only one candidate …
Mark Black.
It was under his leadership that the company had grown to span the entire world. The Cloud and the server farms were all part of Blacks vision, and PayTags owners appeared to have given him a completely free hand. Celebrities and politicians alike seemed to love the smooth bastard, and the media drooled over everything he did. No-one seemed to have worked out who Black really was. No-one except Henrik HP Pettersson.
Imagine having a little chat with Mr Black.
Eye to eye.
Player to Player …
He took a last drag, then stubbed the cigarette out in an overflowing ashtray on the bedside table.
A meeting with Mark Black. That wasnt actually such a bad idea.
Mark Black, managing director of PayTag and thus indirectly our ultimate boss, will be paying us a visit in a fortnight, as you all know …
Rebecca clicked to bring up the first picture of her Powerpoint presentation. It showed about thirty people dressed in white, all wearing Guy Fawkes masks and holding banners.
The threat level is currently deemed to be high, largely as a result of the various protests seen at previous inaugurations.
She switched to an image of demonstrators being led away by the police.
Blacks private plane, registration number November Six Bravo, will be landing at Bromma on 25 June at 19.55. Kjellgren and I will pick him up in the Audi, Mrsic and Pellebergs will be waiting outside gate number one with the support vehicle. Well be driving straight to the Grand Hotel, where I and potentially Mrsic will accompany him to his suite. Well decide that once we know how things look. Black evidently isnt too keen on having much visible security around him … We will be based in room 623, in the same corridor as Blacks suite, and Ill be staying there.
Her mouth felt suddenly dry, and she paused to take a sip of water from the glass on the table in front of her.
Departure to the Fortress at 06.15 on the twenty-sixth. Same cars and pairings as before. The site manager and Anthea Ravel from management will be joining us …
She saw a couple of the bodyguards exchange glances and went on quickly before any of them had a chance to open their mouths.
The inauguration ceremony will begin at 09.30, followed directly by the press conference. Any questions so far … ?
None of the other six people in the little meeting room moved.
Good, she continued. Lindh, you and Gudmundson will meet us on site. Have you spoken to the manager there?
Lindh, a sinewy, suntanned man in his forties, cleared his throat and glanced down at the little black notebook on the desk in front of him.
Yes, its all sorted. Thirty journalists have replied to say theyll be there, along with a group of local politi-cians, the Minister for Business and his entourage, and representatives from a couple of clients. Possibly a few more. No names that have set off any alarm bells so far, I should probably add. Obviously weve checked everyone …
When the run-through was finished she took the stairs down to the floor below, said hello to a couple of faces she recognized, then slipped into Mickes cramped little office. He was crouched over his computer and hardly looked up.
Hi! She leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.
Hi Becca, did it all go okay? He spun his chair round.
Yep, weve got Blacks visit under control.
Good, the whole company seems a bit nervous. Its a big thing, him choosing to come here so soon after the acquisition. Will you be going up to the Fortress with him?
She nodded just as his mobile started to ring.
He picked it up from the desk and looked at the screen. Then he stood up quickly.
Sorry, I have to take this. Weve got a crazy amount of work right now, were completely swamped …
No problem, I was on my way out anyway. Just thought Id ask about the pictures …
Pictures? He had already taken a step towards the door and put his phone to his ear.
The ones I took on Friday, in the van. You were going to try to improve the pixilation, or whatever you call it?
The phone went on ringing and she could feel him getting rattled by the situation.
Oh, no, it didnt work. Listen, Ive really got to get this …
She gave him a little wave and left the room.
Hello … ? Yes, everythings going according to plan … she heard him say before the door closed behind her.
He didnt dare have a computer of his own. In his two months as an employee of ArgosEye he had realized how much of a trail you left, both on the internet and your own hard-disk. No way was he going to offer them a smorgasbord like that.
Instead he had developed a strategy where he switched between various borrowed computers at random. Short bursts where his minimal internet footprint would be hidden by thousands of other peoples. Really, though, he ought to steer well clear of the internet altogether. Follow the example of Erman the hermit, cut all ties to civilization, go into hiding in a cabin in the woods and live a low-tech life way below the Games radar.
But he had dropped that idea pretty quickly. He was born to live on tarmac, and life in the forest would undoubtedly have finished him off. Just as it had finished off poor Erman …
No, far better to play it cool, go along with it and make the most of the calm by gathering together as many pieces of the puzzle as possible. Preparing as best he could so he was ready when they wanted an answer.
At least that was what he had thought last winter, after his meeting with the Game Master.
Fuck it. Obviously, he should have cut back on his use of the Xbox and concentrated on reality far more than he had actually done. But up to the moment when the cops had kicked his door in, the complete absence of communication had almost managed to persuade him that the meeting out in the forest had been just a bad dream. A mad fantasy conjured up by his fucked up brain, desperate for a bit of acclaim.
Too many hours sitting with the hand controller – or his own joystick, for that matter – made it easy to lose focus.