Buzz: A Thriller (37 page)

But it was all about shifting people’s focus. Creating an event that was both spectacular and simultaneously raised enough questions for the media and all the so-called experts to be able to argue about on every news channel available.

And in the meantime other things vanished under the radar. In actual fact the whole thing was just a variation of what the gang at ArgosEye did. Filling the bulletin board with their own posters so there was no room for anything else.

Over the next few weeks absolutely everything would be about the explosion and all the question marks surrounding it, and ArgosEye would make sure that the shift in focus lasted long enough.

The only question was: What were they trying to hide?

It had to be something big, that much at least was obvious.

So what the hell was he going to do now?

Obviously he could go to the press, but what evidence did
he have? He, a convicted criminal who had just been deported from an Arab country, directing various unspecified accusations at a well-established Swedish businessman. Not only that, but a wonderful little combo of accusations involving global conspiracy theories, various intelligence agencies, and secret societies. God, he might as well make himself a hand-painted sign and join the other nuts protesting outside Parliament.

No, he really only had two options.

One: pack his bags and head off into the sunset like a poor lonesome cowboy.

Or two: so much easier! He’d find out what they were planning and put a stop to the whole thing!

Yippikayee, mothafuckers!

♦  ♦  ♦

The guy in the pilot’s sunglasses and his weird friend double-parked outside her door and went with her all the way up to her flat. They even carried her bags, and then politely declined her offer of a cup of coffee as thanks for their help.

“Here,” Sunglasses said, rooting through his jacket pockets. During the drive he had introduced himself as Nox. “Your brother wanted you to have this.”

He handed her a cell phone and charger.

“Pay as you go. Keep it switched on, he’ll call soon.”

He made an odd drumming gesture against the side of his nose.

“Don’t you worry, little lady, Nox will look out for you!”

♦  ♦  ♦

He watched the intern show up on his scooter, parking it right outside the door. It looked like the same guy he’d met
several weeks ago, but all these kids looked the same. Long, greasy hair, his entire head covered in spots. Throw in a pair of washed-out jeans, red Counter-Strike eyes, and a creased T-shirt and you’d pretty much covered all of Mange’s little disciples.

A bit of rattling with the key in the lock, then a few minutes’ wait to let the guy switch off the alarm and start things up before he crossed the street.

He opened the door, but to his surprise he wasn’t welcomed by the usual tune from the doorbell.

Maybe Wally Work Experience had got fed up with it, or else he simply didn’t share Mange’s fascination with
Star Wars
.

Nor was the guy hanging over the counter with a cup of bitter coffee and a crumpled copy of
Metro
the way his master usually did. Instead HP found him toward the back of the shop, in front of one of the larger computers.

He was probably surfing for porn, playing a bit of pocket billiards while checking out the Internet’s latest accomplishments. “Naughty Annie stuffs her Fanny,” “Donkey-Hung IV,” or other cinematic masterpieces proudly presented by the World Wide Web . . .

“Does your boss know what you’re doing?” HP shouted, making the young man almost fall off his chair.

“What!?”

The guy was staring at him in shock.

“Calm down, lad, I’m not that dangerous.”

HP grinned and pointed to his own chest.

“I come in peace. Take me to your leader!”

He nodded benevolently at the kid, who still looked completely blank.

“Ah, what the hell . . .” HP chuckled when the joke seemed to pass him by. “I need to get hold of Mange or Farook or whatever the hell he’s calling himself this week. Is he still away? His old email and Messenger don’t seem to be working.”

“Er . . . ?!”

Finally, something resembling a sign of life . . .

“Well . . . the boss is in Saudi or somewhere like that . . . He’s got a new Hotmail. Do you want it . . . ?”

“Bingo!”

The young man grinned with relief and a minute or so later he’d managed to dig out a scrap of paper and a pen.

“You’re HP, yeah?” he went on in a slightly less shaky voice.

“Mmh,” HP muttered from the corner of his mouth while he was jotting down Mange’s contact details.

“Mange has said a lot about you . . . You sound like a pretty cool dude. Seen a lot of stuff, I mean.”

“Really, you reckon?” HP said, looking up. “Obviously, I can neither confirm or deny any rumors . . .” he added with a smile.

After all, you had to give kids a chance . . .

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Dear Rebecca,

I have encouraging news from Darfur.

It looks as if there is a sequence of film showing the incident.

Someone who was at the scene seems to have recorded the whole thing using the camera on his cell, and we are currently doing our best to try to get hold of the recording.

Hopefully we will have it within a couple of days.

While I am writing, I wonder if I might ask for your help?

I should very much like to contact your brother.

For a long time now I have been hoping for an opportunity to talk to him in person, to tell him a little more about your father. I might perhaps even be able to rehabilitate Erland a little in Henrik’s eyes. Unfortunately Henrik is not a very easy person to get hold of, and as I myself am often away traveling I haven’t yet managed to arrange a meeting.

I shall be setting off again shortly, probably for a rather long trip, and I would very much appreciate it if you could tell me by return where I might be able to reach him.

With very best wishes,

Tage Sammer

She had just read the email when the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s me!”

“Yes, so I can hear . . .”

“We probably need to talk . . .”

“You reckon . . . ?”

“Come on, Becca, this isn’t the time to get all grumpy. Do you know Philip Argos? Nox said it looked like you did.”

“Who?”

“Philip Argos, previously known as Philip John Martinsson. My former boss and a seriously fucking nasty piece of work . . .”

She sighed.

“It’s complicated . . .”

♦  ♦  ♦

Okay, so the situation was actually even worse than he had imagined.

Nox had done his job impeccably, which wasn’t really that strange. After all, he had stumped up the rent on a flat for the Chief for the next six months, and thrown another ten cartons of cigarettes into the bargain, so now the two nuts were neighbors down on the ground floor.

But what he had found out over the past few days was considerably more troubling.

She’d lied to him!

She had never explained what she had been doing in Östermalm that morning, and as usual he had been a bit too focused on himself to ask.

What annoyed him most was that he had actually believed that the whole thing was a huge damned coincidence. That karma had put her there like some angel of salvation . . .

Whereas in fact she was more like a tart who’d just tumbled out of Philip’s bed after a night of passion . . .

His life had pretty much always been basically screwed up, but he had always been able to rely on Becca. She was the one who helped him keep his head above water. But now she’d let him down, several times over. First she’d jumped into bed with his worst enemy, and then lied about it, or at the very least neglected to tell the truth.

It wasn’t Stoffe who’d blabbed about him—it was his own sister.

Damn!

Damn!

DAMN!!!

He had to take a break from the computer, go for a little four-meter walk to the door and back, until he calmed down a bit.

The whole thing was like some evil bastard flashback to the days when Dag had her under his thumb. When he almost lost her . . .

To begin with he had admired Dag, thinking of him as a big brother when he and Becca were dating. He hadn’t really wanted to see how Dag was treating her, even though the signs were there. Because Dag was a cool guy, the sort you wanted to hang out with, get a pat on the back from. It had been Mange who opened his eyes and made him realize what Dag was really like, what was actually happening. When he finally woke up from his admiring sleep, he started to hate Dag almost as much as he hated his dad.

Up to now he hadn’t actually hated Philip Argos. On some level HP had still been able to understand why his boss was acting the way he was. Because after all, he had betrayed Philip’s trust, put his whole plan at risk. Cause and effect, so to speak. But now that had all changed.

Now it was freaking personal!

♦  ♦  ♦

The situation was actually even worse than she had imagined.

Last time it had been the sinking of the
Estonia
and Palme’s murder, but this . . .

When she had finally got him to start talking, he didn’t stop. The words had tumbled out of him like a torrent, especially once she herself had been honest and at least tried to explain about her disastrous date with John, a.k.a. Philip Argos.

She had done her best to believe him, really, really tried hard. But it just wouldn’t go in. Companies cleaning up the Internet, directing blogs and discussion forums while simultaneously collaborating with forces that carried out fake terrorist attacks in order to shift the media’s focus away from things they wanted to hide . . .

Seriously?

And as if that weren’t enough, he had thrown in a bit more—hired assassins, secret Google algorithms, and clairvoyant Lidingö ladies, only to end up back where it had all started.

That bloody Game . . .

Pillars of Society forum

Posted: 29 December, 18:41

By:
MayBey

Little Henrik’s holed up in a shabby little hostel for single men on Södermalm. He probably thinks he’s safe.

But we know better, don’t we?

This post has
29 comments

Goodboy.821 says:
Are you there?

Farook says:
Good to hear from you brother. Long time no c . . . ;)

Goodboy.821 says:
Far too long old friend—my bad . . .

Farook says:
Did u miss me??

Goodboy.821 says:
Fuck off Mange!1!1

Goodboy.821 says:
Did you get my email?

Farook says:
Yep but it took a while to decrypt. You’re more paranoid about the net than me these days.

Goodboy.821 says:
With good reason as you can see . . .

Farook says:
Yeah I get it. I’ve read the whole thing.

Goodboy.821 says:
And?

Farook says:
I completely agree with you brother. What Argos is doing is wrong on more levels than I can think of. It goes against the whole point of the Internet. I know loads of people who’d love to drag those trolls into the light. The trojan’s no problem, I can put one of those together in a couple of days, even from here . . . The only question is how to get it into the system . . .

Farook says:
But it must be possible to hack in. I know a few people who could probably manage it, but it might take a couple of months. And you never know how effective that’s going to be, there’s a pretty good chance the attack would be discovered and then the effect would be limited. Same thing if you try to email the trojan in as a hidden file . . .

Goodboy.821 says:
Ok, not really the answer I was hoping for . . .