The End Game, page 2
Louie grinned. ‘I’m in, on condition you come up with a strong storyboard.’
Jake turned to Nuan. ‘What about you, Nu?’
She was in a world of her own, staring down at the coffee table.
‘Nuan?’
She looked up. ‘Er . . . yeah . . . I’m in.’
‘Great,’ said Louie. ‘In the meantime, why don’t we go with BeeHeroes? We can use the Manchester Bee logo.’
‘Isn’t that a bit close to home for a game we want to go global?’ Nuan wondered.
‘Nah, bees are fundamental to people’s survival all over the world, and they’re a threatened species.’
‘Let’s stick with that for the prototype,’ Jake said, ‘and see if it grows on us. We can do some market research on the name when we’ve got a product to trial.’ He looked at his watch. ‘It’s nearly lunchtime – let’s have a bite to eat and a drink to celebrate.’
As the three of them got to their feet, the mobile phone gave out an ominous ping.
Nobody moved.
Chapter 3
‘You going to answer that?’ Louie said.
‘You can’t answer it,’ Nuan reminded him, ‘it’s read only.’
Jake picked it up. ‘Shit!’ he said.
‘What’s it say?’ Louie asked.
Nuan held her phone out. ‘Show me, quickly,’ she said. She took a shot of the screen.
Louie peered over her shoulder and read the message out loud.
END GAME Level One
You must donate £200,000 to the End In-Game Purchases charity within 24hrs of receiving this text.
WARNING: Failure to complete this task in its entirety will result in a Level One sanction: denial of service.
‘Bloody hell!’ Louie exclaimed. ‘That’s what he means by a real-life game. This is blackmail.’
Nuan shook her head. ‘Extortion.’
‘This is not the time for political correctness,’ Jake said. ‘This is serious.’
I agree,’ she said. ‘We have to tell the police.’
Louie began scratching his neck. ‘What can they do?’ he said. ‘This guy’s on the Dark Web. They’ll never track him down. And even if they do, it’ll be too late to stop whatever sanction he’s got planned.’
‘They can try and trace where this phone was purchased,’ Nuan suggested.
‘On the Dark Web. So good luck with that. And as we’ve all handled the damn thing, you can forget about forensics.’
‘Stop arguing!’ Jake shouted. ‘I need to think.’
The phone pinged again. Nuan seized it. She copied the text, and read it out from the photo on her own screen.
WARNING: Do not involve the police. To do so will constitute bad manners and result in further sanctions.
Jake snorted. ‘What is he, a mind reader?’
Louie’s scratching intensified. ‘Or maybe there’s a recording device in the phone?’
Nuan turned and strode over to to her work desk. ‘I’ll find out.’
‘How are we going to deal with this, Jake?’ Louie demanded. ‘We can’t do as he says or he’ll just keep upping the game till we’re bankrupt.’
‘Not necessarily. If this is just about the in-game stuff, and he starts demanding that we stop all of our add-ons, it wouldn’t force us to liquidate, though our annual revenue would take a sizeable hit.’
‘How much?’
‘Twenty per cent from our two free-to-play games that rely completely on micro-monetisation, and another twenty-five per cent from power-ups, skins and loot boxes in the rest of the products.’
‘Forty-five per cent!’ Louie exclaimed. ‘That’s not just sizeable – that’s massive.’
‘That’s gross revenue, remember,’ Jake pointed out. ‘Our costs would go down a bit, and we’d be paying less tax, so it would mean a reduction of around thirty-six per cent of net income.’
‘It’s still over a third,’ Louie said. ‘On the plus side, if we did donate that money, we’d come out of this smelling of roses, looking like the good guys holding the moral high ground.’ He warmed to the idea. ‘We’d get brilliant publicity. Might even pick up a bigger market share on the back of it.’
‘Not if people find out we were forced into it,’ Jake said.
‘How would they know?’
‘This maniac will probably tell them, if the police don’t.’
‘But if we don’t go to the police . . .’
‘Then he’ll keep ramping up his demands. Don’t you see? If we pay two hundred thousand now, he’s going to be demanding two million by Level Five!’
Nuan returned and handed the phone back to Jake. ‘It doesn’t record,’ she said, ‘just like it doesn’t give us the right of reply.’
‘Louie wants to pay up,’ Jake told her, ‘and he wants to issue that statement too. I said that’s not a good idea. The demands will escalate.’
‘What about that sanction?’ Louie said. ‘Denial of service?’
Jake shook his head. ‘How’s he going to manage that? There’s no supply chain. We distribute everything ourselves.’
‘If he’s a hacker,’ Nuan said, ‘or has access to hackers, a DOS attack on our servers could disrupt our streaming service and our comms. But we have state-of-the-art firewalls, and even if they do get through, I am sure that I can rectify the situation within twenty-four hours.‘
‘Bad for publicity then, but not fatal,’ Jake observed. ‘I vote we call his bluff.’
‘Or hers,’ Nuan said.
Chapter 4
Day 1
Friday 2nd September 2022
Millgate Lane, Didsbury, 7.30 a.m.
Caton wiped the traces of egg and crispy bacon from his lips with the back of his hand and pushed his plate to one side.
‘That was a treat,’ he said. ‘What did I do to deserve it?’
‘Nothing that I recall,’ Kate replied, with a mischievous smile. ‘I thought you might need it. Especially after your early morning training session. Besides, you never know what might be waiting for you.’
Caton’s mobile rang, as though on cue.
‘There you go,’ she said.
‘It’s not work,’ he told her, ‘it’s Helen – she’s probably checking on Harry.’
‘You’d better take it,’ she said. ‘I’ll make you a coffee and some toast.’
Caton took the phone through to the hall. ‘Helen,’ he said. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m fine, Tom,’ she said, ‘and you?’
‘Fine. Except it’s back to work today.’
‘Welcome to my world. How did Harry’s sleepover go?’
‘Has he not told you?’
She paused. ‘He did, but you know what teenagers are like. I need to hear it from you.’
There was something in her tone that told him this was not a routine call. It was also the first time that Helen had given the slightest indication of not trusting their son.
‘It went exceptionally well,’ he told her. ‘In spite of the age difference, he and Emily got on well. In fact, on the day out we had in Morecombe, Harry took her under his wing. Even went out of his way to keep her amused. He was very protective of her. I was impressed. You’d have been proud of him, Helen.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ she said. She didn’t sound it.
‘What’s the problem, Helen?’ he asked, ‘I can tell there’s something troubling you.’
He heard an intake of breath. When she spoke, it came out in a rush, as though she’d been waiting for the opportunity to let it all out.
‘It’s Harry, Tom. I’m worried about him. All he wants to do is stay in his room and play his video games. I’m dreading it on Monday when the Autumn term starts. As soon as he gets home from school, he’s straight up to his room. When I ask if he’s done all his homework, he either says they didn’t get much because it’s nearly the end of term, or that he did most of it on the bus coming home . . .’
It didn’t sound that much of a problem to Caton. It might even be true. Not difficult to check. Helen was still on a roll.
‘. . . I’m worried about the amount of time he’s spending on those games, especially with the holidays looming. I mean, what’s he going to do while I’m out at work? Stay closeted in his room, glued to the screen, not even bothering to have lunch . . .’
Caton thought she was catastrophising, which wasn’t like her at all.
‘. . . I want to sign him up for the Latics Premier League Kicks school holidays sessions. He’ll get top coaching, and the opportunity to play in local and regional tournaments. He’ll even get to play against clubs from across the country. There’ll be talent scouts. The club even organises free giveaways, and he’ll have the chance to sign up as a volunteer for all sorts of activities.’
She paused to take breath.
‘I’m guessing he doesn’t want to?’ Caton interjected.
‘No, he doesn’t. And it’s all because he’s obsessed with these damn video games! I want you to talk to him, Tom.’
Caton felt ambushed, and he certainly wasn’t going to rush into anything without thinking it through first. Helen had other ideas. He heard her call Harry’s name, and the sound of her knocking on his bedroom door.
‘Helen,’ he said. But she wasn’t listening to him. He could just about hear their conversation.
‘Harry! Harry! Take those earphones off. It’s your father. He wants a word with you.’
‘Can I just finish this, Mum? Please?’
‘No, you can’t. It’ll only be a couple of minutes. Your father has to be off to work. Why don’t you just press pause or something?’
Caton grimaced. He imagined Helen’s hand in Harry’s back propelling him into the room, and his bewildered expression.
‘Dad? It’s me, Harry. What d’you want, Dad?’
He sounded anxious. Anticipating a telling off for something he wasn’t even aware that he’d done, and barely managing to disguise his irritation. Not the best basis for a friendly father and son chat.
‘Dad?’
‘Harry!’ Tom began. ‘Sorry about this. Sounds like you were in the middle of something?’
‘Nah, I was just trying out a couple of new games.’
‘Two? Sounds exciting. What are they called?’
‘One’s called A League Of Your Own. It’s a Football League game where you build your own team and compete against other players.’
‘Sounds good.’
‘It is. And the other one’s even better. Everyone’s playing it.’
‘Everyone?’
‘Everyone at school.’
What’s it called, Harry?’
‘SEEL.’
‘Seal? What’s that, a nature programme?’
Harry’s laugh made Caton feel ancient.
‘No, Dad! It stands for Seek, Evade, Eliminate, Liberate. It’s based on real US Special Forces operations in Afghanistan. You have to parachute behind enemy lines to rescue hostages, evade hostiles along the way and eliminate any that stand between you and your objective.
‘Ah, I see,’ Caton said. ‘It’s a play on words . . . Navy Seals.’
‘Get with, Dad!’ Harry responded. ‘It’s got nothing to do with the Navy, we’re talking Afghanistan. Afghanistan is landlocked – everyone knows that.’
Not just old, but ignorant too. Caton decided to let it go. There was more to worry about here than exploring semantics with a fourteen-year-old. Fourteen? Where had all those years gone, the last seven of which he’d spent playing catch-up. He decided to change the subject.
‘Speaking of football,’ he said. ‘What do you reckon about Wigan Athletics’ new right back?’
‘Promising,’ Harry replied. ‘He’s got great pace, and his crosses are belting. And he can be a bit of a beast if he needs to be. On the other hand, he’s getting on a bit.’
‘Remind me,’ Caton said, ‘how old is he?’
‘Thirty.’
And here’s me approaching a half-century, Caton reflected.
‘While we’re on the subject of the Latics,’ he said, ‘your mum’s been telling me about these Premier League Kicks sessions . . .’
***
‘Tom, you’re a genius!’ Helen said. ‘How did you manage to persuade him?’
‘Like you said, I’m a genius.’
‘I wasn’t serious,’ she told him. ‘What did you do, Tom, bribe him?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I simply pointed out that he needed a healthy balance between relaxation and exercise, and that it wasn’t healthy for him to stay cooped up in his room in the middle of summer.’
‘And?’
‘And, if he signs up for at least a couple of sessions a week during the holidays, as a reward, I’ll treat him and me to this season’s home cup matches at the DW Stadium.’
Her tone hardened. ‘What happens if you have to work?’
‘Come on, Helen. You know I’m free at weekends, ditto night matches, unless there’s a time-critical investigation.’
‘And then I’d have to take him.’
He was tempted to remind her that Harry was her son too and she was big in PR at the stadium and had a free pass to all of the games. He resisted.
‘Tom?’ she said. ‘Are you still there?’
‘I’m here, Helen.’
‘I thought we’d agreed we would never use bribery to persuade him to cooperate.’
‘It wasn’t really a bribe, more a reward for giving up some of the time he spends on his beloved video games.’
‘I’m not sure I get that,’ she said.
Caton wasn’t entirely convinced himself. ‘Try not to worry, Helen,’ he said. ‘Just be a little firmer. Why don’t you follow up on my breakthrough by persuading him to draw up a timetable that fits the video games around all the other stuff and gives him more balance in his day?’
Caton heard her slowly exhale. He imagined her shoulders relaxing, and the stress leaching away. He felt sorry for her. It couldn’t be easy being a single mum with a teenage boy. But he refused to feel guilty. She’d kept Harry’s existence from him, and as soon as he’d discovered he had a son, he had stepped up. So had Kate, come to that, thank God.
‘I’ll give it a go,’ Helen said, ‘and thank you, Tom.’
‘No need. And give yourself a break, Helen. You’re a great mum.’
‘I’m not sure about that,’ she said.
‘I am,’ he told her. ‘Harry will be fine.’
Chapter 5
‘Sorry, he said, ‘that took longer than I expected.’
Kate placed his mug and slice of damp toast on the table. ‘I had to put your coffee in the microwave, but even that was four minutes ago, and your toast’s cold. I couldn’t heat it up because I’d already buttered it.’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘What did Helen want?’
Caton told her.
‘She’s right to be concerned,’ she responded. ‘One of my PhD students is writing his dissertation on the potentially addictive consequences of video gaming. It’s opened my eyes. But you were right to caution her about coming down too heavy on Harry. At his age, that could just push him further into himself, and really get him hooked on those games. How’s the toast?’
‘Perfect,’ he said. ‘The butter’s seeped right through, just how I like it.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘First I’ve heard of it.’
‘Only joking.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t if I were you. Just in case I take you at your word.’
Caton blew on his coffee. ‘What are your plans today while I’m hard at work?’ he asked.
‘For your information,’ Kate said, ‘I’m still at work, just working from home. I’m in court tomorrow giving evidence in that case I told you about. I need to prepare.’
He nodded. ‘The woman who killed her husband with a bread knife because he’d been abusing her for years.’
‘That’s for the jury to decide, but my expert testimony, along with forensics evidence, will be crucial in helping them to decide between murder and manslaughter.’
‘They’re the tricky ones,’ he acknowledged, ‘where nobody knows what really happened apart from the victim and the accused. Then it all depends on how the jury sees it. I’ve a similar one the CPS wants us to wrap up, even though with a little more time we could probably nail it down. There’s a lot riding on it.’
She sat down facing him. ‘How so?’
Caton sipped his coffee. He was surprised how quickly it had cooled off – like some of the investigations he had worked on over the years. He took a sip, then pushed his mug away.
‘We’ve got a fourteen-year-old boy who stabbed another youth. His version is that it was self-defence. He says he was bullied and threatened by this other lad over and over again until he was out of his wits. He began carrying a knife for self-protection. He claims that on the day of the stabbing, the other youth produced a clasp knife. The defendant pulled his knife from his pocket to put the other boy off. He alleges that someone behind him pushed him towards the other youth, and he stumbled and fell. He put his hands out to break his fall, and his knife entered the thigh of the other youth, slicing his femoral artery. But for the swift action of a teacher, the victim would have bled to death.’
‘Poor kid,’ Kate said. ‘What’s he likely to get?’
Caton frowned. ‘The problem is that the clasp knife went missing, and the witnesses are either too scared to corroborate the accused’s account or are suggesting that it was deliberate. Given time, we may be able to get some of the waverers to help us.’
‘If not?’
‘He’s got no previous, and plenty of good character references. It’s going to depend on how the jury sees it, and who the judge is.’ He shook his head. ‘He’s a nice lad – too nice. He’ll be easy meat in Young Offenders. There’s every chance he’ll come out broken or criminalised.’ He pushed the bench back and stood up.
‘Are you going to finish your coffee?’ Kate asked.
Caton recognised the subtle warning signs: the hurt behind the eyes, the hint of accusation in her voice. He lifted his mug and downed the contents. It was stone cold. He grimaced.
