SG - Suicide Game Read online

  Hand painted your face for me, inside before a dark mirror space.

  The moment you arrive somewhere is the moment of Death.

  Grasp my hands; push me into you so long there is the Moon.

  The moment you arrive somewhere is the moment of Death.

  Can we jump at the end to the beginning of another street?

  I fall asleep inside the star you painted for me.

  Where the dark of the sky turned into blood red.

  When a dream realizes, the idea dies.

  Can you paint a blue star for us, a new one?

  The moment you arrive somewhere is the moment of Death.

  Can we fly, jump over crossroads, with lips painted by stolen cherry soup?

  The moment you arrive somewhere is the moment of Death.

  We cheat on time; smile between kisses and the way will never end

  Be with me on the curves of the street.

  Don’t wait for me on the story’s final point.

  Grasp my hands, hold me next to you, and don’t give me up.

  Because our story can be a never-ending one.

  The moment you arrive somewhere is the moment of Death.

  And is there for the ones that left their dreams by their own luck.

  The moment you arrive somewhere is the moment of Death.

  Love that grows up, never stops and escapes the dark sword.

  Don’t tell me where you want to bring me, just take me with you.

  Where steps are kisses and the path, an embrace.

  Don’t wait for me, take me with you.

  Because the destiny is uncertain, while the way is already written.

  And

  If you forget all that,

  And the black sword touches me,

  Would you just bring me, A kiss in heaven?

  Silence fell over the crowd while the last words of the song reverberated throughout the Stadium.

  The counter started to count down in silence, showing its shiny numbers on the screen.

  The Hostess was herself speechless. Watching the candidates waiting to jump.

  Tim stopped working and ran in the direction of the elevator, to go down to the Stadium ground. He fought with some Ushers on his way.

  And he took the elevator, inside the platform structure.

  The Council wanted to stop him, as they saw him through the cameras, but there was no time for the voting system. They started to discuss what to do, and did nothing else than discuss.

  While Tim was in the elevator in the middle of the platform, coming up, the Hostess had regained her composure walking around the platform, saying:

  ‘Welcome to

  SUICIDE GAME!

  The new game

  The new mania

  8000 candidates and

  Only one will survive

  Only one can win!

  Live from the Night Stadium The last 7 candidates are ready to jump

  Nothing compares to what you'll see here

  Nothing compares to what you'll watch

  You already chose your candidate,

  You have Made your bet

  You have bought your raffle

  To be part of this

  New and unexpected game

  Now it’s time to let it all be in the laps of the gods

  And when the bell rings…it is time to jump for your life!

  10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1!

  JUMP!’

  As the countdown reached ‘5’, Tim came out of the elevator. Running over the platform, in Sarah’s direction.

  The Hostess tried to stop him. But the dancers were in her way. Tim embraced Sarah at the last second, and jumped with her. Kissing her.

  Sarah’s wire broke, and they fell together into the sand.

  It wasn’t possible to separate them.

  They carried them away with one of the minivans.

  There were more jumps this day. But nobody else died.

  Only Sarah and Tim.

  And in homage to them, Life in a Wire came back to the platform stage, to sing ‘A Kiss in Heaven’ again.

  The crowd went out of the Stadium, crying.

  It was a strong day. Worth the price of the tickets.

  A real life Opera.

  Chapter 31

  Part of the Geek’s plea bargain involved ‘community service’. But geeks, who hack into databases and compromise national security, don’t usually get soup kitchen duty for their community service.

  The Geek had to agree to allow the National Security Agency to tap into his talents. He would need to spend a stipulated number of hours per week on this, with tasks to be specified. His court record was dummied up with a counterfeit sentence, something like ‘neighborhood soup kitchen for elderly persons in Precinct 78’, just in case anyone checked.

  It was because of this, that he called his friend Calvin, to speak about the bombs in the Stadium. It was his second call to Calvin, and Calvin seemed at first bored, because the first call, some days ago, was only about the Geek’s information that it appeared a big company in the City was plotting to kill a key witness in an upcoming court case. Maybe even to kill a key witness. But the NSA wasn’t interested in this. He should call only when he had something really important to share with them.

  Now, he had found evidence of a planned attack on the Stadium. This was interesting. In a nutshell, the Geek explained to Calvin, the plot seems to be this.

  There will be a terrorist attack; it will be an attack on the Stadium, during the Suicide Game. I am not yet sure how many people are involved, or the form of the attack. But for sure, the Stadium is the target, and the plans are already made. The communications I am seeing are commands; they are in execution mode now.

  Calvin agreed this was something important, and compelling, for the NSA. They would put a team together and send them to the Stadium.

  Michael was tired. Tired today, all month, all year. Michael was always tired.

  Until now. Now he had a choice mission. He liked choice missions. They energized him.

  His in-ear radio clicked and hissed with static, an incoming signal.

  He heard Philip’s voice, stuttering and stammering:

  ‘h-h-hi, m-m-m-Michael, p-Philip here, wh-wh-ere are y-you n-n-now?’

  ‘Goddammit Phil, you’re talking to me, cut the damn stammer, will you? I can hear you fine. I am by the food outlet in Section C, watching people coming and going through Corridor C-2. Nothing so far.’

  ‘Roger that. Talk again in 10 minutes, unless something comes up. Out’.

  ‘Ciao’.

  Michael said ciao because some people were walking by him. Philip must have been in a secure place in the Stadium, with nobody close. Philip was his CIA counterpart on this choice mission. As far as anybody who didn’t have a certain top-level security clearance could tell, Philip was neither part of the military nor any similar agency. Nobody could finger him. No terrorist would ever suspect that Philip was a CIA agent, let alone one of their top assassins. Philip’s perfectly unshaven, yet clean face and dark hair gave him a non-Waspish air. Perfect icing for the plainclothes cake. The cherry on the top was his own invention: his stammer, carefully cultivated, so people would think he was an idiot, an incompetent, a disabled schmuck; impotent, harmless.

  Same for me, for that matter, Michael thought to himself. He was part of an FBI unit that didn’t exist. Even in the records of the FBI. The only way a selected few people knew about him was by reputation. Dark reputation. In one of the very darkest of businesses.

  Sure as shinola, Michael thought, whenever Philip was involved, it was going to be very interesting, maybe even exciting. Philip had laughed, telling him that he wanted to test his disguise, so he gave one of the Stadium security guards a bit of a mouthing off on entering the Stadium, just in case any terrorist was watching. The guard was taken in, and called for his supervisor, who then called Elisabeth. Elisabeth was the only other person who knew that some law enforcement agencies
actually had agents in the stadium. But she did not know who they were, nor how many, nor their mission. She assumed it must have something to do with national security. Stadium security in particular. All part of normal protocol. Elisabeth made some new friends. She felt sorry for the one with the stammer.

  The mission team had a third member.

  Calvin, the NSA agent who had put the team together. Michael and Philip had worked together before, but neither had worked with Calvin. Calvin of the ‘No Such Agency’, Michael laughed to himself. In their mission briefing, Calvin gave the intelligence report based on the NSA’s success in intercepting the terrorists’ communications. Calvin was a key player in the NSA’s long-running secret war on encryption using supercomputers, technical magic and what was politely known in the trade as ‘human persuasion’, to undermine the tools protecting the privacy of terrorist communications in the internet age.

  They liked each other from the beginning. They were true professionals. It was good for professionals to like each other. It was good for their mission.

  Their mission, which did not officially exist: terminate, with extreme prejudice, any terrorist found in or around the Stadium. And any person suspected of helping such terrorist.

  The Council did not know about that. Elisabeth didn’t, either. They would tell them, when they found the terrorists; or maybe not, this was a command decision to make later on. When all was done.

  It was a successful day. Even Red had tears. Unwanted ones; but tears in his eyes, as the public cried, seeing Tim jumping with Sarah.

  They did not know the love story, but there was one.

  Someone started to sell statues of a couple hanging on a life wire, in front of the Stadium; the makeup artist and the game candidate. As if he was falling in love with her while he was doing her makeup.

  And fiction appeared, because nobody knew the real story, but it was love, and persons always want explanations for love things; it wasn’t enough to feel it.

  Sometimes the mind wants to be the heart, and the heart wants to think, and this create the fiction, for things we can’t explain in a normal, common way.

  Chapter 32

  Step 3 – Day 2

  The Hostess announced a new day.

  After already jumping three times, none of the six remaining candidates had died.

  The platform stopped at the height of the principal row of chairs, one more time, as she announced:

  ‘Thank you for being here with me again. They will jump, until the wires break. It is unexpected, like life itself shall be. We don’t know when a wire will break! But you all are here with me, after all these jumps. And I want to say, thank you for that.’

  And she announced, one more time…

  ‘SUICIDE GAME

  The new game

  The new mania

  Six candidates left

  Only one will survive

  Only one can win!

  Live from the Night Stadium

  Nothing compares to what you'll see here

  Nothing compares to what you'll watch

  You have already chosen your candidate,

  You have Made your bet

  To be part of a

  New and unexpected game

  Now it’s time to leave it all in the laps of the gods

  And when the bell rings…it is time to jump…for your life!

  10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1!

  JUMP!

  Fabio readied himself for the jump.

  He thought of it as just another fast descent. No fear.

  He glanced at the Hostess and made his flag by her colors; green eyes, white makeup, red dress.

  And then he jumped, along with the rest of the remaining Ultimate Candidates.

  Fabio was chasing his cousin Marco. Going faster than he ever thought he could go on a bike, down the descent of the Passo San Marco. Nothing held him back. Hurtling down the winding ribbon of mountain road, he rode straight through the rivulets of slippery water that oozed across the surface. Looking ahead, he saw Marco, also descending without fear. He let go of the brake levers completely. In an instant, he was flying. His front wheel almost touched the rear wheel of his cousin’s bike. He knew he would catch him.

  As Fabio passed Marco’s bike, Marco handed him a pirate flag, as would he give him a bottle of drink, and then disappeared in the air in front of him. ‘Now win…Fabio! For us! Win ! Ciao!’

  The platform touched the ground of the Stadium. As the platform came up again there were some small spots on the Hostess’s Femme Fatale red dress.

  Some people looked up to the sky, to see if it was raining. If raindrops had somehow reached her. But the sky was clear. Another small spot appeared. They looked more closely. Tiny rivulets of tears ran down her face.

  The Hostess quickly brushed them away with her hand.

  She had never showed tears before. But she could swear that she saw a figure, like a transparent colored shadow. Going in circles around the winners. And a young voice, laughing softly. It was a little boy, riding his bike, holding a pirate flag and smiling. Pedaling around the winners, in circles around them and then around the platform. Like he had won some race, and wanted to make a victory lap. Was it an impression caused by the stadium lights, or a dream? Whatever it was, she saw it and this brought tears from her eyes.

  Was she drinking too much champagne, celebrating with the winners? Or drunk from the game’s atmosphere? She could swear that she saw a little boy with a bike and a pirate flag.

  She put herself together for the next jump.

  ‘The new game

  The new mania

  8000 candidates and only 5 left

  Only one will survive

  Only one can win!

  Live from the Night Stadium The last five candidates are ready to jump

  Nothing compares to what you'll see here

  Nothing compares to what you'll watch

  You already chose your candidate,

  You have Made your bet

  You have bought your raffle

  To be part of this

  New and unexpected

  Suicide Game’

  With only five candidates left in the Game, the tension was huge. The game was coming to the end.

  ‘Only one and a half days more, and we will know the winner. Have you made your bet?

  The new game

  The new mania

  8000 candidates and

  Only one will survive

  Only one can win!

  Live from the Night Stadium

  The last five candidates are ready to jump

  Nothing compares to what you'll see here

  Nothing compares to what you'll watch

  You already chose your candidate,

  You have Made your bet

  You already bought your raffle in the last step

  As part of this

  New and unexpected game

  Now it’s time to let it all be in the laps of the gods

  And when the belt rings…it is time to jump for your life!

  10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1!

  JUMP!’

  The five candidates jumped.

  In front of all seven Council members, in the Command Room, Morris touched the computer screen and a soft click sound made an echo in his mind.

  Jens saw a flash. As his wire broke. A flash of light, like from a camera. For sure it was a paparazzi, and he was falling. Seeing all his photos in magazines, backwards from the end to the beginning of his career.

  Some persons say that when you die, you see your life from the end to beginning; Jens just saw his photos in magazines. From the last one, to the first one, he was always on the top of the list. Smiling about that, he died.

  Chapter 33

  The terrorists were inside the Stadium, mixed in with the crowd. They were only seven in number, enjoying the game. The easiest way to catch them would be to find them inside the washrooms, at their prayer times. But of course, because t
hey were searching for them with only the newest technology methods, the terrorists were safe.

  They did not have contact with their leaders from the moment they entered the Stadium, day after day. All commands were given before, and all was done. The only thing they needed to do was to watch the game and stay among the crowd.

  The NSA had contacted the other anti-terrorist agencies and formed the task force hit team to track and kill the Stadium terrorists before they could execute their attack. The Geek’s hacking skills provided intelligence the team used to construct profiles, to enable identification of the terrorists and if possible, their remote leaders. The mandate of the task force had been summarized in three easy words; ‘terminate, extreme, prejudice’.

  They had asked the Geek if he could use facial recognition techniques, which, they said, would be more reliable than human perceptions and intelligence. There were security cameras outside the Stadium, at all entrances, and throughout the insides of the Stadium.

  Like in modern city streets, the crowd had no privacy.

  The Geek tapped into the latest software for an NSA crowd-scanning project called the Biometric Optical Surveillance System — or BOSS. The system was designed to help match faces in a crowd with names on the watch list — whether searching for terrorism suspects at high-profile events, looking for criminal fugitives in public places, or identifying card cheats in Las Vegas. They could even scan photos on Facebook and Twitter, to see if they got any hits. ‘Problem is,’ said the Geek, ‘these terrorists have been instructed to apply makeup, like the rest of the crowd is now doing, to feel like they are part of the Game themselves’.

  The task force’s high-tech tools were being defeated by low-tech, primal human behavior. So, maybe they would need to rely on human intelligence. Of which there was absolutely none, in this particular situation. To find seven made-up terrorists in the middle of over 100,000 persons and avoid the attack, was like to ask an atheist to pray for a miracle; not impossible, but almost, because they forgot…the prayer times.