The Deadliest Game Page 2

  A career in computer sales after graduating high school had led to a chance meeting with a toy distributor based in Montreal who was seeking a sales manager. Blair assessed the risks and decided to take the plunge.

  Their business grew and became profitable. One of the companies they represented specialized in children’s games. The owner of that company, a New York entrepreneur advancing in years, was anxious to bring in someone young enough who could manage and eventually take over his business. Months of discussion led to an agreement that changed Blair’s life. And here he was, ten years later and at the age of thirty-five, president of Toys and More.

  But success had not done much to build Blair’s self-esteem. To his way of thinking, he wasn’t the best looking man: face a little too narrow, lips thinner than he would have liked. But his blue eyes helped, along with his thatch of hair that was more sandy than brown. Still, he didn’t delude himself. In sales, his good-enough looks and pleasant-enough personality had managed to get him this far. Not that there weren’t days when doubts loomed up and he envisioned his success vanishing. And returning to the poverty of his youth frightened him more than he wanted to admit.

  “Mr. Mulligan?”

  Blair put down his cup as Dalton stepped into the kitchen. He looked even more formidable now that he was standing. His bearing was erect, his cold eyes penetrating. “I’m all done,” he said without apology.

  There was something in his voice Blair hadn’t noticed before. An accent of some sort. Something foreign. “I’d like to know if you’re expecting any more phone calls,” he said.

  Without responding, Dalton turned and headed back to Blair’s office.

  “You going to tell me what this is about?” Blair asked once they were seated, the feeling building that he was no longer in charge.

  Dalton smiled briefly. “It’s rather simple,” he said. “A few years ago, while conducting covert operations, we happened upon an extremely damaging document. It made a mockery of the relationship some reputable American businessmen had with companies in the State of Israel. What it was telling us was that those with terrorist affiliations had infiltrated many of these organizations. That they were ready to use clever subterfuge, deploying soldiers of fortune far removed from themselves. And your friend, Jeremy Samson, was not only involved, but leading one of these factions.”

  The pause that followed felt ominous. Blair refused to believe a word of what was said. Jeremy was one of the most down-to-earth men he had ever known. His friend would not have had the motivation to join a covert movement, let alone to lead it.

  He sat up straighter. “You’re making a mistake,” he said. “Plain and simple, you have the wrong person. I appreciate you coming to see me today, but I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time.” He stood and held out his hand.

  Dalton ignored the offer to shake but stood himself. “It’s no mistake,” he said. “Jeremy Samson claims to live an honorable life. But we know better. The man is corrupt and we need your help to bring him down. I guess I haven’t made myself clear: your government isn’t asking; we are telling you. The option of refusal does not exist…”

  CHAPTER 2

  Blair waited until John Dalton left. When he exhaled it surprised him. He hadn’t been aware he’d been holding his breath. The man did something to him. Made him feel uncomfortable. But what could a government agent do to him? he wondered. Hold a gun to his head? Force him to cooperate against his will? He strolled out of his office and into the corridor, and headed toward his showroom.

  Spotlights recessed in the ceiling revealed areas divided into sections. One was painted a vibrant blue, another a brilliant red. A third was green and a fourth black. Each section had its own signage and particular decor. Some ran for eight feet, others as much as twenty-four.

  Dozens of glass shelves displayed the toys that supported Blair’s livelihood. Closest to him, for instance, was a baby doll that weighed exactly the same as a newborn child. He took her in his arms and smoothed out her life-like hair, thin strands that were soft to the touch.

  It dawned on him that even this doll represented a potential crisis. Phthalates was the latest buzzword in the toy industry, one of a long list of ingredients that was considered hazardous to a child’s health. It had been a key component in plastic toys for the past hundred years or so. A fact conveniently omitted from the various stories in the press blanketing the world. To the reader it would seem as if phthalates had just this minute popped out of the blue.

  Blair was a staunch believer in safety. But recently his patience was running thin. His industry had always submitted to the most ardent scrutiny. Today’s world, however, sought scapegoats for consumer fodder. Blair wondered if it was more to sell newspapers, more to raise television ratings, than an altruistic sense of duty. Too many families had both parents working. Assuaging their guilty consciences was a priority above all else.

  He now stopped to admire a series of construction toys, mostly comprised of magnets. They had sold over thirty million dollars worth of the product worldwide. Until they were confronted by Mattel’s recall, soon followed by Mega Brands’, and others. Suddenly, anyone’s magnet product—including his own—was tainted. The consumer became confused, then angry. If it was manufactured in the Orient, they didn’t trust it. Goodbye, potential growth. Goodbye, vast sums of investment capital.

  Pausing for a moment, Blair frowned as he checked the other areas of his showroom. Was there one division that was unaffected in the last few years? Everything he sold was proprietary. A quarter was created internally, while the majority was licensed from some of the leading design-houses in the industry. Royalty payments alone reached into the hundreds of thousands of dollars per year.

  He examined his line of radio control vehicles. Once again, sales had been running smoothly. Until the “Big Recall.” Lead paint soon became foremost on every consumer’s mind. Another dip in sales, and more important, in profit. The recall scare had made the Chinese government overreact. After embarrassing them, the toy industry ended up paying a high price. Revised testing procedures became a requirement. Working conditions were improved, and the cost of labor went through the roof.

  In recent years, over thirty-eight hundred toy factories had either been shut down, or voluntarily went out of business. The pressure placed on those factories that remained was unsustainable.

  Naturally, retailers around the world—caught up in the frenzy of media reports—instituted their own revamped testing procedures. Although more or less identical, few shared these tests with their competitors. And it was the toy manufacturer who was asked to cover this prohibitive bill.

  Blair counted the number of strikes that were piled against him, from the phthalates scare, to the magnet and lead recalls, to the increased cost of redundant testing, to the rising cost of labor.

  If that weren’t enough, most major retailers, especially in North America, refused to accept price increases on existing products, thereby leaving the manufacturer to absorb the often fatal hit to his bottom line.

  Mattel and Hasbro were strong enough to stop the slide had they sufficient backbone. But the almighty “order” still ruled these behemoths, and the fear of not meeting annual sales forecasts was all that mattered.

  Blair had known the toy industry most of his working life. Seeing his livelihood jeopardized rankled in the worst way. If it were a case of his own ineptitude, at least he could say he had tried but failed. Knowing there was nothing he could do about the current situation only added to his frustration.

  He approached a locked cabinet in the near corner of his showroom. He opened it with a key he kept with him at all times. Then he removed a bubble-wrapped package.

  Only one thing could save his company from going under. One product, actually. And this was it.

  Many boasted about America’s brain thrust in Silicon Valley. Others praised the Japanese and the Germans. But quite often it was a high-tech company in Israel that was the creator or partner in the deve
lopment of whatever technology happened to be du jour. Blair learned long ago, thanks to his friendship with Jeremy Samson, to not take lightly the talent and ingenuity of the people in Jeremy’s adopted country.

  Because of them, Blair now believed he had a unique opportunity. Many who worked in his business harbored the desire to come up with the next big thing, the one toy that would set the world back on its ear. Much of the industry was a crapshoot, however, with a fickle core of retailers and an even more fickle consumer.

  Inventors were constantly coming out of the woodwork. Time and again they would show up at Blair’s door with something they’d not only created but went ahead and produced, at an exorbitant cost.

  “Why didn’t you wait?” he would ask. “Why didn’t you build a hand-sample and seek out meaningful feedback?”

  Invariably, the answer would be the same: they were so certain of success they thought there was no point in being cautious.

  This craving for the “big score” bore true in the toy industry largely because product was varied and ever-changing. Blair checked what he was now holding in his hands and felt a buzz, that indefinable something. Every instinct, every bit of his experience, told him he was looking at the next craze, the next multi-million dollar winner, the one product that consumers would be talking about for years to come.

  To become a partner in this venture, he had invested all of the profit his company had earned since its inception. And Hillel Electronics were not easily convinced that they needed him … not until Jeremy Samson pointed out the diversity of the retail environment around the world, and how going it alone without an expert would be foolhardy at best.

  At equal risk to Blair was what he had planned for the initial launch. A multi-million-dollar advertising campaign. And a midnight introduction in September with only the top three retailers participating.

  On the negative side, he could not avoid the fact that the video game business was rapidly imploding. Annual sales in the U.S. alone, by some estimates, had dropped by more than half. But Blair understood that, as with toys, anything new and innovative could act as a shot in the arm and revitalize what appeared to be a dying industry.

  His product was lightweight and compact. It was only slightly larger than the portable units produced by Sony and Nintendo. Better still, it had a triple fold-out screen that offered a viewing space almost twice the size of either of its predecessors. It used the latest micro DVD technology, in 3D, without needing special glasses. Its colors were brilliant. Its memory capacity was far beyond anything released to date. It surpassed the kilobytes found in Microsoft’s home unit and it outperformed it. All in a case that was compact enough to be transportable, yet diverse enough to be used on TV screens, connecting in seconds, wirelessly.

  And that wasn’t all. What really set their unit apart was the fact that it was also a cell phone and touch-screen PDA. It would come with over a dozen apps built in. Thousands more would be made available through the Internet.

  The plan called for it to retail at the incredibly low price of eighty dollars, leaving a very meager profit. But they were using the razor blade/razor philosophy. They hoped the consumer would come back for the “blades,” which in this case were their mini DVDs. Many would take virtual reality to the next level. Each would sell for thirty dollars apiece. Each would be so unique, Blair felt certain his potential audience would bite and bite big.

  Picking up the handmade sample—but remaining mindful of its fragile state—he turned it on and watched the screen come alive.

  There were two mini joy pads, one on each side, so the left-handed or ambidextrous player was accommodated. It had a fairly good stereo speaker system for something of its size. Plus an input jack for headphones.

  He pressed play. The mini DVD that was supplied with the unit flashed a rainbow of colors. Then the name they had chosen leapt out. It began as a spec in the top left-hand corner. It continued to build until the entire screen was covered: CYBER-TECH.

  Blair hit the game-select button. He chose Warzone, and was soon transported into a Star Wars scenario. War ships of the dark side were preparing to attack the poor citizens of a not-so-far-off planet closely resembling earth. Being the good guy, he scored points for each enemy spaceship he was able to bring down. Once into it, it was impossible not to become addicted. This was what 3D, color, and superior graphics could do. Blair could imagine kids and probably their older brothers and sisters, even their parents, getting hooked.

  “Hoo-boy!” he shouted out loud as pieces of debris came “flying” toward him. He got to feel silly after a while, blinking his eyes and dodging imaginary obstacles.

  CHAPTER 3

  When his cell phone rang, Blair glanced at caller I.D. and his mood brightened still further. He shut the game and set it down, quickly answering with a terse, “Who’s calling me during the day?”

  “Daddy?”

  “Who?”

  “It’s me, Daddy.”

  “Who?”

  “Me. Sandra.”

  “I don’t know any Sandra.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  Pause. “C’mon, Daddy…”

  Blair laughed. “Okay. Just fooling. What’s up, kitten?”

  “Did you remember this weekend?”

  Blair thought his six-year-old daughter’s voice was the sweetest instrument in the world. “What weekend?” he said, wanting to lead her on.

  “This one.”

  “This one?”

  “Uh-huh.” Not only was her voice soft and lilting, but oh-so-grown-up.

  “What about this weekend?”

  “Did you already forget, Daddy?”

  “Forget what?”

  “Your promise.”

  “What promise is that?” he asked.

  “You said you would take me to the fair at the shopping mall.”

  “I couldn’t have promised.”

  “You did, Daddy.”

  “I did?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Well—if you say so.”

  “I do.”

  “Okay.”

  “You will keep your promise?” Her voice rose.

  Blair smiled to himself. He visualized his daughter’s beautiful blue eyes, the spitting image of her mother’s; God help him. And her curly, blond hair. Not nearly as curly as when she had been an infant, of course. But still special enough to draw attention wherever she went.

  “Kitten,” Blair said to her now, “when it comes to you, I promise to keep my promise.”

  “Then you’re still taking me?”

  “Of course, I am. What time did I say I would pick you up?”

  “Umm, I don’t remember, Daddy. I think you said early.”

  “Good. Then early it will be. Nine o’clock, sharp. You won’t stay up too late the night before, will you? We can’t have you chasing the boys around the neighborhood.”

  His daughter giggled. “All right, Daddy. I won’t chase the boys.”

  “Do you promise?”

  “I promise.” She disconnected.

  Blair sat staring at the phone, unable to wipe the silly expression from his face.

  CHAPTER 4

  It was after lunch when he stood from his desk. Blair had removed his red floral tie but still wore his navy suit jacket. He liked to think of himself as the last of a breed, dressing in business attire no matter the day of the week or what he might have on his agenda.

  Now, he approached the window. The view of 37th Street west of 8th Avenue was not the most glamorous. And he was reminded of what had brought him here.

  A number of years ago, many toy companies were headquartered in a set of sister buildings, at 200 5th Avenue and 1107 Broadway. The world came to them and it was a tradition of sorts. When the owners of both buildings announced that the properties would be turned into condominiums, indecision took hold. Shortsightedness led to alternatives that weren’t viable. Goodbye toy buildings, goodbye to a central area to meet b
uyers, to review product, to discuss business. And goodbye to tradition. Instead, Blair and his competitors went their separate ways. No one seemed able to reach a consensus as to what building, in which location, could best accommodate their needs. So here he was, situated in a place chosen mainly for its proximity to the Javits Center, which happened to be the current home for New York Toy Fair.

  For much of the afternoon, the visit from John Dalton, the government agent, crept into Blair’s subconscious and prevented him from concentrating on his work. He should have been more forceful, he realized, made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that he didn’t appreciate the intrusion, that he was not going to cooperate. Instead, as usual, he’d acted meek and indecisive. And the truth was hard to digest.

  Born in a poor Montreal neighborhood, Blair had shared a bedroom in a rented flat with his sister. His father was a competent carpenter but unskilled at business. The man had worked day and night to barely eke out a living. His mother worked in retail and also kept long hours.

  It was his sister, older by seven years, who nurtured him, who taught him her cardinal rules: to respect anyone of authority, to think before speaking, and that turning “the other cheek” said more about a person than protecting one’s honor.

  Blair wished he could have grown up tougher, into someone quicker on his feet. Maybe then a man like John Dalton wouldn’t intimidate him, wouldn’t be able to keep him so off balance.

  He left work at five o’clock and took a taxi home, located in the least tony area of the Upper West Side.

  His one-bedroom condo was small yet adequate. A den/living room. One and a half bathrooms. The largest room in the apartment was the kitchen, where a quarter of the space was filled by an off-white, rectangular table made of marble.