to be played at nine on Sunday morning, and Bobby seemed far more relaxed than she was. She’d assumed they’d stay in the hotel, eat their meals there and wait until it was time for Bobby to face the Russian.
Instead, he suggested they go for a walk. Teri readily agreed. When she’d met her husband the year before, he’d lived in New York in a condo apartment somewhere close to Central Park. She’d never seen his place; after they’d bought the house on Seaside Avenue, Bobby had sold the apartment.
Outside, the streets were crowded with people of all ages, all backgrounds, all nationalities. There was an almost electric energy, unlike anything Teri had ever experienced. Her eyes darted in every direction and more than once Bobby had to pull her away from street vendors.
“I can buy a designer purse for thirty bucks,” she cried in protest, glancing over her shoulder. “Don’t you know what a bargain that is?”
Bobby shook his head. “They aren’t authentic.”
“But …”
“If you want a purse, I’ll get you a real one.”
“Bobby …”
Her husband refused to listen. Maybe later she’d sneak out and buy some for Rachel and Christie—they’d be thrilled. But, regardless of her disappointment from a shopping perspective, Teri found the walk invigorating. They’d eaten dinner in a genuine New York deli, and she was determined to find a cheesecake recipe to duplicate the fabulous dessert they’d had.
“Do you want to watch a movie?” she asked when they got back to the room. They could order one on their own television set. She could’ve watched movies the week they’d honeymooned in Vegas, too, only they had better things to do. But this evening, it was far more important that Bobby relax and get a good night’s sleep.
“A movie?” he asked, sounding puzzled.
“They have a whole list here. We don’t even have to leave the room.”
Bobby grinned. “I have my own methods of relaxation.”
He wore the expression she knew so well. “Bobby! Tonight?”
“Why not?”
“Well, for one thing, you’ve got the biggest match of your life in the morning.”
He walked over to the door, turned the lock and slid the chain into place.
Teri felt it was only fair to warn him. “In a few months I’m going to be big and fat and you won’t want me.”
He gave her an odd look. “I will always want you.”
“Oh, Bobby.”
They went to bed early that night but didn’t fall asleep until late.
The next morning, Bobby showed none of the pretournament jitters she’d seen before. He woke, showered and dressed in his usual shirt and pants, nothing special, no “lucky” outfit. Then he ordered coffee and Irish oatmeal for breakfast.
Teri wore her brand-new maternity top and turned sideways to check her reflection in the closet-door mirror. “Can you tell I’m pregnant?” she asked plaintively.
Bobby studied her, tilting his head to one side. “Not yet.”
“I don’t want people to think I’m just fat,” she protested.
“They will see that you’re beautiful.”
If he didn’t stop saying that, she was going to start crying. Bobby might not be movie-star handsome, but he had more heart and brains than anyone she’d ever met or hoped to meet. She continually felt grateful—and somewhat astonished—that he loved her.
As soon as they appeared at the tournament headquarters, on the hotel’s penthouse level, a hush fell over the room. In the world of chess, her husband was the reigning king. Yet he never put on airs or pretensions, never expected special treatment or deference.
Bobby escorted her to the viewing area, where Teri was given a prominent seat. She noticed television cameras and several monitors placed throughout the room.
When the Russian player, Aleksandr Vladimir, arrived it was with a grand flourish. He paused by the door, as if waiting for applause before he deigned to enter. When a few people clapped, he gave a slight bow, then removed his black overcoat and draped it over the arm of the burly man on his right.
Cameras flashed.
Reporters buzzed with questions.
Just a minute. Teri narrowed her eyes as she recognized the husky man beside the Russian. He was the one who’d cornered her in the parking lot outside the mall that night last spring. He might even be one of the men who’d abducted Rachel and James.
Of all the nerve!
The despicable Vladimir had the audacity to show up with this … this goon! And she was supposed to ignore the fact that he’d threatened her? She’d have to have a little chat with New York’s finest, she thought grimly.
She forced herself to calm down as Bobby and the Russian sat across from each other at the chessboard. A sports commentator for one of the major networks made the introductions, then lowered his voice as he explained to the television viewing audience the importance of this match.
Last night Bobby had described his strategy to her—how he planned to outwit the Russian. She’d nodded at what she assumed were all the right moments, but didn’t understand much of what he said.
Teri watched each move intently. Bobby had demonstrated the first eight moves Vladimir was likely to make and how he’d respond. It was the next three that would set up the trap. The trap Vladimir had prearranged so Bobby would lose the match and he’d walk away victorious.
With the ninth move, Bobby did as he’d been told. The crowd grew silent, then Teri heard scattered murmuring. The Black Hole. Bobby had stepped into the Black Hole. The Russian seemed to be stunned, and Teri had to compliment him on his fine acting job.
She clenched her fists at her sides.
Aleksandr looked cocky as he made his move.
Bobby stared at the board as if he’d been outplayed.
According to what Bobby had explained, there were eleven moves before the game was lost, with a few possible variations. Bobby made his tenth move. Vladimir executed his, doing exactly as her husband had predicted. Bobby followed. Vladimir smiled triumphantly into the camera and executed his next move.
At that point, Bobby nodded and slipped his own pawn into position.
Vladimir frowned.
“You said eleven moves,” Bobby told him. The microphone picked up the exchange.
The Russian didn’t speak. He hesitated for a few seconds, then moved again.
Once again, a hush fell over the room, and the commentator spoke excitedly into the microphone, explaining that the audience was viewing chess history. For the first time ever, a player
