Chapter XIX
Chapter XIX
Since Mikhail Tal was from Riga, His Serene Highness Prince Kropotkin allowed himself and his spouse to be driven out to the famous Little Mushroom Inn, 40 versts northwest of town, and joined other very distinguished guests in the small ballroom, which had been outfitted with speakers connected to the tallest civilian grade antenna the owner could obtain. Among the attendees were various Riga politicos, and the diplomats from Prussia, United Provinces of Italy, France, the Kingdom of Sardinia, and Bavaria. Given the death of the Tsar and the circumstances, the latter even made the supreme sacrifice of coming stag, denting the already hard hit profits of local escort concerns. There were no Romanovs in attendance, but Her Serenity spied a few of their "peculiar friends." They took up two tables and were in a state of near-constant gossiping. Decorum prevented Kropotkina from calling them over, and instead her table was shared by the dull as dishwater Deputy-Mayor of Riga and his equally boring wife.
Speelman outdid himself for what Tony Miles called his "last meal." It was an obscenely rich-flavored Iberian ham obtained from an acorn-fed black-hooved boar. It went down well, even as Miles thought dark thoughts. He spent two days readying himself or Tal. He did not call it preparation. How did one prepare for Tal? The man was the closest thing to a living genius in chess. Miles in particular always marveled at the Alexander Alexandrovich Alekhine vs. Tal immortal from Moscow in 1959. The then 22 year old relative unknown from Riga was facing the grandest grandmaster of them all and beat him. Alekhine was not a grateful loser, but he smiled when he toppled his King and shook the young man's hand. The game made Tal, and soon he was known as the "Grandmaster from Riga," making people somehow forget about Aron Ninmzovitch. In addition to giving his opponents fits at the chess board, he drank like a fish, smoked like a chimney and enjoyed the company of women. He preferred actresses, but on tournaments was known to spread his ample charms to women of all kinds. The last foreigner to defeat him in a tournament was Tartakower. And as Tony Miles worked his way through the ham, he once more came to the conclusion he was no Tartakower.
"Are you a fan of Sir Henry Cooper?" inquired Najdorf, cutting into the tomb like silence in the room.
"Isn't everyone?" asked Tony Miles, wondering where the conversation was going.
"He'll be at your match today," casually said Najdorf.
Tony Miles was not sure how to react. The greatest British fighter of the century, and the only man to be knighted for the great and manly art of handing out blunt force trauma, was here in Seville to watch him play chess. He stared at Najdorf.
"He's an old acquaintance, so I invited him," said Najdorf, easily reading his charge's mind.
"And why have I never heard of this before?"
"It never came up."
"Mick, if you are pals with Caroline Munro, now would be a time to admit it."
"Alas, she refuses to respond to my letters."
Miles cracked up. It wasn't that funny, but he cracked up. And he wiped the tears from his face.
"Well, one must not disappoint Our 'Enry. Gentlemen, let's go face the music."
Out in Baku's White Town, Stepan Podlesniy was doing brisk trade. He was originally going to book three different venues for the radio broadcast of the Seville final, but the Incident up in Akthy made him wary. He did not want to be shut down after renting out the places. But even with the cops still roving about and people still being dragged in for questions, he decided to rent out the original venue, and it was now jam packed, despite the threat of terror. Then again, his audience was overwhelmingly Russian and Christian. His cousin Vovka stopped by to take a gander, alone.
"Where's your charity case?"
"Spending another night in a hotel with iron curtains."
Stepka gave a quick nod and changed the topic to football, just to be on the safe side. Vovka answered haphazardly, and did not stick around, wandering off and looking a little lost. Stepka was not sure why he even showed, but soon had more important things to worry about, such as how many people he could fit into the theater hall without the fire marshal showing up.
Down at the Grand Hall, Penfield found his usual place, but saw his already awful line of sight blocked by a contingent of VIPs. Sir Henry Cooper and Sir J. Enoch Powell chatted directly before him. Three seats over, David Lean and Tom Courtenay shared a laugh. As did the Three Jennies of London: Agutter, Clare and Primrose. Closer to the aisle, the First Sea Lord, Admiral Sir Peter Hill-Norton, talked shop with the naval minded Duke of Brunswick-Lüneburg. Most of them were in London for the royal wedding, but with the great event still a week off, some decided to take in chess in Seville, which was after all only a short flight away. Having ruined two bookies already, Penfield did not wish to hurt a third, but a mustached man with an open throat shirt and lapels wide enough to land a helicopter came to him and gave the odds: Tal was favored, at a scant five-to-one. Given the relative standings of the two players, it was an outrage and an insult to Tal, but Miles had once again drawn Black, and clearly the bookies were rattled. Penfield took out a 20 pound note and bet on Miles. The tout made an entry, took Penfield's money and gave him an official looking IOU written on the back of a crimson carte de visite.
Tony Miles came out first, bounding onto the dais to rapturous cheers from the locals in the Grand Hall, who having no Spaniard to cheer, adopted him as their own, for who does not love a winner. The cheers from the British present were more polite. The serious squadron of chess reporters sat in cold silence. Miles wore the exact same outfit he had on when he defeated Karpov, though there was a stain here and there. He looked jittery. Then Mikhail Tal came out, and the squadron gave a standing ovation, with the Russian supporters cheering politely. Whatever one pictured when someone said the word "Russian," Tal was not it. His hair, eyes, brow, nose and skin tone rebelled against the label. He walked in an unhurried, languid fashion, smoking a cigarillo, flanked by red faced Special Section minders and trailed by seconds and trainers, most of whom were coaching the Alekhines and Karpov last week. Tal got to the seat, finished off his cigarillo and shot a look into the audience, then smiled and sat down. Miles followed his gaze and paled. Penfield followed their gazes over the now hunched shoulders of Sir Henry Cooper and spotted an attractive redhead in a too tight a tennis shirt. He had vaguely recalled seeing her before, at the previous Tal and Miles match.
Tal extended his hand and Miles belatedly shook it, and Tal opened with E2 to E4. Miles responded by moving out his Queen's Bishop's pawn up one square. More pawns and Knights spilled out, and there followed a quick pawn exchange and a tussle for the center involved a Black Bishop and a White Knight. Judging by the responses of the sensible and serious squadron, no great offense had been committed against the great sport of chess and indeed there were murmurs of pleasure to be heard from them.
On the dais, the White Knight retreated to the right side, followed by the Black Bishop doing the same. Then pawns advanced along the same flank. There was some sort of tussle and soon Bishops were exchanged, which elicited a sort of reaction from the spectators. But even though Tal was still languid, his responses were slower in coming, and Miles's speed turned glacial. Most of the audience soon grew bored, and here and there VIPs who expected fireworks began to loudly order drinks from the servers, and had to be hushed by the arbiter and the glares of the sensible and serious squadron.
The hotel staff did not anticipate such a turnout, and management only allocated six servers to the room, which now had 500 people, of whom at least 50 were high maintenance sort watching perhaps their first chess game. The servers frantically weaved between chairs, as some of the VIPs began to play a game of a different kind on the floor, seeing who could summon a server to address their needs first. Money was struck out in the air, of various denominations. There were British pounds, Spanish pesetas, the Northern German Confederation Prussian marks, colorful Russian rubles, and even American dollars.
On the dais, the tussles continued, along with more piece exchanged, but judging by the decidedly anti-Miles sensible squadron's reactions, Tal was getting the better of the Englishman. By move 22, Penfield began to see it as well, with Black pieces clearly retreating and White pieces slowly, but surely pushing up into Black territory. Golf claps broke out among the Russian partisans, which were hushed up by the arbiter. Up front, the bored Jennies were not enjoying their trip. And a few rows behind them, Tal's redheaded muse was finally able to order a complicated drink from a sweating server. As the man left with the orders, Penfield slipped away from his seat and followed him to the hotel barman.
In the Little Mushroom Inn, a big metallic chess board was suspended from the rafters of the small ballroom and a few volunteers from the local chess club adjusted the pieces with magnets stuck to them, to the mostly confused audience of the distinguished. Natalie Kropotkina was however taught how to play chess by her grandfather and treated it as a serious affair until she hit puberty and found other pursuits. She leaned over to her feigning to seem to understand chess husband and whispered:
"The Englishman is putting up a fighting retreat, but you don't win in chess, or in life, by retreating..."
"Except when we did it against Napoleon, eh?"
"Yes, that. But this is different, darling. Tal is preparing a death blow."
The Mayor of Riga nodded, and murmured nonsense under his breath, while gesticulating with his left hand, to make it seem as if he was the one explaining the game to his wife, who nodded along and gave him plenty of smiles. However Prince Kropotkin did not enjoy this bit of theater and it ate away at his soul. He decided to balm it with champagne, but thought better of it. One drinks champagne in celebration, and the Tsar was dead after all. He restricted himself to a Strasbourg Riesling.
Penfield returned to his seat to find Miles had retreated further into his own lines and Tal was on him. It was Miles's turn and his options were limited, at least to Penfield's untrained eye. Tal's muse was still waiting for her drink, and looking about in frustration. She cocked her head to the side when all three Jennies got their drinks, despite putting in their orders after she had placed hers. She was on the verge of causing a scene, when Miles finally made his 28th move, a meandering Black Queen sidestep. The sensible squadron sneered. It was time for the Russian matador to put down the mad English bull.
The redhead's drink finally came, brought by an apologetic server. She tipped, but avoided eye contact and downed the shot. Up on the dais, Tal was smoking peacefully, choosing his weapons. He was still deep in thought when came a sound of retching from the crowd and heads turned. But not Tal's. He was looking at the board. Penfield, however, spared a glance. The redhead vomited all over the front of her tennis shirt. She waved off the belated offers of help from the horrified server and hurried to the restroom, purse clutched and mouth clamped.
Up on the dais, Tal finished out another cigarillo, and cast an eye on the audience as he dug out another. He then double-tracked and scanned the audience again. The seat with the redhead was empty. He looked at the seat for what seemed like an eternity but could not have been more than half a minute. Then returned his gaze to the board, put away the unlit new cigarillo and made his move, advancing his G5 pawn to G6. The sensible squadron nodded their approval almost in unison, but Larry Evans, the American GM who sat next to Penfield, puzzled. And up on the dais, Miles immediately responded by advancing his pawn from F7 to F6, threatening a White Knight. It was the first counter-attack from Black since the game began, and it caught several among the sensible squadron off guard. Tal frowned, lit up the cigarillo at last, and studied the board, then had his White Knight retreat. And Miles quickly struck with his Bishop, rocketing across the board and taking out a White pawn. The spectators murmured.
Soon, a new pattern emerged. Black pressing, and White retreating, all along the line. The penned up Black pieces began to boldly strike into White territory, eating up pawns at will as White pieces huddled in defensive formations. Penfield knew White was in serious trouble when its King began to move up to protect White pieces, and reinforcing others. On move 40, White found it prudent to have its King help out its Knight and Queen, as Black pieces menaced. All because Tal had made an error on move 29.
It was Black's turn, and Tony Miles wiped his sweaty hand against his dungarees and advanced his Rook one square down and croaked out, "Check," to the delight of the spectators, who cheered and were hushed. For his part, Tal sat up straighter and looked about the table. He pocketed all the items he had put out during the course of the match, smoking his umpteenth cigarillo. Then he smoked it to next to nothing, ground it out into the ashtray, stood up, gave a courtly bow to Tony Miles, laid down his King and stuck out his hand. Miles shook it, feeling dizzy. The words of the arbiter were lost in the roar of the crowd. Powell was the first to give a standing ovation, and while the rest still clapped and cheered, he walked up to the dais and extended a hand up to Tony Miles, who shook it, grinning and still in a state of dull shock. Five dozen flashbulbs went off. The picture would be on the cover of most British papers the next morning.
In the Little Mushroom Inn, no one knew how to react. Natalie Kropotkina saw Baroness Beauharnais- Ungern-Sternberg duck into the powder room, whispered to her still puzzled husband and followed the woman inside. The Baroness was in the process of turning around to give a polite greeting, when Her Serenity locked the bathroom from inside and walked up to the faucet, unnerving the woman. She turned on the water at her faucet, then did the same to the faucet in front of the Baroness.
"Is there something I should know that I as yet do not know about?" asked Kropotkina in the same tone of voice her grandfather used when addressing the trespassing poachers brought before him.
"I... That is, I am not sure, Serenity."
Her Serene Highness stared, and the Baroness broke and confessed her "peculiar friend" Prince Yuri Kirillovich had said he has no intention of voting for either his uncle Vasili Alexandrovich for Guardian, or his uncle Alexander Alexandrovich for Regent. Instead, he declared he would vote for the great pairing of Prince Mikhail Nikolaevich as Guardian and Prince Gavril Ioannovich as Regent.
Her Serenity took the news with remarkable sangfroid, and turned off the faucets.
In Seville, the pandemonium continued. And a delirious Tony Miles found himself taking pictures with the Three Jennies, by turn and then together, and even cracked a joke. It wasn't funny, but the Jennies laughed uproariously, for naturally anything a chess master says must be clever. He then introduced a sheepish Speelman to Jenny Clare, sang his praises, and went to shake hands with Sir Henry Cooper, as Penfield was given the rest of his winnings, by three very miserable men. In the course of a week the Bureau man had turned 35 pounds into 337. He had several notions on how to spend it.
In Odesa, at the Okhrana facility, a single gunshot rang through the third underground floor. A heavily armed and armored response squad quickly appeared on the scene, to find the man in charge of fixing the Seville tournament in his office, alone. Collegiate-Councilor Zahar Alexandrovich Bataev watched as the body of Collegiate-Councilor Golubev was carried out via the corridor. The man had an accident while cleaning his handgun. An uncommon but not rare hazard of the Okhrana trade.
Last edited:
