And
that
means I have to analyze the position tonight. That’s why they want me to go off to some restaurant for an interview. So I’ll do lousy analysis and mess up the endgame and lose. That’s what the Russians do, Margo. They cheat. They’ve been working against me for years.” All of this as he stomped around the room. He stopped at the grimy window, pointed. “See the water out there? Remember, when we checked in, how they had me on the other side, facing the tower? I was practically looking into somebody else’s room. That’s what they do. See, that way, they can look in my window and see what moves I’m studying. More Russian cheating. That’s why I made you change my room.”
“Yes, Bobby, but this is different—”
He had found the game he wanted and was moving the pieces, very fast. “If it’s so important, you go. You can tell me about it tomorrow.”
III
Agatha had a map. She marked the location of the restaurant, then had Margo write in her own hand the name, in English block capitals, painstakingly misspelled.
“Just in case,” said Agatha.
“In case what?”
The minder shrugged. They were standing in the surf once more, slacks rolled up to their knees. “The map is camouflage. If you have the map, if you’re constantly reading street signs, it’s evidence that you’re just a tourist.”
“Does anybody suspect I’m not?” asked Margo, suddenly chilly, and not because of the waves. “What if the whole thing is a trap?”
“The whole thing might well be a trap.”
“What am I supposed to do in that case?”
“That’s what Bobby is for. The Bulgarians wouldn’t dare arrest him. Their own chess fans would riot.” Agatha smiled. “Bobby is your protection, Margo.”
“I thought I was escorting him, not the other way around.”
“And I thought by now you understood. You’re the one who’s going to carry the message. You’re the one who matters. Bobby’s a lunatic. His only function in the entire operation is to be at your side so that nobody will touch you.”
Margo stared. “When were you planning to tell me this?”
The smile never wavered. “I just did.”
“Bobby is my protection. Not the other way around.”
“That’s right.”
“So—what do I do if he won’t go tonight?”
Agatha’s watchful brown eyes apologized. “You’re a woman,” she murmured, in eerie echo of Stilwell’s taunts back in Ithaca. “Persuade him.”
IV
Margo had seen quite a bit of Varna. In the mornings, while Bobby slept in or studied his chess, she spent the hours wandering the town, especially the older parts, the churches and monasteries and even occasional castles that had survived war, pestilence, and socialism—to say nothing of ordinary plunder, for the stone for many of the buildings constructed in the past half-century came from demolishing walls and bridges and even palaces in disused corners of the city. She had seen Euxinograd Palace, with its magnificent gardens, and the dank caves in the hills above the city, where aging monks guarded manuscripts and relics said to unlock the secrets of the universe. She had tried to attend Sunday services at the Dormition of the Theotokos Cathedral but had been prevented by the usher for reasons he had not seen fit to put into English, so she contented herself instead with taking photographs of the golden domes with her Kodak Instamatic. Another time, she went to one of the city’s handful of private vineyards, where the proprietors were so delighted to see an American that they piled her with bottles to take home. Untouched, the bottles sat in the hotel room, although, on Agatha’s advice, she had doled out a couple to the staff.
Sometimes Agatha joined her on these little jaunts. Margo’s only other company was a young fellow in a red leather jacket, who materialized whenever she headed into town. He rode a motorcycle and managed constantly to stay on her tail. Even when she sauntered through an alley, he would show
that
means I have to analyze the position tonight. That’s why they want me to go off to some restaurant for an interview. So I’ll do lousy analysis and mess up the endgame and lose. That’s what the Russians do, Margo. They cheat. They’ve been working against me for years.” All of this as he stomped around the room. He stopped at the grimy window, pointed. “See the water out there? Remember, when we checked in, how they had me on the other side, facing the tower? I was practically looking into somebody else’s room. That’s what they do. See, that way, they can look in my window and see what moves I’m studying. More Russian cheating. That’s why I made you change my room.”
“Yes, Bobby, but this is different—”
He had found the game he wanted and was moving the pieces, very fast. “If it’s so important, you go. You can tell me about it tomorrow.”
III
Agatha had a map. She marked the location of the restaurant, then had Margo write in her own hand the name, in English block capitals, painstakingly misspelled.
“Just in case,” said Agatha.
“In case what?”
The minder shrugged. They were standing in the surf once more, slacks rolled up to their knees. “The map is camouflage. If you have the map, if you’re constantly reading street signs, it’s evidence that you’re just a tourist.”
“Does anybody suspect I’m not?” asked Margo, suddenly chilly, and not because of the waves. “What if the whole thing is a trap?”
“The whole thing might well be a trap.”
“What am I supposed to do in that case?”
“That’s what Bobby is for. The Bulgarians wouldn’t dare arrest him. Their own chess fans would riot.” Agatha smiled. “Bobby is your protection, Margo.”
“I thought I was escorting him, not the other way around.”
“And I thought by now you understood. You’re the one who’s going to carry the message. You’re the one who matters. Bobby’s a lunatic. His only function in the entire operation is to be at your side so that nobody will touch you.”
Margo stared. “When were you planning to tell me this?”
The smile never wavered. “I just did.”
“Bobby is my protection. Not the other way around.”
“That’s right.”
“So—what do I do if he won’t go tonight?”
Agatha’s watchful brown eyes apologized. “You’re a woman,” she murmured, in eerie echo of Stilwell’s taunts back in Ithaca. “Persuade him.”
IV
Margo had seen quite a bit of Varna. In the mornings, while Bobby slept in or studied his chess, she spent the hours wandering the town, especially the older parts, the churches and monasteries and even occasional castles that had survived war, pestilence, and socialism—to say nothing of ordinary plunder, for the stone for many of the buildings constructed in the past half-century came from demolishing walls and bridges and even palaces in disused corners of the city. She had seen Euxinograd Palace, with its magnificent gardens, and the dank caves in the hills above the city, where aging monks guarded manuscripts and relics said to unlock the secrets of the universe. She had tried to attend Sunday services at the Dormition of the Theotokos Cathedral but had been prevented by the usher for reasons he had not seen fit to put into English, so she contented herself instead with taking photographs of the golden domes with her Kodak Instamatic. Another time, she went to one of the city’s handful of private vineyards, where the proprietors were so delighted to see an American that they piled her with bottles to take home. Untouched, the bottles sat in the hotel room, although, on Agatha’s advice, she had doled out a couple to the staff.
Sometimes Agatha joined her on these little jaunts. Margo’s only other company was a young fellow in a red leather jacket, who materialized whenever she headed into town. He rode a motorcycle and managed constantly to stay on her tail. Even when she sauntered through an alley, he would show
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