by Molly Joseph
“Last year she made about thirty million.”
Sam couldn’t have heard that right. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“Thirty million last year, and certainly more this year with the match coming up. That includes corporate sponsorships, private and public donations, and hefty funding from the State Department. Granted, it’s more than your average grandmaster would pull in, but think of it—she might be the first ever female world champion. She’s kind of a big deal.”
The old man said big deal. Sam thought, kidnapping victim.
“She should have an entire security team,” Sam said, glancing at Walter. “With that much personal worth, and the socio-political ramifications of her winning, or even competing in an Arab country... I’m sorry, but she needs more than just a close security agent.”
“She’ll have more than just you,” Zeke said. “The State Department is providing a team for travel, matches, and public appearances. They’re keen to support her effort to win the title, since it could impact the advancement of women’s rights in the Middle East.”
With those words, the assignment had suddenly become a hell of a lot more complicated. Sam let out a slow breath. “Does the State Department know what happened to her in Russia?”
“Why do you think they’re insisting on security now? Grace is a uniquely valuable asset to the U.S. government. Chess is popular in Muslim nations, and a female unseating a Saudi man... Well, you can imagine the reverberations, how it might be used to promote an agenda.”
A chill chased up Sam’s spine. “Does she want that?” he asked.
“Want what?”
“To be involved in this ‘agenda’? Does she want to advocate for women’s rights, and be the State Department’s operative? Or does she only want to play chess?”
“Well.” Zeke laughed softly. “It changes from day to day. But I’ll tell you what I want, Mr. Knight.”
The room went very still, perhaps from the steel in Zeke’s rasp, or from the intensity in his gaze. The frail man leaned forward, enunciating past the palsied tremble of his lips.
“I want her to have someone on her side. Only on her side. Not a government person, not a chess person, not a second, not a corporate sponsor, but a strong and trusted ally with no interests save her own. I want that ally to be with her from now until the end of the World Chess Championship. And afterward too,” he said, grimacing. “Because that’s when all hell will break loose.”
Sam liked the word Zeke had used. An ally. Even before he said it, Sam had decided he would take the assignment, because Grace Ann Frasier was heading into a dangerous situation, and she was going to need someone trustworthy—and physically capable—at her side. It unnerved him, how daring she was, and how young and fragile.
But he wasn’t young and fragile. No, he was large and intimidating, and good at protecting people.
Sam watched the old man squeeze his gnarled knuckles one after the other. “You think she’ll win this World Chess Championship?” he asked. “You really think she’s going to do it?”
Zeke looked at Walter, then Sam, with something like entreaty. “Oh, yes. I know she’s going to win.”
Chapter Two: The Bodyguard
“No wonder they’re angry. She’s the proverbial wolf in sheep’s clothing, an unassuming young woman whose smile says ‘I love chess’ and ‘I’m going to destroy you’ all at once.” —Chess Magazine
Grace Ann stared down at the white and ebony pieces, and rubbed a finger across her brow.
If he moved his knight to b7, what would I do? What if he moved to b6?
She was trying to distract herself during these last moments, because she didn’t want to cry in front of Zeke. Zeke was the one who’d taught her this practice strategy when she was a child. He’d told her to pretend her opponent made an unexpected move, and then think about all the possible ways she might respond, and the repercussions of each move.
The problem was, her opponents hardly ever made unexpected moves. There were an infinite number of ways to play a chess game. Grace supposed that even today, fifteen hundred years after chess was invented, there were still games that hadn’t been played, so she got annoyed when opponents made moves that were safe and predictable. It lacked imagination. None of the grandmasters in the world right now played with imagination.
“Gracie? You’re sure you packed everything?”
She turned to look at Zeke, brushing her bangs from her face. “I think so.”
“It’s almost time.” He shuffled across the living room. “The car is coming soon to take you to the airport.”
Commink soon. When she’d first met Zeke, his thick Russian accent had been hard for her to understand. Now she knew his accents and cadences like her own second language. She was going to miss him terribly. The pieces blurred as she considered her next move. c7? c6?
No, d2.
f4?
“Are you nervous?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No. Well, yes, I’m nervous. But everything will be okay.”
“Yes, it will,” he agreed. “And if you have any problems you can’t handle, you’ll have the agent to help you.”
“The agent?”
“The bodyguard from Ironclad Solutions. You remember?”
Oh, yes. The bodyguard, for her personal safety and security. She was leaving for Helsinki this afternoon on a government chartered plane. Her bags were packed and stacked against her bedroom wall, and her bodyguard was on the way, so it was too late to say I can’t, or I don’t want to, or I’m about to piss myself.
Zeke settled in the chair across from her and took her hand. “I wish I could go with you. Not that you need me. You’ll have lots of people looking out for you, yes? I don’t want you to be...”
Scared. That was the word he didn’t say. Grace stared hard at the board and bit her lip. Something had happened to her a few months ago, something terrifying that lingered like a raw nerve ending, always ready to flare up. Many things triggered it. Crowds, claustrophobia, deep voices. Surprises. Now that she knew what hurting, helpless terror felt like, she couldn’t forget. Even though she wished she could forget.
The incident had been traumatic for her, but Zeke had it worse. He lived with guilt and regret that haunted him. He worried so much that Grace had agreed to this bodyguard thing, even though she didn’t want someone hovering around her all the time. He was going to stay with her in Helsinki, right in the house they’d rented. When she went to Dubai, he’d come with her too. She understood it was a professional arrangement for her security, but it still freaked her out.
“I hope he’s not too...intrusive.” Her voice sounded shakier than she meant it to. “I have to be able to concentrate on my game.”
Zeke didn’t answer at first. He was studying her board, his eyes darting over the pieces’ positions. “You’ll have to figure it out,” he finally said. “It’s hard enough letting you go without me. I need to know you’ll be safe.”
“How much does a live-in bodyguard cost? More than a housekeeper, I bet.”
“It costs what it costs. Perhaps he’ll do light dusting.”
“When I travel, the government guys will be there. Even now, they’re watching the building.”
“It’s not the same,” said Zeke. “He’s what they call close security. Because you need someone close, not someone sitting outside in a car.”
I don’t want someone close. She didn’t say it. This was for Zeke, so he wouldn’t have to be afraid anymore. As for her, she knew there was nothing that could take her fear away. Well, there was one thing. She looked back at her board, knitting her fingers together under the table, disciplining her mind to the game. Zeke pointed to her knight at d7. She shook her head and moved her queen to c6. Zeke made a sound that turned into a laugh.
“Yes, I see. I think Fischer played that once.”
“You always say that. I’m not Fischer.”
“You’re very like him. You and your bishop endgames. Yes,
I see where you are going, young lady,” he said, nodding at the formation on her board. “You’re very like him, but not totally. Although you may turn into Bobby Fischer if you do not develop some interests other than chess, and poke your head out into the world.”
Not this conversation again, not now, just before she had to leave. Yes, she’d become more reclusive in past months, but there was a reason. “When I have to, I go out in the world,” she said tightly. “I’m not afraid.”
“I know you’re not afraid, milachka. But you’re young. You should be doing young woman things. Even before...” His voice trailed off. “Well, you mustn’t let your life fly by. You should venture out sometimes and see things beyond your chess board. Make friends who don’t play. Have a drink. Go to a show.”
“Go to a show?” She made a face at him.
“You know what I mean.”
She tapped the head of her bishop and slid it to c4. “I can’t go out. Everyone hounds me now.”
“Therefore you have close security. You see? This is very good. And I’ve met him. He seems very professional and competent. He’s from a highly respected agency, my dear, and you have more than enough money to afford his services.”
Oh, yeah. She forgot sometimes how rich she was, since they still lived in Zeke’s ancient second-floor apartment in Brooklyn and since she never did anything that really cost any money. People gave her tons of money for playing chess, which was weird, since she would have done it for free.
“What’s the bodyguard’s name?” she asked.
“Sam Knight.”
She touched the shiny dark head of her knight piece. “Does he play?”
“He says no.”
Grace was glad. It would be awkward if he wanted to play with her, because she knew she’d beat him a few moves in. She beat Zeke every time now. It hurt her to do it, but when she tried to let Zeke win, that hurt him worse. She always hated hurting her opponents’ feelings, outsmarting them. Embarrassing them. She didn’t do it to be cruel.
Bitch. Feelthy American bitch.
She held her breath a moment, willing the memories away. Okay. She would deal with a bodyguard for now, for Zeke’s sake. Maybe it would help her too. Maybe it would take away some of the fear and nervousness that still crawled under her skin.
A brisk knock sounded at the door. Grace jumped. Knocking triggered it too. The men who beat her up in Russia had knocked at the door and she, like an idiot, had opened it. She immediately knew it had been a mistake, but by then, of course, it had been too late.
“I’ll get it,” said Zeke, giving her hand one more squeeze. He rose from the chair and tottered toward the door.
Grace stood and ran to the bathroom, telling herself she needed to fix her hair. The bodyguard was here, which meant the car was here, but Grace didn’t feel ready. As much as she loved to compete, it was hard for her. It was hard to travel, and hard to put herself out there to be judged. It was hard to leave Zeke, even if a housekeeper was coming to help him while she was away.
Grace stared at herself in the mirror, pushing back her bangs. She’d gotten new glasses with bigger frames to hide behind, but she didn’t like them. She didn’t have any makeup on, and her jeans and sweater had seen better days. Why hadn’t she bought new clothes for this trip?
Because she never went out.
She heard Zeke open the door, heard the deep-voiced greeting of the man he admitted. The agent sounded friendly. Why wouldn’t he be friendly?
“Gracie?” Zeke called.
“I’m coming.” She took a breath and walked back out to the apartment’s main room. Halfway there, when she saw him, her steps slowed.
Wow. He was scary. It wasn’t anything he did, or any movement he made. He scared her because he was way bigger and stronger than any person she’d ever known.
Yes, he’s big and strong. Duh, Gracie. He’s a bodyguard.
Beside him, Zeke looked half his size, maybe a third his size, thin and stooped over as he was. This certainly illustrated the difference in the amount of protection they could offer. “Come and say hi,” Zeke said, beckoning.
Grace collected herself enough to look up from the daunting body and shoulders to the man’s face. She stared into dark-light eyes. Were they brown? Or green? Either way, they were wide-set and beautifully shaped. He had black, wavy hair that curled onto his forehead. His nose was prominent and elegant, and his lips... Why are you gawking at his lips?
“You must be Grace Ann Frasier,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“I...yes. It’s a pleasure to meet you too.” She held out a hand and the bodyguard reached to shake it. Wow, quite a grip. His hand felt big and warm, but not sweaty. He was wearing a really nice suit, dark blue with a tie. She catalogued these details in a clinical way, so she wouldn’t have to think about the fact that she had to leave in a few minutes. Then she realized she was shaking his hand long past the appropriate time. “So, you’re the bodyguard,” she said, letting go.
“Yes, from Ironclad Solutions.” He produced a card from his inside suit pocket. “My name’s Sam Knight. Feel free to call me Sam.”
She glanced at the bold-lettered card, and then at the badge affixed to the tailored waistline of his pants. He didn’t look like a Sam, but he certainly looked like a Knight. “Is that your real name?”
His eyes narrowed. He looked surprised that she would ask, and she immediately wished she hadn’t.
“I mean, it’s j-just...” She stammered under his hard gaze. “It sounds almost too perfect for a bodyguard. You know, ‘knight’? Like the knight-in-shining-armor thing?”
“We ought to pack up your chess board, Gracie.” Zeke’s voice saved her from her blathering stupidity.
“Oh, yeah. Of course.”
Another knock. The bodyguard let in a second large man and introduced him as one of the drivers. Things were moving so fast. Grace packed up her chess pieces and folded the board in half while Zeke hovered nearby.
“If you have everything ready to go,” said Sam, “we can carry it down while you say your goodbyes.” He looked at his watch. “We’re meeting the State Department team at the airport at thirteen hundred hours. One o’clock,” he amended at her confused look. “Sorry. I was in the Army for a number of years.”
The Army, of course. He had the curt, focused alertness of a soldier, and impressive shoulder muscles bulged beneath his conservative blue suit. He smiled at her, a businesslike, disciplined smile. Now that the shock of his initial appearance had worn off, she realized he wasn’t perfect. His teeth were a tiny bit crooked. He didn’t look like he’d shaved this morning. Maybe that was on purpose, the scruffy shadow of stubble. It made him look rough around the edges. A little dangerous, not the sort of man you wanted to mess with.
She went to the bedroom to put her chess set in the smaller suitcase. When she finished, he took the luggage from her as if it weighed nothing. His outsize presence seemed to swallow all the space in her room. She thought of the shouting photographers pressing in on her, and the crowds at the chess venues, and the men at the Russian hotel. He was bigger than those men. He could defend her from all that.
The driver took her other bag, and she wandered out after them. Zeke stood in the living room looking terribly sad and frail. I can’t, she thought. I can’t do this. But they were already taking her things out.
“It’s going to be fine,” she forced herself to say.
Zeke nodded. “I’m so proud of you. This is such an exciting moment.”
He opened his arms and she fell into them, choking back a sob.
“Now, Gracie girl,” said Zeke, patting her back. “Don’t worry. You’re going to make us all proud.”
“I’m worried about you.”
“No worrying,” Zeke scolded. “Go to Helsinki and do what you are meant to do.”
“But it’ll be weeks before I see you again. Almost two months.”
“And we can talk on the phone every day, twenty times a day i
f you like. We won’t feel so far away.”
The bodyguard returned and lingered across the room, giving them some privacy. Grace fumbled with her glasses and wiped at her tears, and forced a smile for Zeke’s benefit. “I’ll call when we get there, okay?”
“Yes, call me when you’re settled in. I want to hear everything about your new house in Helsinki, and how your seconds are doing. Make sure that Krishna gets his time to meditate, and Renzo gets the bedroom closest to the kitchen. And don’t let Fredrik boss you around.”
“I won’t.”
“And remember, his job is to help you,” he said, nodding in Sam’s direction. “Let him answer all the knocks. He won’t let anyone bad get through.”
Grace slid the bodyguard a look. He was waiting by the door, looking absolutely immovable. I’m afraid, she thought, but what she said was, “I’m ready.” She gave Zeke one last hug and then linked her pinky with his.
“For luck,” she said.
He grinned and winked at her. “For luck.”
*** *** ***
Sam went down the stairs ahead of his new client. On the way, he gave her directions about entering and exiting buildings, protocols they’d follow every time. Wait for me. Stay alert. Walk quickly. Don’t get into the wrong car. He guided her into the black sedan with government plates, with the government driver and co-driver sitting up front. As soon as they pulled away from the curb, she took off her glasses, buried her head in her hands, and started to cry.
“Is there anything I can do?” he asked. It was a meaningless question, a simple indication that he was beside her, and that he worked for her. He rested a hand on her back, between her shoulder blades. A reassurance touch, straight out of the manual. Apply reassurance contact when the client is tearful or distraught, to let them know you are there. The contact should be light, fleeting, and nonsexual. He lifted his hand and offered her a tissue from the box the co-driver passed back.
