One False Move

by Robert Goddard

  ‘What was Carrick Haven?’ I ask casually.

  ‘A development of waterside apartments up near the yacht marina. Wrong place, wrong time, unfortunately. Charlie sank his money into it just as the property market crashed in the late eighties. More or less wiped him out. I mean, he went on, with various schemes, but they never came to anything. No one was surprised to hear he was up to his neck in debt when he died.’

  ‘And when was that?’

  ‘October 1994. Drove his car into Stithians Reservoir and drowned. Suicide was rumoured, but he’d been drinking and it was a misty night. It’s not actually difficult to get into trouble on that road. Although as to why he was on that road …’

  ‘How old was Joe then?’

  ‘Oh, he’d have been just a babe in arms. Far too young for him to have any memories of his father. Although he can always ask Charlie’s ex-partner about him if he wants to, of course, since I gather he does work for the man in some capacity.’

  Suddenly I’m hanging on Jeremy’s every word. ‘Joe works for Charlie’s ex-partner?’

  ‘So I’m told.’

  ‘Are we talking about the other guy in this photograph?’

  ‘Yes. Conrad Vogler. That’s him. He owns a big house over in St Mawes. He’s done very well for himself. In fact, everything started to go right for him around the time Charlie died. Ironic, really, considering what Charlie did for him.’

  ‘And what was that?’

  ‘Well, he gave him a start in this country. Conrad fled Rhodesia, as it then was, to avoid military service in the late seventies. Charlie took him on. It’s funny how life turns out. Charlie’s star sank. Conrad’s rose. And went on rising.’

  ‘Is Vogler still in the building business?’

  ‘I couldn’t really tell you what business he’s in. But living in one of the priciest houses in St Mawes suggests it’s certainly profitable. Nothing’s cheap over there. I’ve asked Joe, out of curiosity, but all he says is that Vogler’s … “an investor”. In what, you may well ask.’

  ‘Did Charlie Roberts play Go?’

  Jeremy smiles thinly. ‘Hardly. Charlie was too busy playing fast and loose to indulge in board games. Joe doesn’t take after him in any way at all. In fact—’ He breaks off suddenly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He shakes his head energetically. ‘Nothing at all.’

  Then, somewhat to Jeremy’s surprise, it appears, a customer comes in and the prospect of making a sale distracts Jeremy, allowing me to slip away.

  I explore the town a bit more. It’s funny to have leisure imposed on me by circumstances. I’m not really used to having time to kill and, to be honest, I don’t really like it. I enjoy the buzz of being busy all the time. Maybe I need the buzz. Standing out on the breezy headland at Pendennis Point, I realize just how much I’ve been using work to distract me from the mess that led me to return to London in the first place.

  As I’m walking back into the centre past the Docks, my phone rings. Carl’s my first thought. But no. It’s an unrecognized number. I take the call.

  ‘Hi, Nicole,’ says Joe in his soft, careful voice.

  ‘Karen told me you needed time to think.’

  ‘Yeah. Well, I’ve thought.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I’ll be out of town this afternoon. But you’ve got a car, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then you can pick me up on the King Harry ferry. Five twenty sailing from the Trelissick side.’

  ‘OK. But—’

  ‘You’ll be there?’

  ‘Yes. Of course. I’ll—’

  He’s gone.

  Five hours later, I’m in the queue of cars on the hairpin lane down to the King Harry car ferry. It’s a cool grey late afternoon. The woods on the opposite shore running down to the water’s edge look like the jungle along a South American river. But this is the Fal and we’re in Cornwall. It’s also the rush hour, or what passes for it round here. There are cars and vans stacked up behind me as far as I can see.

  And suddenly there’s Joe. I catch sight of him on the ferry as it reaches the slipway and lowers its ramp. He’s standing on the narrow viewing deck next to the pilot’s cabin. He leans against the railings and watches as the vehicles start rumbling off the boat.

  After the last of them has driven past me and headed off uphill, boarding begins. As I drive on, I see Joe descending the steps to the car deck. He’s carrying his shoulder-bag with him. He nods to me as he walks round to where I’ve pulled up behind a Transit van, and climbs in beside me.

  ‘I wish you’d stayed away,’ is the first thing he says.

  ‘You must’ve known we wouldn’t watch you beating the computer and just let it go.’

  ‘Why not? It’s supposed to be a game.’

  ‘We monitor everything, Joe. In the interests of all our millions of customers.’ I wince as I give him that particular piece of corporate bullshit and he lets me see he knows I don’t believe it. ‘Your record … was too good to ignore.’

  ‘I don’t always win.’

  ‘But sometimes you do. That’s the point. At the level you’ve taken it to, so I’m told, you really shouldn’t be able to win even once.’

  ‘What exactly are Venstrom offering me?’

  ‘Whatever you ask for, basically, in return for exclusive cooperation. The plan would be to incorporate your technique in the gridforest program and produce a new generation of machines. The possibilities are limitless. For you as well as us.’

  The ferry is full now. The gates close and we move slowly away from the shore.

  ‘Where are we going, Joe?’

  ‘Let’s not get into that yet. Mind if I smoke?’

  I’m about to object, but I can’t afford to piss him off. ‘No. You can—’

  ‘Do whatever I like so long as I sign up for whatever Venstrom want out of me?’ He smiles grimly as he looks at me. ‘Does that sound as shitty to you as it does to me, Nicole?’

  ‘We just want to know how you do it, Joe.’

  ‘Remember what I told you about ko?’

  ‘Ko? Er, yes. That is …’ He and Roger both mentioned the ko rule during my tutorial in the Seven Stars, but I wasn’t really concentrating. I certainly can’t recall now what it’s about. I sigh. ‘Not exactly.’

  The ticket man appears at the window. As I open it, Joe hands me a plastic card. ‘Use this. It works on here as well as the St Mawes ferry.’

  ‘There’s no need. Honestly.’

  He smirks. ‘It’s my treat.’

  ‘OK.’ I give the card to the ticket man. He swipes it and I pass it back to Joe.

  ‘You’re going to make me rich, aren’t you, Nicole?’

  ‘Venstrom will. If that’s what you want to be.’

  ‘So, I can afford to be generous. Now, back to ko.’

  He takes out his foldable miniature Go board, opens it up on his lap and starts to arrange several stones on the grid. I look down at them.

  ‘Black has just played there’ – he points to the black stone in the middle of the group – ‘capturing the white stone that was there’ – now he points to the empty intersection next to it – ‘but white can immediately capture the black stone by reoccupying the space. Yes?’

  It certainly appears to be true. I nod. ‘Yes.’

  ‘No. Because of the second of the two rules of Go. Which is?’

  I look at him helplessly. ‘I’ve forgotten.’

  ‘I doubt it. I doubt you ever knew it in the first place. And you can’t forget what you never knew, can you?’

  He has me there. ‘No, Joe. You can’t.’

  ‘The second rule of Go states that stones on the board can never repeat a previous position. So, white can’t reoccupy the space because that would take us back to where we were before.’ He moves the stones, illustrating the point. ‘And that would lead to an endless repetition of captures and recaptures. So, white must play elsewhere. You see?’

  ‘Yes.
I do.’

  ‘But do you see the beauty of it? Go mirrors life. You can’t stand still. Every move you make changes everything else, however fractionally. Ko is derived from a Buddhist word meaning eternity. And we don’t get to experience eternity in this life.’

  ‘No. We don’t.’

  ‘D’you see what I’m saying?’

  As he looks at me with his big, brown, contemplative eyes, I suddenly think I do see what he’s saying. ‘You can’t go back to how it was before I saw you leaving Admiral’s Reach yesterday even if you want to.’

  He nods. ‘No. I fucking can’t.’ He sounds angry but reconciled all at the same time. He drops the stones back in their bag and puts away the board. We’re approaching the Roseland shore now. Car engines are being started around us. A deck-hand is readying himself by the gate.

  ‘Are you going to tell me where we’re going now, Joe?’

  ‘Follow the St Mawes road. And listen. I’m going to tell you what my terms are.’

  ‘OK.’

  The metal ramp scrapes up the slipway as the ferry comes to a rest. The deck-hand opens the gate and waves us off.

  Joe doesn’t speak until we’re driving up the hill past the queue of vehicles waiting to board. Then he says, ‘I want anonymity. A change of name. So no one except you and a select few at Venstrom know who I really am or where I come from.’

  Carl’s been operating on a strictly need to know basis so far. I suspect he’ll be happy to indulge Joe on this one. It may even suit him. ‘I’m sure we can do that, Joe, but—’

  ‘Don’t ask me why.’ He sounds very serious about that.

  ‘OK. I won’t ask.’

  ‘Second condition. There needs to be generous compensation for Conrad.’

  ‘Conrad Vogler?’

  ‘Yes. He’ll be losing my services.’

  ‘And what exactly are those services?’

  ‘He pays me to study financial data on companies worldwide and calculate which ones he should invest in.’

  ‘And your analysis has worked out profitably for him?’

  ‘I guess so. He hasn’t complained. It’s not analysis, though. It’s synthesis. A different approach.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means seeing in a whole bunch of data the potential for a company to transform itself a year or two down the road. It means seeing the big picture.’

  ‘Is that how you’ve become so good at Go? Seeing the big picture?’

  ‘I see things other people don’t, Nicole. They’re things that are obvious to me. It’s taken me a long time to understand they’re not obvious to anyone else. A computer’s basic characteristic is efficiency. It calculates how to win a particular game and follows that method. It basically ignores its opponent. But there’s never only one way to win. Not if you can see far enough ahead.’

  ‘And you’re better at that than a computer?’

  ‘Sometimes, yes.’

  ‘Sometimes is good enough for us. Any more conditions?’

  ‘We’re on our way to see Conrad now. I told him we needed to talk through something important. I didn’t tell him what it was. Or that I was bringing you. He’ll be surprised. And he won’t be happy. He’ll be even unhappier if you tell him I’ve been using his computer to play Go and that’s what’s brought me to Venstrom’s attention. So, third condition. Nothing about tracing me via him. You got it?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘It won’t play well for me or you if he gets the idea you’ve been tracking activity on his system.’

  ‘Secretive character, is he?’

  ‘He likes his privacy. And he has clients who like their privacy too. I don’t know the details of his business. I don’t want to know. Neither should you.’

  ‘Why not? Is it … illegal?’

  Joe looks exasperated with me. ‘Just don’t go there, Nicole, OK?’

  ‘OK.’ I glance towards the estuary that stretches, gleaming silver, towards Falmouth and the horizon, beyond the fields we’re speeding past. ‘I’m sure we can satisfy Mr Vogler.’

  ‘He’ll hold out for a good deal.’

  ‘And he’ll get one. We want to make this transition as smooth as possible for you, Joe. There’s really nothing to worry about.’

  Joe says nothing to that. But it doesn’t sound to me like the silence of conviction.

  To be honest, I’m not convinced either.

  A quiet evening is settling over St Mawes as I pull down into the driveway of Admiral’s Reach. The giant four-wheeler I assume belongs to Vogler is parked in front of the garage. I park beside it.

  ‘Let me do the talking to start with,’ Joe says as we get out of the car.

  I don’t argue. We go to the door and Joe rings the bell.

  It’s opened by a busty, blonde-haired middle-aged woman with the leathery skin of a sun-worshipper. She’s wearing clothes that are too young for her: low-cut T-shirt, tight jeans slashed at the knees. ‘Hi, Joe,’ she says, flashing him a gleaming smile. Then she looks at me. ‘Who’s your friend?’

  ‘Nicole Nevinson,’ says Joe. ‘Nicole, this is Marianne Vogler.’

  ‘Nevinson?’ Marianne frowns at me. ‘Didn’t you leave your card earlier?’

  ‘Yes. I did.’

  Joe shoots a glance at me. I haven’t mentioned my encounter with the cleaner. ‘I told Conrad I’d be round,’ he continues. ‘I’ve brought Nicole to explain what we’ve got in mind.’

  Marianne’s frown doesn’t go away. ‘Well, Con’s expecting you all right. But Nicole here will be a surprise. And you know he doesn’t like surprises.’

  Joe shrugs. ‘Not much I can do about that.’

  ‘Well, come on in. Con’s in the lounge. D’you want a drink?’

  ‘Don’t mind a beer.’

  ‘Great. Nicole? Glass of wine?’

  I don’t really want one, but I reckon it might smooth my path if I accept. ‘Thanks. White, please.’

  ‘Chardonnay? Sauvignon?’

  ‘Er, Sauvignon, please.’

  ‘Coming up. Go on through.’

  Marianne peels off towards a vast white marble kitchen while Joe leads me through a big dining room with a glass-topped table to an even bigger lounge, which gives on to a decked balcony over the lower part of the house. The doors are open and Vogler’s prowling around outside, barking into a phone. The sea behind him is a blue-grey mass stretching to the horizon.

  He’s put on a lot of weight since he posed with Charlie Roberts at Carrick Haven thirty-odd years ago. He’s round-bellied and bull-shouldered, casually dressed in cashmere sweater, striped shirt and roomy trousers. His face is sort of swollen. He’s ruddy-complexioned, with grey-black hair and a close-cropped beard.

  Joe raises one hand in cautious greeting as Vogler turns towards us in his phone-prowl. He looks at Joe, then at me. Is he smiling or scowling? It’s hard to tell. He makes a give-me-a-minute signal and turns away again.

  He’s still on the balcony when Marianne comes in with the drinks. We sit down and she leaves us to wait. Joe looks about as awkward as I feel, shrugging at me between pulls on the bottle.

  Then Vogler comes into the room, which instantly seems to shrink around him. Joe springs up. I stand. We’re introduced.

  ‘Venstrom Computers,’ says Vogler with a glance at Joe. His voice is low-pitched, with just a hint of his southern African origins. ‘Was it you who emailed me recently, Nicole?’

  ‘Er, yes.’

  ‘They contacted me a while back,’ says Joe.

  ‘About what?’ Vogler couldn’t look more suspicious if he tried.

  ‘A sort of job offer.’

  ‘And you mentioned working for me?’

  ‘Well, I might’ve mentioned … Conmari Ltd.’

  ‘We did a bit of digging without telling Joe,’ I chip in, trying to deflect any blame from Joe.

  ‘What were you digging for?’

  ‘Well, we …’ It seems pretty obvious leaving the talking to Joe isn’t going to g
et us anywhere. ‘We want to offer Joe a job. It’s a great opportunity for him. But it would involve leaving Falmouth … and leaving your employment.’

  ‘Leaving my employment?’ He says that as if it’s not so much unexpected as inconceivable.

  ‘Would you like me to explain more fully?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Vogler pulls the balcony doors shut and turns round to face me. ‘Why don’t you do that?’

  ‘Mind if I sit down?’

  ‘No. Let’s all sit down, why don’t we?’

  We do that, gathering in an uneasy circle in the polar vastness of faintly squeaky white leather. Vogler grabs a tumbler of whisky from some side-table where he left it and takes a swig or two while I hear myself deliver a jargon-laden account of the exciting future in computer gaming program development we have in mind for Joe, who stares into space while I speak. Meanwhile Vogler squirms and grimaces, losing the battle to stay silent when I finally mention Go.

  ‘Go?’ He looks at each of us in turn with a mixture of bafflement and disgruntlement. ‘You’re talking about a fucking board game?’

  ‘Indeed,’ I say emolliently. ‘But Joe’s particular expertise makes him an ideal recruit for our research department.’

  ‘Because he’s good at Go?’

  ‘He’s more than good, Mr Vogler.’

  Vogler glares at Joe. ‘What have you been playing at?’ I don’t think he intends the pun.

  Joe looks abashed. ‘I just, er, do a little online Go … from time to time.’

  ‘What?’

  Joe shrugs. ‘It doesn’t do any harm.’

  Vogler gapes. It’s obvious he thinks it’s done a lot of harm. ‘For fuck’s sake …’

  ‘Mr Vogler,’ I say, still trying to sound ultra-reasonable. ‘I’ve no idea what exactly Joe does for you. He’s been very discreet about it. But you can’t really mean to stand in his way, can you? I realize it may be inconvenient, but—’

  ‘We had a deal, Joe.’ Vogler isn’t listening to me any more.

  Joe gives another helpless shrug. ‘This sounds like a better deal.’