Page 1 of The Grandmaster's Pawn (Checkmate)

One

Daniel

“The Sicilian Defense? Are you certain?”

Her huff brings a smile to my lips, though the anonymity of the internet hides it from her.

“Do you have a problem with Sicilians?”

“Not at all. However, the King’s Gambit is the more…popular response.” I lean back in my chair as she locks her pawn to C5.

“Shoulder pads were popular once too. Shall we bring those back? What about tie-dye? Leg warmers? Hammer pants?”

“I owned a pair of Hammer pants.” I don’t know why I admit this faux pas to Gemma Watson, the woman I’ve met online every night for the past two weeks. Except, I’m tired of our games. Not the chess matches. The constant banter that never says anything.

Gemma laughs, and the sound shocks me with its musicality. Have I heard her laugh before? I don’t think so. Brilliant. This is progress. “Now that I shared my deepest, darkest secret with you…perhaps you will share one of your own?” Moving my knight to NF3, I wait to see if she’ll take the bait. On the board and in our chat.

Her N6 move is expected, but not ineffectual, and two moves later, she’s captured my first pawn. “I’m afraid of the dark.”

This, I can use. “Any particular reason?”

“None I’m willing to share. In fact, I have to be at the museum by 7:00 a.m. We’ll have to pick this game up tomorrow. Good night, Daniel.”

The connection clicks off, and the game on screen disappears. I pushed too far. No matter. She opened up, and tomorrow, I’ll make my next move. If all goes well, Gemma and I will have met…in person…by the end of the day, and in less than a week, the Lewis Chessmen will be mine.

Three years I’ve been planning this heist. Blueprints for the British Museum, security timetables, alarm system schematics. All mine. Except, the Lewis Chessmen are under lockdown if you do not have a very specific keycard programmed to allow access to the Antiquities Room, and my last attempt to obtain one failed. Miserably. The former curator, a dour-faced dodger with a penchant for gambling, should have been an easy mark.

And then the dolt went and got himself indebted to a particularly vicious loan shark. If only he hadn’t gone to the police. Once the coppers were involved, I couldn’t get close to him again.

But now…everything is falling into place. A part of me wishes I could have found another way. Once the Chessmen are mine, I’ll never speak to Gemma again. I’ve come to enjoy our chats, and the challenge she poses. Rarely do I lose a chess match. But to her…I’ve conceded defeat more than I’d like to admit.

I stare out the window of my penthouse flat, wearing nothing but a black silk robe and slippers. The lights of London glitter before me, and I stare off to the east, where eleven kilometers away, Gemma is likely getting into bed.

The Chessmen will be my crowning achievement, and after they’re mine…I’ll retire.

“Gemma, you little minx. I hope I’ll be able to forget you one day,” I murmur as need stirs within me. “Though I intend to make sure you never forget me.”

* * *

Gemma

Why did I tell him about my fear? Daniel’s a foe. An online opponent. Someone to challenge me. A way to hone my skills for the game I love. Nothing more.

For all I know, Daniel isn’t even his real name. Though…like a fool, I failed to use a screen name when I signed up with that stupid website two months ago. Daniel’s the first opponent who rematched me. Not only that…but he taught me. Patiently. Explained every move.

Now…I’m not bad. Good, even. At least against Daniel. I rarely have the time to play with anyone else. Between my job as an Assistant Curator for the British Museum and studying for my Master’s Degree, I get maybe two hours a day to eat, order groceries, and play chess with Daniel.

After I double-check the door locks, I trudge into my little bedroom. Despite living in London for three years, I never really…moved in or made my flat my own. Except in this room.

On my dresser, my sister smiles back at me, forever nine years old and full of joy. I press my fingers to my lips, then touch the picture. “Miss you, Nora. Always.”

Climbing into the queen-size bed, I pull the rich, purple duvet up to my chin. Silk scarves drape the lamps, and some of my favorite pictures—sunsets over Lake Tahoe, the Italian coastline, and the Cliffs of Mohr decorate the walls. If I weren’t a historian, I’d be a photographer. Nora and I used to dream about what we’d do when we were “big.” We always said we’d see big cities, mountains, and oceans. All the things we didn’t have in our tiny little country town.

I leave the lamp on. Usually, my fear of the dark can be assuaged by the little night light in the hall. But I can feel the memories threatening. I’m not sure why. Except…the weather in London today was just like that awful day twenty years ago. When I lost her.

The clouds roll in as we run across the field. “Hurry!” I call to Nora, who trails behind me, her legs so much shorter than mine are at two years her senior. “We have to be back before Daddy comes home.”

She pumps her arms and bursts past me—though I let her. I always let her win. When she yanks open the old barn door, a wide smile lights up her face, turning her blue eyes almost gray. “This is so cool.”

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