Anatoly scowled at the board, annoyed that he would have to withdraw his attack for the moment. The man was beaten, didn't he realize that? There was no point to drawing this out any longer than it needed to. Trumper had no way and no hope of winning; this charade was only delaying the inevitable.

He cast his eyes over the board and noticed that Trumper's queen was vulnerable. Florence came to mind and he shifted minutely in his chair, unable to chase away the pang of guilt. What she was thinking, he couldn't begin to know, but he hoped she would understand what he was doing here, why he couldn't bow to the pressure facing him.

Lex had told him there was almost no chance at all her father could still be alive after thirty years in a KGB prison. If he thought so, it must be true - with his knowledge of the future, he'd know better than anyone else here what the odds were. If there was no hope, then there was no need for his grand self-sacrificing gesture.

There was still the issue of the threat against Svetlana and his children, but there, as in every other thing, he trusted Lex implicitly. Lex had promised he would find a way to get them safely out of Russia, and if anyone could, it was him.

With a cough more to irritate his opponent than any other reason, he moved his rook to threaten the queen and take the focus away from his bishop.