chesspolitik: (Wrecked His Grand Design)
By the day of Halloween, Anatoly was completely convinced that danger was lurking around every corner and that no corner of the island was safe. There was simply no telling where Molokov or de Courcey could be and he was afraid that if he stepped outside, even for a moment, that they would find a way to snatch him. He could only begin to imagine what sort of things they would have in store for him and he did not want to find out how the reality matched with his fears.

But as inconvenient as it was, he did need to do things like shower and eat and for that, he had to leave his hut. If Lex had not been there to act as his faithful bodyguard, he would have been content to remain a hungry and rather ripe grandmaster. Their trip to the compound passed without incident and after being reassured several times that Lex would be waiting in the rec room for him, Anatoly went to take a shower.

When he emerged and headed to the rec room, clean (if not exactly clean shaven), he found not Lex but a note in his handwriting. Opened, it simply said that Lex had spotted Molokov lurking about and advised him to leave the compound as soon as possible. He would be waiting outside and then the two of them could go to the IPD.

Without thinking or even stopping to pack up his chess set, Anatoly fled the rec room, heedless of the startled looks around him. He burst outside of the Compound and turned the corner, expecting to see Lex waiting for him. Instead, he found Molokov with de Courcey besides him with a nasty smirk. There was a burst of pain as Molokov's fist connected with his face and then he knew only blackness.

When his consciousness finally returned, he found himself tied to a palm tree on a deserted stretch of the beach. Lex was tied to a tree beside him, looking rather worse for the wear. Molokov and de Courcey weren't in sight but he had no doubt they were near, concocting some devious plan.

"Molokov, you Chekist bastard!" he shouted in Russian as he struggled futilely against his bonds. "What do you hope to accomplish by this?"
chesspolitik: (The One Thing You Can Count On)
Was it deja-vu if he really had done all of this before? Anatoly couldn't help but ponder this question as he entered the hall and prepared to take his seat in front of the chessboard. His opponent was already at the board, scowling at the board. The Arbiter was skulking behind him, arms crossed, impatient for the game to begin. Molokov and de Courcey were studiously ignoring each other; the reporters were waiting with baited breath for something, anything to happen. Indeed, Lex's calm presence on the sidelines was the only reminder to him that this was not a dream.

He took a deep breath and waited for the Arbiter to finish his speech. This was going to be different then the last time. This time, his mind was clear and unfettered from distractions. If he lost today, it was because Trumper had outplayed him, not out of a sense of duty to Florence or his family. He was done playing games with the CIA and KGB, done being used as a pawn. If he lost, he was the only one to blame.

But then, he did not plan on losing. He'd lost something vital the moment he'd bowed to pressure and deliberately made the wrong move. This game was a chance, perhaps his only chance at redemption, at reclaiming what had made him the most formidable player on the circuit. He needed to prove to himself that he was the best, the very best - and he wanted to show Lex just what he was capable of.

The Arbiter concluded his speech and nodded at them to begin, having long ago given up on making him and Trumper shake hands first. He was playing black, so the first move was Trumper's. The whole world was watching, this was true, but the whole world had no idea what it was about to get.
chesspolitik: (The Game)
Isn't it strange the complications
People attach to situations
Almost as if they want to miss
The wood for the trees

Nothing will change my basic feeling
When they've done all their wheeler-dealing
Those in the strongest situations
Do as they please -- The Arbiter (Chess)
chesspolitik: (Each Game Of Chess)
Being mobbed by a vicious pack of reporters was bad enough on any given day. Being mobbed by them in Bangkok during one of the most stressful matches in his life was even worse. Going through it again was nothing less than hell on Earth.

The car ride to the studio was a blur. He heard Walter talking to him, and he knew he was answering, but what was actually said, he couldn't recall afterwards. He went where he was told, going through the motions with as little thought as possible. It'd be over soon enough, and slipping back into his role of emotionless machine was the only way he'd manage.

It was a fine idea, but as the barrage of questions started, from the insipid ("Isn't this a bizarre reunion?") to ridiculous ("Is being homeless affecting your game?"), he felt his self-control slipping away, just as before.

"Your true motivation is something we all want to know," one of the reporters asked, a malicious glint in his eye.

At that, Anatoly's temper flared and he shouted back furiously, "You know damn well what my motivation is!"

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chesspolitik: (Default)
Anatoly Valeriovich Sergievsky

The Grandmaster

Who needs a dream?
Who needs ambition?
Who'd be the fool
In my position?
Once I had dreams
Now they're obsessions
Hopes became needs
Lovers possessions

-- Where I Want To Be (Chess)

The Crazy Wheel

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