Literary Journal Issue#5 2011 - Cranbrook School

BENCHMARK
Chess
A short gasp, then the crowd, as one, exhaled. It had only
been a matter of time before Vladimir Aronian yielded,
before he ended his own misery, and now the time had
come. Again Thomas Adams, the British Champion, had
played brilliantly against his Russian opponent, and with
checkmate imminent, Aronian ungraciously resigned,
murmuring ‘game,’ resetting his king, then swiftly
departing the floodlit stage. Adams had an enormous 5–1
lead in the best of twelve games of the World Chess
Championship final: an hour later, he was dead.
At the post match news-conference, journalists launched
into extravagant comparisons with Bobby Fischer, focusing
on Adams’ place among the greatest of all time.
‘It’s been said that your play has brought in a whole new era
of chess,’ said one. ‘Would you agree?’
Thomas Adams opened his bottle of water and drank, as
much to give himself time to think as to quench his thirst.
He took a long draught, and then froze. The bottle slipped
from his hand and crashed onto the table and, as though in
slow motion, he slumped forward. That was the image
flashed around the globe by the world’s news media. First
reports speculated that Adams had died of a heart attack.
It took less than twenty-four hours to discover that he had
been poisoned.
Scotland Yard’s Chief Inspector Richard Dadswell was
given the case after an autopsy revealed that Adams
favourite water bottle had been laced with a lethal quantity
of hydrogen peroxide, a colourless, odourless substance
often found in common bleach.
Dadswell had little more than a rudimentary
understanding of chess. He knew, of course, the
Championship was underway at London’s plush
Savoy Hotel.
He soon discovered it was a much grander affair than he
had realised, taking place on a specially constructed stage
in the hotel’s grandiose ballroom, viewed by hundreds of
people who paid good money to watch. There were just
three men on the stage, Adams, Aronian and a nervous
little East-European gentleman who was the Arbiter.
Each move was projected onto a huge screen behind the
competitors, and there was serious betting on the outcome.
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Aronian was hostile when Dadswell spoke to him.
‘Adams is a fraud, a pompous patzer. So far he has won
four games and we have drawn two. But he is not that good.
I know he is not. I am glad he is dead because he doesn’t
deserve to be World Champion. I know.’
‘Winning means so much to you?’
‘Of course. It is my whole life. I am a chess player and this
is the World Championship. But, I did not kill Adams. I
would like to shake the hand of the man who did, though.’
Dadswell got little further with the Arbiter who seemed
terrified but at least gave him some background into the
event.
A chess game could take up to six or seven hours, he told
Dadswell. Between moves the players, accompanied by a
security guard, could retire to their own rooms for comfort
breaks, food or even just to get away from the bright lights.
They were forbidden, however, to talk to anyone or to
access any electronic devices.
Dadswell’s chat with the security guard produced its own
shocking revelation: Aronian was right: Adams was a cheat.
‘I’m only telling you this because if I get done for cheating,
well that’s one thing, but I had nothing to do with his
murder,’ Emma Jacks told Dadswell.
‘How did he cheat?’
‘A few days before the match, his manager, Albert Tindall,
offered me a lot of money to pass on information to Adams.
You see Tindall was working with a computer and would
text me moves. I’d write them down on toilet paper for
Adams who read them and then flushed them away.
Tindall was betting on the games and raking in millions.
Funny thing is that I don’t think Adams was all that
interested in the money. He cared about winning.’
‘Who else was in on the scam?’
‘Adam’s playing partner, Tim Keene may have been, but
I don’t think so. He’s always short of money.’
‘One last thing. Who had access to Adams’ water bottle?’