Starring: Morozevich, Kramnik, Anand, Kasparov, Ivanchuk, Leko, Kosteniuk, and Short.

Setting: A small apartment in Elista.

Morozevich is the first to wake up. He stumbles out of bed and combs his tangled hair before going downstairs to join Shirov over a bottle of-

Okay, let's try that again. Shirov is the first to wake up. He tiptoes downstairs as dawn approaches so as not to wake anybody. Shirov stealthily opens up his secret liquor cabinet and regards the assembled choices. After long though, he settles on a large brown bottle labeled in Russian and sits down for his pre-dawn nip.

Soon after, Morozevich is down to join him. Not long after, Leko comes down to start cooking breakfast.

After a few hours, everybody is settled around the breakfast table, waiting for Leko to finish cooking.

Leko brings out a steaming pile of pancakes and sets it on the table. Out of politeness, Short begins...

Short: Peter, I must say, those smell...

Short inhales and begins to choke at the horrific stench. It takes him a full half minute to regain his breath.

Short (wiping tears from his eyes): Those smell delicious.

The rest of breakfast consists of keeping Leko distracted while everyone discreetly puts their pancakes under the table, except for Kasparov who throws his at Kramnik. As soon as is possible, they all make their excuses and head upstairs, away from the horrifying smell.

Leko isn't aware just how bad his pancakes were, but he senses that something is amiss because not once did he see anyone eating the pancakes. He heads up to Shirov's room.

Leko: Alexei, can I come in?

Shirov: Of courshe you can! Come right inshide!

Leko steps over the threshold and stands politely, while Shirov flops on the bed with his Vodka.

Leko: Um, I wanted to ask...did you think that breakfast was okay?

Shirov: Are you joking?

Leko winces.

Leko: That bad?

Shirov: It wash great! Great shtuff!

Leko *brightening*: Really?

Shirov: Absholutely! Beshtesht vodka I've had in monthsh!

Shirov passes out. Leko leaves the room, dejected.

*****

Kosteniuk and Morozevich are sitting at the table after dinner. Morozevich is calmly reading the paper while Kosteniuk stares at him.

Kosteniuk: You know what I like to do this time of evening?

Morozevich raises an eyebrow in question.

Kosteniuk: I like to play "footsie'!

Kosteniuk reaches her foot under the table and then withdraws it in horror as it comes in contact with a soft and soggy remnant from that morning's breakfast.

Kosteniuk *turning green*: Excuse me...

Morozevich, chuckling to himself: That'll show her.

Kramnik's PR manager advises him to throw a party for all the chess Who's Who, and Ilyumzhinov offers to lend him one of his castles for the occasion, so the plan goes ahead. The guests are beginning to arrive.

Svidler and Leko enter first, deep in conversation about the best and most creative ways to draw won games, which conversation keeps Kramnik deeply enthralled until the arrival of Anand with Aruna.

Anand asks Kramnik to remind him what their ratings are. Kramnik presents him with a laptop, on which he set FIDE's top 100 ratings list as the home page, and then helpfully adds that he also bookmarked for Anand some excellent beginner's guide sites to the Petrov. Aruna drags Anand out to a balcony for some fresh air.

Topalov arrives (he had been invited, but without Danailov), and is delighted to find that Kramnik is also serving coffee; he loves coffee but isn't allowed any at home, as Danailov doesn't think he's old enough.

Kramnik returns to listen to Svidler and Leko's discussion. The rest of the invited GMs arrive within the next half hour and most of them settle down to play chess at various time controls.

Judit Polgar arrives an hour later on account of the time it takes to apply all the makeup, and is immediately sought out by Kosteniuk, who sweetly remarks that's it's about time Judit developed a fashion sense. Judit smiles and replies that it is indeed nice that they finally have something in common.

The party goes on at full blast. At midnight sharp, Cinderella shows up with a pumpkin carriage to pick up her godmother, who had a lovely evening playing Chess 960 with Fischer.

Around that time, Topalov, who had been drinking one coffee after another the whole evening, realizes his predicament: by now he really needs to go to the bathroom... but Danailov had strictly forbidden him to mention the words bathroom, toilet, or anything of the sort to his host! He desperately tries to think of some way he can ask Kramnik where the bathroom is.

Luckily, within a few minutes a UFO lands on the lawn in front of the palace. Three aliens climb out of it, march up to Kramnik and intone "Take us to your leader!" Kramnik nods, and calls over his shoulder "Hey, Kirsan! Your friends are here to see you!"

Ilyumzhinov arrives at a run, and shortly all four are deep in fond reminiscences of his rec... uh, recreational activities, during his visit to the mothership.

As Kramnik is just about to return to Svidler and Leko, Topalov, who just worked out a brilliant solution to his zugzwang, marches up to him and intones "Take me to your Fritz!"

Starring:
- Mr Moses Weinstein, a German Jew and chess tournament organizer

- Mr Artur Notajew, a Soviet-born German Jew and fellow chess tournament organizer

- Mr Robert James "Bobby" Fischer, an American-born Icelandic chess player and a fairly strong grandmaster despite his age

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

It is a cold winter day in Stuttgart. Weinstein and Notajew are talking to each other in a bad mood.

Weinstein: - Artur, we're making no profit. Nobody's interested in our tournaments.

Notajew: - You're right. We have to come up with something new. There are too many GM and computer tournaments around the world for anyone to care about us.

They fall silent for a while, staring at the pile of papers in front of them. Eventually, Weinstein brightens up.

- I have an idea.

Notajew: - Great! Do tell me.

Weinstein: - We need something special, something unique. Something nobody else is doing.

Notajew: - And what would that be?

Weinstein: - We'll organize a tournament for all those people who use computer help to play frighteningly strong blitz at internet chess clubs and pretend to be Bobby Fischer. Eleven-round Swiss with classical time controls. Computer help is allowed for anyone who can hide the machine.

Notajew: - Excellent! The public will queue up. They'll all hope real Bobby will come as well.

The tournament is scheduled for next month. More than two dozen participants turn up. A day before first round, the two organizers are approached by an old man in a fur coat.

Weinstein: - Who are you?

Fischer: - I want to play in your tournament.

Notajew: - And your name would be Robert James Fischer, would it?

Fischer: - That's correct. I'm Chess World Champion, participating Iceland.

Notajew, sarcastically: - Yeah, right. Very well, you're in. Tomorrow, you'll have White against... who was it, Moses?

Weinstein: - One Robert James Fischer, coincidentally also from Iceland. I'm sure you'll make friends.

Fischer: - But he's a fake! I'm the real one!

Weinstein: - That's the attitude! The crowd will like you. Keep it up!

Bobby angrily leaves, his fur coat covered in snow. During the following days, he has the unfortunate experience of having to play three almost exact mirror images. That's way more distracting even than all those things they piled up against him during the Spassky match! After round three, Bobby is in a very bad mood when summoned by Weinstein and Notajew, who have serious looks on their faces.

Weinstein: - You're not playing up to our expectations. Three draws in three rounds. The real Bobby Fischer almost never drew. The audience comes here in hope of seeing the real Bobby. They know by now you're not the real one. We've been considering forfeiting you.

Fischer: - But I <am> the real Bobby Fischer! It's just terribly hard to beat computer cheaters with distracting mirror-image faces, you know.

Notajew: - Are we supposed to believe for one second you're not using computer help yourself?

Fischer: - Very well. No more draws.

Bobby leaves with a hurt look on his face.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Before the start of the seventh round, Bobby is again forced to talk to the two organizers.

Weinstein: - I see that you have done as you promised and have not, in fact, drawn any further games.

Fischer: - You see! Do you <now> believe that I'm the real Bobby?

Weinstein: - No, and neither does the audience. The point is, in fact, that while the real Bobby rarely drew, it was even more unusual that he would <lose>.

Notajew nods. - We want, in fact, to see a few wins from you. The crowd's not here to see a loser.

Fischer: - I threw those games! You know I did! That's a Fischer thing to do!

Weinstein: - The public doesn't want to see an idol throwing games. The public wants to see an idol who plays deep, brilliant and accurate chess.

Fischer: - Very well.

Bobby lives up to his word and wins his seventh game in twenty-six moves, with Black no less. After the game, he walks to the organizers' office again, with a triumphant look on his face.

Fischer: - Now that was a win for you! A great and fantastic Fischer win! I'm the real Bobby and the public will now understand that, too!

Notajew: - I doubt it, given your opponent.

Weinstein: - This was, you see, the longest loss of that guy so far. We're pretty sure he's using ETABETA (Computer) to help him.

Notajew: - Taking twenty-six moves to beat him is horrible.

Fischer: - Hang on, now. You're troubling me and don't care about some horrible player using some horrible computer! It's all about me, isn't it!? You're dirty conspirating Jews who just want to get me out of my hideyhole and make a pile of money out of it!

Notajew: - You know, you really aren't very good at this. Every other participant said something along those lines much quicker. Most of them worded it better, too. Any fool can see you're not the real Bobby.

Weinstein grins. - It's a good line, though. True, too.

Bobby turns his back and walks out, outraged. - Very well! You have no further use for me! I'm leaving! Consider the rest of my games forfeited!

Bobby slams the door shut behind him and walks out into the freezing air. Weinstein and Notajew exchange looks.

Weinstein: - You know, <that> was a good one. Refusing to play and forfeiting one's games, that's classic Fischer.

Notajew nods. - Yeah, perhaps he wasn't really that bad at it after all.

Would you ever consider coming out of retirement and writing again?

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<PLAYING FOR HONOR AND GLORY>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

GM W.W.Wladimirow - a Russian defector now playing for Germany, a very strong grandmaster

GM V.V.Veselinov - a very strong Bulgarian grandmaster

Alex and Joseph - the live commentators and instead-of-hosts

Daddy - a chess fan

NN - his eight-year-old son

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

'Daddy, what's wrong, why aren't they starting?'

'I don't know. Does anyone know why they aren't starting yet?'

'It will take another ten minutes. A wrong time was reported on the official website.' That was the bitter but still obviously eager voice of an elderly man sitting nearby.

'Oh no, that's another ten minutes of listening to Alex and Joseph...'

Everyone turned to look at the commentator box, where sure enough two men were already sitting, one of them madly trying to get the microphone working, the other drinking from a beer bottle hidden behind the commentators' computer in the hope nobody would notice.

'Daddy, what's so bad about listening to Alex and Joseph?'

'You'll know the answer soon enough.'

Joseph the commentator finally got the microphone working and started talking or, rather, shouting at the audience.

'Welcome to the show tonight! Both our host here, Mr de Boer and the Glorious Leader of the World Chess Federation were supposed to have a speech here tonight but unfortunately neither could come.'

'Indeed', said the deep, beaming and slightly drunken basso voice of Alex. 'As I understand it, Mr de Boer was hospitalized after the Glorious Leader knocked his nose and teeth in over an argument about the colour of the official playing table.'

'And the latter was arrested as a result. As you all can see, in the end a bright yellow table was chosen to symbolise the brightness of the players around it.'

'Speaking of the players, we should perhaps offer some background information to those among us unfamiliar with them. The German Grandmaster Wladimirow - what is it, Joseph?'

'Sorry to stop you, Alex, but the absence of Mr de Boer and the Glorious Leader means it remains for us to open this event.'

'Ah yes. I hereby announce the greatly anticipated chess world title unification match between Grandmaster Wladimirow and Grandmaster Veselinov to not be closed anymore.'

'The thirty-year-old Moscow-born bachelor is also currently leading the official rating list and is widely known for his love of the Bird Opening.'

'The Bulgarian Grandmaster Veselinov is now officially recognized as the Champion by the World Chess Federation following his blitz match victory over the Hong Kong champion Roger Ow. He's currently leading the official rating list and is widely known for his love of the Russian Game.'

The little boy took a think. 'Daddy, how can both Veselinov and that other chap be leaders of the official rating list? Are there two official rating lists these days?'

'Actually yes, but as far as I know neither of them is leading one. It was what we call a commentatorism.'

'Commentators aren't very clever, are they?

'By standards of people ready to talk publicly for half a day, Alex and Joseph are geniuses.'

'You sure the word shouldn't be "genii"?'

'What?'

'"Genii". Are you sure the plural form shouldn't be "genii"?'

'How am I supposed to be sure? You know all too well I'm not a genius.'

'Oh, yes.' The boy smiled. 'What's a Russian Game anyway?'

'Yes. The two grandmasters are slowly approaching each other, like elephants ready to leap... and now Grandmaster Veselinov does leap! He grabs Grandmaster Wladimirow's hand and shakes it wildly... there's a look of intense pain on both players' faces.'

'Grandmaster Wladimirow, who by the way has White today, fails to make a move but heads straight towards the left and his relaxation room! And Grandmaster Veselinov is doing the same on the other side!'

'Holy Harry, what is this?'

'Wait, they are now both coming back to the stage, with their right hands heavily bandaged.'

'This creates a rather interesting situation. Use of bandages is strictly forbidden under the rules of the World Chess Federation unless they have been checked against hidden computers by an international team of three qualified arbiters...'

'Such a team is approaching, carrying a strange black device given to them by the Bulgarians! They take Grandmaster Veselinov's hand and shove it into the device... nothing happens.'

'And now they're doing the same with Grandmaster Wladimirow's hand. A noise not unlike that of forty-two very sharp metallic edges cutting into something is coming from inside the device.'

'Grandmaster Wladimirow sharply pulls his hand away, with the bandage now looking more like a repeatedly used paper hanky... and then he makes a move with his left hand! It's 1.f4.'

'As could be expected, given that this move is not only his favorite but at once dodged Grandmaster Veselinov's speciality of the Pe... Russian Game.'

'And the Bulgarian instantly replies with moving his king pawn two squares! This is the Englund Gambit, isn't it?'

'Yes, indeed.'

'No it @#$%*!& isn't, it's the From!' This came, to the great amusement of the listeners, from a middle-aged, balding man in the middle of the audience.

'Wait, no, of course it's the From, a name coming from a 19th century Danish master. The Englund comes out of 1.d4.'

'Grandmaster Wladimirow appears to be in shock, and no wonder, given that the From is not very popular these days.'

'Loss of blood might also contribute... the Berliner is heading back into his relaxation room.'

'No, Daddy. I don't remember any such thing.'

Joseph had managed to turn the microphone on again. 'Alex, what do you think Grandmaster Wladimirow will do?'

'I have the feeling he's going to decline the gambit.'

'That would be unusual indeed... I'll bet you a bottle of Koff he's going to take.'

'Hah, accepted! We'll have this settled soon enough; Grandmaster Wladimirow is coming back.'

'He picks up his g-pawn! That's a bottle coming your way then, Alex... careful now, Wlady, if you move it two steps you're allowing a mate in one!'

'Wow, they noticed', whispered Daddy. His son smiled.

'I'll be taking over the mic for a while as Joseph here goes down to buy me a nice bottle of Koff... Grandmaster Wladimirow sees the danger and only pushes the g-pawn one square.' Alex took a break to empty the bottle he already had, then continued. 'Grandmaster Veselinov instantly captures on f4, he can't have spent more than three seconds yet. His opponent recaptures to equalise material again. I don't think I've ever seen this variation before, I'll ask Fishy what she thinks of it.' He paused to turn the computer program on. 'Harry!' he swore. 'Fishy thinks Grandmaster Wladimirow has blundered!'

A slow smile was coming to the face of the unbelieving Veselinov. He picked his queen and hammered it on h4. GAME OVER, flashed on the giant screen of the playing hall. The crowd exploded.

'Grandmaster Veselinov spots it! It's checkmate, and a quick full point for the Bulgarian! This is completely unexpected... wait, what's happening? Grandmaster Wladimirow is applying to the arbiter, it might not be over yet already after all! Perhaps Joseph, who's coming up again with my winnings, can tell us what's happening down there.'

'Indeed I can', said Joseph. 'Grandmaster Wladimirow is crying a touch-move foul. For those among us unfamiliar with the touch-move concept, it is said in the official rules of the World Chess Federation that if you touch one of your pieces, you have to move it.'

'So the German champion seems to think his opponent touched another piece before his queen... there's a high-resolution slow-motion video of the critical moments running on the big screen now!'

'I can't see anything... wait, no, it looks like Grandmaster Veselinov was touching his king for a split second!'

'Only with the bandage!'

'The bandage counts! So it would appear that Grandmaster Wladimirow got the better out of the hand-shaking phase after all... the Bulgarian now has to take back the checkmate and move his king instead.'

'The video, the chief arbiter, the king and both grandmasters are now heading towards the Bulgarians' rooms. We don't have the slightest idea what's happening, things are moving so fast today. I guess we just have to wait for official news to come... in the meantime, I have this bottle of Koff to empty.'

The little boy looked at his father, excited.
'Are world championship matches always this much fun?'

'Yes', smiled the father. 'Always.'

After another couple minutes of confused excitement, Alex put down his beer bottle and started talking again. 'Mr Sylyk the chief arbiter is coming up here. Perhaps he can tell us what's happening.'

'Er... the situation is a bit confusing at the moment, and it looks as though the grandmasters won't be playing any more moves today', said Mr Sylyk. 'The Bulgarians are claiming that rather than Grandmaster Veselinov touching the king himself, the king twitched towards his hand as though controlled by some sort of device inside it. The video gives us no proof either way.'

'Couldn't the king be opened to tell if such a device existed?'

'Believe it or not, the exact same thought had entered the Bulgarians' mind. So they opened the king, and there were indeed electronics inside it.'

'Caught with a smoking cigarette-lighter, as they say! Was there anything Grandmaster Wladimirow could say in his defense?'

'He pointed out that there were electronics inside all other pieces as well, not to mention the board; we're using a modern electric chess set after all.'

'A fair point. So the matter was not yet resolved?'

'No. The two combatants will be discussing this with me and the Glorious Leader once he's been released from the lovely jail he's currently in and the four of us will try to come up with a solution.'

'Thank you, Mr Sylyk. You may go.'

The father grinned at his son. 'Very always. Now let's get out of here before five thousand cars block our way.'

'We'll come back for the next game, won't we? Supposing there is any next game?'

'Of course there will be a next game. The Glorious Leader will bang their heads together until they accept his suggestions. And yes, we will come again.'

Only just started it and i doubt it'll be brilliant but Bennett is clearly a massive chess fan. Historically accurate and a diagram of a chess endgame within ten pages. Like Stefan Zweig's work, you can tell the passion for chess.

"Here it is!" announced Agent Net ("The name's Net. Mating Net.") proudly, bursting into the secret room in the FBI building where he worked on the mysterious Sochi 2008 case with Agent Prise, holding up a USB flash drive. "Look, En, I've got the whole thing recorded!"

"Nice work" smiled Agent Prise approvingly. She plugged the tiny device into her computer and studied the replay thoughtfully. "Well, that wraps up the case. Simplest we've had since Elista 2006."

"Yes," Agent Net nodded grimly, pointing at the screen. "just look at that unfortunate guy... the torture they put him through!"

"Horrible!" Agent Prise grimaced. "Kidnapped during the second rest day, replaced with a look-alike, and forced to watch the games, in which his stand-in wins one game after another, live... I wouldn't be surprised if Svidler would need years of therapy to overcome the experience. Particularly the Black ones... His reputation is ruined. And all that just for being a friend of Kramnik's." she shook her head.

"Kinda obsessive, this revenge thing, if you ask me" Agent Net opined. "They even abandoned the transmission to their own man, just to watch him suffer. The poor Chepa kid didn't know what to do in those last rounds."

"That was the other thing that tipped us off" agreed Agent Prise.

Then they watched together in silence, while on the screen, Svidler, bound to a chair facing a computer screen showing a live relay of Game 13, was frantically straining against his bounds, trying to draw the game by sheer force of will. "71...f2!, 71...f2!" he yelled desperately. As 71...Nd4 was played on the board, he finally gave up, his eyes filling with tears, and slumped back in his chair sobbing.