It wasn't that they'd caught him walking out of Anatoly's room. That would have been a scandal in the chess world, but at least they could have come to their own - probably correct - conclusions. He could see the headline now: East Meets West: The Epic Love Story. Maybe not so correct, but at least in the same vague area. Screwing could be interpreted as love to some people. So could obsession.

So, that would have been the easiest way they could have found him. The hardest way would have been in the lobby of the hotel, making sure that they knew just how to press his suits. He hadn't planned on needing his suits, but there was always the off chance that he would make an appearance at the match to 'ruffle his opponent's state of mind'. That should have been his excuse when the first reporter came up to him. Instead, his mind went blank. He didn't have a clue what to say or what kind of excuse why he was here and not in some other country preparing for his own upcoming match. As more reporters showed up, it only got worse.

He flashed them an uneasy smile and spun them some implausible bullshit tale, but it was like they were sharks in the water who had found blood and were just taking their sweet time in following the trail back to their prey. They kept taunting him with leading questions like whether his arrival had anything to do with his rivalry with Anatoly or whether they'd seen each other.

He was scrambling hard for some kind of tale that would put them off and that was when he made his fatal mistake: he mentioned Anatoly by name. Freddie had always been careful to call him by his last name or, more usually, 'the Russian' or some other nickname regarding his country of origin. This time, however, Freddie called him by his first name and he could sense the change in the crowd of reporters as soon as he'd said it. The questions became more pointed and they asked him just what his relationship with the man was. They'd stopped playing with him.