Checkmate

By Robert C. Novarro

For Roland Pennell it is the find of a lifetime. He has acquired a scroll from an ancient Roman writer. However, little does he know this scroll will plunge him into the world of espionage in which his life is threatened by a Soviet chess champ.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 23, 2019
• ISBN: 9781728332802

Robert C. Novarro

Robert C. Novarro taught middle school history for 29 years and won the Distinguished Educators Award in 2000. In addition to writing, he is an avid orchid grower. Robert is the author of Scarred, Bound by Blood, Il Castrato and My Love Possessed. Robert lives in Bayside, New York and Naples, Florida with his wife Angela.

Book preview

CHAPTER

1

PALAZZO FERRAJOLI, ROME, ITALY, APRIL, 1974

T HE AUDIENCE AMASSED within in the 19 th century ballroom, where crystal chandeliers lit up the murals on the walls and the terrazzo-marbled floors of the palazzo. They held their collective breaths and gawked at the International Grand Master Vladimir Noskov, sometimes called the Mad Russian behind his back. His competitor, Professor Roland Pennell, in the final match of the tournament, hit the clock with the palm of his hand, indicating that it was Noskov’s turn to make his move on the chessboard.

The 53-yearold Grand Master had won this tournament four times before and he was heavily favored to win again against the younger, 37-year old university professor. The sound of the Chess Clock ticking resounded in the hushed silence as Professor Pennell’s prepared his move.

Almost at the end of the five-minute time limit, Vladimir moved his black Bishop, indicating that he was utilizing The Open Sicilian strategy to counteract his opponent. His palm hit the stop button on the clock as soon as the placement on the board had been completed.

The game went on for a few hours, each player knocking off his adversary’s pieces one at a time. A single electric fan oscillated, stirring a slight breeze in the sweltering non-airconditioned room, but it did not prevent the players and the audience from sweating profusely.

Some of the spectators, sitting on folding chairs, had been smart enough to bring hand fans which they fluttered in front of their faces like little birds flapping their wings. For others, it was standing room only. No one dared to make a sound as the two combatants tried to outwit each other.

Roland could feel the perspiration dripping down his forehead. The heat felt increasingly oppressive. Once more, the American expatriate made his next move, and downed the stop button.

As the game drew to a close, and the movements became more thoughtful, Roland made his last position placing the white Bishop threatening the black king. Check uttered Pennell as he stopped the clock just before it was about to go off. I think I’ve got him trapped at last!" With an agonizing long decision, Noskov finally moved his black Queen into a position that made Pennell realize his King now had no hope of escaping.

Checkmate! The Russian announced triumphantly, sitting back in his chair with great satisfaction. The spectators broke out in tumultuous applause as the two men stood to shake each other’s hand. Congratulations, Pennell articulated with graciousness.

Over the sound of clapping, Vladimir drew Roland closer and whispered in a thick Slavic accent, Your game was great, but not as great as mine. After all, I’ve beaten you twice before! Perhaps, you should consider retiring. Roland merely remained stoic at the scathing insult, and let go of Vladimir’s hand.

He turned and walked toward the ballroom door, shaking the hands of a few in the audience, but the majority of the spectators asked for autographs of the man who had just retained his title.

A spectator came out to Pennell, shoving a note his hand. Before he could question him, the nondescript man was gone, losing himself in the crowd. Shrugging, he slipped the piece of paper into his jacket pocket without reading it, and continued to make his way through the mass of humanity until he reached the outside. There, waiting for him at the curb, was a black limousine. The chauffeur, Paolo, came around to hold open the passenger door. Roland sat back to relax in the plush leather seat. "Dove vorresti andare? the driver inquired.

Drive me home, Paolo. I have a horrible headache! The limousine pulled out from the Piazza Colonna and passed the Column of Marcus Aurelius just south of Trevi Fountain. The streets were packed with shoppers, most of whom were obnoxious American tourists. Shaking his head, he thought how much he hated his own countrymen when they acted with degrading superiority. The sight of them with their arms loaded with shopping bags was disturbing to him. He closed his eyes until the vehicle was beyond the city limits. Don’t they realize how much America owes to ancient Roman history?

Home for Roland Pennell was an estate called The Villa Cappellari, several kilometers outside the Servian Walls of Rome. Passing through the Arch of Gallienus, and leaving the noisy crowded streets of Rome behind, the vehicle passed the Papal Basilica of Saint Paul Outside-the-Walls as it made its way to his home and his wife Silvana. Roland took the time to contemplate his life as the limousine moved down the highway.

###

He gave consideration to his life at that moment in time, and how he found himself in his present position.

His mind turned back to his upbringing in Allentown, Pennsylvania. His father, Edmund, was a factory worker in this manufacturing city. It was what the Pennells had done since his grandfather emigrated from Colchester, England in 1882. His ancestor succeeded in breaking away from his family’s history as oyster fishermen. A factory job that was indoors, instead of working outdoors in all kinds of weather was a step up for him. His father, now a machine operator at a warehouse, married Ava Pennell, nee Harrison, who gave birth to three children, two boys and a girl, Roland being the oldest.

After graduating high school, his parents had expected him to work in the factory with his father, which he did for almost two discontented years. Roland sank into a depression when he thought of working all his life in this dreary career.

Then the Imperial Japanese Navy and Air Force bombed Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941. As soon as it had been broadcasted, Roland announced to his parents that he was enlisting in the army.

Over his parent’s objections, he enlisted and received his transfer papers to Fort Dix, New Jersey. After his training period, he was sent home on leave. Soon after, he was given word that he was now part of U.S. Seventh Army under the command of Lieutenant General George S. Patton. Roland and the others in his platoon were shipped to Sicily, where he was engaged in battle, advancing northwest toward the city of Palermo. Then onward to Messina, until the Germans were pushed out of Sicily. From there, the platoon made its way across the Strait of Messina and up the west coast of the Italian Peninsula.

Wherever the American forces triumphed, the townspeople gathered in the street to wave and offer what little they had to their liberators. The warmth of the people endeared them in Roland’s heart.

After the war, he went home to take advantage of the G.I. Bill, attending Swarthmore College, earning a Bachelor’s Degree in Literature, then a Master’s Degree in Ancient Roman Literature. He was the first in his family to receive a college degree, and his parents’ chests swelled with pride. This was shattered when their son stated his intentions. I’ve decided to go back and live in Rome.

Rome, Italy? his father questioned. What the heck for? Didn’t you have enough with those I…talians?

It’s where I belong, he retorted. There’s just something about that place that is calling me back.

But your job in the factory is waiting for you, his mother cried.

Tell my brother that he can have it if he wants it!

Without saying another word to his grieving mother or enraged father, Roland packed the few pieces of clothing he owned in a worn brown valise, took a train to Philadelphia, and a ship to the port of Rome.

After almost two weeks on the Atlantic Ocean, Roland Pennell arrived to find his army friend, Matthew Sartini, whom he had contacted by wire weeks before, waiting for him. They gave each other a bear hug. Matt broke away and took hold of a young and beautiful Italian girl. Roland this is my wife, Liliana!

Boy, you wasted no time getting hitched, did you?

Here, let me take your bag, Matt said. So what are you doing back in Rome?

I’ve decided to further my education, he answered as the three walked into the parking lot.

Where?

Sapienza Universita di Roma.

Che e meraviglioso, answered Liana, finally understanding what the two men were conversing about. As they approached the car, Matt queried, Do you have a place to stay?

No, I was hoping you could help me find some cheap apartment that I could rent.

You’ll stay with us! Turning toward his wife, Matt said, E bene se Roland rimane con noi per una volta?

Si, si, purche gli piace! Turning to Roland, he said, Liliana says…

"Yes, I understood. Grazie, Liliana!

Sei il benvenuto!

Are you sure that I won’t be putting you out?

We don’t live in splendor, but whatever we have is yours to share.

Roland moved into the Sartini’s cramped apartment, where he would bed down in the tiny kitchen. In the morning, he took a crowded bus to the Corso Rinascimento, where the university had stood since the year 1660.

He registered in classes of Ancient Roman Literature, and for four years, studied to earn his degree. He also worked in the evening grading papers for his favorite professor, Piero Bianchi, who had taken a liking to the young American. In time, Professor Bianchi admitted him into his inner sanctum of other professors and exceptional students. Many topics were discussed over brandy and fine cigars, both of which Roland developed a fancy for, but the student’s interest was always stimulated by discussions of Ancient Roman writers and their importance in history.

Professor Bianchi even taught Roland the game of chess, which he enjoyed, and like anything else Pennell had studied, he became quite the aficionado, his skill of the game getting more proficient, until Piero encouraged him to enter chess tournaments. His participation against talented amateurs helped raised his skill level, and after years of playing, he entered his first professional chess competition, where he came in third. The international title however, kept eluding him because of the Russian, Noskov. Damn, Vladimir!

With the money Pennell had managed to save, he left the Sartini’s and found his own living quarters, modest though it was. It suited a man who was attempting to climb the ladder of scholastic intelligentsia.

It wasn’t long before Professor Bianchi recommended Roland to the university board as an adjunct professor in Ancient Roman Literature. Within five years, he was promoted to a full-time professor. It was at one of the university’s cocktail parties that he met a raven-haired beauty. Professor Bianchi, he whispered to his mentor, Who is that beautiful girl standing by the fireplace?

Her name is Silvana Ludovisi. Her father, Conteggio Dante Ludovisi, is of noble Roman birth, and is a great benefactor to this university. He has donated millions to this institution.

Do you think you could introduce me to her?

Naturalmente, il mio ragazzo! Vieni con me.

Piero walked Roland over, saying to the young woman, Mi scusi la contessa. Vorrei presentarvi il mio pupillo, Roland Pennell. Silvana turned her head so that Roland could look into her deep blue eyes as she smiled. He could not identify what had taken hold of him, but he reached for her delicate white-skinned hand and kissed it.

"Un piacere, Professore Pennell," she answered the six-foot ruggedly built gentleman with the chestnut-brown hair.

Oh no, he replied forgetting every bit of the Italian language which he had studied. It is my pleasure!

It was a whirlwind time of dating, meeting for coffees at the neighborhood taverna where they discussed everything under the sun, and they realized that they had a lot of mutual beliefs. This was like fertile soil so that their love grew from their commonality. Almost a year to the date they met, Roland approached her over coffee. He felt totally inadequate, but love overcame his reticence. I know I have no right to ask you this, but because I have fallen so deeply in love with you, I’m asking for your hand in marriage. Silvana sat silent. Oh, that’s done it. She’ll never want to see me again. She’s probably thinking of a gentle way to reject me!

I thought you’d never ask.

Roland was completely floored, but elated over this surprising outcome. However, she added. You will have to ask for my father’s permission. Dante, unlike many of his counterparts, was not an arrogant elitist, and the following Spring, they were married in an elaborate ceremony at the Basilica of San Clemente al Laterano. They took up residence in one of the many villas owned by the Ludovisi.

Two children were born, a son named Costantino now 17, and a daughter named Benedetta, 15 years old. They were both in boarding school in Switzerland. Noi siamo qui, Professore, Roland heard his chauffeur announce. Opening his eyes, he stepped out of the vehicle

Grazie, Paolo. Roland walked up the steps to his front door thinking about nothing but an excellent dinner, a quiet evening, and time alone with his beautiful wife.

CHAPTER

2

VILLA LUDOVISI

S ILVANA HEARD THE door open and walked into the marbled foyer to greet her husband. With her ran their Irish Setter Maxi, who jumped up to greet her master. She could tell right away that her husband had lost to the Mad Russian once again, and was determined not to ask Roland any questions about the game. Silvana no longer attended her husband’s contests because it made her jittery. Sylvana knew that her absence would be best for both of them. She put her arms around her husband’s sagging shoulders and remarked. You look tired, Rolly. (her pet name for him) Go upstairs take a hot shower and change into something more comfortable. Dinner will be served soon.

Roland was only too happy to strip away the clothing he had on, like a snake scrapping off its dead skin. The suit represented his defeat. Turning on the hot water, he entered the shower and allowed the stream of liquid work on his back like a professional masseuse. Pennell became lost in the wonderful sensation.

After luxuriating in the water, Roland cleansed his body and stepped out to towel dry and comb his hair. His valet had taken his suit away and replaced it with lounging pajamas and a scarlet, silk robe. He came back down the steps where the majordomo informed him that the lady of the house requested his presence for dinner.

He entered the dining room where his wife sat at the end of the table. They dined that night on pheasant and roasted brussel sprouts with chestnuts, accompanied by a bottle of Claret. Silvana was determined to discuss anything but Roland’s loss. I heard from Benedetta today, Rolly.

Let me guess, he answered after swallowing his wine. She wants us to send her more money, am I right? With a snicker, she replied, You know her too well, darling. Shall we fulfill her request?

Yes, but send it with a note reminding her to stay within her monthly allowance because I will not supplement it again. And what about Constantino? Have you heard from him?

Not in a couple of weeks, but you know we will when he too needs something.

I suppose so.

After dinner, they retired to den, where a glass of Port and a copy of the Philadelphia Press lay waiting for him. The paper was a few days old, but Pennell didn’t mind. It helped him keep in touch with his roots. After Roland took a sip of Port, he sat down in his armchair and read the paper while in the opposite armchair Silvana picked up her knitting. Maxi wandered in to lie down at her master’s feet.

As Pennell read, Silvana dropped her knitting on her lap and stared lovingly at him. Before long, her mind began to meander back into her past, before she married her husband.

Silvana had led a privileged life, afforded by the wealth and nobility of her ancient family that dated back to the Middle Ages. She was the youngest of three daughters. Her mother had died giving birth to her. Dante was left a broken man as a result of his wife’s demise. Like her sisters, she was cared for by a nanny and then shipped off to boarding school as soon as she came of age.

When she returned home at the age of 18, she found another woman by her father’s side, whom he referred to as his wife. None of the sisters liked her, but said nothing for their father’s sake.

Silvana had studied journalism and wanted to make it her career, but her father wouldn’t hear of it. You must be married! he informed her. Silvana’s fate would have been sealed except the beginning of the Second World War interrupted her fate.

Dante became a fervent follower of the Italian Fascist dictator, Benito Mussolini. The war changed the lives of both the rich and poor, and in the years that followed, as the allies fought their way up the peninsula, the sound of bombings and tank discharges woke them in the morning and accompanied their sleeping hours.

But it was only after the war was finally over that the real threat to their family commenced. People began to whisper behind their backs, Collaboratori!

The whispers of the Ludovisi’s crimes became louder until the youngest daughter was married to an American ex-infantryman. With the wedding, the accusations ceased. The wagging tongues grew suddenly silent. After all, if an American was willing to marry into the family, he must know they were not guilty of the crimes. A slight smile crossed her lips as she thought back on her life with Rollie and their children. Silvana was truly happy.

Excuse me, Rollie’s valet said as he entered the couple’s presence.

What is it? Pennell inquired.

I was getting your suit ready for the cleaners tomorrow when I found this note in your suit jacket. Puzzled, Roland answered,

Please bring it to me. His valet handed him the note and left the room. Putting down his paper, Pennell suddenly remembered the little man who had handed it to him just after the tournament’s ending. Opening it, he read,

I have in my possession something you might be interested in. I will contact you with a proposal tomorrow.

There was no signature affixed to the bottom of the note, and not giving it another thought, he crumpled it with his fist and tossed it on the table next to him.

What is it, Rollie?

After the chess game, someone I don’t know came up to me and put this note in my hand.

What does it say?

It talks about some kind of proposal.

A proposal? What kind of proposal?

Roland simply shrugged. Who knows. It wasn’t specific.

I wonder who gave it to you?

"Some kind of pazzo persona I suppose."

Do you think this man is really crazy?

Not really, but don’t worry. He’s probably harmless.

###

Monday morning, Roland showered and put on a fresh suit. The American scholar’s steely blue eyes had an allure that most of his university co-ed students found irresistible.

Arriving on the campus of Sapienza Universita di Roma, Professor Pennell climbed the stairs to his second- story classroom. He opened the door to a theater of empty chairs that gradually sloped back to the wall. Its capacity was 197 students and each year, Pennell managed to fill most of the seats with students from around the world.

Moving to the podium, Roland laid out his copious notes for that day’s lecture in the undergraduate course of Ancient Roman Writings 101. He checked the time to see that it was 9:28 just before the first of his students arrived. "Buongiorno, professore!" they greeted him as they came in.

Buongiorno, he returned their greeting. His students came from all corners of the world, including the seven continents. All of them had a grasp of the Italian and English languages. Today’s lecture, he began, is on selections from the writing of Marcus Tullius Cicero." The students immediately opened their notebooks and picked up their pens. Taking three of his best-known works from the Treatises on Friendship and Old Age, Professor Pennell lectured for an hour, stopping only to answer the questions of his students.

As the hour was almost ended, he reminded them, Please leave your papers that are due today on my desk. Read the next chapter in your textbook for our Wednesday class. You are dismissed! Rising from their chairs, each of the young scholars left their papers