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often.”
    Simon nodded. “I think…Hayden, I think he was trying to tell me something.”
    Hayden arched an eyebrow. “What the hell are you talking about? Through this? The diary?” He leafed through the pages, frowning at what he saw. “You know how absurd this all sounds?”
    “Yes.” He felt an unexpected flush of heat to his cheeks, like he was blushing in front of a demanding teacher.
    “When was Oliver supposed to have written all this?” Hayden asked, his voice dripping with skepticism. “He was on a demanding—no, a grueling—expedition with UNED. Do you really think he had the time to sit down and create a diary of chess games just to secretly communicate with you?”
    “I don’t know, Hayden. That’s the point. I just cannot shake the feeling that Dad is trying to tell me something that he couldn’t come right out and say. That’s why the silly, contrived video. And the chess diary.”
    Hayden leaned back in his chair and looked up at an empty spot far beyond the ceiling. He was very thin; Simon could see the muscles of his arms, like twisted ropes, as he stretched and put his hands behind his head, remembering. “There was a lot that Oliver never shared with anyone, Simon. I don’t suppose he ever told you about those mysterious visits to the Middle East, back when you were a little boy? Or that month-long disappearance into the Canadian wilderness when you were off at boarding school?”
    “Wait a moment,” Andrew said. “Are we still talking about Professor Fitzpatrick? The old Professor Fitzpatrick?” He blinked at the thought of his cozy little college teacher going off on an international mission of mystery. “That’s mental.”
    A cold current ran through Simon. He had never heard a word about either one. “No,” he said. “He didn’t tell me about them.”
    Hayden huffed. “I didn’t think so.”
    “But this is different, Hayden. Clearly, he went to a lot of trouble to record this video and get it to me. And if he didn’t keep a chess diary before, then he went to even more trouble now, creating one from scratch…and why? To keep a secret.” He shook his head, feeling a rock-hard, immutable stubbornness rising up inside him. “No. I’m sure, that if there is a code, I’m certain that once it’s cracked, it could lead us right to him. I know he is alive, Hayden, and my gut tells me he may be in danger.”
    Hayden didn’t respond. He just leaned forward, handed the diary back to Simon, and stared at the game in front of him, frowning deeply, eyes narrowed.
    Simon waited a long moment, hoping for something—anything—from his father’s old friend. Finally he couldn’t stand it any longer.
    “Hayden…?”
    Hayden just kept staring blindly at the game. “That sneaky little bitch,” he said.
    Simon blinked. “What?”
    “She beat me. The little tart beat me.” He took a scrap of paper from a nearby stack and jotted down a note, shaking his head in disgust.
    “And not for the first time, sir, if I may say so,” the robot said as it trundled back into the room, pushing a cart with a full tea service.
    “Hayden. Please. This is my father—”
    The old man stood up suddenly, almost upsetting the game. “It’s a lie,” he said.
    Simon gaped at him. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What?”
    Andrew stood as well, looking alarmed. “Hayden. Wait a tick, it’s—”
    “A fraud. A clever forgery of that thing, and a lot of not-so-clever CGI.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “Look at him, Simon! Skin tone, eye contact—and that laugh! That’s not Oliver! It couldn’t be!”
    “But—”
    “No! I won’t hear it!”
    He snatched the black memory card from the chessboard, almost upsetting the pieces. He all but threw it back to Simon. “Take it! I don’t want it here.”
    Simon hesitated, shocked at the man’s behavior. Then he stood up and glared over at Hayden, completely confused. He’d never seen Hayden like this. He truly didn’t