Page 34 of The Final Gambit

I didn’t have what I needed to make sense of the USB.Yet.

“There has to be something here,” I told my sister. “A clue that starts things off. We might not be able to make out the audio file now, but if we follow the trail the old man left, the game might tell us how to restore the audio.”

Libby gave me a wide-eyed look. “You sound exactly like them. The way you just saidthe old man, it’s like you knew him.”

In some ways, I felt like I did. At the very least, I knew how Hawthornes thought, so this time, I didn’t just trail my fingers over the leather of the satchel. I gave the entire bag a thorough inspection, looking for anything I’d missed, then went through the objects one by one.

I started with the steamer, plugging it into the wall. I released the compartment that would hold water. After verifying that it was empty, I added water, half expecting some kind of message to appear on the sides when I did.

Nothing.

I clicked the compartment back into place and waited until the ready light came on. Holding the steamer away from my body, I gave it a try. “It works,” I said.

“Should we try it on that bag, which probably costs ten thousand dollars and undoubtedly should not be steamed?” Libby asked.

We did, to no effect—at least, none related to the puzzle. I turned my attention to the flashlight next, turning it on and off, then checking the battery chamber to ensure that it contained nothing but batteries. I unfolded the beach towel and stood up so I could get an eagle’s-eye view of the design.

Black-and-white chevron, no unexpected breaks in the pattern.

“That just leaves this,” I told Libby, picking up the mesh bag. I opened it, spilling dozens of magnetic letters onto the floor. “Maybe it spells out the first clue?”

I began by sorting the letters: consonants in one pile, vowels in another. I hit a7and started a third pile for numbers.

“Forty-five pieces in total,” I told my sister once I was done. “Twelve numbers, five vowels, twenty-eight consonants.” Moving as I spoke, I pulled out the five vowels—one each ofA,E,I,O, andU. That didn’t strike me as a coincidence, so I started pulling out consonants, too—one of each letter, until I had the whole alphabet represented, with seven letters left behind.

“These are the extras,” I told Libby. “OneB, threeP’s, and threeQ’s.” I did the same thing for the numbers, pulling out each digit from one to nine and turning my attention to the leftovers. “Threefours,” I said. I stared at what I had. “B,P,P,P,Q,Q,Q, four, four, four.”

I repeated that a few times. A phrase came into my head:Mind your P’s and Q’s. I lingered on it for a moment, then dismissed it. What wasn’t I seeing?

“I’m not exactly a rocket scientist,” Libby hedged, “but I don’t think you’re going to get words out of those letters.”

No vowels.I considered starting over again, playing with the letters in a different way, but couldn’t bring myself to do it. “There’s three of each,” I said. “Except for theB.”

I picked up theBand rubbed my thumb over its surface. What wasn’t I seeing?P, P, P, Q, Q, Q, 4, 4, 4—but only one B.I closed my eyes. Tobias Hawthorne had designed this puzzle for me. He must have had reason to believe not just that it could be solved, but thatIcould solve it. I thought about the file folder the billionaire had kept on me. Pictures of me doing everything from working at a diner to playing chess.

I thought of my dream.

And then I saw it—first in my mind’s eye, and once my eyelids flew open, right in front of me.P, Q, 4.I pulled those three down, then repeated the process.P, Q, 4.When I saw what I had left, my heart jumped into my throat, pounding like I was standing at the edge of a waterfall.

“P,Q,B, four,” I told Libby breathlessly.

“Cream cheese frosting and black velvet corsets!” Libby replied. “We are just saying random combinations of things now, right?”

I shook my head. “The code—it’s not words,” I explained. “These are chess notations—descriptive, not algebraic.”

After my mother had died, long before I’d ever heard the name Hawthorne, I’d played chess in the park with a man who I’d known as Harry.Toby Hawthorne.His father had known that—known that I played, known who I played with.

“It’s a way of keeping track of your moves and your opponent’s,” I told Libby, a rush of energy thrumming through my veins. “This one—P-Q4—is short for pawn to Queen four. It’s a common opening move, which is often countered by black making the same move—pawn to Queen four. Then the white pawn goes to Queen’s Bishop four.”

P-QB4.

“So,” Libby said sagely, “chess.”

“Chess,” I repeated. “The move—it’s called the Queen’s Gambit. Whoever’s playing white puts that second pawn in a position to be sacrificed, which is why it’s considered a gambit.”

“Why would you sacrifice a piece?” Libby asked.

I thought about billionaire Tobias Hawthorne, about Toby, about Jameson, Grayson, Xander, and Nash. “To take control of the board,” I said.