"Americans can be found in the playing hall at night  . . .we request that the playing hall and the things in it be examined with the assistance of competent experts." This was part of a statement issued on August 22, 1972 by Spassky’s second, GM Geller (see Appendix C). The Soviets raised the specter of cheating by the Americans and demanded a full-fledged investigation by the Icelandic organizers.

These charges went beyond the jurisdiction of Chief Arbiter Lothar Schmid. The ball was placed squarely in the hands of Gudmundur Thôrarinsson, the President of the Icelandic Chess Federation. Gudmundur was a very impressive individual. He knew when to step back and he knew when to be forceful. Gudmundur Thôrarinsson was a voice of sanity in a sea of chaos. Fortunately, it was he who had the responsibility to respond to the Soviet charges. Cramer asked me to represent Fischer on matters relating to the Geller complaint. Obviously giving such a potentially important task to me, the junior member of the team, was a way to demonstrate the absurdity of the accusation.

Thôrarinsson realized the claim could not be ignored. He assembled a panel of experts and asked them either to find out if Geller’s allegations had credibility or to prove that all was kosher. The experts soon announced that they would conduct three tests. The first of these tests was based on the hypothesis that some substance might have been placed on Spassky’s chair, which during the course of a game could have an alcoholic effect on him, hence making him more prone to blunder. To determine if this was the case, the Icelanders authorized a gaseous chromatograph test of the micro-impurities on both Fischer’s and Spassky’s chairs. To obtain samples for the test, absorbent cloths were rubbed over the chairs of both players. The particles that adhered to the cloths were then examined. The test verified that there was nothing of any consequence on either Fischer’s or Spassky’s chair.

The Icelandic officials took many measurements of the lighting in the tournament hall. They showed us the results—spectrum analyses, various charts and graphs. It was all Greek to me. They concluded that there was nothing unusual with the fluorescent lighting above the playing table. All was kosher!

It was during the lighting tests that Polaroid photographs showing the area surrounding the fluorescent lights were taken. One of these photos showed what looked like a dead fly. The journalists jumped on this, and it was widely reported that the only finding in the investigation was a dead fly.

The last test was the x-raying of both players’ chairs. No one had any idea what they were looking for, but if there was anything unusual in one of those chairs, it would show up in the x-rays. The plan was to develop the x-rays, examine them and assuming nothing unusual was discovered, announce the findings of all the tests to the press. At this point, I left the tournament hall and went back to the hotel.

I was in my room when Gudmundur Thôrarinsson called and asked me to return to the playing hall. When I arrived, Gudmundur put his arm on my shoulder and said, "Don, we found something!" He went on to explain that something showed up on the x-ray of Fischer’s chair that didn’t seem to be in Spassky’s chair.

I immediately called Bill Lombardy and asked him to come over. GM Krogius was there to represent the Spassky team. Gudmundur told us they were again going to x-ray the chairs and then disassemble them in order to determine what was in the chair.

When Lombardy arrived, he immediately objected to the process but was quickly cut off by Thôrarinsson, "Mr. Lombardy, we did not invite you here to get your approval of what we are doing. You are here simply to observe." Bill and I stayed there for the next round of x-rays. When they were completed I went with the technician to his laboratory for their developing. This time nothing showed up. I headed back to the Loftleider Hotel where, to my surprise, the Icelandic Chess Federation was conducting a press conference. They announced that the tests were complete, and that the only thing they found was a dead fly. I was surprised since the results of the second round of x-rays had not yet been reported to the investigators.

Everyone liked the dead fly tale. The charges were universally considered absurd. The single finding of one dead fly seemed a fitting end to the spectacle. I don’t for a minute believe that there was any basis for the Geller accusations, but everything wasn’t fully explained and copies of the x-rays never have been made public. In preparation for writing this book, I contacted Icelandic officials to find out what happened to the x-rays. I was told that they don’t exist and probably never did. They said that the chairs were scanned and not x-rayed. I know this is not true since I was there when the x-rays were taken. I actually went with the technician and watched while he developed the second set of x-rays. I also saw the first set of x-rays. They showed an object imbedded in one of the chairs. It was about twelve inches long and had a cylindrical loop at one end. This object did not show up in the second round of x-rays, and nothing was found in the chairs after they were disassembled. An object was either removed from one of the chairs between the two x-ray sessions, or there was a strange artifact on the x-ray.

The Karpov/Kasparov world championship match in Moscow had been going on for almost half a year! Kasparov was demonstrating the absurdity of FIDE’s new regulation that required the match to continue until one player won six games. Trailing in the match, Kasparov decided to take no risks. Game after game was drawn. As the match continued ad nauseam the world became bored. The President of the Soviet Union Konstatin Chernenko died and Soviet leaders evicted the players from the playing hall in order to allow viewing of the dead leader’s body. Undeterred, the match organizers moved the players to another Moscow site. Eventually, Karpov became exhausted.

After the call, Keene counseled against any termination of the match, which did not declare Kasparov the victor. I, then and now, do not understand this nor the public outcry that followed Campomanes’ eventual decision to cancel the match and start anew. Karpov was leading by two full points; he needed only one more win! Kasparov needed three wins! How could starting over at 0 to 0 favor Karpov?

In the late 1980s, a computer named Deep Thought defeated GM Arnold Denker in a four-game match. It was the first time a computer ever defeated a grandmaster in a chess match. In the critical game, a dead-drawn position was reached. Arnold realized this and so should have the computer. Yet, each time Arnold requested a draw, the machine refused. Arnold was frustrated. At almost eighty-years-old, he didn’t have the patience to sit there and waste time. He later told me, "I got tired of doing nothing. I thought I’d try doing something different." He did and he lost. Had the machine been a little "smarter," it would have accepted the draw. Arnold lost the match because the computer out-psyched him!

The way the computer won the match was an omen as to how a refined Deep Thought, named Deep Blue, would, almost a decade later in May 1997, defeat World Champion Garry Kasparov. Even though Kasparov won the first game of that six-game match with Deep Blue, when he resigned the second game and the outcome of the match apparently unclear, Garry was, psychologically, completely destroyed.

In that second game and having a superior position, Deep Blue blundered and played an inferior move. The World Champion then responded by resigning a drawn position. He could have forced a perpetual check, yet he didn’t even consider that possibility. He was certain Deep Blue had already correctly calculated this variation. When he found out it had missed it, the World Champion started seeing demons that weren’t there. Were other GMs teaming with Deep Blue against him? Kasparov simply could not accept the notion that Deep Blue didn’t find the critical variation. IBM didn’t help. Instead they refused to provide the Kasparov team with a computer printout showing how the computer failed to see the perpetual check. The printouts were placed in a sealed envelope and turned over to Carol Jarecki, the match arbiter. Carol was instructed not to release them until authorized by IBM, the match organizer. They remain sealed as of this writing.

Both Arnold Denker and Gary Kasparov had been pysched-out by a machine. In each case the machine won. Yet, had the machines been a little bit smarter, they might not have. How ironic!

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