Readers of my Bridge Magazine series have been asking me, ``Where did you get all this crazy stuff?'' and I figure it's time to 'fess up. It all goes back to a beautiful stranger and a rainy night in Atlanta . . .
She stood dripping against the carved facade of a ten-story building, make-up smeared, curls ruined, eyes defiant---in short, irresistable. In her fist, as if I had willed it there myself, was the beginning of a conversation: the soggy but unmistakable corpus of a convention card.
``Get stood up by your partner?''
A compression of the lips was sufficient answer.
``Perhaps I can offer myself as a substitute.''
``You wouldn't want to play with someone in my frame of mind,'' she warned.
``I'll take my chances,'' I said offhandedly. ``Where's the game?''
She paused, looked me over, sighed . . . then said, ``Follow me.'' I tried to look casual, but my heart raced; a minute ago I had been ambling my way towards the subway after an extended day at work, and now I was off on what I knew would be an unforgettable evening.
Oak doors and a slightly decrepit art-deco lobby led to what must have been one of the first generation of self-operating elevators. As she pressed the ``6'' button I remarked that I had not been aware of a regular duplicate in this part of town.
``It's not regular,'' she said. ``It's the Cryppie Club.''
No further explanation was forthcoming and I shortly found myself in a large, undistinguished room in which, apparently, fifty or so people were already playing bridge. A huge white-haired gentleman greeted my partner with, ``Ah, there you are,'' and directed us to a table.
``Fair warning,'' my partner said as I pulled out her chair, ``you may run into some conventions here that you're not used to.''
``Don't worry, I've seen 'em all,'' I replied modestly. ``How about us? Mama-papa?''
``Fine.''
As South I picked up, second-in-hand:
 5 K874 J753 Q952 |
East, the male half of an elderly couple, opened 1, I passed, and the
3NT response was alerted as a forcing raise in spades with two
of the top three trumps. Opener's 4 rebid was alerted as ``asking.''
``Asking what?'' I inquired.
``For controls,'' said LHO primly.
LHO's 4 bid, also
alerted, ended the auction.
``I presume that denies a diamond control?'' I said, fingering the three of diamonds.
``It denies a control in the asked suit,'' RHO replied.
``The asked suit being diamonds, right?''
``Well, diamonds if I hold the spade ace, hearts if I hold the spade king, and clubs if I hold the spade queen.''
It took me a minute to absorb this. Clearly, LHO knew which suit
the inquiry was in by looking at her own spade holding. Presumably
RHO could have asked in the other suits by bidding
4 or
4.
But what was the point of all this nonsense? Finally I
shrugged my shoulders and looked back at my hand.
``Wait a minute!'' I exclaimed. ``How am I supposed to know what to lead?''
RHO simultaneously raised his right forefinger and his left eyebrow. ``Aha!'' he said.
Eventually I came out with a Solomonic trump lead, the full deal being:
| Board 2 Dealer West Vul N/S |
J93 9 T982 AK843 |
|
| AK64 T65 KQ64 76 |
![[ ]](gif/table-ss.gif){kind=small} |
QT872 AQJ32 A JT |
| 5 K874 J753 Q952 |
My partner seemed to think our -480 was normal, but it annoyed me slightly that our opponents had been able to bid this hand intelligently without giving away the club lead.
Happily the opponents took no part in the next auction: I dealt and opened one no-trump and partner raised to three. The three of spades was led to South's queen and I found myself looking at:
| 972 T K94 AJT962 |
|
| AJ4 AJ9 AQ76 853 |
This, I thought, will be a nice opportunity to impress my partner with my pairs technique: I'll just win the lead and play a club to the ace, trying to keep South off the lead. It occurred to me to check first that they were leading fourth best, however, and a glance at their convention card met an ominous green spot.
``Fourth best against 3NT from hands with fewer than seven points,'' it said. ``Otherwise third and fifth.''
Oops---if the lead was from five (likely, since with four-four or four-five in the majors she might have led a heart) it would be better to duck the lead and finesse twice in clubs, a safer line anyway.
I played the four and South shifted to a heart to the nine and king. A heart came back and so I made four; for a bad board, the hands being:
| Board 3 Dealer South Vul E/W |
972 T K94 AJT962 |
|
| T863 K84 T852 Q4 |
|
KQ5 Q76532 J3 K7 |
| AJ4 AJ9 AQ76 853 |
I complimented South on his shift. ``I'm surprised you didn't play the king of spades,'' I said. ``Couldn't your partner have had knave-to-five?''
``No, I can count her for under seven points on the bidding, so the lead must have been fourth best. We've discovered that we can read each other's leads about 75% of the time with this system, with declarer almost always in the dark.''
Partner seemed to take all this fairly well, but I could not conceal a bit of annoyance. ``Are these conventions legal?'' I asked her after the round. ``Surely they can't be allowed to pass information like that without clueing us in.''
``Why not? They had no private understandings, and you can't force them to tell you what they can conclude from their own cards.''
``I suppose you're right, but I don't like it.''
``I'm afraid you're likely to see more,'' she said. ``This club was started by a bunch of cryptanalysts---amateurs and professionals---and and there's a tradition of passing information in code.''
``See the director over there? That's Greenspan---he's supposed to have had a hand in breaking the Purple Code. The woman we just played against designs industrial cryptosystems, her husband works in computer security, and the short guy at table six writes cryptogram puzzles for some West Coast newspapers.''
Our next opponents were a pair of sinister-looking young men,
probably college students working undercover for the CIA. After two
passes RHO bid 1
and his partner alerted.
``May be a lead-directing psychic with a king- or ace-high suit.''
I doubled, holding half the deck:
| AQ5 QT6 AK42 KQ8 |
LHO bid one no-trump and was alerted: ``shows the values for a redouble, and guarantees the ace or king of the opening bid suit.''
They sure are big on trump honours around here, I thought to
myself; but the mechanism soon became clear. My partner passed and
RHO rebid 2.
``Alert: exposes the psychic if he has the heart ace, natural if he has the heart king.''
So, LHO now knows the truth; his own heart honour tells him whether
partner has psyched. I suspected he had, but how do I get my
partner to cooperate? Two no-trumps was too scary even for me so I
tried doubling again; 2
by LHO, pass, pass back to yours truly.
``Stay fixed,'' said a shrill voice from the back of my skull, but
these cryppies were beginning to get on my nerves and I doubled once
more. Would you believe RHO had a legitimate third-hand opener?
Five-five in hearts and clubs with ten points. I had to watch the
carnage in 2 doubled
from dummy.
And so it went on. Instead of enjoying myself and getting to know my partner, I became more and more intent on avenging our losses. She, on the other hand, began to relax and (I think) take some pleasure from my discomfort. By the time the last hand of the evening had arrived, I was, I am ashamed to say, exhibiting signs of active paranoia. Dealer at game all, I picked up
| T943 KQT5 AK42 A |
.
LHO overcalled
1, partner raised
to 2,
and RHO doubled---alerted as showing a raise with one
of the top two spades. This
was a convention I really had seen before, useful for telling
partner if it is safe to lead his suit. Looking for a chance to nail
them at the three level, I chose a modest boost to
3
and sure enough, it went pass - pass -
3.
As I opened my mouth to double, LHO quietly alerted.
``What now?''
``Competitive if he holds the spade ace, otherwise it's a game try. 3
I might have been indelicate to double a game try, but what I did was even worse. ``Which is it?'' I said loudly.
``Like I said, it's either a --''
``Which is it?''
Instantly the director materialized at my shoulder. My partner gave him a wan smile and a shrug of the shoulders, as if to say, ``Sorry, I know he's an outsider, but I thought he could handle it.''
``I'm OK, I'm OK,'' I insisted, spreading little flecks of foam everywhere. The succeeding events are blurred in my memory, but I seem to recall a scuffle, and some soothing words, and the sensation of my feet leaving the floor; the next three impressions were of darkness, pavement, and rain.
The rest is obvious. My partner's face remained in my memory the following morning, but I had never got her name; eleven successive nightly excursions to the building yielded an empty sixth floor, and finally I found a crew of workers converting it to a suite of dental offices.
I located the landlord, who told me that he had indeed rented the sixth floor to a man named Greenspan, but only on one occasion. No, he had left no address or phone number. None of the eight Greenspans in the Atlanta directory were of any help.
During the following year I made several contacts in the cryptologic community, all to no avail. No one had ever heard of an organization called the Cryppie Club, nor of anyone named Greenspan; no list existed of individuals who had worked on the Purple Code. And as far as anyone knew, there was no connection whatever between cryptology and the game of bridge.
My duty was clear.