““All right.” Panin sips at his wine. “Excuse me, but—there is a personal connection?” “What?” “You appear unduly upset ...” “Yes.” She looks at her hands. “The missing officer is my husband.” Panin puts his glass down and leans back, very slowly, with the extreme self-control of a man who has just realized he is sharing a table with a large, ticking bomb. “Is there anything I can do to help?” “Yes.””
