"Oh, God, I..." She took a deep breath to cal her nerves. She'd seen pictures, of course. Propaganda put out by the Soviets before matches. The glorious history of the unbeatable prodigy, dedicated to his game and the state, something to that effect. The pictures did nothing to prepare her for the living, breathing and obviously confused young man sitting in front of her.

"I'm sorry. My name is Florence." It was like Jonas all over again only... more wrenching.