40
On his way out, Tom checked his mobile for messages. There was a missed call from an unknown number. Vlad’s second cousin, he guessed.
But Tom heard a female voice with a clear mid-western American accent. She wanted him to meet her that evening at seven in the Round Robin Bar. The State Dinner was at eight, with pre-dinner drinks at seven-thirty, so he figured he had time to meet her briefly.
At five to seven Tom was dressed in a tuxedo and in the Round Robin. He took a seat on one of the only two bar stools left, closest to the street exits and where the bar seemed least crowded.
His eyes roved over the signed photos of Jimmy Connors and John McEnroe on the walls. Behind the bar was a twelve-foot-long tennis racquet and above the bar the light bulbs glowed bright green like tennis
