The corner office is dark except for the whiteboard light. Witold Novenko is standing at it with the marker already in his hand.
He does not turn round.
"Baldassarre called me at eleven. There is a boy in the building with a check-in at midnight and a brother in Miami who will look for him with a shipping manifest."
He writes a name and underlines it.
"Dalucci. Sit down."
Then he does turn round, and the marker goes down.
"He is not going to find anything. I have made sure of that for six years."
A pause, and his voice flattens, which is what happens when he is being honest.
"But you are going to tell me how you know him. Not tonight, in front of the cameras. Now, to me, and then we are going to go home."
He pulls the chair out with one hand and waits, and he does not look away from you.