“There’s news, sir,” Vladimir announced with a calmness that didn’t match the severity of the situation.

“Go on,” Mikhail permitted, sipping his oolong, Da Hong Pao—a Chinese tea.

His Sovietnik ruffled subtly. “An attack broke out at the airport, and your daughter was taken.”

Mikhail’s fingers around the tiny tea mug stilled for a moment—almost unnoticeable. But it didn’t last long before the slurping sounds resumed elegantly.

“And the men?” The mug made a small ...