After they’d been gone a half hour, Milo’s phone rang. It was his father, Yevgeny Primakov. “Misha! Do you know what Monday is?”Milo had no idea.“Public Service Day. Every June 23 the United Nations celebrates the value and virtue of public service to the community. It’ll be a festive day.”“Are you kidding me?”“Spare me your cynicism, my boy. The true joy of Public Service Day is that I’ll get a rare chance to see your ravishing wife and breathtaking daughter. Perhaps even my infuriating son.”Milo resisted a smile, though it was difficult. “Okay, I’ll let them know. We’ll have dinner.”“Not your food. We’ll go out. My treat.”“Of course it’s your treat, Yevgeny.”“Listen, Misha, I have an appointment with a foreign minister. I just wanted to make sure you would be there.”“I try not to travel these days.”“Not even to London?”His father seldom wasted a call for purely familial reasons. “You heard?”“About the Sebastian Hall that wasn’t you?
