Sam runs into Charlie as Sam leaves the meeting. Charlie tells him that he was right; POTUS never gave a budget speech in Pittsburgh. Charlie says the kid is nine, so he would have been five or six at the time: "Maybe he thought everything was a budget speech." Sam suggests maybe it's just a crazy letter. Charlie says it's not; he knows, because he reads a lot of crazy letters. Sam says he got a letter last year asking if he would donate his brain to a medical school in Grenada. He adds, "I'll tell you, there are days when I think, 'Yeah, why not just get it over with?'" Charlie follows Sam, saying that the kid had his picture taken with the President: "The advance guys always get the name and address and we send a copy. There's no record of a picture being sent to this kid. Plus, his father's in trouble." Sam wonders why; Charlie explains the father is a furnace worker at the Franklin Mill, and he might get fired because he wants to join a union. The father spoke to a group called the Steelworkers Organizing Committee. Charlie wonders if Sam ever heard of them. Sam has, but points out that they're called the AFL-CIO now. He adds that furnace workers are all unionized. Someone comes up and hands Charlie a note. He reads it and walks away, running into Toby as he does. Charlie keeps on cruising as Toby calls Ludmilla Koss into his office. She seems pleasant enough. She kind of makes me think of a prettier, Russian version of Calista Flockhart, minus the inane and annoying tics and mannerisms.

Toby and Ludmilla go into Toby's office, where they chat about the fact that her paper has the highest daily circulation of any paper in Russia. Toby remarks that it's hard to tell whether that's because of the reporting, the editorials, or the naked women on Page Three. Ludmilla: "We did not invent this thing. Nor did we invent the comic strips or lotto." Toby: "Touché." He sits down and asks her how she pissed off Chigorin. She says he doesn't like criticism. Toby wonders if she's ever met anyone who does. She says that's not the point. Toby seems mildly unnerved by this woman's sweet yet firm demeanor, and he replies, "No, I, uh, I'm just talking." He smiles disarmingly. She gives a polite, semi-sincere chuckle. Toby says she already has credentials to cover POTUS, and that it's just a matter of getting her on the plane. First, however, he wants to check with the State Department "to make sure it's not a grotesquely insulting thing to do to a new President from whom the U.S. is hoping for quite a bit." Ludmilla: "Ah, so your First Amendment only extends as far as is polite?" Toby, evenly: "No, it extends farther than that but it only protects us." Touché, dude. He adds, "Believe me, if we were able to enforce U.S. law around the world, I'd retire and go scuba diving." Now there's an image: Toby in a wetsuit. Ludmilla cocks her head and asks, "You like diving?" Toby admits, "I've never done it. I've, uh, never done anything. But I've seen pictures and it looks fun. I've seen pictures of people out there in the world and they all look like they're glad they are. Now, granted, when I'm looking at these pictures, somebody's usually trying to sell me something, but I'll tell you what, I'm forty-four years old and I'm buying." Aw, Toby. Ludmilla listens with amusement. Toby: "I usually don't talk this much, but I'm having an odd day." He pauses. "Wanna stay for a little and look at pictures of scuba divers?" I don't know how she could turn that down, with Toby looking so adorable and all, but she does. Toby says they'll talk tomorrow. She leaves.