Overweight, unshaven and dressed in a dirty sweatshirt and mended wool pants, he introduced himself as Bob. He spoke so fast that I have no idea how Lisa could possibly follow what he was saying. He would ask one question and then ask another before he fully heard the answer to the first. Soon he was behind his paper strewn desk, thumbing through a well-worn address book and demanding to know who we wanted to meet. This man was a journalist.

He called several people, shouting out his rapid fire questions into the phone. Normally I would think he was shouting because the of the terrible phone lines, but with Vladimir it was hard to tell -- it seemed that shouting was just his way of speaking. Nobody he called could meet with us before the morning. Searching through his papers, he pulled out a list of families of soldiers who had been killed in Chechnya. He suggested we speak to one of the mothers on that list. He promised she could introduce us to soldiers who served with her son. He had no phone number for the woman, only an address. Both Lisa and I were uncomfortable with the idea of showing up unannounced at the her door, but Vladimir gave us his card and assured us everything would be fine.