‘So you’ve got one, right, Chris?’ Lev Lvovich leaned in closer, and his beery breath was warm and damp on my face. ‘It’s all OK,’ he reassured me with a slur. ‘We’re friends. You can tell me!’

It was the middle of the evening, already long dark, and Lev and I were playing a drunken game of chicken to see who might reveal something valuable to the other.