Black: queen's knight Nb8>c6

Melissa Theriault brushed a stray hair from her face with a scowl as she waited for the cameraman to give the signal. "Make sure I'm in focus," she snapped. "And frame me properly, down here, make sure my boobs are in the shot." She indicated her mid-waist with her microphone. "Come on, you Africans know how to use cameras or what?"

"Yes, miss," the cameraman muttered. "Ready."

A radiant smile brightened her face as the camera's red light went on. "As a boy, playing football in Europe must have seemed as far away to Omar Dugunda as setting foot on the moon. But he is just one of a new generation of Africans to appear from France to Scandanavia and win our affection with their strong play."

The production assistant gave the signal and Omar moved into the shot, smiling down at Melissa as he pressed his chest against hers.

"Omar, when I see Jokoc, it really fills me ... cut!" she snapped, backing away from him. "Look, you just need to move into the shot, your shoulder against my shoulder. We're not slow dancing, okay?" She cut her lecture short, looking around. "What is that yelling?"

Suddenly a disheveled tourist ran up to them. "Please help me!" she cried.