Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

D ahlia couldn't tell if this was a private residence or a small government building.

They hadn't known in advance where they were going to meet with Sinaver, as he'd said only that he would send a car to pick them up. She'd expected to end up in Sevastopol at a government building. Instead, they were in the lush, hilly countryside halfway between the resort and Sevastopol, driving up to a multistory building of white stone in the center of grassy lawns dotted with copses of trees. The long driveway passed through an iron gate in the wall that circled the property.

If they'd been in England, she'd call this a country estate. At home, she'd just call it a mansion.

The building was pleasingly symmetrical, with the entrance in the center, a porte-cochère shading the front steps and door. It was Italianate in style, with tall columns and elongated vertical windows. A low decorative wall edged the flat roof, the stone railing matching the railing of the balconies on the second floor.

"I wonder how many bedrooms it has," Dahlia said, loudly enough the driver would hear, even if he didn't understand the question.

Vadisk leaned forward to the driver, having a quick conversation in Russian. Her question did what she'd hoped—prompted a normally silent Vadisk to translate, and the answer would help determine if this was a massive private residence or a remote government office.

Dahlia and Montana were seated behind Vadisk, who was in the center row, so she pulled out her phone, keeping it on her knee, and typed a quick translation of Vadisk's conversation into her notes app so Montana could read it.

Driver confirmed it's a private residence. Sinaver's house. But also the headquarters of the Crimean Security Force.

As Minister of the Interior, he would have to have an office in a government building, and the fact that he'd brought them to his house instead could mean several different things.

It could be that since she'd told him she was filming an episode about the impact of tourism, and he'd been affected by the closure of the resort when he was a child—a clearly personal issue—he felt it more appropriate to speak at his private residence.

That was the best-case scenario.

She didn't want to think about the other, less-ideal scenarios. They'd spent more than enough time discussing them when she got a reply to her email late last night. Vadisk and Montana had argued pros and cons, discussed safety measures, and then argued some more even though they were both saying the same thing. They needed to vent their worry and fears, so she'd let them, while she made a list of carefully worded questions.

Given that they were at a private residence, she was especially glad she had one of the boxes of chocolates tucked into her satchel with her camera equipment.

Their plan was for her to ask questions and guide the conversation, getting as much information as possible without risking a confrontation. Vadisk would watch for trouble, and step in to help distract Sinaver only if needed, as they didn't want Sinaver to pay too much attention to him. Montana would get them access to Sinaver's phone, and they'd discussed exactly what he'd need to do so she knew what kind of opportunities they were trying to create. If they could mirror his phone, and see what he was doing, including who he was calling, they would have interesting…and dangerous…options for getting the information they needed.

When she proposed that particular idea, Montana and Vadisk were united in their outrage at her willingness to take risks.

It was so nice to see her boys working together…

The van pulled to a stop. Vadisk got out first, standing off to the side as Montana offered her a hand to help step down. Dahlia adjusted her satchel full of camera equipment, smoothing the strap along her shoulder.

The driver looked at Vadisk, speaking to him, though his words were clearly meant for her. He'd never been taught to look at the person you were talking to, not the translator.

Vadisk translated. "He says that Minister Abduramanov is in a meeting right now, but he'll take us inside to wait. You can't film until you see Minister Abduramanov."

Dahlia smiled. "Of course, thank you for being our guide."

The inside of the house was distinctly less grand than the outside. Not that it wasn't well maintained, more that the same attention to detail that had gone into the Italianate architecture wasn't evident in the decor or furnishings. Through a doorway on the left, she could see into a large room that had probably been meant as some sort of formal drawing room at some point, but was now filled with ugly metal desks and men wearing urban camo.

Montana leaned in, whispering in her ear. "Look at their feet."

It took her a minute, but she realized what he was pointing out. None of them had matching shoes. Some wore what looked like military-issue lace-up boots, some wore trainers, and one was even in slides. Any official military or law enforcement group would have had uniforms that included matching footwear.

Her heart beat hard and fast as they passed the headquarters of the Crimean Security Force. If something went wrong with this interview, Sinaver—whom she needed to remember to call Minister Abduramanov, even though they'd been referring to him by his first name in discussions—had a lot of manpower at his disposal.

They were led upstairs, turned left, and ended in an elegant room with inelegant office furniture, including two hardwood chairs facing the laminate desk. Vadisk stood off to the side, leaning against the wall, while she and Montana sat.

Dahlia and Montana engaged in bland small talk in English while they waited, only because if someone was watching or listening, sitting in silence would have been even weirder.

They all heard the footsteps, and Vadisk and Montana both tensed. Dahlia laced her fingers with Montana's, and he relaxed back into his chair.

The door opened and an older man with silver hair entered. The one photo—besides the one of him as a young teen—they'd been able to find was at least twenty years old, and showed a man with brown hair and lines around his eyes that weren't as deep as those on the man striding toward the desk.

Dahlia and Montana rose as he approached. She stepped forward with a smile, holding eye contact. "Minister Sinaver Abduramanov, thank you so much for meeting with me."

Vadisk translated her greeting.

"It is nice to meet you, Dahlia McKean," he said in Russian.

She hid the wince at him using her full name. To her, it felt almost like a threat, but using the full name was part of how new people greeted one another in this area of Eastern Europe.

Sinaver shook hands and exchanged greetings with Montana and then Vadisk. She held her breath when Vadisk clasped his hand.

When he backed up, she grabbed the box of See's Candies truffles off the chair where she'd left it, holding it out to him. "Thank you for hosting us." She wanted to make sure he knew this was a host gift, nothing more or less.

Sinaver looked surprised as he accepted the wrapped box.

"They're chocolate candies made in America—in California."

Sinaver circled the desk and sat, so they followed suit. He looked at the chocolate box on the desk for a moment longer, and the smallest of smiles touched his face.

"Thank you again for meeting with me. I was thinking we could talk for a few minutes, and then if you feel comfortable, I'd love to film some of our conversation. However, if you'd prefer no camera, I can tell your story," she said, looking toward Vadisk to translate.

Before he could, Sinaver tilted his head and smiled. "We both know you speak Russian."

Dahlia returned the smile. "I do," she said in the same language. "But my partner does not. I didn't wish to be rude."

"You have a translator for him, don't you?" Sinaver looked at Vadisk, who, after a moment, moved to stand behind Montana.

"Yes," Dahlia replied. "As I was saying, if you'd prefer not to be on camera, I can still include your story."

"You would send me the video to approve before you put it on the internet."

He didn't phrase it like a question but a command, one Dahlia wouldn't accept. "No, I'm the only person who decides if a video is ready," she said in a pleasant tone.

Sinaver's gaze narrowed, and beside her, Montana shifted uneasily.

The tension started to build, so she cut through it with a smooth stream of practiced words. "As I mentioned in my email, I'm fascinated by the history of tourism in the area, and the impact the resorts have had on the people who live here. While talking to the manager of Crimean Sky, she showed me a picture that included you and your mother."

"A photo?" His brows rose.

Dahlia took her phone out of her pocket, checking it. "Let me see if I took a picture of the picture." She scrolled for a minute, then looked at Montana, switching to English. "Did you take a picture of the photo from the album?"

Montana pulled his phone from his pocket and started tapping.

"While he looks for that—and if we don't have one, I will take a photo and email it to you when we get back to the resort—can I ask you some questions?"

"Yes."

Dahlia leaned forward. "Your mother was the head housekeeper at what is now Crimean Sky when you were a child, correct?"

"Yes."

Dahlia waited, hoping that though she'd asked a yes or no question, silence would encourage him to say more. It worked.

"My mother is a beautiful, hardworking woman. She did more than clean the rooms. She made sure there were flowers. We would walk for hours on her days off to collect…" He trailed off, saying something in what had to be Ukrainian because she didn't understand.

He and Vadisk spoke for a moment, Vadisk frowning. She caught a few words due to some commonalities between Russian and Ukrainian, but for the first time, she really did need a translator.

Vadisk pulled out his phone, and a second later turned the screen to Sinaver, who nodded.

Vadisk turned to her. "These are the flowers they picked. In English, they're called cloth-of-gold crocus, and they're only found in this part of the world."

"They're beautiful," she said honestly. If they ran out of items on the current itinerary, maybe she could find a botanical garden for them to visit. She switched her attention back to Sinaver. "Why do you think she chose those flowers? Were they the only ones that grew around where you lived?"

Sinaver shook his head and leaned back in the chair. "No, she knew these were special flowers. Krym's flowers. She wanted the people who came here to see the beauty." His expression hardened. "They didn't appreciate it."

"The guests?"

"Yes. They didn't care about Krym. They'd stay in their rooms and cottages and think their money meant they could do whatever they wanted."

"The guests your mother took care of weren't respectful?"

"No. And they were immoral."

Dahlia made sure her expression didn't change, but her heart was slamming against her ribs.

"Immoral?" she asked. "What were the guests doing?"

Sinaver looked at her, then glanced at Montana, who was still typing on his phone, then slowly switched his attention to Vadisk.

Vadisk was right. They, Sinaver and the Crimean Security Force, were watching the three of them to see if they were a trinity, and that look made her think Sinaver had already decided they were.

"They were immoral," he repeated slowly.

"And your mother was a moral woman."

"She is."

That was twice now he'd used the present tense in reference to his mother. Dahlia had assumed she'd passed away. "We heard that when the resort closed, the closest village suffered economically."

A muscle in Sinaver's jaw clenched. "When that woman closed the resort, it destroyed my mother, our neighbors. People starved."

"The town was dependent on the resort."

"Not dependent. We didn't need them." There was defiance in his words. Dahlia didn't know if it was pride that made him tell such an obvious lie or if he truly believed it, despite everything he'd just said.

"Of course. What did your mother do when the resort closed?"

"I took care of her. She didn't have to work."

Translation: They lived off Montana's great-uncle's blackmail payments.

"When the resort was sold and then reopened, did your mother work there again?"

"For a while. Not long. And she didn't have to work. I took care of her." Again, there was pride in his words, a small smile on his lips. Then his expression went flat. "Even after it reopened, the people who used to come didn't anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"The guests were different."

Translation: They weren't trinities, and therefore he couldn't blackmail them.

But clearly he kept watching because when a Masters' Admiralty trinity did show up, he caught them.

"They weren't immoral?" she asked.

"No. They were rich, but rude and cheap."

"And the previous guests, the ones who were immoral, were they also wealthy?"

"Yes, wealthy and immoral. They didn't care about Krym."

Apparently the immoral guests were wealthy but not rude or cheap. If she had to guess, probably the trinities who stayed here back then tipped heavily.

"Do you know why the resort closed?" she asked softly.

Because she was looking for it, she saw his expression flicker with guilt. His blackmail scheme, which he'd likely started when he was a teen, based on the timeline they'd put together, caused the resort to close, which devastated his town. And then when the resort did open again, it attracted guests who weren't as kind or generous.

Rather than answer her question, Sinaver looked at Vadisk and switched to Ukrainian. They had a short exchange that rapidly grew tense. Dahlia shot a quick look at Montana, who met her gaze for only a second before looking back at his phone.

"Vadisk, can you please translate?"

Sinaver said something more with a small smirk. Vadisk's expression was scarily bland as he turned to her.

"Minister Abduramanov was asking why you chose me, a club bouncer from Kyiv, to be your guide and translator."

Dahlia looked at Sinaver. "He was recommended by a friend who also travels extensively, and I thought it was a good fit, since Vadisk has family from Krym." She carefully used the same term he had, rather than Crimea.

Sinaver shot Vadisk a cold look, and Dahlia's heart was back to racing.

"I found it!" Montana shouted, breaking the tension, his smile a little too wide. "Sorry, my photos are a mess. I took so many when we went to Buran-Kaya, it took me forever to find it." He jumped to his feet, leaning across the desk and shoving his phone in Sinaver's face as Vadisk quickly translated.

The older man leaned back and frowned, taking Montana's phone in both hands and resting them on the desk. His expression softened as he looked at the screen. "My mother was a beautiful woman."

Dahlia noted the tense shift and watched Montana out of the corner of her eye. He slouched into the chair once Sinaver handed the phone back, and after a minute, he shoved his phone into his right pocket. That was the signal.

Time to go.

She asked a few more bland questions, then finished by asking Sinaver for recommendations of anyone else she should speak to who was affected by the resort closure, or generally affected by the tourism industry.

Two hours after they'd walked in, they walked back out, and the same van with a different driver took them to the resort.

They didn't speak until they were inside the villa, and Montana had done a sweep to see if anyone had installed surveillance devices while they were gone. Now that they knew exactly what Montana could do, Vadisk didn't do his own sweep, leaving it to the tech expert.

"We're good," Montana said, dropping onto a couch.

"Don't say anything yet. I need to call my admiral."

"Why?" Montana asked.

"Because I want to know if Sinaver's mother is still alive."

"Ah, you caught that too?" Dahlia asked, then looked at Montana. "He changed tenses."

"I want to know where the mother is, dead or alive." Vadisk stood, taking several steps away and placing the call. Dahlia got a drink, half listening to see if she could pick out words while Vadisk spoke Ukrainian to his admiral.

She and Montana needed to learn Ukrainian so they could talk to him in his first language.

And…well, if she was being honest with herself, she wanted to know what Nikolett and Vadisk were saying to each other. The way he talked about his admiral, the way he admired her and seemed willing to do anything for her was…concerning.

Dahlia did an internal eye roll because the concerns were hers and they were based solely on jealousy.

So yeah. She wanted to learn Ukrainian so she could spy on her husband and Nikolett, who was apparently the patron saint of fucking Hungary.

Dahlia passed Vadisk a glass when he rejoined her on the couch.

"She's working on it." He leaned forward, looking eagerly at Montana. "Did you get it?"

Montana grinned. "Yes. His phone is mirroring to mine. It's input only. I can't place a call or send a message and route it through his phone, but I can see what he's doing, including who he calls."

Vadisk nodded. "Whoever he's getting his information about us from, he's either calling them or talking to them in person. Anything else, anything electronic, Ottoman would have found it."

"We'll see the call but won't be able to hear it, right?" Dahlia asked.

"Not with mirroring." Montana tapped his phone. "But I also installed a recording app that will record all phone calls."

"And he won't see the app?" Vadisk looked worried.

"No, I buried it. We won't be able to listen to the call live, but once it's over, we can access the recording."

"And what if it's in person? What if he's getting information from someone in Crimea, or maybe in Russia and he's driving to meet with them. Will we be able to tell where he is?" Dahlia asked, though Montana had answered almost this same question yesterday while they talked through the plan.

"Yes, this mirroring essentially acts as a GPS tracker too, since a phone always knows where it is."

"It's both impressive and terrifying that all he had to do was hold your phone near his own," Dahlia said.

"Thank you," Montana said.

"Not sure that was a compliment," Vadisk pointed out.

"It wasn't," she assured them, causing both to laugh softly. "Now all we need to do?—"

Vadisk groaned and leaned back, one arm over his face. "This is a bad plan."

"It's a great plan. Now that we can track our presumed blackmailer and monitor his conversations, we need to give him a reason to blackmail us, and, hopefully, check to see if we're Masters' Admiralty," Dahlia said.

"Even if we do have sex on the balcony—" Vadisk started.

"Pool. Way more fun if we have sex in the pool." Montana grinned.

"—he might decide to just blackmail us, and never ask his presumed informant if we are Masters' Admiralty."

"True," she conceded. "And it sounds like he waits for people to leave before sending the blackmail letters."

"This mirroring won't last forever. A million things can affect it," Montana said. "We need to make sure he sees enough that he's going to try to blackmail us." He paused, smiling. "So we have sex on the balcony and in the pool."

"He thinks trinities are immoral. People who think like that are dangerous." Vadisk was smiling at Montana's remark, but his words were serious.

"We talked this through, multiple times. It's too dangerous to ask more pointed questions. Breaking into his house—which, admittedly, now we know the layout of—is high risk with a low probability of us finding anything." Dahlia kept her voice gentle. Vadisk knew all this, but understandably, he was worried about their safety.

"He's never physically attacked any of the people he's blackmailed," Montana said. "And this plan means we get to have sex."

Vadisk grinned, and his gaze was hot as he looked first at Montana and then at her. "I don't want to share the two of you with whatever fucker is watching."

"Then you can be on top, so most of the shots are of your bare ass."

Dahlia snort-laughed at Montana's comment, while Vadisk chuckled.

"Okay," he relented. "Tonight, we fuck, tomorrow, we get blackmailed."