Orest Stelmach - The Treachery of Russian Nesting Dolls

He sighed, his first sign of irritation since we’d arrived. “What didn’t I say?”

“You didn’t say anything. There was dead silence on the line. It was one of those moments were you knew the person on the other end of the line had just had a ‘holy shit’ moment.”

“Fair enough. But be realistic. Your friend calls and speaks of murder… a man may need a moment to compose himself.”

“And there was the proposed trade,” I said, “where you offered yourself as a hostage to Romanov in exchange for Sarah.”

Simmy remained mute.

“Why would you be so concerned about a stranger?” I said. “The answer is, of course, you wouldn’t be. That, in turns, means she isn’t a stranger. Sarah Dumont is someone you know. You confirmed that about ninety seconds ago when you said she’d lived through that nightmare in Amsterdam.”

He continued staring at me without betraying his emotions.

“I never told you Sarah Dumont had lived through a home invasion, Simmy.”

He took a deep breath. When he exhaled, he relaxed his posture. A look of resignation replaced his blank expression.

“Who is Sarah Dumont?” I decided to start with the most painful possibility. “Is she your secret lover, too?”

Simmy leaned on his elbows, folded his hands into prayer position, and brought them to his nose. Then he shook his head.

I sighed with relief on the inside. “Is she your daughter?”

He paused for a moment, then slowly shook his head again.

“Is she a niece or something? Because she sure as heck isn’t a stranger, Simmy. You clearly knew her for some time before all this happened.”

Simmy stared at his beer as though he were carefully choosing his words. Then he unfolded his hands, placed them on the table, and looked me in the eye.

“I didn’t know her for some time before this happened,” he said.

More bullshit. I couldn’t believe it. “That’s a lie, Simmy. How can that possibly—”

“I’ve known her far longer than that. I’ve known her for most of her life.” Simmy stopped talking. He looked around to make sure no one was listening.

My heartbeat thumped in my ear.

“I’ve known her for most of her life because she’s the daughter of a friend of mine. And ironically enough, the favor I need you to do for me concerns this friend.”

He motioned for me to lean forward. I did so, and then he did the same. I thought his breath would warm my ear but cabin airflow came on and a cold breeze gave me a shiver instead.

“Sarah Dumont’s father is the President of Russia. She is the illegitimate daughter of my good friend and mentor, Valery Putler.”

The dead girl’s lover was the daughter of the President of Russia. This was the same man who’d perpetuated the persecution of the gay community since taking office. For a moment, I couldn’t shake the irony of the situation, even as the questions came tumbling to my mind, one after another. When I finally recouped my senses enough to speak, I kept my voice at a whisper, to make sure none of the crew or the bodyguards in the adjacent cabin area could hear me.

“Does Sarah Dumont know who her father is?” I said.

“Of course,” Simmy said.

“That explains the arrogance.”

“Arrogance?”

“Aloofness, arrogance, whatever you want to call it. She’s weird, Simmy. Surely you can see that. That comment that no man would dare to kill her, when her father’s identity is a secret. Who says things like that?”

Simmy shrugged.

“And she was strangely homophobic even though she was in a lesbian affair. She said something about having gay friends but not condoning the morality of their relationships. Does her father support her financially?”

“She’s his daughter.”

I pictured her property, the luxury cars, and her restaurant in Bruges.

“Her wanting to keep the police out of it makes sense now,” I said. “The desire for privacy and all that. So does her lifestyle. I appreciate she’s a successful artist, but she seemed to have more disposable income than I would have imagined.”

“Sarah is set for life, as long as she remains discreet and respects her father.”

“When you say discreet,” I said, “you mean doesn’t let anyone find out who her father is, or that she’s had at least one lesbian relationship.”

“In Russia, a man is expected to be a man. His reputation is very important, with his family, in business, and especially in politics. In Russia, having an illegitimate child would hurt an elected official’s popularity.”

I couldn’t suppress a laugh, nor did I want to. “Elected?”

“Having a lesbian daughter would be even more unpopular. So as the saying goes, some things are better left unsaid.”

I considered what I’d learned. “I guess I have to give Putler some credit, hard as that is to believe.”

“Really? Why?”

“At least he acknowledges she’s his daughter. At least he supports her, and I guess based on what you say, loves her to the best of his personal boundaries. That’s a lot more than George Romanov can say.”

“Valery Putler is not one-dimensional. He is not evil incarnate and he is not a monster. The Western press likes to make him out to be without redeeming qualities because every story needs a villain and he’s a convenient one. But the truth is far more complicated. Do you know why he was tapped as to be president in the first place?”

I shook my head.

“Because he couldn’t be bribed. He was the only KGB officer, which is to say the only Chekhist that his predecessor had ever met who had a reputation for integrity, who refused to take a payoff.”

“If that’s true, then his former reputation makes him all the more disappointing since he took office,” I said.

“He’s been a positive influence on Sarah. He is, as you know, a Tae Kwon Do expert. He encouraged her to learn discipline and self-reliance through martial arts.”

“Yeah, that didn’t look like the first time she’d swept a guy’s legs out from under him.”

I remembered following Sarah Dumont to her gym where I saw heavy bags and men in training. I must have caught her on a day without martial arts practice. Had I followed her another day, I might have seen her sparring with those same men.

“It turns out the blossom didn’t fall too far from the proverbial tree,” Simmy said. “She doesn’t look like him. Physically, she clearly takes after her mother. But she’s his spitting image in spirit.”

“Meaning what, she wants to annex Ukraine, too?”

Simmy rolled his eyes. “If Valery wanted to annex Ukraine, the tanks would have rolled by now and no one would have stopped him. The only sound you would have heard from Europe and the States would have been the huffing and puffing of your gutless politicians. No, I mean Sarah is just like him in personality. She casts a giant shadow, she never retreats, and she never, ever surrenders.”

“What about the home invasion in Amsterdam? Obviously whoever did it had no clue who she was, but whatever happened to the criminals? Did the police catch them, or did they… disappear?”

“It never happened.”

“What?”

“It was just a story she made up.”

“Why make up something like that?” I said.

“To justify the security guards—whom her father insists on, by the way. And to get some privacy. Her father may support her but Sarah is legitimately successful in her own right. People in town know who she is, partly based on her success in dance, partly based on her lifestyle, the home, the cars, the girl about town. If you tell people you were the victim of a home invasion, they might not think twice if you’re a recluse or a little bit odd.”