Page 13 of Power's Fall

“Once we’re in the air, it’s about four hours to Sevastopol,” the attendant said. “We’ll wait here for confirmation of permission to land, as we wouldn’t want to run out of fuel.”

The flight attendant’s smile was strained. Normally the only way to fly into Crimea was on a Russian military plane; there were no commercial flights. The flight attendant, and probably the pilots, were most likely used to flying rich people from one rich-person destination to another. Not flying into an area in active conflict, knowing that their flight would be tracked with antiaircraft missiles by at least two different governments.

From Athens, they’d fly east across the Aegean, make a left somewhere over Turkey, and cross the Black Sea to approach Crimea from the south.

“Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help,” Dahlia said to her.

The flight attendant nodded, looking a little relieved. Dahlia’s connections, and Crimean officials’ excitement at having her visit, were what made this possible. The permits had been mostly done by the time Vadisk was told what was going on.

Dahlia and Montana had been planning this for months before that meeting in Dublin.

Undoing his seat belt, Vadisk stood, dropping into the seat facing Dahlia, who sat on the aisle. The flight attendant started to say something, so Vadisk looked at her. Her teeth clicked together as she closed her mouth.

When she headed to the small galley up front, Vadisk turned back to Dahlia and Montana.

“This is a dangerous situation,” he said.

“I know,” Montana said, some of that easygoing confidence having morphed into tension. Or maybe aggression. “My great-uncle paid blackmail for forty-five years.”

“I’m not talking about the blackmailer. I’m talking about Krym.” He paused, correcting himself to the name they would know. “Crimea.”

The diamond-shaped peninsula of land stuck out into the Black Sea, which bordered three of its four sides, with the Sea of Azof on the northeastern shore. The northern tip of the diamond was a patchwork of sea and land, small islands a testament that at some point, it had been fully connected to the rest of the continent. By car or foot, there were only three ways into Crimea—two north-south motorways that crossed the border with Ukraine, and to the east, a bridge spanned the Strait of Kerch, connecting Crimea to Russia.

Crimea was a Ukrainian territory according to most of the world’s governments, but it had been occupied and annexed by Russia, so realistically it was under Russian control, hence their need for Russian visas to enter.

Culturally and historically, Krym, or Crimea, belonged to itself, with a history that stretched back to the earliest known records. Crimea had been Greek, Mongol, Ottoman…

“Sir, we have clearance. Please return to a forward-facing seat.”

Vadisk rose, still hunched, and crossed the aisle. Montana was watching the flight attendant pull in the stairs with an odd look on his face. Once the aircraft door was closed, he turned to look out the window.

Vadisk watched Dahlia as the plane took off. She was calm, her legs crossed, a tablet propped on her knee. He’d watched her videos since learning she’d be his wife. Not all of them, there hadn’t been time, but enough. She seemed to always be calm and collected, yet there had to be a wildness inside. A thirst for danger. Otherwise, why would she have made a career of traveling to places that were dangerous for her to seek out?

The plane picked up altitude, and Vadisk sat back, working his jaw to pop his ears once they were high enough. It didn’t take long for the seat belt sign to click off. Vadisk returned to his seat across from Dahlia, who tucked her tablet into the armrest storage area, giving him her full attention.

Montana was still looking out the window and taking deep, slow breaths. Maybe he got airsick.

“We need a plan,” Vadisk said.

“We have a plan.” Dahlia reached for her tablet. “I can send you the itinerary?—”

“I read it,” Vadisk said, cutting her off.

At that, Montana focused on him.

“You have an itinerary, but we need a plan for how you present yourselves,” Vadisk explained.

“We’re going in as a couple, and you’re our guide and translator,” Montana said.

Vadisk shook his head. “You two shouldn’t go in as a couple. Sharing a plane is bad enough, but explainable.”

“Why do you think we can’t present ourselves as a couple?” Dahlia asked.

“You don’t want anyone thinking about your relationship. Better to make this trip seem like it’s only work.”

“That’s bullshit.” Montana sat forward, elbows on his knees, weight shifted toward Dahlia. “Being a couple gives us an excuse to stay together, and safety-wise, that’s a priority.”

“We should have different rooms?—”

---