Chapter 7 - THE TRAITOR AT STELLAN’S TABLE
They never went to Anchorage.
They did not need to.
At 4:12 the next morning, Celia’s mother called.
Her voice was weak but steady.
“I’m safe.”
Celia sat upright in bed.
“Where are you?”
“I can’t say.”
“Mom.”
“I’m receiving treatment.”
“Dad found you.”
“Yes.”
“Are you with him?”
A pause.
“No.”
Celia looked toward the dark window.
“Then where did he take you?”
Her mother sighed.
“To an old friend.”
“Whose?”
“Alexander Varo’s.”
Celia closed her eyes.
Of course.
Everything returned to the Varos.
“Mom, what’s in Anchorage?”
Silence.
Then:
“So Thomas told you.”
“He gave me the key.”
“Destroy it.”
Celia’s eyes opened.
“What?”
“Destroy the key.”
“Grekov is threatening people because of that recording.”
“Which is exactly why you should destroy it.”
“And let him win?”
“This is not about winning.”
“It became about winning when seven interpreters were driven out and one was shot.”
Her mother’s voice cracked.
“Celia, listen to me. Twenty-seven years ago I made the mistake of believing truth automatically protected the person carrying it.”
Celia said nothing.
“It doesn’t.”
“Then why keep the recording?”
“Because sometimes a dangerous truth is the only thing preventing a more dangerous man from acting.”
Celia understood.
Blackmail without money.
Mutual destruction.
“You used it as leverage.”
“Yes.”
“Does Grekov know where it is?”
“No.”
“Does Dad?”
Another silence.
Celia sat straighter.
“Mom.”
“He knows there is a recording. He never knew where I put it.”
Something cold moved through Celia.
“Then why did he give me the key?”
Her mother inhaled sharply.
“He shouldn’t have had it.”
The bedroom door opened.
Celia looked up.
Stellan stood there, fully dressed.
He had clearly been listening from the hall.
“Mom, I have to go.”
“Celia—”
“Stay safe.”
She ended the call.
Stellan’s voice was low.
“Your father shouldn’t have possessed the key.”
“No.”
“So the key is false.”
“Or he found it.”
“Your mother doesn’t think so.”
Celia stood.
“Then he wanted me to believe I had access to the recording.”
“Why?”
She looked at him.
“To make me valuable.”
Stellan’s expression hardened.
“Bait again.”
Celia hated how naturally the answer fit.
Her father had spent her childhood teaching her that language could save lives.
Apparently he had never learned daughters could be lives too.
Archer entered five minutes later with Mara.
Mara carried a laptop.
“We found Calder.”
“Alive?” Stellan asked.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Hotel outside Albany.”
Stellan’s jaw shifted.
“How?”
“He used one of his old household expense cards.”
Celia frowned.
“That’s stupid.”
Mara looked at her.
“Exactly.”
“He wanted to be found.”
“Yes.”
Archer said, “He sent a message asking to speak to Stellan.”
“No,” Celia said.
Three faces turned toward her.
She pointed at the laptop.
“Calder is not stupid. He operated inside this house for years. He planned an attack designed to look Russian. He escaped through a maintenance road you didn’t know was compromised.”
Archer’s expression made clear he did not enjoy that reminder.
“And now he uses a traceable company card?”
Stellan understood first.
“He wants us to move.”
“Again.”
Mara looked at Celia.
“So we don’t.”
“No.”
Celia thought.
“We make him come back.”
Archer almost smiled.
“How?”
“Give him something worth returning for.”
Stellan said immediately, “No.”
Celia looked at him.
“I haven’t said what.”
“You were going to say yourself.”
She paused.
“I was considering it.”
“No.”
Mara crossed her arms.
“She is good.”
Stellan ignored her.
Celia walked toward the window.
“The mole isn’t Calder.”
Silence.
Archer frowned.
“We watched him sabotage the house.”
“He’s a traitor. That doesn’t make him the top of the chain.”
She turned.
“Calder worked here eleven years. Somebody paid him for eight. But the attack last night failed because of language mistakes.”
Mara nodded slowly.
“So the person controlling him isn’t Russian.”
“Exactly.”
Archer’s face tightened.
“Thomas Rowe.”
“No.”
Celia shook her head.
“My father is many things, but he speaks Russian fluently.”
Stellan looked at her.
“Then who?”
Celia thought about every person she had met since arriving.
Guards.
Staff.
Grekov’s delegation.
The conference room.
The meals.
People who watched without speaking.
Then one memory surfaced.
The first afternoon.
Before Grekov arrived.
A man in a tailored blue suit had entered Stellan’s study without knocking.
Stellan had barely looked up.
His cousin.
Lucian Varo.
Celia had seen his name in the family briefing.
Chief operating officer.
Head of international logistics.
The man controlling routes.
Ports.
Shipping schedules.
She looked at Stellan.
“Who benefits if you and Grekov go to war?”
His face became unreadable.
Archer understood.
“Lucian.”
Stellan said nothing.
Celia continued.
“If Grekov seizes the Eastern port, you lose territory. If you retaliate, both sides lose money.”
Mara whispered, “But the logistics director controls the replacement routes.”
Celia nodded.
“And makes himself indispensable.”
Archer stepped toward Stellan.
“Sir.”
“No.”
Stellan’s voice carried something Celia had not heard before.
Pain.
Lucian was not an employee.
He was family.
Stellan had lost his father.
His brother.
And now suspicion had reached the table where he still allowed blood relatives to sit.
“We need proof,” Stellan said.
Celia nodded.
“Then let’s give Lucian a lie.”
That afternoon, Stellan summoned only four people into the study.
Archer.
Mara.
Celia.
Lucian.
Lucian Varo was forty-two, handsome in a polished way Stellan was not. Same dark hair. Same gray eyes. But where Stellan’s silence felt heavy, Lucian’s charm filled space.
“Another crisis?” Lucian asked.
Stellan slid a folder across the desk.
“We found the Omsk recording.”
Celia watched Lucian’s hands.
Her father had taught her one useful thing.
Hands told the truth.
Lucian’s left thumb stopped rubbing the edge of his watch.
Only for a second.
“Recording?” he asked.
Celia answered.
“An old conversation involving Grekov.”
“Where?”
“Secure location.”
Lucian looked at her.
“You’re the interpreter.”
“Yes.”
“The one who won’t leave.”
“So far.”
Lucian smiled.
“Stellan attracts stubborn employees.”
“I’m not an employee anymore.”
His smile weakened.
Good.
He had not known that.
Stellan continued.
“The recording arrives tomorrow morning.”
Lucian nodded.
“What do you want from me?”
“Nothing.”
That was the lie.
They watched him leave.
Six hours later, one of Stellan’s secure servers registered an unauthorized access attempt.
The target file was labeled OMSK RECORDING TRANSFER.
The access originated from Lucian’s private office.
Archer stared at the screen.
Mara swore softly.
Celia looked at Stellan.
His face was empty.
Then his phone rang.
Lucian.
Stellan answered.
His cousin spoke only four words.
“You should have left.”
A tremendous explosion sounded from the east side of the property.
The windows shook.
Alarms began screaming.
Stellan’s head snapped toward the door.
And Celia realized the lie had worked.
Maybe too well.
May you like
Because Lucian had not tried to steal the recording.
He had decided to burn the entire house before it arrived.
