Beautiful and comfortable as this place was, Alexander Durov knew the future of Russia lay much farther north, up there in the frozen Kola, with its open access to the world’s oceans, not here on this warm, closed sea.

Boris Medikov sipped his vodka and watched the admiral, the red glow of the setting sun reflected in his still-clear eyes.

“Alexanderovich, you are a million kilometers away.”

Durov turned to look at him and shook his head. “No, Boris, my friend, I am right here. I am enjoying allowing the healing warmth to soak into these old bones.”

Medikov leaned back into the padded cushions of the overstuffed chair and sighed. He was a dark-haired, handsome man. He looked to be a full decade younger than his fifty years. It was his eyes, though, that most people noticed. They were dark, deep, and appeared to be hooded, even when they were wide-open.

“Ah yes. This is far better than the chill winds blowing through Moscow nowadays. I must confess, I find the nightlife around here a little slow for my tastes.”

Durov grimaced and took a drink of his own vodka. “You Muscovites are all alike. You must have action and excitement in your lives all the time or you feel you are missing something vital to living. You never take the time to enjoy the quiet things in life.” He waved his glass in a long, slow sweep around the horizon. “Just look out there. The serenity of this place is balm for the aching soul.”

Medikov chuckled. “It may be enough to soothe an old man’s soul, but as for me, I prefer a beautiful woman wrapped in furs to soothe mine.”

“Ne kulturny, no culture,” Durov mumbled, and shook his head as he rose from his chair. He ignored the slight sliver of pain behind his breastbone as he stood. “Come, Boris. I didn’t pull you away from your women wrapped in furs to watch sunsets with an old man. We have important things to discuss.”

He walked through the double doors and inside the dacha. Medikov had to hurry to follow in his wake.

The two men stepped into the admiral’s bookcase-lined study. Well-thumbed naval history books shared shelf space with tomes covering grand military strategy. Interestingly, there were also texts there that discussed stock markets and international finance. Interspersed around the volumes were the trophies and mementos of a lifetime spent serving at sea. There were detailed ship models, well-used brass chronometers, and other nautical bric-a-brac. A huge Georgian mahogany desk filled much of the floor space. Off to one corner, facing a now-cold brick fireplace, were two red leather armchairs with a dainty tea table set between them. The table was burdened with a large bottle of white wine, chilling in a silver ice bucket, and two crystal wineglasses.