Daniel had no lack of news opportunities since his return to St. Petersburg. In fact, the war was almost old news compared to the charged atmosphere in the city. No one, least of all Mariana, expected the recent developments in their relationship to quell his zeal for his work, especially when events began to escalate into a national crisis. George Cranston at the Register office practically begged him to stay on top of things and deliver some dispatches.
He and Mariana had been present at the Epiphany ceremony. Thank God, it had not turned tragic—only one policeman had been wounded, and that had been by flying glass. A few windows in the palace would have to be replaced, but the royal family had not been harmed. Nevertheless, all of St. Petersburg was in an uproar over the incident. The Okhrana immediately went to work, asserting that it had been an accident, that live ammunition had mistakenly been mixed in with the blanks. Daniel hoped it was true, but he seriously doubted it.
He took Mariana home immediately, then went directly to his office to file his dispatch about the incident. He had only worked about half an hour when the door opened and Sergei entered.
He was looking better today than when he was released from prison two days ago, but he still had a worn, drawn appearance about him. He had hardly allowed himself enough time to recuperate before resuming his duties, especially tutoring the workers. They and Father Gapon had been instrumental in his release, and he was determined not to let them down.
Daniel had not seen Sergei since one brief encounter the day of Sergei’s release. Daniel had hoped not to see him again until the family dinner planned for tomorrow night; it was going to be difficult to keep from mentioning his and Mariana’s plans. The only thing that kept him quiet was that he knew Dmitri must be present when he brought up the subject of marriage.
“Good afternoon, Prince—”
“Please, please!” Sergei broke in. “Never mind that ‘prince’ business.” Sergei did not intend to change a thing about his life because of his pardon. But then, he was hardly in a financial position to change much. Princess Gudosnikov had invited him and Anna to dinner as her way of welcoming him back to the fold. But Sergei no longer fit into that social circle, and he didn’t wish to. And despite Mariana’s recent meeting with the tsar, many others among his former noble acquaintances would have nothing to do with him even if he had wanted it.
Sergei continued, “You must call me Sergei. You may think me too old for such familiarity, but Mr. Fedorcenko sounds so formal between friends—and Mariana speaks so highly of you, Daniel, that I would like us to be friends.”
“I’d like that, too,” said Daniel, “and for the same reason. Mariana has said so many wonderful things about you; I would be honored to consider you a friend.”
“Excellent! You know how to make an old man feel good.” Sergei slapped Daniel on the back. “Now, I know how you are always looking for news, and I think I have something for you.”
Daniel raised his eyebrows. “Go on.”
“Father Gapon is planning a march on the Winter Palace on Sunday. He has a petition he wants to present personally to the tsar.”
Daniel had been wondering about Gapon, and this might be his best chance to find out. “Do you think Gapon organized the strikes? I can’t get anyone to confirm this.”
“I don’t believe he did. I think it was more of a spontaneous reaction of the workers. But I have no doubt that Gapon intends to use it to his best advantage. The strike will certainly give teeth to his petition on Sunday.”
“What kind of march will it be?”
“Peaceful,” Sergei said with emphasis. “All Gapon wants to do is present the workers’ petition to the tsar.”
“And he really believes the tsar will meet him?”
“He has the utmost confidence in the emperor, Daniel. There’s going to be a planning meeting of the Assembly tonight; why don’t you come and see for yourself? Perhaps you can even talk personally with Father Gapon.”
Later that night, Daniel accompanied Sergei to the Assembly. Over two hundred men were crammed into the hall that had once been the Old Tashkent Cafe. It was freezing outside, but the crowded building was hot and stuffy. Still, no one complained; an air of excitement and anticipation filled the place.
Daniel had never seen Gapon, and he was surprised when a young man in his early thirties mounted the platform to address the group. His dark eyes were intense, as if focused on sights too awesome for the common man. Yet he spoke with a vibrant warmth and in ordinary language, seemingly very much in tune with his beloved workers.
“Sunday we will see the dawn of new life—a resurrection! Our dear Little Father will come to us, take our hand, and lead us at last to prosperity, to the security all men deserve. The great day is at hand when we will rise from our tomb, when the workers, the lifeblood of the country, will come into their own.”
When Gapon paused, the crowd chanted back, “Into our own . . . into our own!”
“And if the tsar does not meet us, then there is no tsar!” Gapon cried. “But we will always stand together, and, if need be, we will die together.”
“Then there is no tsar!” shouted the crowd.
“We will die together!”
When the speech was over the crowd surged around Gapon shaking his hand, or having him bless their children. It took five minutes for Daniel and Sergei to inch their way to the front.
“Ah, Sergei,” Gapon said with exuberance. “It is good to see you. You look none the worse for your terrible experience.”
“It’s good to be free,” said Sergei, “and I understand I have you to thank.”
“Many were involved, but on their behalf, I accept. Bless you.”
Sergei introduced Daniel.
“Another American reporter. All this must greatly interest your people.”
“They want to know what’s happening in the world,” said Daniel. “Can I ask you a few questions?”
“Only a few; there is so much to do before the big day.”
The crowd continued to press around and chatter excitedly. Daniel practically had to shout to make himself heard.
“Father Gapon, what are the workers going to ask the tsar?”
“Only that he help his children, lift their suffering. That they be treated as human beings, not cattle.”
Daniel scribbled furiously in his notebook. “Any specific demands?”
“What all men deserve. Decent working conditions, an eight-hour day, fair pay, safety. Freedom of speech and assembly.”
“What if the tsar doesn’t meet you? Do you have anything more forceful in mind?”
“Absolutely not! This will be a peaceful gathering. We only wish to be heard. We will be willing to send a smaller delegation to the tsar if he requests it, but it must consist of men I have personally selected. I have sent a letter to the tsar giving my word that he need fear nothing from us. We love him and believe in him. He can face us without misgivings.”
Daniel couldn’t ask the final question lingering in his mind: What if, even then, the tsar ignored the workers? It was a possibility no one wanted to consider.
65
Basil surveyed the table crowded with supplies—wires, fuses, tins, clocks. Cyril Vlasenko had been faithful thus far in fulfilling his part of the bargain. He had delivered a portion of the supplies and half the money. But Basil did not plan to be as faithful. He cared no more about Father Gapon than he did about an ant in the road. The days when Basil lived for revolution, anarchy, assassination, were over. He had no intention of killing Gapon—not because the man’s cause meant anything to Basil, but rather because Anickin had far more important uses for his supplies.
And the time was at last ripe for his dream to be realized. Grinning, Basil picked up one of the precious fuses. His sources had informed him that little Mariana Remizov was home from the war, wounded. Ah, how thankful Basil was that the Japanese had not spoiled his joy by killing the girl. That pleasure was to be left only for him. And as soon as he received the r
emainder of his supplies and completed his bombs, he’d be ready. Then all that would remain was to wait for the best moment to attack. He had missed the small family Christmas gathering because he hadn’t received his supplies, but the occasion gave him the idea of striking the entire family at once. The beauty of such a prospect was even more alluring than the thought of watching Dmitri in mourning. Why waste a good bomb on just one person?
Gently he set the fuse back on the table. He had an appointment. He grabbed his tattered coat and left his hovel in a tenement on Grafsky Lane. Taking a tram partway and then walking, it took him half an hour to reach the rendezvous. His limbs were nearly frozen, but a fire burned in his eyes. Everything on that table back in his room would mean nothing if this meeting failed. Basil was about to receive his most vital delivery.
Cerkover was waiting for him, just as they had planned, at the foot of the Nicholas Bridge on the south side of the river. The traffic was heavy at that hour in the late afternoon, both with vehicles and pedestrians. It was almost dark, for the winter sun set early in those northern latitudes. No one gave a second look at the two men who paused to talk; to all appearances, the better-dressed of the two was asking directions of the other. Cerkover set down the battered suitcase he was carrying and took a pencil and pad from his pocket in order to jot down the directions. Basil pointed and gestured as if to accompany his verbal explanation.
As Cerkover pretended to write, he said, “That’s a lot of dynamite you’ve asked for.”
“It’s all there?” Basil did not hide his concern. Everything hinged on the explosives.
“Yes, but I didn’t much enjoy carting this all over town.”
“It’s much more stable than you’d think.”
“And you need this much for one bomb?”
“You don’t think I’m going to count on one bomb, do you? There can be any number of complications. I need to have a couple of backups.”
“This wasn’t easy to get. There better not be any ‘complications.’”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be successful. No one will escape.”
“We hope it won’t be too messy, Nagurski. Of course, there are bound to be innocent bystanders involved, but we want this as clean as possible. Try to get him alone.”
“I always try.”
“When can we expect completion?” asked Cerkover.
“It could have been much sooner had you been quicker in this delivery.”
“As I said, it wasn’t easy to procure this much material without rousing suspicions. We’ve heard Gapon is planning some big public rally. We’d like it to be before then.”
“I can’t say for certain. There are too many variables. But you don’t need to know the exact time, anyway.”
“Don’t you trust us?” Cerkover was affronted.
“I don’t trust the legions who work for you.”
“Why do you think we have taken such pains to keep our meetings so secret?” Cerkover said. “No one knows of this operation but Vlasenko, you, and myself.”
“And not the secret police you’ve had following me?”
“No one has been following you—at least none of our people. I tell you, Vlasenko and I are the only ones who know of you or your job.”
“That’s all I wanted to know.” Anickin was relieved. “I don’t want half the Okhrana after me when this is done.”
“Neither do we want them after you—or us. You will have no problems getting away, so long as you get the job done and we don’t have a bunch of innocent deaths on our hands.”
“Only those who deserve it will die,” assured Basil.
Cerkover tried to hide his involuntary shudder at Basil’s words, but Basil saw and was pleased with the effect he’d had on Vlasenko’s henchman.
Cerkover couldn’t get away fast enough. Since there was nothing more to say, he pocketed his pencil and pad, gave a perfunctory “thank you” to the “direction-giver,” and hurried away.
No one noticed that the man had left his suitcase behind. As Basil bent down to pick it up, it seemed quite natural, especially since it was as worn and frayed as the man who now carried it. For all anyone knew, he was a poor traveler just arrived in the city from the provinces.
Basil paused a moment to watch Cerkover disappear into the crowd. Ah, yes, he thought, all who deserve death will die! Including mealy-mouth government lackeys and their pompous bosses.
Cerkover said he wanted a clean job, and that was Basil’s desire, as well. But for Basil it had a slightly different meaning. When he was finished, there would be no one left who could link him to the dastardly deed. Two bombs would be for Mariana Remizov and her father, in case he couldn’t get them together. The third bomb would be for Count Cyril Vlasenko. He had different plans for the elimination of Cerkover. Too many bombs would simply be redundant.
Basil had just verified what he’d suspected all along, that Vlasenko had kept Basil’s involvement quiet. It was logical that the count would not want anyone, even his Okhrana buddies, knowing that he was dealing with someone like Anickin. And Basil had no delusions as to the fact that Vlasenko and Cerkover knew his real identity. With them gone, no one could link him to the bombings, or, by the time anyone did, he’d be long gone. He would never receive his final payment or the promised travel documents, but Basil’s personal satisfaction would be payment enough.
Hefting the weighty suitcase in his hand he leered slightly as he walked back across the bridge. He wondered what these passersby would think if they knew he carried enough power in his hand to both fulfill and shatter many dreams.
66
The flat was filled with all the good fragrances indicative of a holiday. They had spent a dreary Christmas because of the uncertainty over Sergei; now they could really celebrate. Anna and Raisa, with Mariana’s and Talia’s help, made all the traditional Christmas treats. Daniel had made a gift of a huge ham, in addition to a big box of sweets and an excellent imported coffee.
There would be sixteen people crammed into the small flat—Anna, Sergei, Raisa and the three young people, of course; but also Viktor, Sarah, Mariana, Daniel, Paul and Mathilde, Dmitri, George Cranston from the Register office, and Misha. Even Eugenia had decided to grace the group with her presence—it was, after all, in her best interests to appease Mariana now that her social prospects had so improved.
Half an hour before the guests were due to arrive, Sergei wandered into the kitchen.
“Just thought I’d see if I could help with anything,” he said, suddenly aware of being in the way.
“We wouldn’t hear of it!” said Raisa. “You’re the guest of honor, after all. Now, shoo with you!” She wagged her hands at him. “Go, sit and rest.”
“I’ve been resting all day,” Sergei complained. “I’m the most rested man in Russia—and the most bored.”
“There’s nothing wrong with a little boredom once in a while,” Anna said.
Sergei just shrugged, not convinced.
“Can you spare me a moment?” Anna asked Raisa. “I think I’ll try to entertain my husband for a few minutes.”
Sergei grinned instantly, took Anna’s hand and led her away. “That’s all I really wanted,” he said. “Some time alone with you.”
“We’ll have a lifetime to be alone together, Sergei.”
Sergei’s merriment faded and he didn’t answer for a moment. “If there is one thing I realized while in prison, Anna,” he said at last, “it’s that life isn’t predictable. We must savor every bit of it, not take for granted a single second.”
He led Anna into their tiny bedroom.
“Sergei?” Anna said coyly.
He smiled again. “It’s the only place where we can be alone.”
“And why do you want to be alone?”
“I am a greedy man, my dear wife. After weeks away from you, I don’t think I will soon get my fill. And, as I said, life is too short to pass up opportunities when they arise.”
He took her in his arms and kissed her pas
sionately.
“My, my!” Anna said, breathless. “You make me feel like a girl again.”
“And I feel like a young man. Perhaps I’ve been around Mariana and Daniel too much, eh? All that young love rubs off.”
“Young love . . .” Anna sighed contentedly. “It doesn’t seem that long ago when we were like them.”
“‘Were’? Oh, Anna . . .” He gently ran a finger along her cheek. “I feel exactly the same. I remember the exact moment I knew I loved you, as clearly as I remember ten minutes ago. I had kidnapped you from the ball at the Winter Palace—”
“I was hardly at the ball,” corrected Anna.
“No, you were too fine for that. You were the most beautiful girl there. We walked together in the Palace Square.”
“Talking about poetry.”
“All I wanted to do was tell you I loved you and take you in my arms.”
“I would have fainted with shock and fear.”
He smiled. “Yes, I’m afraid you would have. That’s the only reason I waited.”
“Oh, Sergei . . . here we are old people now, waiting for our daughter to announce her engagement. It doesn’t seem possible.”
“So, do you think the big announcement will happen soon?”
“Mariana confided in me that Daniel is only waiting to talk to you and Dmitri. Don’t be surprised if he gets you two alone this evening.”
“Good! It’s about time those two got together. He’s a good man. I’ve had a bit of a chance to talk to him. I never knew anyone to ask so many questions.”
“Was he interviewing you for his paper?”
“Well, some of his questions might have had that intent, but, believe it or not, most of them were about spiritual things. I haven’t seen anyone so hungry since . . .” He paused, smiling at the pleasant memory. “Since another young man met a Scottish missionary in China. Anyway, I don’t think our Mariana could have made a better selection for a husband. I’m glad she waited and didn’t capitulate to Eugenia’s pressures.”
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