The Russians Collection

by Michael Phillips

  “I am at your service, Yakov Mikhailovich.”

  “I know I can count on you Vasily. I have a very delicate operation I wish you to perform. The Germans want us to move the former tsar to Moscow so that they might interview him and learn of his situation—so they say. As you and I know, they cannot be trusted.”

  “And what is it you would like me to do?”

  “We will move Romanov.”

  “To Moscow?”

  “As far as the Germans are concerned, yes. And we will indeed move Romanov. Tobolsk is so full of monarchists plotting his rescue that the place looks more like Petrograd. So the timing for a move is right. I believe Ekaterinburg would make the former tsar the most inaccessible to the Germans.”

  “Ekaterinburg, Yakov? Could you really guarantee Romanov’s safety there?”

  “At this point, there is no better place. You should, however, imply, without saying as much, that you are going to take your charge to Moscow. The Germans must never believe otherwise.”

  “I understand perfectly.”

  “You will have complete authority in the matter, along with empowerment to shoot any who disobey you. You will also take a private telegraph operator so that we may stay in constant communication should there be any changes in this plan.”

  “Do you expect trouble?”

  “Who knows? The Omsk and Ural Soviets have been making all manner of noise. I will telegraph them immediately and inform them of your departure and the special importance of your mission.”

  “How large of a detachment shall I take?”

  “I should think a hundred and fifty ought to be sufficient. Include the special group that just arrived from Petrograd. You will leave in the morning.”

  36

  Andrei, having never been to Siberia himself, had heard April was perhaps the worst possible time of year for travel there. The journey from Moscow took just under two weeks, and Andrei saw this fact for himself once his regiment, commanded by Commissar Yakovlev, left the railroad at Tiumen and trekked by horseback the hundred and eighty miles to Tobolsk. They were lucky when snow and ice still clung to the ground, because when it didn’t, it meant knee-deep slush and mud, slowing their progress considerably.

  Since Andrei had been in command of the small detachment from Petrograd, he found himself in a command position in the larger regiment—third under Yakovlev and his second, Guzakov. It was in this capacity that he learned about the true intent of the mission—that is, to move the former tsar to a destination as yet unknown.

  Soon after arriving in Tobolsk, Andrei began to work on contacting Daniel about this new development. It had been decided before they left Petrograd that Bruce would remain in the background as much as possible, and Daniel would be the main contact. Talia was supposed to stay in the background also. It was also determined that the best place to make contact would be one of the local taverns. With the village now all but overrun with troops—not only the Yakovlev regiment, but also the detachments from Omsk and Ekaterinburg—the two taverns were busy places and contact would be easy. No one would notice a casual bumping of one customer into another, or the covert passing of a note. In this way, Andrei would pass word to Daniel of the impending move of the tsar.

  But Daniel was not in either of the taverns. Much to Andrei’s displeasure, as he entered the second tavern, it was Talia he saw instead. She had apparently secured employment there as a serving girl. He hated seeing her serve beer and kvass and vodka, moving in and out among the jostling soldiers, some casting her leering, unpleasant looks. He nearly lost all control when one of the soldiers grabbed her wrist and pulled her much too close for comfort.

  But before Andrei could react, Talia laughed merrily and scolded the man. “Now we will have a riot on our hands if you keep me from serving these men their beer.”

  “Yeah!” yelled another man. “Let the girl do her job.”

  “Aw!” grumbled the first man as he let go. “Maybe later, sweetheart, eh?”

  “I never socialize with customers,” Talia replied lightly. “It would break too many hearts!” Giggling again, she moved away as swiftly and expertly as if she were dancing across a stage.

  In another minute, she brought a glass of kvass to Andrei, who had ordered nothing.

  “Well, soldier,” she said with a smile, “you look very thirsty.”

  “I thought you didn’t socialize with the customers,” he said dryly. It was hard not to say more.

  “This is just work.”

  “About that—”

  “Tut, tut, soldier, no more talk. I must work.”

  “Wait!” Andrei was about to grasp her wrist, much as the other man had done, when she slipped adroitly out of reach.

  Yakovlev came and sat at Andrei’s table. “Forget about that, we have business to attend to.”

  “What are you talking about?” said Andrei testily. “I only wanted to give the girl a tip. She’s taking a lot of abuse from these men.”

  “At any rate, we must go. We will meet with the Omsk and Ural detachments in a few minutes.” Yakovlev drained the glass of beer he was holding, then rose to leave.

  Shrugging as if it mattered little to him either way, Andrei rose also. “Let me pay for my drink. I’ll be right along.”

  Yakovlev proceeded to the door, and as Andrei was heading to the bar to settle his bill, Talia approached him. “Oleg is busy,” she said. “You can pay me.”

  Andrei took a ruble from his pocket and handed it to Talia. What no one but she noticed was that the ruble was wrapped around a small slip of paper on which he had written his message.

  Talia smiled. “That’s very generous of you, sir.”

  “I don’t like this, Talia,” he said under his breath.

  “I don’t either, my love, but what better way to gather information?”

  Then she pranced away, and he could not even watch her for fear the longing in his eyes would have been all too obvious.

  The tensions among the various guard factions were quickly illuminated at the meeting that night. Each faction had its own agenda, and because Yakovlev could not reveal the destination of the tsar’s removal, half the men grew suspicious of the man from Moscow.

  Yakovlev voiced his concerns later to Andrei. “I don’t trust that Zaslavsky.”

  “In what way?”

  “Many of those Ural Soviets would as soon see the tsar dead as moved. Zaslavsky and his bunch will bear close watching.”

  “As will the former tsar,” added Andrei, noting that the commissar often used the word “tsar” without preceding it with “former.” He thought Yakovlev would bear watching also but for different reasons.

  “Yes,” the commissar was saying, “we will visit him in the morning and inform him of our intentions.”

  “I am sorry that my wife is not yet ready,” said Nicholas when Andrei and Yakovlev met him the next morning. “You were not expected this early.”

  “I hope I haven’t inconvenienced you,” said Yakovlev politely.

  Nicholas shrugged. “I’m sure it couldn’t be helped.”

  “I have come to inform you, Your Highness, that you must be moved from this place.”

  “On what authority?”

  “I am a special emissary from Moscow. My orders come from the highest level.”

  “Well, I refuse to go.”

  “Your Highness, please, I ask that you cooperate.”

  “My son is quite ill and cannot be moved.”

  “I understand that, and thus my instructions permit you to travel with me alone or with whomever of your retinue you choose.”

  “I won’t be separated from my family.”

  Yakovlev cast a helpless look toward Andrei, who remained silent. It wasn’t easy to order about a man who had once ruled one-third of the world. Andrei was quite impressed with Yakovlev’s urbane, almost sympathetic treatment of the Romanovs. He was also relieved to note Yakovlev’s rather awed, abashed demeanor before the deposed monarch. Andrei felt the
same way in this his first meeting with Nicholas. He wondered what Nicholas would think if he knew that their grandfathers had been friends. For that matter, what would Yakovlev think!

  Rather than pressing the issue with the tsar at that moment, Yakovlev took another tact. “Might I be permitted to see your son?”

  “I suppose so, but you must not overly tax him.”

  Leaving his daughters behind, Nicholas led them to the tsarevich’s bedroom. The boy was lying in bed with an elderly gentleman seated next to him. This man turned out to be Dr. Botkin. Andrei was struck again with the irony of his situation. If Botkin knew of his relationship to Yuri, it would no doubt open many doors. It would also very likely close the important connection to the Bolsheviks. It was unfortunate Yuri could not have come here. But it might be that he could have done no more good than Andrei because, as a close associate to the Romanovs, he would have been closely watched.

  One look at the former heir, who was quite pale except for dark circles under his eyes, made it clear he was indeed ill. He also appeared to be asleep, and Botkin rose quietly, came to the door, and silently entreated the visitors to step outside.

  Once the door was closed, Nicholas informed the doctor about Yakovlev’s mission.

  “Well, it is quite impossible,” said Botkin firmly. “The child cannot be moved. Because he hasn’t healed completely from his fall a short time ago, any movement or jostling could cause the injury to bleed again.”

  “I understand,” said Yakovlev as they returned to a parlor. “I must speak with Colonel Kobylinsky. I will return in a few minutes.” Turning to Andrei, he added, “Wait here, Christinin.”

  Shortly after Yakovlev departed, Alexandra came into the parlor. She walked slowly, using a cane, and she looked much older than her forty-six years. But none of this dulled the aura of pride she wore, which was especially noticeable as she shot a brief but haughty glance in Andrei’s direction. She was every inch an empress.

  Nicholas explained to her the purpose of Yakovlev’s visit. They spoke in English and seemed to speak more freely because they assumed Andrei, a coarse, common Bolshevik, could not understand. But he did understand English, at least much better than he could speak it. He made no indication of this to the prisoners, however.

  “This is outrageous!” Alexandra exclaimed. “You put your foot down, didn’t you, Nicky?”

  “I told him I wouldn’t go. But will we have a choice? He said I would have to travel alone if necessary.”

  “But what would their purpose be in this?” puzzled Botkin.

  “They are going to make me go to Moscow so I will sign that Brest-Litovsk Treaty.”

  “They want to get you alone like they did before—” The tsaritsa stopped suddenly and looked quickly at her husband, a flicker of apology on her face.

  “I don’t intend to sign anything.”

  “Nevertheless, we must not let them separate us and thus give them a chance to use your family to coerce you.”

  At that moment, Yakovlev returned with Kobylinsky. He nodded toward Alexandra, in a gesture that almost, but not quite, could be interpreted as a bow. Polite introductions were exchanged before Yakovlev continued with business.

  “I am hoping that Colonel Kobylinsky can impress upon you the utter importance of your cooperation in this matter,” said Yakovlev.

  “Your Highness,” said Kobylinsky, “the powers that be insist that you travel with them—”

  “And where are they going to take me?” asked the tsar.

  “I cannot reveal that at this time,” answered Yakovlev. “It is for your own safety. Please do not refuse. I am under orders that I must obey. But be assured that I am bound with my own life to protect you. I ask then that you be ready to depart in the morning. If your baggage is not ready then, I will be forced to take you without baggage.”

  Although spoken with extreme civility, Yakovlev’s meaning was quite clear. He then took his leave with Andrei.

  As they crossed the courtyard to the street, Andrei took the opportunity to question the commissar.

  “I’m unclear about the purpose of the move, Commissar. The former tsar seems to think he is being taken to Moscow in order to sign the Brest-Litovsk Treaty.”

  “How did you learn this?”

  “Romanov said so to his wife.”

  “They spoke rather freely in front of you.”

  “They were speaking in English not knowing that I have a small understanding of the language.”

  “What else did they say?”

  “Nothing else of import. But it seems the move will cause more problems than it solves. The tsar is extremely hostile about it and what he imagines its purpose to be.”

  “It doesn’t matter what he thinks as long as he cooperates.”

  “But why the urgency?” Andrei hoped he wasn’t pushing too much.

  “You saw Zaslavsky last night. He has mayhem up his dirty sleeve. I truly fear for the tsar’s safety if we don’t get him away from those Ural men immediately. Not to mention the fact that there are scores of monarchists lurking about the village. Of course, where I must take him isn’t much better—” Yakovlev stopped suddenly, obviously realizing he was about to say too much.

  Andrei chose not to press the issue of the destination. It would probably get him nowhere and only make him appear too curious. Instead he asked, “Won’t he be terribly vulnerable while en route?”

  “We have one hundred and fifty well-armed and well-trained troops. Let anyone try to get to our prisoner. I meant what I said before. I will guard the tsar with my life.”

  “May I speak candidly with you, Commissar?” When Yakovlev nodded, Andrei continued, measuring his words, but taking a risk with each one. “That statement might, by some, be misinterpreted.”

  “In what way, Christinin?”

  “It could almost be . . . well . . . considered sympathetic . . . to the tsar—I mean the former tsar.” Andrei paused, his heart beating quickly. He prayed he had made a correct assessment of the man at his side. Yakovlev might be a Bolshevik, but he had seemed to Andrei to be a man of honor and sensitivity as well. His next words would tell.

  “Are you offended by my treatment of the tsar?” asked Yakovlev.

  “Only confused,” said Andrei vaguely.

  “Well, I will speak candidly with you, comrade. I don’t think innocents should be harmed. Did you see his daughters? They are young women by appearance, yet if you look into their eyes, you can see they are but children at heart . . . pure and innocent. And the boy . . . a mere child also, and so helpless.” He sighed sadly as they left the compound, crossed the street, and made their way back to the village. “Before this morning, I had but a detached duty to protect the family. Now it goes deeper. Even toward the tsar. I saw today a man concerned for his family, as you or I would be. I did not find a cruel, heartless autocrat.”

  “You are taking a risk in saying such things to me.”

  “You are no more like the others than I am,” Yakovlev replied. “I saw from the beginning that you are a man of conscience and honor. I doubt you will report me.”

  “Believe me, comrade, that is the last thing I would do.”

  37

  There was much turmoil that night in the House of Captivity. Alexandra was in great distress over the decision that had to be made, and it seemed that the responsibility for that decision was hers alone. Nicholas was absent during most of the debating, at times off by himself, or sitting with his son.

  Alexandra paced nervously over the parlor carpet while her daughters and the tutor Gilliard mostly watched.

  “I’ve always been so sure of what to do in the past,” Alexandra lamented. “Or, I’ve been given some inspiration. But now I am at a complete loss. I don’t know what to do. I fear so what might happen if I let him go alone. He is stronger with me at his side. Together we would be able to resist them.”

  “But, Mama,” said Tatiana, “some decision must be made.”

  “Oh, what tortur
e!” Alexandra wrung her hands.

  The tutor interjected, “Your Majesty, the tsarevich has been improving. You can be assured that I and those remaining behind will give the child the best possible care.”

  “But what if I go and Baby has a relapse?”

  “Mama, what are we going to do?” said Anastasia in a shaky, tearful voice.

  Alexandra noticed for the first time that her daughters were in as much distress as she. All had been weeping.

  “I will go with the tsar,” she said at last. “I must place the benefit of Russia ahead of personal desires.”

  When the tsar came into the parlor a few minutes later, she informed him of her decision.

  “If you wish,” he said.

  After receiving Andrei’s message about the upcoming move, Daniel and Bruce met with Lieutenant Melink and Captain Sedov, the monarchist officers who had aided Daniel on his last trip to Siberia. The officers announced their intent to raise a force and attempt a rescue of the tsar on his journey.

  Daniel was skeptical. He had seen the size of the force from Moscow and doubted there were enough armed monarchists in the area to mount much of a threat. But at least the officers were doing something.

  The only useful task Daniel could think to perform was to circulate as much as possible to see what other information could be gathered. If he could learn the tsar’s destination, they might not have to rush an almost hopeless rescue attempt en route. It might give them time to raise a larger force. But neither Daniel nor Bruce believed a frontal rescue by armed troops would work in any case. Their best hope, they felt, was to plan a covert operation.

  Daniel went first to the tavern where Talia was employed to check up on her, since she could gather information as well as he. Daniel had not liked the idea of her working in the tavern, and he hadn’t been surprised when she told him about Andrei’s reaction. But Talia had pretty much overruled Daniel’s protests. Daniel had not known just how stubborn the sweet, shy little Talia could be.