by Glenn Meade
“Enlighten me.”
Markov came back and handed the parchments to Sorg. “The tunnels are still there. Some bore deep under the bowels of the streets, or crisscross beneath cathedrals and churches and go down to the river. Some are dangerous places where the walls have collapsed or are flooded with water, or are bricked up, but others are still passable.
“The Reds know some of the passageways exist but they can’t know them all. The Brotherhood has a full set of the original fortress plans. It’s important you see for yourself the more important of these tunnels as soon as you’re well enough to walk. Especially the ones I’ve marked.”
Sorg’s heart twinged as he unrolled what looked like a set of intricate ink-and-pencil architectural drawings that appeared centuries old. “Spit it out.”
“We know a route to get the family safely from their prison.”
“Explain.”
“One wing of the lower part of the Ipatiev House is built into a solid granite hillside. I’ve marked a passageway on the drawings that tunnels through the rock and leads directly to a basement storage room, used to store furniture.”
“You’re sure about this?”
“As you’re my judge. I’ve been in the passageway. It runs from the east and can be entered through Voznesensky Cathedral, or from under an archway east of the Iset’s City Pond. The passageway under the house was shored up but I helped demolish the brickwork to make it passable.”
Sorg was electrified. “I want to see it.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“You’re crazy. You’re still healing.”
“I’m capable of walking. There’s no time to waste.”
Markov looked hesitant. “What about the curfew? Anyone who ventures out without a permit risks being shot.”
“You’re an undertaker. Don’t you have a permit?”
“Well, yes. The Reds need me to remove the typhoid victims day and night for public health reasons. But we’d be taking a big risk. All of Ekaterinburg’s garrison will be on the lookout for you.”
“Get your hearse ready. I’ve got an idea.”
68
MOSCOW
5:30 P.M.
The trolley squealed to a halt at the end of Kolinsky Prospect and Andrev and Lydia climbed down. After a short walk they reached the tenement building, a shabby-looking affair.
Trolley cars trundled past on the crowded street, electric flashes sparking from the overhead cables, tired-looking pedestrians strolling by, many of them returning home after a day’s hard labor.
Andrev carried his duffel on his back, the canvas bag of workman’s tools by his side, and as they came near the building, he said, “Slip your arm through mine, like we’re walking home after work.”
They ambled by a busy tobacco kiosk, past a swarthy-looking Georgian or Armenian shoe shiner sitting on some steps. Like most of the shoe shiners in Moscow—they could be found at any street corner—he didn’t have polish but would spit on his customer’s shoes and rub them hard with a rag until they shone.
As they strolled on, Lydia said, “Do you really think the Cheka will be keeping watch on Nina?”
“After the last time, it’s more than likely. Don’t look back, but the shoe shiner is probably Cheka, or at least in their pay, keeping an eye on the comings and goings from the building. The man working in the tobacco kiosk, too—and they won’t be the only ones.”
A little farther on they came to a park, far enough away from the tenement building but still within viewing distance. They sat on a bench. A handful of children played at scattering the scrawny pigeons, while tired-looking workmen cycled or walked past on their way home. Lydia said, “What are you going to do?”
Andrev opened the duffel bag, took off his leather jacket, and stuffed it inside. He wore his peasant’s work shirt and cap, and with his tool bag he looked like a tradesman. “Try to find the building’s rear entrance and see if I can locate Nina. It may take a while.”
“What if the Cheka are waiting inside the building?”
Andrev slipped the Nagant revolver from his pocket and tucked it into the tool bag. “I’ll have to cross that bridge if I come to it. If anyone asks, I’m there to repair the plumbing. If that doesn’t work, I’ll have to fall back on my other plan.”
“What’s that?”
“Shoot my way out.”
“Won’t that endanger Nina and your son?”
“That’s what worries me.”
“Do you want me to go with you?”
“No, it’s best I go alone. If you hear gunfire, get back to our lodgings as fast as you can and wait there until I show up.”
Lydia put a hand on his, concern in her eyes. “Be careful, Uri. Please.”
He stood, smiled down at her, but there was no hiding the strain in his face. “Remember, any sign of trouble, get away fast.”
By five o’clock that evening Abraham Tarku was drunk. He swallowed a glass of vodka and sat staring at the Remington typewriter with glazed eyes.
“Why in the name of all that’s good did you have to come back, Uri? Why?” he asked the question aloud, then flung the glass against the wall, shattering it to pieces.
He stumbled to his feet, went out the front door of the pawnbroker’s shop, locked it after him, and staggered out into the street.
Minutes later he spotted an empty droshky coming toward him, and he waved down the carriage driver.
“Where to, citizen?”
“Cheka headquarters, and be quick about it.”
69
A lane led all along the back of the tenements and Andrev counted off the buildings.
When he neared Nina’s building he noticed a thin, weaselly-looking man with a pencil mustache sitting on a low wall, reading a newspaper.
The man was Cheka, he had no doubt, and was watching the rear entrance. Andrev stepped into a door recess to avoid being seen. The rotted door hung open on its hinges and he squeezed past it into a back garden.
He made his way across the overgrown weeds and peered over the wall into the next back garden. If he climbed over the back walls he might be able to reach Nina’s building without the man noticing him.
Andrev hefted his tool bag over his shoulder, pulled himself up over the wall, and slid down the other side. He crossed the ragged garden and peered over the next wall into Nina’s backyard.
Lines of laundry ran along the narrow garden, a couple of storage sheds on one side. A green-painted rear entrance door into the tenement was wide open. He slid over the wall and let himself down silently.
Moving cautiously between the rows of hanging clothes, he came to the first storage shed and ducked inside. Metal garbage bins stank to high heaven. As he stood peering between a crack in the door, wondering what to do next, a waif of a child came out of the tenement rear, carrying a wooden bucket.
She sloshed the contents down a water drain, then moved back inside the darkened hallway and disappeared into darkness.
After a few more minutes Andrev saw a door open on the right side of the hallway and a woman stepped out into the backyard, carrying an empty wicker basket.
She wore a work apron and she looked tired and drawn.
It was Nina.
A small, pale-looking child with curly blond hair followed her out, sobbing tiredly as he rubbed his eyes.
Andrev’s chest tightened the instant he saw his son.
Sergey began tugging at his mother’s apron, as if wanting to be comforted.
Every tug Sergey made at the apron tore at Andrev’s heart.
As Nina moved along the clothesline, retrieving her laundry, she tried to soothe Sergey with soft words. He sounded cranky with tiredness, holding out his hands to her, wanting to be picked up.
Finally, when Nina finished, she lifted him up, balancing Sergey on her hip before she carried him back inside with her clothes basket. She moved into the hallway and reentered her room.
Andrev wanted to call out after her bu
t he dared not. What if the Cheka were lurking inside the building?
His stomach churned.
Minutes passed, then several more.
Finally, after another fifteen minutes, his heart beating wildly, his stomach knotted with apprehension, and when he could bear it no longer he slipped the loaded Nagant from the tool bag.
He moved between the washing lines and came to the dim hallway.
It was empty and stank of boiled cabbage and greasy mutton.
Distant noises drifted from inside the building; a baby’s shrill cry and the abrasive singsong of adults arguing. Andrev moved deeper into the hall. He came to the door Nina entered and rapped on the wood. Footsteps sounded on bare floorboards and then the door opened.
When Nina saw him her hand went to her mouth in disbelief and she gave a gasp.
Before she could speak Andrev pushed his way into the room and kicked shut the door.
70
CHEKA HEADQUARTERS
MOSCOW
The door burst open and Yakov strode into the office. “You smell like a backstreet drunk. What do you want?” he demanded.
Abraham Tarku looked up with blurry eyes, then fell silent and nervously licked his lips.
Yakov’s eyes sparked. “It’s about Andrev, isn’t it? It’s got to be.”
“After you hunted me down in Moscow, you let me go again. You said you wanted to use me as bait in case Andrev showed up. You said that was the only reason I didn’t get a bullet in the neck. I told the commissar that the captain didn’t kill his brother.”
Yakov’s mouth twisted. “A lie for a start. You claimed you were unconscious. Sergeant Mersk confirmed that. You’re half-blind, and your glasses were cracked. So how could you have seen anything clearly, let alone know what happened?”
“I know the captain.”
“And I know that desperate men will do desperate things. Now out with it, and no harm will come to you or your family.”
“He contacted me.”
“When?”
“Earlier this afternoon. He wanted help, fresh clothes, and to borrow a typewriter. He was interested in the trains going east to the Urals and Ekaterinburg.”
“Did he have a woman with him?”
“As a matter of fact he did.”
They sat at the table, the silence broken only by the labored sound of Sergey’s breathing as he slept.
Nina whispered fearfully, “Please, put away the gun, Uri.”
Only when Andrev knew the room was safe did he do as Nina asked, stuffing the Nagant into his pocket.
He looked at Nina, unease between them as if they were strangers, and then he went to stand over the bed and stare down at his son. He noticed the medicine bottle by the bed. “How is he?”
“His chest is congested. The winter was bad on him. The doctor says to keep him warm and let him rest. Please don’t wake him, I only just got him to sleep, Uri.”
As his hand lingered over Sergey’s forehead, Andrev seemed to be having difficulty holding himself together, worry tightening his face, then he leaned over and gently kissed his son’s damp forehead.
Nina said quietly, “Please, don’t disturb him. I’ve even had to hide your photograph, so don’t let him see you. I beg you, Uri. It would only distress him. He’ll get confused and upset, and when you’ve gone he’ll be heartbroken.”
Andrev’s eyes were moist as he looked down at his son, then Nina whispered, “Please, sit at the table. Keep your voice down.”
He joined her, and Nina said, “You can’t stay. It’s not safe. You’ve taken a great risk coming here. It endangers us all.”
“I know. I won’t stay long. But I had to see you both again.”
There was no mistaking the signs of stress: Nina looked washed out and tired, her figure even more slender. He reached out, touched her hand. “How have you been?”
“Surviving.”
“And your parents?”
“They were arrested months ago. The Reds threw them into a cell in Lefortovo.”
“For what reason?”
“Does there have to be a reason anymore? My father was a businessman, he owned property. That’s reason enough.”
He squeezed her hand. “I’m truly sorry, Nina.”
She pulled her hand away, took a handkerchief from her apron, and wiped her eyes, then stood anxiously and went to peer out the rear window. “If the Cheka find you here we’re all finished. You really can’t stay, Uri.”
“Nina, there’s a reason why I came, not just to see you both. I escaped to England.”
“Leonid Yakov came here the other day. He thought you had gone there. He said if you ever appeared I was to tell him.”
Andrev said bitterly, “I thought he might show up.”
“They’re watching me, Uri, surely you know that.”
“I know.” He moved again to the curtain and peered out. “I’ve been careful. I don’t believe I’ve been spotted. I had to leave Russia, Nina, but I’ve returned for a reason. I want you and Sergey to leave Moscow and come with me.”
She stared back at him, almost a look of panic on her face. “Leave Moscow? For where?”
He came back to the table. “England. We can start a new life there, all of us together.”
“We’re divorced, Uri. I thought I made that clear.”
“Nina, whatever our differences are, I ask you to put them aside and think of Sergey. Even if we were never again to be man and wife, I ask you to put our son first. He needs us both. Especially now.”
He heard the bitter edge in her voice. “And what kind of life has this been? Living in poverty, with no husband? With the constant fear of being imprisoned?”
“Nina—”
“For the last four years you’ve been either a soldier or a prisoner, not a husband and father. I know there’s the war, I know that you’re a victim of it as much as we are, but I couldn’t go on like that. I couldn’t live with the uncertainty, the wondering if you’d ever come home alive, if Sergey would always have a father … can’t you see? Can’t you see why I had to end it?”
Suddenly she broke down, racked by sobbing, her shoulders heaving as she leaned over the table, burying her face in her hands.
She sounded close to the breaking point, and he realized then the enormous strain she was under. Sergey stirred in his sleep. Nina heard him, and put a hand to her mouth to stifle her cries.
“Nina, please …” Andrev pulled her close, held her.
She clung to him and they remained like that a while, as he rocked her back and forth, until she pulled away from him, wiped her eyes, and managed to compose herself.
“This isn’t getting us anywhere, Uri. I’ll always care about you. Always. But you must understand that I have to think of our son. There’s something else you should know. Yakov said if I didn’t inform on you Lenin would exile Sergey and me to a camp in Siberia.”
The color left Andrev’s face. “Then you can’t stay: you have to leave with me at once.”
“No, it’s you who have to leave, Uri. Quietly and quickly, so no one will know you were here.”
“Nina—”
“To do otherwise will only endanger Sergey’s life. By remaining in Moscow, he and I stand some chance. Trying to escape, we’d risk death.”
Andrev felt overcome, his face distraught. “There’s no hope, then? I can never see you both again?”
She looked at him, her eyes welling. “I can’t risk sacrificing our son’s life by putting him in jeopardy. I can’t do it, Uri. Don’t you see? Please, just go. Don’t put us in any more danger. Please.”
He understood the brutal logic to it, the awful truth at its core, but before Andrev could reply, Sergey stirred from sleep as a fit of hoarse coughing rattled his lungs.
He rubbed his eyes and whimpered as he sat up in bed. The moment he recognized his father his eyes snapped open in disbelief. He looked to his mother, as if for confirmation, then his lips began to tremble uncertainly.
Nin
a said unhappily, “Uri, go now, I beg you, just go …”
Andrev moved over to the bed and lifted his son in his arms. Sergey was confused and stared at him, but then nature kicked in and the child clung to his father’s chest like an animal cub, unwilling to let go. “Papa … Papa!”
“Sergey … Papa’s here, it’s fine.”
“Mama … Mama said you were gone.”
“I was, but I’m here now. It’s all right.”
Andrev embraced his son, feeling so choked with emotion that all he could do was stand there, kissing him, rocking him in his arms.
A second later came the rumble of engines out in the street, followed by the squeal of brakes.
His heart pounded as he peered out the window and saw several trucks pull up at the curb. Plainclothes men and troops jumped out.
Nina said palely, “What’s wrong?”
Andrev was ashen. “Soldiers, lots of them.” He saw the familiar figure of Leonid Yakov striding out of one of the trucks and barking orders at the men. “Yakov’s among them.”
He kissed a confused Sergey, handed him to Nina, and reached for his gun.
Nina put a hand on his arm that held the weapon. “No, you must go, Uri, out the back way, disappear now! For pity’s sake, you can’t be found here.”
71
MOSCOW
Lydia heard the squeal of brakes as the three trucks rounded the corner. Her stomach churned with unease, her hand tightening on the Nagant in her pocket.
Suddenly there were soldiers everywhere, climbing out of the trucks and rushing toward the tenement. She had a terrible feeling of doom.
She could simply walk away as Andrev had told her, but some instinct wouldn’t allow it. She crossed the street and turned into the back lane that ran along the tenements. A British-made Douglas motorcycle with two Red Army soldiers roared up behind her, one of them riding in a sidecar.
The man climbed out, and as he aimed his rifle at her his comrade tore off his goggles, hung them on the handlebars, and dismounted.