The Romanov Conspiracy

by Glenn Meade

  Zoba craned his neck to see Nina by the light of the oil lamp, as she patted her son’s brow with a damp cloth.

  The medic shook his head. “Pitiful, isn’t it? How long before we reach Ekaterinburg?”

  “Why?”

  “If we’re delayed, I fear for the child’s life.”

  90

  Andrev scrambled over the fuel tender toward the engine cabin, trying to avoid the plume of hot smoke overhead.

  The engine driver and his young boiler man had their backs to him, busy shoveling fuel into the raging furnace.

  “Shut that furnace, gentlemen, and drop those shovels.” Andrev eased himself down to join them, raising his voice above the clatter of the engine wheels. “Do anything more than that and you risk a bullet.”

  Terror lit the men’s faces when they saw the gun. They shut the furnace door with their shovels before tossing them on the floor pan.

  “Good. Stay sensible and everyone ought to come out of this still breathing.”

  Andrev gestured with the gun to the engine’s array of steam indicators and valves. “First, you’re going to show me how this thing works. Then you’re going to do exactly as I tell you.”

  In the bedchamber, Yakov looked close to having a fit, his face crimson as he stared at Lydia.

  “Who are you?”

  “Why don’t we keep you in suspense?”

  “Listen to me: this can have only one outcome—your deaths. Why not save yourself? You have my word you’ll be spared.”

  “If you want to keep your kneecaps, I’d keep my mouth shut if I were you.”

  The door near the coal tender burst open and Andrev came back. In his blackened hands he carried a sledgehammer and a long, thick steel rod. With him was the boiler man, a nervous beanpole of a young man with a coal-dirt face and soot-blackened clothes.

  “Meet Pavel, the train driver’s son. He’s going to be my helper.”

  Pavel was quaking as he wrung his cap in his hands. “He threatened to kill me and my father, Commissar. We … we had no choice.”

  “What are you up to, Andrev?” Yakov raged.

  Andrev held up the Trans-Siberian Railway map. “Have you any idea where we are? About three miles from the Menski Tunnel. It seems there’s a station crossing just before the tunnel, and it has a siding—a parallel track that veers off to a mining depot after a mile or so. The perfect opportunity for us to part company.”

  Yakov’s face stiffened as he suddenly realized what was happening.

  The train began to slow a little, and Andrev nodded to the boiler man. “You may as well tell him, Pavel.”

  The young man anxiously licked his lips and nodded past the bedchamber door, toward the far end of the carriage. “He wants me to separate the rest of the train from the engine and your carriage.”

  Andrev explained: “We’ll shunt the other carriages onto the track that runs alongside. It has a downward slope so they ought to keep moving for a distance. With any luck you’ll be stranded there while we travel on.”

  Yakov was beside himself with frustration, struggling desperately to get out of the chair. “No … you can’t! You don’t know what you’re doing.”

  Andrev grabbed a towel from the washbasin, put a hand on Yakov’s shoulder, and pushed him back down. “Don’t I?”

  “No, you don’t understand—”

  Andrev gagged Yakov’s mouth, tying the towel around it, as he continued to struggle, muttering behind the gag. “I understand all I need to, Leonid. And now I’ve heard enough.”

  He nodded to Lydia. “The same rule applies. Shoot him if he tries to escape.”

  The engine’s air brakes hissed, and the engine slowed almost to a trot.

  Andrev jerked his gun at Pavel. “All right, let’s get this over with. Take the sledgehammer and the steel bar.”

  Pavel hefted them both and moved to the door. Andrev readied his weapon as Pavel opened the door to the passageway beyond the carriage. It was deserted. “Get to work,” Andrev ordered.

  Pavel used the steel bar as a jimmy, unhooking the safety linkage, then he went at it with the hammer, knocking out the iron tie that bound the wagons together. The tie separated and clattered away under the tracks, hanging on a metal chain, as the engine and Yakov’s wagon started pulling ahead of the other carriages.

  Pavel peered out. “The points are coming up.”

  Andrev grabbed the bar from him and indicated the carriage steps leading down. “Off you go, I’m right behind you.”

  Pavel jumped down, running ahead of the slow-moving train, the engine hissing. Andrev followed and they reached a set of points.

  With Pavel’s help he inserted the bar into the points switch. When the engine and carriage passed them, they changed over the points.

  Andrev removed the bar and they raced after Yakov’s carriage and struggled aboard.

  They watched as the remaining carriages shunted onto the parallel line, then began picking up momentum on the downward slope.

  Troops began to stare from their carriage windows. A few scratched their heads, wondering what was going on, seeing the engine and carriage on the other line.

  Andrev said to Lydia, “Any moment now someone’s going to realize what’s happening and start shooting. Close the shutters just in case.”

  Lydia began to slam them shut.

  Yakov was still struggling in the chair, eyes bulging and face crimson, as if he were having a seizure.

  “Time for us to part company, Leonid.”

  In her compartment, Nina watched Sergey with growing dread. His breathing was shallow, his voice rasping, his coughing harsher with every passing minute.

  Fraught with worry, she dabbed his sweat-beaded face with a cloth.

  “Mama, it hurts …”

  “I know, my love. We’re trying to get you to a hospital soon.”

  “But it hurts really bad, Mama—” Sergey began coughing again, a terrible hacking sound that shook his entire body.

  Her distress was beyond agony. One hand clutched Sergey’s fingers; her other wrung the cloth in the basin of cold water by her side, as she tried to cool his fevered brow. “It’ll be all right, my love. Mama’s here. Try to rest, Sergey. Try to—”

  Her attention was caught briefly by a surprise movement beyond the window—another train slid slowly past her carriage on an adjoining track.

  She paid it only the briefest attention because at that moment Sergey began to cough violently, and then to her horror she saw he was coughing up blood, crimson spewing onto his chest.

  She stifled her scream with her hand so as not to frighten him, but then she jumped to her feet. As she yanked open the door in wild panic, the guards came alert, stared back at her. “Find the medic—please—my son needs help urgently …”

  With Yakov still seated, Andrev yanked round the chair. He dragged it out through the bedchamber and into the carriage office. He halted by the exit door. “This is where we say our good-byes.”

  Yakov resisted, muttering incoherently behind the gag, the veins on his neck bulging.

  Andrev released the sheet that bound him to the chair but he left the gag in place and his hands tied. He yanked out his pistol, hauled Yakov to his feet, spun him toward the door, and opened it. A flight of metal steps descended, the tracks rushing away beneath.

  “The tunnel’s coming up soon. Get moving.” Andrev yanked him by the scruff of his neck. “Ease yourself backward down the steps, unless you want to lose a leg in the fall.”

  Yakov didn’t budge. The carriages with his men were already slowing to a walking pace, troops peering from the windows in curiosity, others coming out onto carriage steps, fingering their rifles, unsure what to do as they stared in utter confusion at the sight of the engine, coal tender, and Yakov’s carriage chugging away separately.

  Andrev said, “Get off now, before I change my mind.”

  The engine shuddered, then began to pick up speed.

  Andrev forced Yakov at gunpoint to bac
k down the steps, the tracks speeding away beneath him. “Now jump, before it’s too late.”

  Andrev went to kick him away with his boot but even with his bound hands Yakov managed to cling on desperately, his protests mute behind the gag.

  The train picked up more speed and the engine thrust forward with a powerful surge. Yakov lost his balance. He fell backward, tumbling away onto the darkened tracks.

  Almost at once a ferocious volley of gunfire erupted as Yakov’s troops realized what was happening.

  Andrev was forced to retreat into the carriage.

  “Stay down!” he screamed at Lydia and Pavel, as a withering hail of bullets struck the carriage. The engine roared into the tunnel and was swallowed by the pitch darkness.

  Yakov rolled along the tracks until he slammed into a hard wooden railway sleeper and grunted, the breath knocked out of him.

  He struggled to his feet but immediately he bent double, coughing up bile. A clatter of feet sounded behind him as a handful of his men rushed up, carrying storm lamps, Zoba leading the way. One of them tore off Yakov’s gag and untied his hands.

  Yakov was furious. “Andrev’s duped us again. He’s stranded us. The fool, what about his child?”

  Zoba raised his lamp, his face grim. “It’s too late, Leonid.”

  PART SEVEN

  91

  “You’re mad, I tell you. You’ll get us both shot.” Markov snapped the reins. The horses trotted in the direction of Vonskaya Street. “Are you listening to anything I’m saying?”

  Boyle sat beside him in the hearse, wearing a dark suit, collar, and tie. “Every word. Not mad, desperate. The next turn, you said?”

  Markov sighed unhappily and swung the carriage left and they came down by the lake. As they trotted under a bridge, three Red guards patrolled beside a solid-looking iron door.

  Markov was sober-faced after they passed the guards. “You see, it’s just as I told you. Every tunnel entrance is guarded.”

  Minutes later, they saw more troops pacing outside an immaculately kept, stucco-fronted house with a fluttering Union Jack mounted on an upper-story flagpole. Markov said, “The British consulate’s office. There’s a tunnel entrance in the garden.”

  Boyle said, tight-lipped, “I’ve seen enough. Head to the hotel.”

  Five minutes later they clip-clopped past the Amerika. Boyle observed soldiers outside, four with bayoneted rifles, while another manned a Vickers machine gun protected by a mound of sandbags. On the street corners at each end of the hotel was a patrolling soldier. Several cars and trucks were pulled in front of the hotel.

  An open-topped Opel car suddenly overtook them and slammed on its brakes near the front entrance. A couple of thugs in leather jackets dragged a terrified-looking young man from the back of the car and hauled him up the entrance steps. Markov said, “The poor devil is destined for the cells, no doubt.”

  He turned to Boyle. “You must be insane to enter that lions’ den. I wouldn’t have the nerve.”

  “Drive round the corner. I want to take a look at the rear.”

  Markov obeyed, nudging the horses with his whip. Boyle saw that the hotel’s entire lower-floor basement had thick bars on the windows.

  “The cells?” Boyle asked.

  “Yes,” Markov answered.

  “Head toward the river.”

  Markov steered the horses and minutes later halted by the water. “Well?”

  Boyle took out a notepad and pencil. He jotted down some notes and a few rough drawings. When he finished he massaged his forehead with his thumb and forefinger.

  “Impossible?” Markov asked.

  “Every suit of armor has a chink. However, there’s one serious problem I can foresee if I try to enter the hotel.”

  “Which is?”

  Boyle offered a crooked smile. “I can understand some Russian, but I can’t speak it very well.”

  Markov tossed down the reins in dismay. “Wonderful. What now?”

  92

  The train thundered through the night.

  Lydia yanked open one of the metal windows to let in some air, vast forests lurking in the moonlit darkness. When she turned back she said, “I know it’s killing you, but you mustn’t feel guilty.”

  Andrev sat behind Yakov’s desk, his head in his hands, and then he looked up, tormented. “That’s not the point. It’s still my fault. Coming back here, all of this, it was a mistake, I see that now. If I’d left well enough alone at least Nina and Sergey wouldn’t be harmed. I should have protected them.”

  She came over and put both hands on his shoulders. “You can’t blame yourself, Uri. Yakov said he wouldn’t deliberately harm them.”

  “I’m not sure what he’s capable of anymore. But it stands to reason he’ll try to use Nina and Sergey as pawns in all this.”

  She saw his anguish and he seemed to slump, racked by worry and exhaustion. “We haven’t slept in over two days. You need to rest, Uri.”

  He got to his feet and grabbed the route map. “I can’t, not now. Fetch Pavel.”

  “Then will you promise to try to rest?”

  “In a while. Let me deal with Pavel first.”

  She went into the bedchamber and came back with the young rail worker. Andrev said bluntly, “Are you and your father Bolsheviks?”

  The young man said nervously, “No, sir. We were employed by the railroad. Commissar Yakov had us seconded to his train.”

  Andrev crooked a finger. “Come with me.” He said to Lydia. “Wait here, I’ll be back.”

  She gripped his arm. “What are you going to do?”

  He picked up Mersk’s nagaika whip. “Yakov ordered the line to be kept open all the way to Ekaterinburg. I’m making sure he doesn’t try to cancel the order and stop us.”

  Andrev moved over the wagon, following Pavel. They reached the engine, where the young man’s father was busy shoveling coal. He looked relieved to see his son.

  “Listen here,” Andrev told him. “You both have my word that you won’t be harmed so long as you do as I say. I want you to keep this train going until we’re near Ekaterinburg. Can you do that?”

  The driver nodded. “We’ve got enough fuel, that’s not a problem. It just depends on the line staying open.”

  “If it does, how much longer would our journey take?”

  “Eight hours, or thereabouts.”

  Andrev pointed to the route map. “I’ll let you both off at a town fifty miles from Ekaterinburg, right here. You can say I threw you off, and no one will be the wiser.” He stared out at the telegraph poles flashing past in the dusk. “Now, be a good fellow and halt the train for a few minutes.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve got work to do.”

  The driver slipped on a thick leather gauntlet and adjusted a couple of valves and knobs on the engine panel, then carefully applied the air brakes. Steam hissed and the train slowed, eventually shrieking to a halt in a cloud of hot vapor.

  Andrev immediately climbed up high on the coal tender, until he was near the telegraph pole that ran alongside the rail line. He uncoiled the nagaika and flicked the whip at the pole. He pulled hard, then tied the whip’s butt around a metal grip bar on the coal tender and told the driver, “Release the brakes and start moving, nice and slowly.”

  The driver obeyed and the engine inched forward.

  The nagaika began to stretch tight, pulling on the telegraph cable, and then came a zinging sound as the cable finally snapped. It snaked wildly until one end of it came to rest on the coal wagon. Andrev grabbed the cable and anchored it to an engine handrail.

  “Get moving, faster,” he ordered the driver.

  The train began to pick up speed.

  Andrev watched as the telegraph cable was ripped from pole after pole …

  Lydia poured some water from a jug into the washbasin in the bedchamber.

  Andrev stood bare-chested, soaping clean his blackened hands and face. “Yakov won’t repair the damage in a hurry.”

&
nbsp; “Where’s Pavel?”

  “With his father. I told them not to disturb us unless it’s an emergency. We can take turns to rest, but keep the gun near you.”

  She handed him a towel as the train picked up speed. “Do you trust them to keep the engine going?”

  He dried himself. “We’re in the middle of nowhere—where can they go? Unless they want to take their chances in the forests with bandits and wolves, they’ll be safer with us, at least until we’re near Ekaterinburg.”

  She looked into his face, his eyes dark and sunken, his face drawn. She said, “Promise me you’ll try to sleep. Two hours each. You rest first, I’ll keep watch.”

  “If you think you can hold out.”

  “I’ll be fine. You’re on the verge of exhaustion, Uri.”

  Andrev collapsed onto the cot and removed his boots and breeches. He laid his head on the pillow and tried to force himself to relax. “Wake me if you need me.”

  “No more talking.” Lydia sat on the chair by the bed and pressed a finger to his lips. “Just rest, Uri.”

  He turned away toward the wall, one hand under his head. She laid a hand on his back, kneading his shoulders, feeling his stress, the muscles knotted as hard as wood. “Sometimes when I was a little girl and frightened of the dark, my mother used to come to my room and rub my back. She always said that we need to feel a human touch to relax. What are you thinking?”

  “That right this minute I wish I could close my eyes and everything would just go away and I could sleep for a week.”

  “I know the feeling,” she said. “You want to shut out the world and wait for the darkness to pass. But then when you open your eyes again you find nothing’s changed. It never does.”

  She noticed him clasping and unclasping his hand, as if still consumed by worry. “What else are you thinking?”