by Glenn Meade
Markov offered, “I heard that the komendant’s ordered a truck and rolls of canvas from the central garage for midnight. And a quantity of sulfuric acid from one of the foundries. Such acid can be used to dissolve human flesh. It seems the only reason the Reds would want it.”
Sister Agnes recoiled and blessed herself. “I wouldn’t put any cruelty past them.”
Boyle paced the room. “We’ll have to forget about the tunnels, as they’re all under heavy guard, but I’m open to suggestions. The same applies to getting our man out of the hotel.”
Andrev unfolded the forged letter from his pocket. “Would this help?”
Boyle studied the page and frowned. “Where did you get it?”
Andrev explained.
Boyle said, “It could be worth a try. What do you two think?”
He handed the page to Sister Agnes and Markov, who studied it.
The undertaker rubbed his cheek. “It certainly looks official enough.”
The nun shook her head. “Some of the Cheka may be peasants, but they’re nobody’s fool. I can’t see them being easily duped.”
Lydia wandered over to the white-sheeted bodies. “Who are these poor creatures?”
Markov said, “Some died of natural causes, others were executed. There’s been a shortage of wood for coffins, so we have to bury them in simple sheets.”
Boyle asked, “Are they dead long?”
“Mostly since this morning.”
Boyle stared at the corpses and looked deep in thought.
Andrev said impatiently, “I hate to push you, Boyle, but time’s running out.”
Boyle crossed to the window, peered out into the yard where Markov kept his horses. “Sister, do you think you could find me a Red Army uniform?”
“We’ve got plenty, taken from dead soldiers.”
Boyle looked invigorated at the prospect of action and said to Andrev, “We’ll use the same plan I outlined to Markov, except it’ll be you and me who enter the hotel. You can keep up the Cheka role. And don’t forget that letter.”
Boyle addressed the undertaker. “Have you anything faster than that hearse of yours?”
Sister Agnes said, “The convent has a motorized ambulance. The Reds only let us keep it because we’ve been transporting their wounded from the front.”
“Perfect.” Boyle pointed to the city map. “I’ll want you waiting here, a street from the hotel, so we can beat a hasty retreat.”
Lydia said, “What if the letter doesn’t work?”
Boyle nodded to the corpses. “That’s simple. We end up like these poor devils. But fortune belongs to the brave. Three months ago I bluffed my way into the Kremlin vaults, removed the Romanian crown jewels, and walked out again without a shot fired.
“All I had was a couple of men and an officious-looking letter. It’s all about having the right attitude, as they say. Right, time to test the water, so let’s be going.”
As they left the room, Boyle caught Andrev by the arm. “Yakov taking your family hostage changes everything, you realize that? I’m afraid it’ll be impossible to keep my end of the bargain and get them out. We have no way of knowing what Yakov may have hidden up his sleeve.”
Andrev nodded bleakly. “One thing. If he shows up, he’s mine.”
97
EKATERINBURG RAILWAY STATION
6:05 P.M.
The train kissed the buffers and the air brakes hissed.
Yakov slid open a carriage window. The station platforms were bedlam, crowded with peasants pushing handcarts and carrying belongings.
Zoba jumped down, spoke with a military official, and came back. “He said we can order transport from the local military garage. How long it’ll take is another matter; the town’s being evacuated. It might be quicker if we walked.”
Yakov buttoned his tunic. “Stay here, I’ll find the garage. Don’t allow anyone to move the train. I’ve commandeered it. And see that the men are looked after—they’ll need food and to bathe. There ought to be hotels near the station. Requisition as many rooms as you need.”
“What about Nina?”
“Stay with her, she’s fragile. Have the medic give her some more ether to calm her.”
“Ether?”
“It’ll make her sleep. When reality hits her again she’ll be hysterical. Then take care of the child’s body. Make sure it’s treated with respect.” Yakov turned to go.
“Can I ask you a personal question, Leonid?”
“What?”
“I know longing when I see it. You love her, don’t you?”
Yakov didn’t reply, his mouth tight with exhaustion. “All that matters right now is that I stay alive, and not make my daughter an orphan.”
“Even if that means killing Uri, after what Nina told you?”
“Do I have a choice?”
Zoba put a hand on Yakov’s arm. “I’m suddenly beginning to wonder if all this war is worth it. Will you be all right, Leonid?”
“That’s another question I don’t know the answer to.”
Yakov climbed the front steps to the Amerika Hotel. He stepped into the bar. It was half-empty, a handful of leather-jacketed Cheka and local Bolshevik officials drowning their sorrows amid clouds of cigarette smoke.
He approached a nervous-looking bartender who was wiping some glasses. “Give me a vodka. Better still, make it a bottle.”
The bartender placed a vodka bottle and a single glass on the bar. Yakov slapped down a handful of coins, uncorked the bottle, and filled his glass to the brim. He emptied it in one swallow and poured another, then stared into space, the corners of his eyes moist.
He still felt shocked, and angry, and …
He didn’t know what he felt—he hadn’t slept in almost three days, exhaustion grinding him.
But he felt angry at his mother for not telling him the truth. Yet another part of him understood. She was a good woman, but a lonely human being with a desolate life. Didn’t she deserve affection?
Whenever we’re offered love, we should accept it … wherever we encounter tenderness, we should embrace it.
He swallowed more vodka, the raw alcohol a flame in his throat.
His vision began to blur with tiredness. Drinking only worsened his exhaustion. He told himself, No more—I need my wits about me.
He still had bloody work to do.
Find and destroy Andrev. Execute the Romanovs.
He couldn’t fail in his duty. Katerina’s life depended on it. Bile rose in his throat at the very thought of his daughter being harmed.
“Drowning your sorrows, Commissar?”
Yakov turned. Kazan stood wearing his broad-rimmed hat, his face smug. “You look like you’ve had a shock.”
“What’s it to you?”
“I heard about your drama.” Kazan nodded to the bartender, who poured him a whiskey.
“Who told you?”
Kazan removed his hat, placed it on the counter, and ran a hand over his bald head. “You’ve only arrived, but it seems that tongues are already wagging. Your men can’t stop talking about how yet again you were made a fool of by Andrev.”
Yakov’s mouth was a slash as he fought to control his anger.
Malice glinted in Kazan’s face. “I can only hope for your sake Moscow doesn’t hear about your latest mistake. It won’t look good, Andrev besting you at every turn. Tell me, is it true you have a soft spot for Andrev’s ex-wife? I’m sure she’ll be glad of the company now that her brat’s dead.”
Yakov hit Kazan across the jaw. He reeled back, slammed against the counter, and slid to the floor, a crimson gash on his mouth.
Kazan put a hand on his lip, looked at the blood on his fingers, and grinned. “Temper, Commissar. We need each other. More than ever.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Kazan.”
Kazan pushed himself up. “My prisoner’s the only conspirator we have in custody, and therefore our only hope of finding the others.”
“He’s not your prisone
r, he’s the state’s. And let’s not forget who’s in charge. Has he talked?”
Kazan smiled tightly. “Not unless you count his screams. He’s proving obstinate. But that’s about to change. I have a couple of tricks up my sleeve that will loosen his tongue.”
Yakov emptied his glass and hammered it on the counter. “Where is he?”
“In the cells.”
Markov gently snapped the horses’ reins as the hearse clattered toward the Amerika Hotel.
It looked busy with Cheka types coming and going, some of them carrying packed bags and loading belongings onto hand carts and droshkies.
The occasional crack of artillery fire erupted in the distance; the Czech divisions were less than twenty miles away.
“The rats are deserting the sinking ship while they can,” Markov commented.
Boyle wore a Red Army uniform and regulation hat, the tunic a little tight around the neck.
Andrev was dressed in the Cheka-style leather jacket and cap, a holstered Nagant on the leather belt around his waist.
Boyle said, “All right, once more round the block to make sure Sister Agnes is in place with the ambulance, then we go in, gentlemen. Remember, if we can’t get our man out, we kill him.”
98
Yakov followed Kazan down the steps past the guards and stepped into the cell.
Sorg was strapped down onto a metal trolley. His jaw was a bruised mess, and alarm lit in his eyes as he stared up at his visitors.
Kazan regarded him with scorn. “Meet Commissar Yakov, from Moscow. I hope you’re not going to disappoint us.”
Kazan leaned in closer until Sorg could smell the sour breath on his face. His heart sank. He felt overcome by fear, expecting Kazan to lash out.
But instead, he removed a small brown medicine bottle from his pocket and unscrewed the glass-and-rubber stopper. He said to Yakov, “Laudanum. I believe our prisoner has a weakness for it.”
Kazan grinned down at Sorg. “Don’t you?”
Markov eased the hearse toward the curb, making a clicking sound with his tongue. “Whoa! Settle down now.”
The horses reared to a halt a hundred yards past the hotel. Boyle and Andrev climbed down.
Boyle told Markov, “Wait here. If anyone asks, you’re picking up a typhus victim. That ought to dull their interest.”
Markov made a sign of the cross. “What if you don’t return?”
“I’ve yet to meet an undertaker who’s an optimist. We’ll be back; don’t go anywhere.”
Sorg’s eyes widened at the sight of the brown bottle. His craving felt like a wild beast gnawing inside his head.
Kazan dunked the stopper into the bottle, squeezed, and removed the rubber. A single watery drop of laudanum dangled from the end of the stopper. The bitter infusion of opiate and alcohol stained the air. Kazan leaned in closer, dangling the dropper above Sorg’s mouth.
“You’d like some, wouldn’t you? Put your tongue out. Have a drop for now, more if you talk.”
Sorg’s eyes bulged. He tightened his lips until they hurt. Every fiber of his being longed for the peace the drug promised. But he resisted, willing himself not to be seduced by the glistening dewdrop on the end of the stopper.
Kazan dangled his bait closer to Sorg’s lips. “You want it, don’t you? Go ahead, lick it. Enjoy.”
Sorg felt as if he was having a fit. His face turned crimson; his breathing came in shallow spurts.
“What’s the matter?” Kazan said. “Wouldn’t you like a little pleasure to ease the pain?”
Sorg’s bruised jaw was set like granite.
“I said take it.” Kazan’s temper flared.
Sorg’s entire body shook as he fought the temptation.
Yakov said, “I thought you said he’d talk! We haven’t time for these stupid games.”
An angry Kazan screwed the stopper back on and slammed the laudanum down on the nearby table. “I’ll make him confess, don’t you worry.”
He grabbed a dirty cotton towel and twisted it. Grabbing Sorg’s mouth, he stuffed the towel between his lips until he almost gagged. “Keep biting on that, unless you want to chew off your tongue.”
Sorg’s eyes widened with panic as Kazan picked up two insulated black wires that snaked across the floor to an electric outlet.
“Electricity can light up a room,” Kazan remarked to Yakov. “But I prefer its other uses—the painful kind that can loosen a man’s tongue.” He growled at Sorg, “Resistance is futile. I want the names of your co-conspirators. I want every detail of your foolish plans.”
He tore open Sorg’s shirt, exposing his bare chest. Without another word he touched the two wires together, producing a bright blue spark, and then promptly pressed both wires against Sorg’s bare chest.
His body convulsed in an uncontrollable spasm, his eyes bulging as he bit down hard on the towel.
Kazan removed the wires and Sorg’s body relaxed, but only for an instant. With a sadistic grin, Kazan again touched the wires to Sorg’s chest.
He bucked wildly, like a deranged puppet, crying out behind the gag.
Kazan stopped. “Now the real pain begins. His private parts next.”
Yakov said bluntly, “Enough.”
But Kazan was barely listening, a look of perverted pleasure in his face as he lay down the wires and began to loosen Sorg’s trousers.
Yakov crossed to the wall and tore out the cable.
Kazan stared at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I said enough. Get out of here.”
Kazan turned livid. “This man is my prisoner. I insist—”
Yakov tore the gag from Sorg’s mouth, yanked his Nagant from his holster, and cocked the hammer. “You can insist all you want. Now get out. I’ll take over from here.”
AMERIKA HOTEL
Boyle led the way toward the entrance steps. “I’ll leave all the talking to you.”
Four sentries with rifles guarded the doors. Off to the right was a sand-bagged machine-gun emplacement, manned by another two sentries.
“Halt,” one of the guards challenged. “What’s your business here?”
Andrev produced his letter. “Commissar Couris, from Moscow. We need a room for the night.”
A crack of artillery fire sounded, but it didn’t seem to bother the guards. Andrev remarked, “The enemy’s getting close.”
“They’ll be even closer before the night’s out, Commissar.”
The guard waved them through, and Andrev led the way into a huge lobby, busy with a sea of uniforms. A vast staircase led up, potted plants on either side, an immense sparkling chandelier high above them.
Rooms led off in every direction, the lavish hotel a hive of activity.
Andrev whispered, “Where to now? Our man could be anywhere.”
“Let’s find the bar,” Boyle said optimistically, “and see if we can get some information.”
Yakov said, “Who do you work for?”
Silence.
Yakov raised his Nagant and pressed the tip of the barrel against Sorg’s head. “One last time. I want the names of your fellow conspirators. Help me and you go free.”
Sorg remained steadfast.
Yakov slowly squeezed his finger on the trigger.
Sorg tensed, closing his eyes, fearing the bullet to come.
“Last chance,” Yakov said.
Sorg closed his eyes tighter.
Yakov squeezed harder.
A metallic click sounded.
Sorg snapped his eyes open.
Yakov opened the Nagant to reveal empty chambers. “You’re either a very brave man, or a very foolish one.”
He took a handful of cartridges from his pocket and loaded the gun. “Whichever it is, you’ll never talk, I know that much. But you or your friends can’t win. The family’s fate is sealed. Once midnight passes, they’ll all be dead. No one can save them.”
Yakov replaced the Nagant in his holster. “Can you walk?”
Sorg stared
back in silence.
“You heard me. Can you walk? Try to.” Yakov undid the leather straps.
Sorg pushed himself up, groaning.
He looked fit to collapse, but with great effort he managed to sit on the edge of the trolley. He placed his feet on the floor and tried to walk, his legs unsteady.
Yakov supported him. “Do you think you could you muster the strength to walk out of here if I released you?”
Sorg stared back at him as if he were mad. “Is this your idea of a joke?” He touched his swollen jaw.
“Answer me. Could you walk out of here?”
“I think so.”
“There’s an exit door at the end of the hall, past the guards. Go that way.”
Sorg’s face clouded. “I don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to. Just take the exit door and keep walking. I’ll take care of the guards. I promise no one will follow. You have my solemn word.”
Sorg was incredulous. “You’re trying to trick me, aren’t you?”
“No trick. Leave now. There’ll be no curfew tonight. But be careful. The enemy is close and the city’s in disarray and being evacuated.”
Sorg’s stare fixed on the laudanum bottle on the table.
Yakov noticed, picked up the bottle, and said, “You want it? Take it.”
He tossed the bottle at Sorg, who caught it and said, “This is insane. Kazan hunts me down like a dog, yet you release me. Why?”
Yakov held out a small manila envelope. “There’s a man named Andrev among your fellow conspirators. Give him this.”
“What is it?”
“A note from me. As well as a map and directions to an abandoned grain warehouse, a half mile north of the Ipatiev House. Tell him to meet me at eleven tonight. He’s to come alone. I’ll do the same. Emphasize alone. Tell him Nina’s life may depend on it.”
“Nina?”
“He’ll know. Will you remember all that?”