by Glenn Meade
She knelt beside one of benches, in front of an icon of the Virgin and child.
She lost any sense of time until she heard the patter of feet on the flagstones. Sister Agnes came toward her, her habit rustling.
The nun genuflected toward the altar, making a sign of the cross. “There you are. Forgive me for interrupting your prayers.” She observed Lydia keenly. “You look troubled. Are you worried that your friend won’t make it back?”
“Does it show?”
“I’m worried, too. But with you, it seems personal. Do you love him, my child?”
“He’s the first man I’ve cared deeply about in a long time.”
“And this troubles you?”
Lydia glanced up at the Virgin and child. “It’s always a question of the human heart, isn’t it? How do we live? What do we do? How do we know what’s right or wrong? I came here to pray for guidance, I suppose. I feel a little lost, and maybe more than a little afraid.”
The nun faced the altar. “For me, there is the simple joy of being here, in this place, that soothes me. Here, I’m always utterly aware of my human faults and weaknesses, and how imperfect I am in God’s presence. Yet I’m aware of his infinite compassion and love.”
Sister Agnes looked back at her. “Do you know what most people don’t grasp? That God has already forgiven us our sins before we even commit them.” She reached out, gently took Lydia’s hands in hers. “I recognize anguish when I see it. Whatever’s troubling you, don’t be afraid to unburden yourself.”
It all came out in a torrent as Lydia struggled to hold back her emotion.
Sister Agnes said gently, “It hasn’t been easy, has it? Losing your child, and your fiancé, and now all this.” The nun made the sign of the cross. “I’ll pray for your friend, and for the soul of his child.”
“Uri’s an honorable man. I think he feels caught between duty to his son’s mother and whatever he might feel for me.”
“I understand.”
Lydia put her hand on her stomach. “No, you don’t, Sister. He and I, we … we’ve been close. Perhaps in my heart I wanted it to happen, wanted another chance to create life. I’m sure that sounds foolish. None of us knows if we’ll come out of this alive. But people often act irrationally in wartime, don’t they? We’re driven by our most primitive instincts to survive.”
“Whatever wrong you may have done, I’m sure God forgives you already, my child.”
“But do love and emotion always have to be so complex?”
The nun rose. “What happens in the heart, simply happens. But sometimes real love calls us to a higher duty. We have to do what’s right, and not always what we desire.”
Sister Agnes’s face was a study in pious strength as she looked down at Lydia. “It’s the eternal question, isn’t it? That’s what you really asked. How should I live? By my own way, or the right way? Yet the answer is simple. In our hearts we know what’s the right thing. We always do.”
She laid a hand gently on Lydia’s shoulder. “And now, we really have to go. Time’s running out.”
104
The abandoned grain warehouse had long ago been let go to wrack and ruin. The roof was caved in, the plaster walls crumbling and overgrown.
Yakov halted the Fiat at the entrance, lit a cigarette, and strode down to the ramshackle wooden boardwalk overlooking the lake. The moon shimmered on the water, the light good enough to see by.
He could just make out the white outline of the Ipatiev House farther along the shore, pale as a ghostly apparition. He felt in turmoil as he stood there, smoking furiously, one foot propped on an uprooted tree stump.
“You came alone?”
He spun round as Andrev stepped out from the ruins of the abandoned warehouse. He clutched a Nagant in his hand.
Yakov tossed away his cigarette. It cartwheeled into the water, vanishing with a tiny hiss. “Yes. We need to talk, Uri.”
Andrev stepped closer. His eyes were wild and he looked desolate, his face grimmer than Yakov had ever seen.
Without a word he lashed out with the revolver and struck Yakov a blow across the head. Yakov reeled, clapping a hand to his skull as he fell against the uprooted tree.
“I ought to kill you here and now.” Andrev spat the words.
Yakov stumbled to his feet. “Nothing I did would have made a difference. Nothing. You have to believe that, Uri.”
Andrev’s tone was savage. “My son had a chance to live if he’d remained in Moscow. You took that chance away.”
“No, Uri, nothing could have saved him. My medic did his best but Sergey was past help, believe me.”
Andrev let out an anguished cry. He stifled it, put his sleeve to his mouth.
Yakov said, “The truth is, Trotsky ordered me to transport Nina and your son to a prison camp. I disobeyed the order. I took them from Moscow to try to save them. How, I wasn’t sure, but I knew I had to get them away.”
“How can I ever believe you?”
“Because I know now that you didn’t kill Stanislas. I was wrong. I had my reasons, selfish and foolish ones. Now, I accept your word, just as I ask you to accept mine.”
Andrev struggled to compose himself. He looked lost, devastated. “How is Nina taking it?”
“She’s broken. Disconsolate. She needs you. Whatever your differences, I’m not sure she’s ever truly stopped loving you.”
Andrev’s mouth tightened. “Where is she?”
“On board my train at Ekaterinburg station. Zoba’s taking care of her.”
“If she’s been harmed …”
“She hasn’t. I care too much for her. Can I tell you something? All those years ago, when we first met, I think I fell in love with her.”
Andrev frowned.
“Don’t look at me like that, Uri. It was something pure. I was a street urchin from the Black Quarter. I’d never seen such beauty. To me, Nina was something rare and exotic. I’ll admit there were times when just to be able to think about her helped keep me sane in the grimness all around me. Does that make sense? I’d never deliberately harm her. You have to accept that.”
Andrev took the envelope from his pocket, held it up. “So, she told you everything?”
Yakov nodded. “A man loses a wife, a woman loses a husband; they find comfort in each other’s company. That’s what happened to our parents. A simple story; they did nothing wrong. In truth, only good came of it. I found a brother.”
“Did Nina tell you why they kept their secret?”
Yakov said, “Having a relationship with a female patient was bad enough. Having a child by her would have destroyed your father if it became public.”
“You’re not bitter?”
“I’ve no reason. Your father was an honorable man. He cared for us, he did his duty. You know, there’s something he once said to me. I didn’t understand it then, but I do now. He said that whenever we’re offered love, we should accept it. Wherever we encounter tenderness, we should embrace it. I know now what he meant. Just as I know now that you could never have harmed our own brother. I only hope that Mersk went screaming to his death.”
Andrev looked as if a terrible weight still pressed down on him, and he said, “There were times when I wanted to tell you the truth. Times after my father died when I felt I should break my promise to him. You see, he never wanted their secret to hurt you. But they both should have told us, I realize that now.”
Yakov put a hand on his shoulder. “That was then, this is now. We know, and that’s enough.”
“You never told me what happened to my men after I escaped.”
“I did what I could. No one walked, no one perished.”
There seemed a timelessness to everything. The moon on the still water, the dim outline of the Ipatiev House in the far distance. The only sound was their own breathing until finally Yakov said, “I know it looks hopeless. But maybe there’s a way out of this for all of us.”
“How?”
“You leave, tonight, with Nina. J
ust go. You and your friends. You can take the train I seized. Leave the city and don’t come back.”
“And the tsar and his family?”
Yakov shook his head. “That’s out of my hands, Uri. It’s bigger than both of us. I can’t change their fate, even if I wanted to. I don’t care a whit for Nicholai Romanov or his wife. The children I can feel for, but their parents dug their own grave.”
“Yet you’d bury the children in it, too?”
“It’s Lenin’s wish, not mine. I’m a soldier. I obey orders, just like you.”
“And what happens to you and Katerina if you let us go?”
“That’s my worry.”
“How will you explain Nina’s disappearance?”
“This isn’t a city short of bodies. Who’s to say if she lived or died?”
Andrev considered. “Your train’s at the station?”
“In a siding next to platform three.”
“What about your men?”
“They’re billeted in nearby hotels, but Zoba’s on board with Nina and my medic. Zoba will follow my orders and have the train ready for you. The driver’s been told to keep the boiler stoked. What do you say?”
Andrev fell silent. His mouth was set tightly, as if he was struggling with his conscience, then his hand went down and the Nagant came up again. He leveled it at Yakov. “You can come out now.”
There was a rustle of bushes and Boyle stepped out of the shadows, carrying a Colt and clutching a coarse sack and some rope.
Yakov said angrily, “I said to come alone, Uri.”
“I didn’t know if I could trust you. I’m sorry, but it has to be this way.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m not one to break my word, but in war, all’s fair.” He jerked his head at Boyle. “Take his weapon. Make sure he doesn’t have more than one.”
Boyle removed Yakov’s firearm and patted down his body.
Andrev said, “We intend to finish the job we came to do.” He nodded to Boyle. “Put the sack over his head and lead him to the truck.”
“Where are you taking me?” Yakov demanded.
“After a short detour, the Ipatiev House.”
Yakov erupted. “You’re insane. You’ll never get near the house.”
“You’re right, Leonid. But you will.”
105
IPATIEV HOUSE
1:10 A.M.
As he replaced the telephone earpiece in its cradle, Yurovsky heard the rattle of an engine. He stepped over to the open doorway.
He saw an open-topped Opel car halt outside the courtyard. Four men were seated inside, wearing Chekist leather jackets, Kazan in the driver’s seat.
The guards leveled their rifles. “No vehicles are allowed past the barricade. Order of the komendant.”
“Let me through, you idiot.” Kazan stumbled drunkenly from the car, but one of guards cocked his rifle. “Another step and I’ll shoot.”
Yurovsky strode out to the barrier. The other three men in the Opel looked as intoxicated as their driver. “What do you want, Kazan?”
“We have to talk.” The Inspector stank of alcohol, a bottle protruding from his left pocket, and his eyes had a disturbed look.
“No, we don’t. You ought to know the compound’s out of bounds tonight.” The komendant jerked his head. “Get yourself some coffee in the guardhouse across the street and sober up. You’re in no fit state to drive.”
Kazan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Believe me, Yurovsky, you’ll want to hear what I have to say. Have you commenced your bloody work yet?”
“No, but what’s it to you?”
“Yakov released the spy I caught. Released him, would you believe?”
“For what reason?”
“I asked myself the same question. I thought he was trying to grab all the glory but now, I’m not so sure. He and one of the plotters are old friends.”
“What the blazes are you muttering about?”
“Let me put it simply. I’ve been a policeman long enough to know when I smell a rat. I’m convinced Yakov’s in league with the enemy and up to no good.”
“Have you lost your mind? Whatever’s in that bottle you’re drinking, I’d get rid of it now.”
“There’s something sinister afoot, I tell you. How do you explain Yakov releasing the spy? Answer me that.”
The komendant said gruffly, “I don’t have to. It’s not my business. But when I last saw him a few hours ago he was sober and clearheaded, unlike you.”
“Where did he go?”
“I’ve no idea, but he’s quartered in his train. Now get out of here, I have a job to finish.”
“You’re being an idiot! We’ll see who’s right before the night’s out.”
The komendant turned to go but Kazan clutched his arm. “Wait—I’ve only three men. I need more.”
“For what?”
“I’m going to find that accursed spy if I have to tear Ekaterinburg apart.”
The komendant jerked his arm away. “Forget it. I need every man I’ve got.” He turned to the guards and said, “Throw this drunken madman out.”
The komendant lit a cigarette in the doorway and watched Kazan back up the Opel and drive away, the car weaving erratically.
“Trouble, komendant?” one of the guards asked.
“Kazan thinks Commissar Yakov is in league with enemy agents.”
The guard laughed. “I wish I could find alcohol like that. The really good stuff. No sign of the truck?”
“I just made a call. The idiots said they got an order to send it to the Amerika Hotel by mistake.”
Just then twin headlights swept up the street. The driver was grinding the gears as he drove the Fiat open-topped truck toward the Ipatiev courtyard.
“About time,” said Yurovsky, checking his pocket watch. It read 1:30 a.m. exactly. He said to the guard, “Alert the men. Tell them we’re ready.”
Yurovsky climbed the stairs to the Romanovs’ quarters. At their door he raised his right index finger, and let it hover over the electric doorbell.
Then he pressed it.
Anastasia heard the shrill sound of the electric bell echo throughout the family quarters and it woke her with a start.
It was dark outside, pale moonlight filtering though the whitewashed windows. Next to her, Maria came awake groggily, rubbing her tousled hair. “Was that the bell? What’s happening?”
“I don’t know. I thought I heard a car engine,” Anastasia replied.
Footsteps sounded from their parents’ room. A knock came on wood, then more footsteps and voices, until moments later someone approached their door. Maria said, “Papa’s coming.”
The door opened and their father stood tired and disheveled, buttoning his shirt. “It seems the komendant wants us to assemble downstairs.”
“Why, Papa?”
“He says the enemy is encircling the city and that battle is imminent. He’s afraid that artillery may fall on the house and he wants to move us for our own safety.”
Maria said innocently, “Our artillery?”
“Yes, my sweet.”
Anastasia perked up. “Do you think they’ll finally rescue us?”
Her father smiled briefly and fondly touched her face. “We can only pray, my darlings. Now, get yourselves washed and dressed. The others are already up.”
A nervous Yurovsky felt sweat rise on the back of his neck, his impatience mounting. Standing in the hallway, smoking another cigarette, his stomach a knot of tension, he heard the family pace their rooms as they washed and got ready. He wanted to hurry them up.
One of his guards came up the stairs and said, “Any sign of Commissar Yakov?”
“Not yet. But that won’t delay us. Everything goes ahead.”
But Yurovsky was becoming more worried by the minute. He again checked his pocket watch. It was 2:10 a.m. Forty minutes had passed since he rang the bell. He swore softly.
He was tempted to ring the bell again to hurry things along when the door snapped open. One by one the Romanovs appeared on the landing, all dressed and tidy. Nicholai Romanov was the first to lead out his family, holding his crippled son in his arms.
The girls came next, wearing their simple white blouses and dark skirts, carrying pillows, bags, and other personal items. The former tsarina appeared behind them, gaunt and tense as ever, plainly dressed in a dark skirt and blouse, her gray hair untidy. Last, Dr. Botkin and the three servants crowded the landing.
“All ready, I see,” the komendant remarked to Nicholai Romanov.
“At least we’re going to leave this place, komendant. But what about our personal belongings?”
“That’s not necessary right now. We’ll fetch them later. This way.” Yurovsky offered a reassuring smile, then escorted them down the stairs.
As they passed the stuffed mother bear and its cubs on the landing, the family paused and devoutly blessed themselves: a familiar sign of respect for the dead, believing that they were about to leave the house for the last time.
Yurovsky heard familiar yelping above on the landing as their three dogs barked and scampered, trying to follow them. The guards grabbed their collars and held them back but one of the dogs managed to squirm free and scurried into Anastasia’s arms.
She said, “What about the other animals, komendant?”
A distant crump of artillery fire sounded, startling them all.
Yurovsky shook his head. “Please, don’t worry. They’ll be brought to you later. For now it’s important that we hurry …”
106
Yurovsky led the family down to the basement. He opened the double doors and ushered them inside a room with a single lightbulb dangling from the vaulted ceiling. Along one wall, a grime-covered window was protected with metal bars. The bare floorboards echoed, and there were no chairs.
“You’ll wait here for now.”
Alexandra indicated her husband, struggling under the weight of their son. “Aren’t we allowed to sit? My husband has to carry our child.”