The Romanov Conspiracy (16 page)

The Ukrainian grimaced, tossing his Nagant in the snow. “You ought to show more respect to your superiors, Yakov.”

“Really? I thought one of the reasons we started the revolution was to put an end to all that ‘respect for your superiors’ nonsense.” Stanislas kept his rifle aimed at the Ukrainian and said to Andrev, “Who’s your friend, Uri?”

“Corporal Tarku. I need him with me when I speak with Leonid.”

Stanislas considered, then stepped back and pulled open the gate for them. “Both of you come with me.” He grabbed one of the oil lamps hanging near the guard hut and said to Mersk, “I’ll borrow the lamp if
you don’t mind. In the future, I’d be more careful and follow the commissar’s orders. Good night, Comrade Sergeant.”

Mersk watched as the three men retreated toward the siding where Yakov’s train was parked. Hatred blazed in the Ukrainian’s eyes, the kind that went beyond all reason. He picked up his revolver, replaced it in his holster, and retrieved the
nagaika
whip. “Who does that little troublemaker think he is, talking to me like that? Just because he’s Yakov’s brother.”

One of the guards grinned. “Still, the kid put you in your place, Sergeant. Are you going to let him get away with that?”

The Ukrainian’s whip suddenly cracked and snaked around the guard’s neck. The man let out a tiny gasp as Mersk reeled him in close. “Who asked you what to think?”

The guard wheezed. “You … you’re choking me.”

“Next time I will.” Mersk pushed the man away, releasing the whip. He opened the gates and glared at Yakov’s train parked in the siding. A dangerous look flashed in his face as he slapped the butt of the
nagaika
into his thigh. “Someone needs to learn a lesson. If anyone asks, you two never saw me, or so help me I’ll skin you alive, understand?”

The guards nodded. And with that the big Ukrainian slipped out between the gates, fury in his face as he disappeared into the darkness.

14

As they walked together toward Yakov’s train, their feet crunching in the snow, Andrev said, “I owe you our thanks, Stanislas.”

He grinned. “The Ukrainian didn’t like being outsmarted. It’s just as well I came to fetch you.”

“Mersk’s the kind who enjoys inflicting pain. A word of warning, Stanislas. An animal like Mersk is trouble. Watch your back from now on, I beg you.”

Stanislas waved his rifle. “I can look after myself. And I’m a good shot, Uri. Tell your corporal to walk a dozen paces ahead, where I can keep an eye on him.”

“Why?”

“We need to talk. Please, no arguments.”

Andrev heard a faint rumble of a train and peered into the darkness ahead but couldn’t see the engine’s headlamp. “Move ahead of us, Tarku.”

The corporal’s eyes flicked wildly with concern. “But, Captain …”

“Do as I say for now, Corporal.”

“Yes, Captain.” Tarku sighed and reluctantly moved ahead.

Stanislas slowed his pace and whispered, “Leonid’s worked hard for your release. He’s desperate to help you, Uri.”

The train rumbled louder as its headlight appeared and sped closer. Andrev guessed the engine was no more than three or four minutes away. Tarku anxiously glanced back at him.

Stanislas noticed and said, “Your corporal seems on edge.”

Andrev tensed. “He’s always on edge. Don’t think I’m ungrateful for Leonid’s help.”

“They say my brother’s ambitious, and he is because poverty lit a fire under him, but he’s a man worth being loyal to. Zoba and I idolize
him. We know what he went through when his wife died, and when our mother passed. You know that he’s not one usually to show his feelings. He keeps things inside. But I know he cares about you, Uri.”

“I know.”

Stanislas put a hand on Andrev’s arm. “That’s why there’s something he wanted me to tell you in private, an offer he wanted to make you …”

As the train’s light sped closer Tarku suddenly spun round in a panic. The knife appeared from inside his coat and the blade flashed in the lantern’s light. “We haven’t got time, Captain—”

Tarku lunged toward Stanislas but Andrev blocked him and pried the knife from his corporal’s fingers. “No, don’t harm him!”

A confused Stanislas dropped the lantern and raised his rifle. “What … what’s going on here?”

Andrev slapped his hand over Stanislas’s mouth, catching the cry in his throat. He spun him round and slammed the youth face-first against the nearest carriage. Tarku stepped in quickly to snatch the rifle from his hands.

Andrev whispered, “Listen to me, Stanislas. Much as I hate it, I’m going to have to knock you out.” He leaned in close, their frosted breaths mingling. “When you come to, we’ll be long gone. I’m sorry I have to hurt you, little brother.”

Andrev applied pressure to the neck artery, and the youth struggled and grunted, then his eyes flickered as he began to pass out.

Andrev said, “Don’t fight it, Stanislas.”

A gruff voice said from behind, “I knew you two scum were up to no good. Now you’re going to pay.”

Andrev spun round as Stanislas slumped to the ground. The Ukrainian sergeant held the
nagaika
in his good hand. Malice and anticipation shone in his face.

Tarku aimed the rifle. There was an instant swishing sound and the
nagaika
cracked. It struck Tarku’s hands and he cried out and dropped the weapon. The
nagaika
cracked again, coiled around Tarku’s neck. The big Ukrainian dragged him closer, head-butted him, and the corporal went down like a sack of flour, unconscious.

The Ukrainian grinned. “Your turn now, Andrev. I’m going to enjoy teaching you a lesson.”

Andrev went to sidestep but the
nagaika
cracked and struck his injured shoulder. He yelled in agony, feeling a stinging jolt.

Mersk sneered, tossed aside the
nagaika
, and withdrew a frightening-looking double-sided Cossack dagger, the blade flashing. “It’s time I finished this once and for all. I’m going to skin you alive, Andrev.”

A train whistle shrieked as the Omsk train came round a bend near the camp. The headlight wasn’t more than five hundred yards away, a plume of smoke blowing from its funnel. Mersk saw the oncoming engine. “Is that what you were up to, Andrev? A fast ride out of here? Too late. You’ll never make it.”

Stanislas groaned, dazed, and staggered to his feet. Mersk said to him, “Where do you think you’re going, you little rat?”

The youth was barely conscious, hardly able to stand. “My—my rifle.”

As a dazed Stanislas went to pick up his rifle the Ukrainian’s blade swung down hard and the hilt buried in his back. Stanislas grunted as his body arched and then went stiff, horror blazing in his eyes. He slumped to the ground as the Ukrainian withdrew the blade and wiped it on his coat sleeve, still grinning.

“No!” Andrev said hoarsely, his cry of disbelief trapped in his throat.

“Now it’s your turn, Andrev.”

“You evil animal!” Andrev exploded as he stared in horror at Stanislas’s body. He moved quickly and his fist came up and struck the Ukrainian hard on the jaw. The big man staggered back, dazed, but only for a second and then the blade appeared again and slashed through the air.

“Say hello to the devil, Andrev, you’re about to meet him.” Mersk thrust with the dagger but Andrev dropped to the ground, sliding forward on his feet, kicking Mersk’s ankles and making him lose his balance. The Ukrainian’s legs went from under him and he toppled into the snow.

As he struggled to get up Andrev slid his good arm around the
sergeant’s neck, placed his knee against the man’s back, and pulled. The Ukrainian struggled and gasped, then all the breath went out of his body and he slumped and fell still.

Andrev staggered to his feet, his shoulder in agony.

He tried to catch his breath as the Omsk train powered toward him, puffs of steam clouding the night sky, and then came a piercing engine whistle. He leaned over Stanislas, whose eyes were open wide. He felt his neck for a pulse but there was none.

“You poor, innocent boy.” Overcome, Andrev’s eyes welled with tears as he used his fingers to close Stanislas’s eyelids, then he rocked him in his arms, shaking his head, disconsolate. “Why him?
Why?
He was only a child, for pity’s sake … only a child.”

When he heard the train’s whistle again he wiped his eyes, laid the body down gently in the snow, and pulled Tarku up by the lapels, and shook him. “Wake up, wake up, do you hear?”

Tarku came awake groggily and it took him a moment to adjust his glasses and recognize the bloody carnage around him. “What—happened?”

“Later. The train, Tarku. Run for the line.”

“Did … did you kill Mersk?”

“I don’t have time to find out. Run!”

The cargo train came closer and suddenly it was on top of them, its whistle shrieking like a banshee, the rumbling carriages shaking the ground beneath their feet as it slowed rounding the bend.

Andrev took one last, grief-stricken look at Stanislas’s corpse, then grabbed Tarku by the scruff of the neck and started running toward the train.

It was past midnight when Yakov heard the banging on his carriage door. He was dozing in his bedroom cot, still wearing his boots and overcoat, and he clambered to his feet as the banging grew louder. “I’m coming, hold your horses.”

He rubbed sleep from his face, strode out, and snapped open the door. Two of his Red Guards stood there, an ashen-faced officer beside them.

“Commissar, I—I need you to come with me at once.”

Yakov jumped down and pulled up his collar to keep out the cold, his greatcoat billowing around his legs. He joined the officer and men, their feet crunching as they hurried in the snow toward the rear of the train.

“What’s going on here?” Yakov demanded. The camp was alive with light and noise, prisoners being roused from their huts, beaten with rifle butts, and herded out into the snow. The guards formed them into rows and counted heads.

The officer quickened his pace. “It seems Andrev and his corporal escaped. The guards say both came though the west gate with your brother, on your orders. Now we can’t locate them.”

Yakov’s jaw tightened.
“What?”

“We fear the prisoners scrambled aboard a train that passed here not five minutes ago. We’re carrying out a head count to check if they were alone.”

Yakov fumed. “Someone’s going to pay dearly for this. A firing squad if need be.”

“Commissar, we’re stoking the engine as we speak. Your driver says he can have a head of steam up within the next fifteen minutes.”

“He better work bloody faster than that if we’re to catch up.”

They came toward the end of the carriages and Yakov saw a circle of his Red Guards, a few carrying kerosene lamps. Some appeared dumbfounded, dread on their faces as he approached.

Yakov stuck his hands on his hips as he fixed them with a livid stare. “Why are you all standing around like dolts?”

The officer spoke. “Commissar, Andrev attacked two of our men when he escaped. One was Sergeant Mersk; he was almost strangled. The second man was stabbed to death.”

The circle of guards parted to reveal Mersk, who stood holding on to a carriage for support, looking pale as death and massaging his neck. Then one of the guards lowered his storm lamp, and the yellow light washed over a dead body lying twisted in the snow.