The Romanov Conspiracy (31 page)

Up close, the former tsar appeared frail and nervous. But his shoulders looked well developed from carrying the boy. In his plain gray tunic, patched uniform pants, and scuffed riding boots, it was hard to believe that this man once ruled a sixth of the world with an iron fist. Yakov thought,
So much tyranny is carried out by people with innocent faces
.

“I’m Commissar Leonid Yakov. The purpose of my visit is to assess your security. I should warn you that enemy spies are at work in Ekaterinburg. For this reason it may be necessary to move you all again at short notice.”

“May I ask to where this time?” The ex-tsar’s voice was a tired whisper, his watery blue eyes vacant.

“That will be for others to decide. For now, I wish only to have two people in the room: Anastasia Romanov and her father. Everyone else leave,” he ordered.

The boy held on to his father’s hand and pleaded, “Papa, I want to stay with you.”

His father gently pried open the boy’s grip. “No, please do as you’re told, Alexei. Obey like a good soldier. That’s my boy.”

“But Papa …”

“No buts. You must do as I say.”

The boy turned and gave Yakov a pleading look.

Yakov ignored him and said to his father, “Where’s your daughter?”

“In the next room, with her sister Maria.”

“Fetch her. The rest of you get out of my sight.”

38

“May I ask why you wish to see my daughter?” A ticking clock echoed somewhere in the house as the former tsar fidgeted with his fingers, a worried father edgy with nervous energy.

“You’ll find out soon enough.” Footsteps sounded in the hallway and a knock came on the door. “Enter,” said Yakov.

Anastasia Romanov stepped into the room. High cheekbones and a determined mouth gave her a confident, strong-willed look.

“I’m Commissar Yakov. Sit down.”

“Actually, I’d prefer to stand.” She went to join her father, resting her hand on his shoulder. He held it tightly as if to reassure her. But something about the young woman’s demeanor told Yakov that she didn’t need reassurance. He sensed defiance, a fighting spirit.

“So, you’re Anastasia?”

“Who else would I be? You summoned me, didn’t you?”

Yakov bristled. “Don’t be insolent. Of all the prisoners in this house, you’ve proven the most difficult, do you know that?”

The girl stared back at him, not a shred of fear in her eyes, only rebellion. “I can’t argue with your opinion, Commissar. It must be as you say.”

“You’d do well to bite back that tongue of yours, or it might get you into trouble.” He noticed an object in her right hand. “What are you holding?”

She held out a small box in her palm.

“What is it?” Yakov demanded.

“A travel icon.”

He took the box from her and opened it. It was the one he saw earlier in the family quarters. The side and top were little flaps, and once opened revealed a propped-up little altar.

Anastasia said, “It’s St. Michael. A favorite saint of mine.”

Yakov impatiently snapped it shut and tossed in on the table. He took the page from his pocket, unfolded it, and laid it down. “Do you recognize this? ‘Be strong. Help is near. Philip.’ The guards found it near you in the garden. You were about to pick it up.”

Anastasia gave a puzzled glance at the paper. “That … that doesn’t mean it’s mine.”

“Don’t play games with me. Whom do you know named Philip?”

“Commissar, if I may speak?”

Yakov fixed the ex-tsar with a scornful look. “Keep your mouth shut. Citizen Nicholai Romanov, I’m not talking to you.” He returned his attention to the daughter. “I’m waiting for an answer.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

Yakov walked round the table and confronted her. He smelled the faint scent of her lavender soap. “It may interest you to know that the man who wrote this note may be a foreign spy we’re hunting.”

The girl looked genuinely stunned. “A spy?”

“You heard me. What does this note mean? What help is near? Who is Philip? A friend of your family?”

“I … I have absolutely no idea.”

Yakov picked up the note, thrust it in front of her face, losing his patience. “It’s obviously someone who’s trying to help you.”

“Is it?”

“What if I told you that we’ve found this Philip? That we arrested him near this very house and that he’s being interrogated as we speak?”

Was it Yakov’s imagination, or did the girl react? He was certain he saw a flicker in her eyes.

But then she stood her ground. “Why would that matter to me? I already told you, I don’t know who you’re talking about. If you’ve found him as you say you have, then you ought to know who he is.”

In frustration, Yakov brought a fist crashing down on the table. “Listen to me. Either you tell the truth or your privileges will be withdrawn: your daily walks, your food ration. Everything will be taken away.”

The girl said stubbornly, “Look around you, Commissar. Does it look as if we have much to take? Isn’t it enough that you persecute us?”

Yakov persisted. “I ask again, who is this Philip?”

Her father intervened. “Commissar, may we speak alone, man to man?”

Anastasia protested. “No, Father, you don’t have to—”

“Respect my wishes, Anastasia. I wish to speak with the commissar alone, if he will allow it.”

Yakov considered, and nodded.

Nicholai Romanov said to his daughter, “Please leave us, Anastasia.”

“But Father—”

“Leave,” he said firmly.

Yakov jerked his head at the girl. “Go. Join the others. If I need you again I’ll summon you.”

Anastasia picked up the St. Michael icon, defiance blazing in her eyes. “Don’t you dare hurt my father.” She went out, banging the door.

“You must forgive my daughter. Sometimes the young have no fear.”

Yakov noticed that Nicholai Romanov’s right hand twitched in an uncontrollable spasm. “May I see this note you speak of?” he asked.

Yakov handed it over.

Nicholai Romanov examined the paper and looked up. “Ever since we’ve been held captive we’ve heard whispers that promise our liberation.”

“From whom?”

“Notes are usually thrown over the palings, although of late they’ve stopped. I’ve no doubt some are meant to bolster our spirits, but I believe that others are meant to taunt us. They have only given my family false hope, especially the children.”

“Your point?”

“No doubt the note was meant for me, but I have no idea who sent it. I know no one of that name. You have my word on that.”

“Your word means nothing to me,” Yakov snapped. “I think your daughter’s lying. I think she’s a good little actress who knows more than she lets on. Heed my warning. Any more notes, or if anyone tries to contact you in any way, you inform the guards at once.”

“I know my daughter, Commissar. I believe she spoke the truth.
And I’m sorry if Anastasia offended you. But in many ways she’s still a child. Surely you understand?”

Yakov let loose his venom. “A pity you weren’t sorry when you trampled on your people. When you and your kind crushed their spirit with your army and secret police.”

Nicholai Romanov fell silent, his face gray.

Yakov leaned in close and spat out his words. “Once I had a wife. But she was shot down like a dog by your army. Once, I had a sister and mother. But their lives were nothing except poverty and squalor while you mocked them with your riches. You condemned them and countless others to death by your stupid arrogance.”

Beads of sweat broke out on Nicholai Romanov’s brow. “I … I’m truly sorry.”

“‘Sorry’? Is that all you can say? Your daughter asked if it wasn’t enough that her father is persecuted. No, it isn’t. It will never be. I won’t rest until you and all your kind are never a threat to Russia again, do you understand me?” Yakov raised a clenched hand to lash out but at the last moment he held his fist in the air.

Nicholai Romanov stared back at him blankly, his lips trembling. “I—I meant it. I am truly sorry.”

Yakov struck him. The force of his blow sent Nicholai Romanov reeling against the table. As he stumbled to his feet, he clasped a hand to his cheek.

Yakov slapped a hand on his holstered gun, rage in his voice. “Go, join your daughter. Get out of here before I put a bullet in you.”

39

Yakov stepped into the
komendant
’s room.

It was empty except for Kazan, who stood alone at the window, toying with a brass knuckle-duster. He slipped it into his pocket as Yakov entered. “Any luck?”

“No. The girl proved obstinate.”

“She’s an insolent creature. I can hardly say I’m surprised.”

“Something tells me she knows more than she’s saying. I want the family observed more closely, especially the girls. If anyone attempts to pass them any notes, I want to know about it. Where’s the guard commander?”

Kazan said, “I asked him to leave us, Commissar. I have a private matter to discuss.”

Yakov selected a cigarette from his metal cigarette case. “I can’t imagine you and I having anything to talk about, Kazan. But out with it.”

“It has to do with your brother’s murder.”

Yakov was about to light his cigarette but he stopped short, pain turning his face to stone. “What’s that got to do with you?”

“Such a terrible misfortune. One you no doubt wish to avenge?”

“Don’t pretend you have a bleeding heart, Kazan. Get to the point.”

“I heard you hunted down his killer, Captain Uri Andrev, in St. Petersburg, where you confronted him. There was a shoot-out; he escaped.”

“Where’s this going? What kind of scheming are you up to, Kazan?”

“I’m merely trying to be of service. If I can help you find Andrev, all the better.”

Yakov strolled over to the wall map of Ekaterinburg and looked back. “How? I’ve scoured half of Russia looking for him. He’s disappeared, most likely left the country.”

Kazan removed a bottle-green folder from his leather attaché case. “You’re right about that. I have reason to believe that Andrev left for England.”

Yakov crushed his unsmoked cigarette in an ashtray on the desk. “What are you talking about?”

“Certain of my Ochrana colleagues fled to Europe since the revolution. I make it my business to stay in touch with several who’ve proven valuable informants. Needless to say, their information doesn’t come cheap. I provided them with Andrev’s name, background, and his physical description.”

“I’m listening.”

“One of them living in London claims he met a former army officer named Uri Andrev at a Russian émigré club. It’s all here, in the file, as much as I’ve learned.” Kazan handed over the file.

Yakov took it eagerly and read the two typed pages inside. When he finished, he felt a surge of rage. “So, Andrev’s escaped. I knew it.”

“Fled, but not escaped. Justice has a long arm. For a price my contact can arrange to have Andrev abducted and brought back to Russia. Or have him killed, whatever you wish.”

Yakov slapped the file on the desk. “I want to deal with Andrev personally.”

Kazan grinned. “I thought you might. Leave it to me. In return all I ask is that you allow me to interrogate the girl alone.”

Yakov considered, then nodded reluctantly. “I’ll give you an hour.”

“That doesn’t give me much time.”

“It’s an hour more than I should, Kazan.”

A horn hooted beyond the window. A car appeared at the barricaded entrance. The lone driver showed his papers, was waved through, and halted in front of the house before he scurried up the front steps. “One of my men.” Kazan said, joining Yakov at the window. “I’ll see what he wants.”

Yakov waited as Kazan left to join the driver in the open hallway. The men held a whispered conversation before Kazan returned.

“Well?”

Triumph lit Kazan’s face. “My interrogation will have to wait. Our
troops spotted a man matching the Phantom’s description in one of the districts. We’ve surrounded the area and we’re stopping everyone going in and out.”

“What’s your plan?”

Kazan tapped the Ekaterinburg wall map with his knuckle-duster. “A thorough search. We’ll comb street by street, building by building. Tear the place apart brick by brick if we have to.” He turned back, intensity blazing in his eye. “I’ll catch this Phantom if it’s the last thing I do.”