Father Storozhev

Twilight was descending, and I thanked nature for its long, summer days in this clime, as Holmes, Thomas and I went touring. Of course, our first stop was the church of Father Storozhev.

“Welcome, my sons, I have been expecting you.” “Indeed?” said Holmes. Thomas continued to translate.

“My son, I knew you understood my meaning before, and I have just seen your Comrade Colonel and his man go off with Yurovsky. I knew you would be here shortly.”

“Perhaps Father Storozhev should take up consulting detective work,” Holmes said to me under his breath.

The Father showed us into his tiny office where we all sat and shared a glass of cool water.

“Now, my sons, please tell me, who you truly are?”

“Who we are is not important, Father. But you were correct before in your supposition, we are here to rescue the Imperial Family.”

“You have not gotten off to a healthy beginning. However, there is an old Russian saying, ‘A day cannot be judged by its morning.’ I shall help in every way.”

“Then tell us, please, Father, the tunnel or passageway you alluded to before, where is it, precisely?”

“It is beneath you, my sons. As I said earlier, all of Ekaterinburg is built over mine shafts and tunnels. When Professor Ipatiev built his house, some workers, members of my church, informed me that they had discovered an old passageway leading from a half-basement under the Ipatiev House which would connect with various tunnels my church had been built over.

“In fact, Mr. Holmes, should you remove your chair and pull back the rug, you shall find a concealed door. It is masked as boards with bolts.”

Holmes immediately did so as Thomas, the Father and I watched. Holmes requested a candle from the Father so he could see down the shaft. He was delighted to find an ancient wooden ladder there, still serviceable, though barely so. He slowly and cautiously disappeared into the hole for a few minutes and was then back.

“Well, it’s broad enough for four abreast.”

“Yes,” said Father Storozhev, “and let me give you the diagram the men in my flock gave me. It will show you exactly how to get to the Ipatiev House.

“If you can plan some escape for the Imperial Family using this information, we shall truly be blessed by God.”

“I should hope we can, Father, but I’m afraid we’ll need more than information. Thomas, are the men Preston mentioned still about?”

“I should think so.”

“How many were there, Preston didn’t say.”

“I think about thirty or so.”

“That should be enough, I think. Do you have a signal of some sort to call them together?”

“I believe so; I wasn’t privy to particular arrangements.”

“That’s all right, we can get the particulars from Preston upon our return. What about the leader of the group? Who was he?”

“Unfortunately, I believe Relinsky was to take immediate command. But of course that’s impossible now.”

“True,” said Holmes. “There is no other within your group you can trust for command?”

“Not that I know of. What about yourself, Mr. Holmes?”

“No, I am not a military man. Besides, I shall be busy with other things, as shall Dr. Watson. If only there was another we could trust to take command of your men, our task would be made more hopeful of success.”

It was then, from behind us, we heard a hoarse voice with a thick Russian accent ask, “What about me, Comrades?”

Holmes and I turned to see the bald head and smiling face of Stravitski.

Lazarus

I thought I was seeing a phantom and took a step backward.

“But you are dead,” I said emphatically.

“Do not tell my family, they worry,” said Stravitski with a laugh.

“And you speak English!” I do not know which shocked me more. I also noticed Holmes trying to stifle a smile while Father Storozhev and Thomas looked at us uncomprehendingly.

“Remember what Colonel Relinsky say,” said Stravitski as he closed a side door and came towards us, “trust maybe no one. Look at me, I speak English! And I not even dead!”

With that, Holmes let out a laugh, and in the midst of my confusion and sputtering, Stravitski gave me a hug and one of those ‘one kiss per cheek’ things the Russians like so well, though he had never before been affectionate; nor, for that matter, very civil. Holmes continued to laugh, and I sensed that he was laughing as much from humour as from a sense of relief and broken tension.

After Holmes, between laughs, explained to Thomas and Father Storozhev how we knew Stravitski, Stravitski explained to Holmes and me, with the other two men as bystanders, just how he came to be present.

“So my colonel tell you I no make it to Kungur. Well, that no lie. I do not. When most attack, he tell me wait, take horse, and go. So much confusion, nobody see, nobody mind. He right. I to come here, to see what going on. I to watch trains, Cheka, soldiers.

“It take me two more days get here. I see many White soldiers go southeast. Some go northwest. I think White armies coming like this.” He cupped his hands together like two vices closing.

“I get here night. I sleep by dead mine. Nobody come. I see what happen in Ekaterinburg, then I say myself, colonel here with you all soon, where I go nobody look? Is simple! Church! Nobody go church no more!” Since Thomas was translating for the Father, Father Storozhev said something and Stravitski said something back.

“Father say is no true. I say sorry. Father good man. He take me in at night. I tell him I deserter from Reds. I lie to him. He hide me. I no tell him nothing. He come tell me what happen with my colonel, with you, I listen at door. I hear. Now I help. My colonel smart. He know something bad may happen. He send me here to help. I ace up sleeve.”

We all laughed at that one.

“Yes, you are an ace, all right,” said Holmes. “And you most certainly will help. You have heard all we said?” Stravitski nodded assent. “Good, then,” said Holmes, “this is what I hope to do.” And with that, he began outlining his plan.

By the time we got back to the consulate, some four hours later, without Stravitski, of course, the day was coming to an end.Preston greeted us inside with a man who looked like a peasant labourer. And that was precisely what he turned out to be. Mikail Gablinev had been a human mole who spent most of his life in the mines; until the Great War had lifted him literally from the depths of darkness, only to bore into his body and soul like some nightmarish machine. When everything precious was used, he was abandoned like the mines in which he had slaved.

However, he and many more like him, men who had deserted from the Imperial Army and who had battle experience, had long ago been recruited by Preston to fight for something they could see and understand: their living god, the Tsar.

These men had refused to continue fighting a travesty, a losing war against other men they didn’t know, for officers who used them as chattel. They returned to their families; but they were still loyal to their peasant concept of the Tsar. To them, he was a god. They knew he and his family were hostage at the Ipatiev House. They had been told by Preston that men were coming who would help them rescue their Tsar. They had waited and watched the Reds.

Ekaterinburg was their town. They knew it literally from its insides out. The Red Guards and troops in the town were from other places. They were outsiders. Many of the new guards at the Ipatiev House were Letts. There would be no trouble killing these outsiders, though Gablinev and his men knew more outsiders would eventually come to kill them.

Preston had Gablinev waiting just in case. Holmes was right; Preston had more than a bit of the military man in him. When we were safely inside, and Holmes had finished telling Preston his plan, Gablinev left. But not before letting us know that he knew about Stravitski. His men had told him of the bald man on the fringes of town, and they thought him a deserter. It did not matter from which side. Shortly, they would be taking orders from the man.

Holmes’ plan was like Holmes: multi-faceted, cunning, straightforward, daring, and, of course, brilliant.

Father Storozhev would go to Yurovsky and get permission for a midnight mass, similar to the one he had conducted the month before. If Yurovsky objected, which, of course, he would at this last-minute petition, the Father would tell him it was at the request of the two British diplomats. To Yurovsky, that would make sense, and he would be grateful for this new and rather unorthodox, or should I say Orthodox, method of keeping the two Englishmen satisfied and away from his affairs.

Once Father Storozhev was in the basement with the Imperial Family for mass, where mass had been held in June, and which the guards would not attend, the Father would hold the service. The guards would be listening to the chants and incantations, and would also understand the long period of silent prayer. It was during this period of silent prayer that the Father would lead them all via the secret tunnel back to the church.

Now even during silent prayer, there is some low murmuring, and most of that murmuring would be from women, in this case, the Tsarina and the Grand Duchesses. So besides having a number of our men waiting at the entrance to the tunnel by the Ipatiev House, we would also enlist the aid of the nuns. As the Imperial Family would be filing down into the tunnel, the nuns and some of the men would continue the low prayer, hopefully allaying any distrust among the guards. If something went wrong, our men would form a delaying action until the Romanovs could reach the church.

Preston interrupted to say that the nuns were still fairly young and it would be only a minor inconvenience to negotiate the tunnel, but Father Storozhev was into advanced age and Preston doubted his capacity for this sort of thing.

Holmes assured him that the Father would be all right. Our men would carry the Father if they had to, but it was imperative that the Father play his part. Indeed, Father Storozhev demanded it. Yet I felt Holmes’ argument lacking. Something was amiss.

In addition, upon return to the church, the Father was to be trussed up, so when the Cheka burst in looking for him, he could believably claim to have been overpowered and that he knew nothing of what was going on. As for the nuns, since no one would see them, they would spend one day in the tunnel, our men would have food and water for them, and they would return to their convent under the cover of the next darkness, guarded by the men.

Furthermore, Holmes said, there would be no suspicion if he and I went to the church to see the Father off on his midnight mass, since we would be expected to be waiting for immediate word of the Imperial Family. Holmes would go along with the men in the tunnel; I would wait at the church for their return. Preston would remain at the consulate. Even Thomas must stay behind. There must be no evidence after-the-fact that Preston and Thomas were involved in this rescue. The Bolsheviks would rant and threaten, but in the end, Holmes felt, they would state, for political reasons, that Preston and Thomas were mere dupes in this nefarious plot by dissident and criminal elements acting without the approval of the British government. Holmes knew the strong Allied force in Murmansk was a potent deterrent to any political confrontation the Soviets might consider.

At precisely midnight, when the mass would begin, Stravitski would lead a commando-type raid on Cheka headquarters to release Reilly and Obolov. Holmes said he thought this to be a fairly easy task.

At that hour, most everyone would be asleep, except, of course the few guards on duty. No one was expecting an attack of any sort. The guards on duty would be quickly and silently eliminated, and Stravitski and only one other man, would make their way to the room where Father Storozhev said the Cheka usually held their suspects for questioning. This room was down a flight of stairs to the immediate right as you entered the Hotel America; it had originally been a large billiard room.

It was imperative that silence be maintained for a number of reasons. The first, obviously, was to gain Reilly and Obolov’s immediate release. The second, that any shooting from Cheka headquarters, however faint, might alert the guards at the Ipatiev House. Finally, any disturbance might also alert the guards surrounding Reilly’s men at the train.

Once Reilly and Obolov had been freed, they, along with Stravitski and his men, were to make their way as quickly as possible to the church, where they would form our guard from the church to the train.

Holmes was emphatic in his instructions to Stravitski that unless absolutely necessary, Yurovsky was not to be harmed. Whatever future plans Holmes had in mind, Yurovsky, it was evident, would figure prominently.

Now, to Reilly’s men at the train.

As you will remember, there were only about a dozen or so left under the command of Lt. Zimin. They were being guarded by Yurovsky’s men, perhaps twice that number. Holmes suggested, and Gablinev agreed, there would be more guards awake and on duty at this site.

Gablinev had only about a dozen men. But combined with Reilly’s men, and the element of surprise, it seemed that all might go well. Gablinev and his men were to attack at precisely twelve-thirty, by which time Reilly and his men would have weapons. Yurovsky’s men would suddenly be caught between a hammer and an anvil.

When Gablinev and Reilly’s men linked up, they were to hold against any counterattack. Once our party arrived, Gablinev and his men would act as our rear-guard and delaying force.

As to what would happen after we were aboard and running, Holmes felt Reilly had other information from Kolchak. We would have to leave that up to Reilly; for from what we knew, there was now nothing between us and safety except thousands of miles filled with millions of Reds with Kolchak’s commando forces somewhere in between.

While those were the plans, there was no guarantee of success. Whatever the course of events, it was destined to be the most compelling night of my life.

At half-past-ten, Holmes and I walked across the street to Father Storozhev’s church. We were shown to the Father’s study where Stravitski was about to leave with a man sent by Gablinev. He asked us to wait a few moments for the Father, and we wished each other luck.

After a few more moments with no Father Storozhev, Holmes became impatient, excused himself and said he would return by the time Father Storozhev came in.

After about ten minutes the caretaker came in and made gestures indicating that I should wait a little more. It was now about fifteen minutes to eleven. Finally, the door to the study opened and Father Storozhev came in. He motioned me to sit again, and went behind his small, primitive desk.

We looked at our timepieces, the Father made the sign of the cross and we smiled at each other, all the while me wondering where the dickens was Holmes. After a few moments of this, I stood, said, “Mr. Holmes,” and made a motion showing I was going to look for him.

I opened the study door, and to my utter astonishment, there stood Father Storozhev. I took two steps backward.

“What? What’s this?” This was all I could manage while my head, like a tennis ball, went back and forth between the two Fathers.

Finally, I touched the Father at the doorway and asked quietly, “Holmes, is that you?”

“No, Watson,” said the Father at the desk, “that’s the Father.”

“Blast it man, you have done it to me again. When will you ever stop these tricks you perpetrate on me?” Holmes was laughing. So was the Father.

“I don’t have an answer for that one, my friend. But very shortly now, I shall go to say mass.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Was I speaking in a foreign tongue? I said I would shortly be saying mass.”

“Well, this is the maddest of your mad ideas. How in blazes are you to be Father Storozhev?”

“I have fooled you already, and the guards do not know the Father that well. Remember, they are new. The Father has already obtained the approval we needed from Yurovsky, that is where he has been, and Yurovsky’s men will be waiting for me.

“I knew before, during Preston’s objections about Father Storozhev, that the Father could not go. He is too old, and he may waiver. I had Stravitski explain the addition to my plan and the Father reluctantly agreed when he was told he would stay behind to guide the nuns and men into the tunnel, and bless everyone as they entered.

“In the time remaining now, he shall say the prayers in Russian and I shall transliterate them so I may read them. Since the guards will not attend the mass, they will not see me reading; and should they, it would still not arouse suspicion.

“The Father has also given me a note to hand to the Tsar explaining everything. I tell you Watson, it will work.”

“The devil, it will! We have enough to worry about without your charade.”

“Watson, it must be this way. Father Storozhev is too old. And while I myself have gotten on, I am most certainly not out. I must take his place.

“I hope you know what you are doing, Holmes,” I said.

“But Watson, that is why I am here, am I not?”

Had Holmes finally answered the question of why we were here; or was it merely one of his more tauntingly caustic questions?

The Rescue Begins

It was now fifteen minutes to midnight. We shook hands, looked at each other for consolation and encouragement, and Holmes stepped outside the church.

He had been blessed and kissed by Father Storozhev before, he began walking slow and straight, and if I did not know better, I would have believed him to be the Father. I watched him fade into the night and found myself muttering silent prayers of my own.

I learned later from the various participants all that I shall now recount.

At the rear of Hotel America, the Cheka headquarters, Stravitski and six men had crouched and waited in the area where rubbish was stored. After a few moments, Stravitski and one hand-picked man, Tsukov, had slit the throats of the two guards on duty and had put two of his own men in place. The rest had entered through the main door. At this point, two had stayed at the head of the stairwell leading down, while Stravitski and Tsukov had gone to free Reilly and Obolov.

They knew that if the Cheka slept, all would go well.

At the same time as this was going on, Yuri Gablinev lay flat on his stomach on a hill overlooking Ekaterinburg Station 2, just north of where Reilly’s men were under guard. He had five other men with him. South of the station, in a marshy part of the lake near the Verk-Isestsk factory, seven other men waited. At twenty minutes past twelve, they would begin moving towards the station.

Gablinev noted happily that most of the guards who were supposed to be awake, were not. But there were four guards drinking vodka and singing just below his hill. Their rifles were stacked neatly as prescribed by their training, still close enough to be of deadly use.

Holmes approached the Ipatiev House.

The guards had been given their orders, as Yurovsky promised, and as Holmes passed by, he was not even given a second glance.

Once through the main archway, he was met by a corporal of the guard who commented to Holmes that it was a nice night. Holmes understood, nodded agreement and continued following after a perfunctory, “Da.”

The corporal led Holmes into the house; there was only one guard semi-awake that he could see, sitting in a large chair, his head falling to his chest. Then Holmes followed the corporal to the rear, and then down a flight of steps. Holmes remembered to walk with arthritic care.

At the foot of the steps were two guards on either side of an open door. They were sitting on wooden stools; and although alert, they did not regard this Father Storozhev as a major hazard to their health.

Holmes said nothing, but I suspected his heart would be beating so loudly he would suspect the guards to hear; not only from the strain of this ordeal, but knowing that within scant seconds, he would be in the presence of the Imperial Family.

The Corporal pointed to the door, mildly saluted Holmes and went back upstairs. Holmes walked in and looked around. The room was bare except for a table and seven chairs set up for the mass. As Holmes covered this table with the sacramental cloth as he was instructed to do, and went about the motions of setting the religious items in their appropriate places, he was really looking for the specific bolts in the wooden flooring which Father Storozhev had told him about. For with the loosening of just two of these bolts, which the Father would have the men in the tunnel do from the underside, the boards could be lifted, giving access to the tunnel.

As he heard many footsteps coming down the stairs outside, Holmes located the bolts to the extreme left rear of the basement. He quickly went to the front of the table and placed his hands in imitation of Father Storozhev.

Then with the footsteps ever closer, the moment he had come these many thousands of miles for, rushed up at him as Tsar Nicholas II entered the room carrying his son, the Tsarevich Alexei. They were followed in quick order by the Tsarina and the four Grand Duchesses, the Grand Duchess Tatiana giving her mother support.

As each filed in, Holmes had to remember to make the sign of the cross, to hold out his cross for each to kiss, and, as he finally admitted, to hold his knees stiff for his own support; so deeply did this moment affect him. Especially at the sight of the Tsar holding the Tsarevich.

Yes, Sherlock Holmes admitted to me, he turned to go to the rear of the table to hide his emotion from the Imperial Family. But when he turned and saw them all sitting there so erect, in defiance of their physical appearance and belying all that had happened to them, Holmes felt emotion once again bestirring itself.

As the guards closed the doors, he took his paper from under his robe and glanced at his timepiece. It was seven minutes past midnight.

July 8, 1918 Escape

At a few seconds past twelve, two guards lay dead at their posts outside Hotel America, two of Stravitski’s men had donned their uniforms and taken their places, and four men had entered without being detected.

Two more men were left by the stairs, and as Stravitski started down, he heard a sleepy voice say, “Stop making noise. I am sleeping.” His own were the last words the guard heard.

Stravitski and Tsukov walked quietly down the hallway till they came to the corner where it went to the right. Stravitski gave a quick glance and saw one sleeping guard, his rifle against the wall, sitting in front of a door which Stravitski hoped held Reilly and Obolov. Tsukov, as stealthily as a Thugee, came close enough to slit this guard’s throat, as well. Stravitski came to him quickly while Tsukov had already pulled keys from the guard’s tunic.

Stravitski opened the door slowly to see Reilly and Obolov on their backs, on simple cots. As both men looked up, Stravitski had to put his hand over Obolov’s mouth to keep him from screaming; Obolov thought himself in the midst of some horrible nightmare with this ghost in front of him.

You see, Reilly, with all that had happened, had neglected to mention that Stravitski was not dead at all. Or perhaps, even then, he still felt Obolov need not know; for if they were to die, what would it matter? And if they lived, Reilly would have a ready explanation if Obolov found Stravitski alive. However, this proved an emotional trauma Obolov would not forgive.

Reilly smiled as he quickly wakened, Tsukov already handing him a pistol. Reilly told Tsukov to watch the door, Stravitski still clasping Obolov’s mouth shut as he quietly explained he was not dead. Reilly went and patted Stravitski on the back. Obolov was now just silent.

Stravitski said he would explain all later, now they must get out. But Reilly said his papers were with Yurovsky in his room. They must go to the second floor and get them; they would be needed. Stravitski explained to Reilly that Holmes needed Yurovsky alive. He then told Tsukov to take Obolov outside with him, while he and Reilly went upstairs. The two men from the stairs followed them to the second floor.

The drunken guards at the foot of the hill near Gablinev were getting more drunk. That was good and that was not, because one of the guards had just loudly announced his imperative need to relieve himself, and that he was going to do so on his fellow comrades from the height of the hill.

The guard, already unbuttoning his fly, began making his way up the hill.

Holmes, now having regained his religious composure completely, solemnly began mass. He noticed it was the Tsarevich who first probably realized that Holmes was not Father Storozhev. As Alexei, sitting next to his father began to try to get his attention, Holmes came around the table, gestured that all should continue their prayers, and handed the Tsar the paper from the Father.

Holmes said the Tsar looked at the paper, looked at Holmes, looked at the paper again, then very carefully looked at Holmes again. The Tsar said nothing, but smiled to Holmes in a way of understanding, humour, and thanks. More importantly, in a whisper, he told his family to do everything Holmes said. The Tsarina and the Grand Duchesses did not seem to understand what was going on, but Alexei knew instantly and gave Holmes the biggest grin Holmes had ever seen on a child.

As Holmes made his way towards the boards to the tunnel, everything seemed to be going well. It was sixteen minutes past midnight.

Snoring could be heard through the closed doors at Cheka headquarters. Reilly knew which room was Yurovsky’s because he had listened as Yurovsky had given instructions early for one of his new men to fetch something from his room. There were no guards on this floor, these were officers’ quarters. Guards slept in the rear of the first floor and in the downstairs area. The rest were billeted at the Verk-Isestsk factory, and most of those were guarding the train.

Reilly had one of Stravitski’s men go the far end of the hall to keep watch around the corner; the other remained at the top stairs.

Reilly cautiously opened the door to find Yurovsky leaning over our papers. Reilly pointed his pistol and Yurovsky simply put his hands in the air. He smiled at Reilly and said, “I must show you my other foot so you can put the shoe on.”

Stravitski entered and Reilly told him to bind and gag Yurovsky.

“You mistake this, Comrade Commissar,” said Reilly, “my orders come from Cheka headquarters in Moscow. If I fail in my mission, it will mean my head. And if I fail because of the Ekaterinburg Cheka, it will mean my balls. I am sure you can see my predicament.

“However, you were courteous to me, so as you see, I am returning the favour and not having you shot; merely bound.” Yurovsky nodded as if to say thank you.

Stravitski finished, and Yurovsky was one with the chair.

“Now, I cannot promise that I shall behave this way again; so please be wise and stay put. Someone will happen along eventually and set you free; just as my friends have done with me.” But now Reilly’s tone became harsh.

“But know this, Comrade Commissar, the Romanovs are mine now, and I shall bring them to trial in Moscow whether you live or do not.” Then he turned charming again as Stravitski left the room and Reilly turned to do likewise.

“Think of me as doing you a favour. By me taking the responsibility for the Romanovs, I am absolving you of yours. Forgive me if I don’t wish you luck.”

As Reilly stepped outside, the man at the top step turned to go down, and Stravitski followed hard behind. Stravitski then heard footsteps behind but thought it was the second guard bringing up the rear. It was a fatal mistake.

Suddenly Reilly heard a gasp from Stravitski. He whirled around and saw a Cheka officer had plunged a knife into Stravitski’s back, and the second guard with Reilly was doing likewise to the officer. The guard was terrified at what he had permitted to happen, but had the good sense to hold the officer’s body as it went limp and quietly laid it on the floor. Reilly was doing likewise with Stravitski.

As Reilly held Stravitski’s head, Stravitski smiled at him and said, “This time, Obolov will not believe you.”

With that, he died.

Holmes was still conducting the loud portion of the mass as the men in the tunnel undid the bolts from below and slowly pushed the boards up. The Tsarina let out a mild gasp as the board-door rose up, seemingly out of the bowels of hell, and the Grand Duchesses were now completely confounded. But as they looked to the Tsar, and saw his calm expression and heard his quiet words, they understood they were being rescued, and continued to obey the Tsar’s whispered commands to do as Holmes said.

Holmes now bid them go down into the tunnel, indicating the Tsar to hand down the Tsarevich first. From the expression on the boy’s face, Holmes could tell he was just like other fourteen-year-olds, enjoying a great adventure.

As Alexei was handed down to strong, thankful hands, Holmes gestured the nuns and a man up. As a Grand Duchess went down the stairs, a nun would take up her low incantation.

And so it went until only the Tsar remained. He had already taken a step down when he suddenly stopped and turned to Holmes who had been helping him down. The Tsar smiled at him, and continued after his family.

As soon as he had reached bottom, Holmes bid the nuns start down, and then the last man. Then Holmes himself climbed down the stairs and waited at the foot while the last man retightened the bolts from below.

He then rushed back to the church. It was twelve-thirty.

As the drunken guard reached the top of the hill, one of Gablinev’s men grabbed him from behind while another stabbed him in the heart. Gablinev, trying to imitate the dead man’s voice, then yelled down that he was sick and needed help. Two more guards ventured up the hill never to come down. The last guard was still drinking from his bottle, his face turned towards the station, when one of Gablinev’s men stabbed him, as well.

Then Gablinev and his men got close enough to the guards and opened fire just as his other men from the lake did likewise.

As hoped, Reilly’s men, thinking themselves under attack, grabbed their weapons and opened fire at Yurovsky’s men. Gablinev shouted to Reilly’s men, as did others, that they were there to effect their freedom. In a few minutes, the four other Cheka guards surrendered. Gablinev had their throats slit.

The two small forces shook hands as Gablinev explained what they were to do next, and relayed Holmes’ orders about getting the locomotive fired up. Lt. Zimin obeyed, and all waited for the Imperial Family, Holmes, Watson, Reilly, and the others to arrive.

When Holmes got to the foot of the stairs leading to the church, the nuns were already seated on chairs in the tunnel, candles lighting their way, their prayer books at the ready. Two of Gablinev’s men would stay with the nuns until they were safely out the next night.

Holmes thanked them all, and as he climbed the stairs, the Ladies blessed him.

When he climbed into Father Storozhev’s study, Holmes saw me holding the Tsarevich. He had been lifted up to me, and I could not but think of my son, John, just about the same age as this helpless and weak poor boy.

The Father was busily explaining everything to the Imperial Family, and Holmes did not even have time to begin pulling off his false beard when Reilly burst in. The others with him remained outside, guarding the church.

At the sight of a Cheka Colonel, the Tsarina gave out a scream, but Father Storozhev calmed her and reminded her that this was the supposed Bolshevik he had told them about. The Tsarina quieted herself. Reilly, upon seeing the Grand Duchess Tatiana, stopped himself for ever the briefest of moments just staring at her, then saw Holmes in the Father’s hassock, shook his head in disbelief, and motioned Holmes to quicken the pace. He looked back at Tatiana, and she at him, as he ran out.

As Holmes changed his clothing, one of Gablinev’s men was already tying up Father Storozhev. The Tsarina and the Grand Duchesses began to cry as this was done and tried to stop the man from hitting the Father across the face; an act of necessity to further convince the Bolsheviks of his innocence when they found him.

The Father was gently laid on the floor, the bolts to the tunnel had already been tightened, and the Imperial Family, with Alexei now given to one of the younger and stronger men, was being hustled out of the study. The Tsarina was weeping as she fled, the Grand Duchesses, as well, their heads craning backwards for one last look at the Father.

Holmes was the last to leave the study, and told me later that in act of sheer role reversal, he blessed the Father; Holmes claimed he still had the cross around his neck, which he then laid carefully on Father Storozhev’s desk; along with some papers.

As Holmes left, he heard the Father’s faint prayers.

As we passed the British Consulate, we saw Preston and Thomas wave to us for good luck. I waved back. But things seemed to be going too well, I thought. And I was proved correct almost immediately; for as our motor cars approached the Verk-Isestsk factory cum barracks, there were soldiers waiting in ambush.

The lead car with Tsukov and his men was machine gunned. I believe Tsukov was killed instantly. The car with Reilly and Obolov was next and stopped immediately. The next auto bore the Imperial Family, which also immediately stopped, while Holmes and I were in the rear car with the last few of Gablinev’s men.

Reilly, Obolov and all the available guards fanned out and returned fire, but there were no machine guns. Reilly had Obolov lead some men to catch the Reds on their right flank, and after some harsh and intense moments, the shooting ceased.

I saw Reilly running back to the Imperial Family. He said something, ran back to his motor car, and we started up again.

Within a very few minutes we were at the station. The locomotive was ready, Gablinev and his men knelt upon seeing the Imperial Family, and Reilly and Obolov helped them into what had previously been our compartments.

Holmes and I thanked Gablinev, and as we shook hands, Reilly called to forget the pleasantries and get aboard. This we did quickly.

As the train pulled out, headed due west towards Perm, Holmes waved to Gablinev and his men as long as he could see them in the night.

It was only much later that I would learn the fates of Father Storozhev, the nuns, Gablinev, and his men.

The Romanovs

I must now pause in this narrative, for a moment, to convey to you my impressions of the Imperial Family as I came to know them: physically, medically, personally.

However, one thing I must relate in general, the Imperial Family truly loved each other dearly. And this in particular, the Tsar and Tsarina were devotedly still in love, even after more than twenty years of marriage, the turmoil of a monstrous revolution, the loss of their crowns and continuous threats to their lives and those of their children. In fact, the Tsar still referred to the Tsarina by his nickname for her, ‘Sonny.’

Please also note this, that before the revolution, and to the best of knowledge even to this date, there had been no hard words spoken or written about the Grand Duchesses, so kind and beloved were they.

Tsar Nicholas II, though only fifty, had aged considerably from his last, published photographs. His beard had gone prematurely grey, as had his temples. His soft, grey eyes, even when happy, still showed great pain.

Though only about five-feet-six, while his father, Alexander III had been six-foot-six, and his uncle, the Grand Duke Nicolai was close to seven feet tall, the Tsar gave the impression of additional height with a ‘Maypole posture,’ which means moving with a very erect carriage. To see this small, powerless man, once a god on earth, carrying his beloved son in his arms in the summer sun, was quite touching, indeed.

As it turned out, the Tsar loved the outdoors. He told us once that his favourite comment to his wife when she would gently reprimand him about his strenuous outdoor exercises, was this: “Sonny, scratch any Russian, and there’s a peasant beneath.” So perhaps because of his regular exercise, the Tsar was in excellent health, considering all he had been through.

Because he spoke English perfectly, as did all the Imperial Family, Holmes and I were able to converse with him at great length. We were both charmed by his adroit sense of humour, and a basic innate kindness that we could not help noting was so at odds with how the press had always portrayed him.

The Tsar had been trained from childhood to be aloof and reserved. Yet from all his misfortune had sprung a gentle, fairly open inquisitiveness; and when conditions were safe, we saw him on many occasions speaking even to Reilly’s men, who had been instructed to treat the Imperial Family with the utmost of deference still. I even noticed one or two of the men hold their caps when speaking to members of the family; one even called the Tsarina ‘Matushka.’

The Tsarina Alexandra had recently become forty-six, and she, even more than the Tsar, had aged tremendously.

When she married the Tsar, she had been one of the great beauties of Europe. She was the daughter of Queen Victoria’s daughter, Alice, making her first cousin to both King George and Kaiser Wilhelm. Indeed, she grew up as the Grand Duchess of Hesse-Darmstadt.

Now her once thick, chestnut hair, had harsh lines of grey coursing through, and her complexion, once perfect, was pallid and heavily lined. Though she suffered from irregular heartbeat, migraine headaches and long bouts of melancholia, I diagnosed her state to be more of mind than of body. Her melancholic nature had finally completely taken hold, and even though she was deeply immersed in her adopted religion of Russian Orthodoxy, or perhaps because of it, the more mystical side of her nature reinforced her melancholia, and she simply wished to die. It was as simple as that.

I also believe strongly another contributing factor here was that the Tsarina blamed herself for Alexei’s haemophilia; and this retreat from life was her way of taking revenge on herself for the suffering she had brought to her boy.

Because of this, she was especially close to Alexei, looking after him as would a nurse. Among the girls, however, the Grand Duchess Tatiana seemed her pet.

Though Holmes and I tried, in the few days we could, the Tsarina would not permit us into her ever-shrinking world; though she thanked me profusely for treating Alexei so successfully.

Alexei was a high-spirited fourteen-year-old boy in the diseased body of a boy much younger. He was exceptionally thin, this a combination of his most recent encounter with his disease, the constant torment he and his family had been under, and a mild case of malnutrition.

Alexei, like his mother, seemed to be finally giving up. He had not been taking food well recently. One can only guess at what the emotions of such a sensitive boy could be, based upon all that had happened, especially to his father who he absolutely revered.

His large, dark eyes, though at times lively, were also old. They seemed to bear unfathomable secrets of the ages.

I grew quite close to Alexei, since it was he I was especially there for, and because I came to look upon him as the son I missed so terribly, and would come to miss even more as events forced me to stay away.

The Grand Duchess Olga was the eldest of the children. She was beautiful, as were all the Grand Duchesses, but at twenty-two, she was already a woman with a strong will of her own; and a deep suspicion because of all that had happened, that she would never share with a man the love and tenderness akin to her parents’. This distressed her greatly, although she never spoke of it outwardly.

She was tall, about five-foot-six, with what my mother would have called ‘sunlight-brown’ hair, and large, expressive, blue eyes. Although her royal temperament flared at times, showing she might be more like her mother than her father, it appeared that she showed her love for the Tsar more than the other Grand Duchesses did.

She was generally thoughtful and unaffected and in as good health as could be expected under the circumstances; although, she was still quite thin from her bout with measles which all the Grand Duchesses had come down with shortly before the family was shipped out of Petrograd.

The Grand Duchess Marie was as close to the Tsar’s peasant adage as you could get in the Imperial Family. She was quite robust and strongly-built, and I was told that in her healthier days, she could lift her tutor. Now, she, too, was still abnormally thin from the measles.

At eighteen, Marie was the most simple of the Grand Duchesses in her tastes and quite surprisingly middle class in her attitude about family. I suspect she got that from observing how content her mother and father had been with each other and with the children.

The youngest of the girls, the Grand Duchess Anastasia, was sixteen, and the soul of the party, so to speak. Anastasia loved to make her family laugh, especially her brother, and would go to extreme lengths to send her loved ones into fits. She once stuffed napkins in her nose, swung her arm like a pachyderm’s trunk, and galumphed around claiming she was a gift from her dear cousin, George, the Emperor of India.

Anastasia was still at that awkward, ungainly stage, small and squat, and telling me that soon she would be as tall and slim and beautiful and elegant as her sisters. She absolutely idolized them all. And she was especially proud of the colour of her hair, which was very near spun gold, so beautifully did it shine in the sun.

I have saved my description of the Grand Duchess Tatiana for last because she will play such a prominent part in the rest of this journal. Tatiana was one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen, excepting Mary and Elizabeth. At twenty, she was the tallest of the Grand Duchesses, five-feet-seven, the most elegant, and the thinnest, also, from the measles. She had magnificent dark hair, obviously inherited from her mother, a darker complexion than any in her family, and the most magnificent, gently slanted, blue eyes you could ever hope to look into.

She had also inherited her mother’s reserved manner, and kept to herself more than the other Grand Duchesses, always seemingly lost in some deep thought. Yet who knows what truly stirs the depths beneath a tranquil ocean’s surface? And without a doubt, she was her mother’s pet.

I loved to look at Tatiana because she was so beautiful, and because I missed my wife so. But Tatiana was a human work of art, so graceful in her locomotion, so perfect of proportion. And like all the Grand Duchesses, so innocent of many things.

Thus ends my very brief, general description of the Imperial Family. Much more of substance shall be related as my journal continues.

Our locomotive was moving quickly, Reilly’s men with captured machine guns on the roofs of the cars, the last car in use as a barracks.

The Imperial Family had been put into the various compartments of our railway car; the curtains drawn and their doors shut. The Tsar, Tsarina and Alexei were in Holmes’ and my old compartment, Marie and Tatiana in Reilly’s, Olga and Anastasia in another. Holmes and I would be sharing what used to be the compartment of Stravitski and Obolov. Reilly and Obolov were to stay in the barracks car.

By now we’d all been told about Stravitski, but Obolov just could not believe that his dear friend had been taken from him twice like this. Obolov would not be the same as before and since Reilly saw this, he began to distance himself from Obolov and draw closer to Lt. Zimin.

We were all tense and nervous, except Holmes, fearing an attack at any moment, not knowing if around the next turn the tracks would be blown and the Reds would be waiting.

But amazingly, nothing happened that night. In fact, by four A.M., all except the Imperial Family were dozing in the salon.

July 19, 1918

I awoke about eight to find Anastasia standing in the salon looking from man to man. Since I was the first to open his eyes, she smiled at me and asked, “What are we to do about breakfast?”

With those words all others awakened, and Reilly asked her to return to her compartment; it was dangerous for her to be out, and food would be brought into the salon shortly for her family.

I am not sure, but I think she flirted with Reilly as she thanked him and rushed back to her compartment. As she closed her door, I heard her excited voice saying something to Olga. If she was like any other sixteen-year-old girl, I can guess at the conversation she had with her sister.

Reilly said something to Obolov and he left the car. Then he turned to Holmes and me.

“There is much we must discuss.”

“Indeed,” said Holmes.

“First, now that there is time, I thank you both for helping save my life.” Holmes waved his hand dismissively.

Reilly continued. “Nevertheless, I’m told you’re both responsible for the Imperial Family’s rescue from Ekaterinburg. I don’t know yet how you accomplished their rescue in unison with mine and my men, and I’m sure Preston and Thomas had something to do with it, but what you did was nothing short of miraculous.”

“I’m sure there are many people who would agree with you,” answered Holmes. We all smiled.

“Yes, well, I’ve sent Obolov for food. I’ll have to watch him now. Anyway, this is the last time he’ll be permitted in this car. I will come and go, and you shall be free to do likewise when it’s safe, but the Imperial Family will remain in this car for all our sakes.”

Then he said to himself, but really to us, “I wonder why Yurovsky has not come after us?”

“He may do so or not,” said Holmes, “and if not, it is thanks to some papers I left on Father Storozhev’s desk.”

“Papers? What papers?” I asked.

Holmes was about to answer when the Tsar appeared at the edge of the salon. We were startled.

“I hope I have not disturbed you, gentlemen.”

“No, no, not at all, your Imperial Majesty,” we embarrassedly mumbled, or words to that effect.

“It is just that I first would like to thank you all, though I still do not know who you are, for saving the lives of my family. They are more precious to me than my crown. I am sure I shall know in time who is behind this, but it is you directly to whom I owe my undying gratitude. I only pray that I may someday be in a position of repaying in part the insurmountable debt I owe you all.”

By the time the Tsar had finished his thanks, his eyes were filled with tears. He dabbed at them and made light of his discomfort with the following:

“On a more mundane note, my son and wife are getting quite hungry, and they have sent me to you in hopes of procuring something to eat.”

It was Reilly who spoke, and it suddenly dawned on us as we saw it dawn on Reilly’s face, that he was not sure how to address the Tsar. Would it be Your Imperial Majesty, or would it be Citizen Romanov? His decision would shape the Imperial Family’s journey.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” said Reilly, “The Grand Duchess Anastasia, not more than two minutes ago, asked the same question; and upon receiving an answer vanished back into her compartment.” Holmes and I could see the Tsar seemingly gain inches upon being addressed so deferentially. He became more erect, while a small, grateful smile took hold on his lips. The smile, in turn, gave way to a small laugh. “And what was the answer?”

“Forgive me, Your Imperial Majesty, breakfast is being brought to us as we speak. When it arrives I shall inform you and your family so that you can come to the salon, if that is all right with you.”

“I believe it will be, yes. I shall go and speak with the Tsarina about it.”

I stopped him from leaving.

“Your Imperial Majesty, if your son is awake, I should like to examine him and see how he is doing. I am a doctor.”

The Tsar remembered and was most apologetic.

“Oh, yes, yes, of course. Thank you doctor for your care of my son. Just give me a moment to speak with the Tsarina and I shall call you in.”

His handshake was firm and tender at the same time. “Thank you again,” said he. He then made his way back to his compartment.

“Bravo,” said Holmes to Reilly, “you have put heart in a man who has had his ripped out. You have done well, comrade.”

Reilly looked embarrassed.

“Yes, well, it couldn’t hurt, after all. Anyway, I must...” Reilly stopped in mid-sentence and looked to our rear. Holmes and I turned to see what caused this interruption and found, standing there, the Grand Duchess Tatiana. She was staring intently at Reilly as he at her. Now it was I who felt embarrassed, as if I was somewhere I should not be. Or that I had walked in on two lovers.

By Jove, that was it! I could not believe it. I would have been willing to wager a year of my life, and would win that bet as you shall see, that Reilly had fallen in love, at first sight, mind you, with the Grand Duchess Tatiana. With truth being stranger than fiction, she was likewise fascinated by Reilly.

Holmes, being Holmes, and not having much interest in such matters, interrupted their reverie with a gracious, “Your Imperial Highness, may we help you?”

Tatiana kept her eyes on Reilly as she likewise inquired about breakfast, and it was Holmes who told her, with Reilly and Tatiana still looking at each other, what had just been told to her father.

She finally took her eyes to Holmes, thanked him and left, halting for a split second, but not turning.

I looked at Reilly. “I think I had better speak with you,” I said.

“Not now, Dr. Watson,” said Reilly absentmindedly, and left Holmes and me alone in the salon.

I smiled, put my hand on Holmes’ shoulder and said, “Holmes, my friend, that hard-hearted, cold, calculating, murderous rogue named Relinsky, has just had his entire character changed in the flash of an eyelash.”

Holmes looked at me.

“Holmes,” I was laughing now, “he has fallen in love with Tatiana.”

“Furthermore, I am positive that she has fallen in love with him.”

With that revelation and a roll of his eyes, Holmes sat down.

I examined Alexei with both the Tsar and Tsarina looking on, and saw that the swelling on his right arm where the guard had hit him was continuing to go down. This was excellent. What was imperative, however, was that Alexei take food. I said this to him in a mock form of admonishment, and maybe because I was new, or had helped rescue his family, Alexei promised to try.

We left the Imperial Family alone to eat, with two of Reilly’s men attending them. Holmes, Reilly, Obolov and I ate in the last car. As we partook of breakfast, still thrilled with our luck, we began passing through Kungur.

Reilly had told the soldier-engineer to slow down while going through Kungur but not to stop. We held our breath in fear of Red barricades. There were none.

It was at this point Reilly inquired about all that had happened the night before, which Holmes told him; and that Holmes inquired about the events at Cheka headquarters, which Reilly told us.

Then Reilly asked Holmes about our ‘luck,’ and what the papers Holmes left for Yurovsky had to do with it. I myself was about to ask that question, and was absolutely astounded, as was Reilly, with Holmes’ answer.

“Well, gentlemen, my idea came when Preston said something about everyone wanting the Romanovs, but he wasn’t sure if it was dead or alive. Then Yurovsky went on about how the Romanovs were his responsibility and how he could not afford to let them fall into the hands of the Whites.

“So I left a little note for our friend, Yurovsky, telling him that he was absolutely correct in his mistrust of us and that we were, in fact, White agents.”

Reilly practically knocked over the table, so quick was he to sit bolt upright. “You said what?”

“Sit down, comrade, and listen further.”

“My ears won’t tolerate madness, comrade,” spat Reilly.

“Well, I have not bayed at the moon lately,” said Holmes. “I told him we represented powerful international forces that knew the Whites were eventually doomed, and all they wanted was the safe exit of the Romanovs from Russia. For that, they would keep the true fate of the Romanovs an eternal secret, because they also knew the Reds would stop at nothing anywhere in the world to have them killed if it was known they were alive.

“I reminded him that the Whites would, in fact, be in Ekaterinburg any time now, as we all knew, and that other White forces were heading down from the northwest, which they are, in a pincer movement. This would undoubtedly force Yurovsky to consider one of four possibilities.

“The first being that he and Beleborodov, the Chairman of the Urals Regional Soviet, and all the local Bolsheviks, surrender to the Whites; who, of course, will most certainly put them to death immediately.

“The second being that they try to break through the overwhelming White forces, which they most probably will not be able to do. Once captured and found to be the jailers of the Romanovs, they will be lucky if they are merely executed.

“The third, that if they do break through and make it into Bolshevik territory again, they will be arrested by either the Red Army or the Cheka for letting the Romanovs fall into White hands without a struggle; and they will most certainly be executed.

“Finally the fourth possibility, and one of my own devising. What if they leave evidence proving they have killed the Romanovs? Moscow will be pleased that the decision of what to do with the Romanovs has been taken out of their hands, and they can show their hands as clean to humanity. It will show how strongly committed the common people are. How their revolution has now finally and completely swept the old order away and enabled a new order to emerge supreme.

“The news of such an event will halt the onrush of the Whites since they have only been converging on Ekaterinburg with the intention of freeing the Romanovs. It may even throw the entire White counter-revolution into disarray because the symbol of what they had been fighting for has now been removed. Even if they hold up their advance ever so slightly, it will give better odds that Yurovsky and his men can slither out of the vice before it is too late.

“I reminded him about the deserted mines called ‘The Four Brothers,’ just outside of town, and suggested that this is where they claim the bodies were disposed of. Since it is a mining town, there are plentiful supplies of acids and chemicals which may be used to destroy as much false evidence as possible; including bones they should disinter from the local graveyard. Since Ekaterinburg is the epicentre of the fighting at the moment, no one should question in minutiae the evidence of the Romanovs’ deaths, if it is handled wisely and adroitly. How they choose to portray their method of execution I left to Yurovsky.

“In case he felt like a gambler and decided to follow us or wire ahead once the lines were back up, I also reminded him about the orders signed by Lenin himself. How would other Red forces behave? Especially the Cheka in Perm, from whence we had just come and who knew of Lenin’s safe order of passage; they of course did not, but Yurovsky did not know this. How indeed would they react after Colonel Relinsky’s account of the offhand dismissal of Comrade Lenin’s orders, and the counter-revolutionary actions on the part of a Regional Commissar of Justice who is obviously now terrified of losing his life because of his irrational actions in the face of advancing White Armies? Oh, I laid it on with a thick brush, all right.

“Of course, I could not write Russian, so I had Thomas do it. That was why he was not with us for a time. He was busy translating my notes into Russian.

“I also suggested they bring Preston and Thomas into this affair in the following fashion, for they most certainly shall not be able to keep them out of it: Yurovsky, when asked about the shooting of the previous night, shall tell Preston that Relinsky escaped, and with the aid of myself and Watson, made a foolish, and ultimately unsuccessful attempt at freeing the Imperial Family. He will state, of course, that he knows Preston and Thomas had nothing to do with this; because even if he would like to murder them for the sake of murdering someone, he needs them as credible witnesses and as contacts to London.

“He shall insist that Preston let London know, through his ambassador in Moscow, of course, of this latest White outrage, and that there can no longer be a guarantee of Romanov safety. Since no one except the guards has access to the Ipatiev House, no one will know that they are no longer there. As usual, Preston shall demand to see the Imperial Family, Yurovsky can, as usual, refuse. It shall seem like business as usual and buy Yurovsky time to fake the executions.”

Reilly and I just sat there staring at Holmes. Finally it was Reilly who spoke.

“That is the most fantastic scheme I have ever heard. It is either the work of a true genius or the demented imaginings of a raving lunatic.”

Holmes looked at him and asked, “Which do you favour?”

“I am not yet sure,” said Reilly quietly, “I am not yet sure.”

“Well, whilst you decide, I am certain that Yurovsky has already secretly met with Beleborodov and Yermakov on my proposals, and perhaps even with key leaders of the guards to explain to the rank and file their imminent peril should the truth be known; and this blissful quietude to which we are heir is the result of their direct inaction.

“Now, if you don’t mind, whatever this is that I was trying to eat has grown quite cold.”

Holmes and I decided not to return to the Imperial Family’s car. We would give them complete privacy. Of course I would attend Alexei a few times a day but we would not enter the car unless summoned by a member of the family.

Just as night came, well past Kungur and in the middle of the eternal emptiness that is the vast body of Russia, Reilly halted the train because he felt the Imperial Family, and his men as well, needed a half-hour’s relaxation after the previous night’s exertions; and here, quite in the middle of nothing, it seemed safe to do so. Furthermore, he confided, given all that was happening on this gigantic field of play, he was not sure when we would again have this opportunity.

I also think it might have been something more.

Reilly asked me to inform the Imperial Family of his orders, and to stress the importance of their partaking of the freedom of the night with its moon and soothing air. I did.

I stayed in the salon while the Tsar spoke with the Tsarina and the Grand Duchesses, and after a few moments, all, except the Tsarina, appeared with wide smiles on their faces; Alexei, of course, in the arms of his father.

They followed me outside, where some guards had already taken defensive positions, and began to stroll the countryside, the girls picking a few wildflowers for themselves and their mother; Marie kissing her father on the cheek and presenting him with a bouquet.

I watched the guards watching them, and saw the smiles on these men’s faces, obviously thinking of their own families, and, I believe, wishing our charges well.

Then I saw Reilly was moving back and forth quite strangely, as if he could not make up his mind about something. I did not have to strain my intellectual powers to guess on what he was thinking, and had my suspicions confirmed when the Imperial Family broke up into smaller groups, Tatiana and Olga going off together. Reilly walked over to them.

He saluted them quite correctly and they acknowledged his salute in the best Imperial manner. Then the three walked slowly in circles talking, Tatiana and Olga sometimes laughing.

Reilly was working his magic once more.

After no more than fifteen minutes or so, Reilly and the Grand Duchesses began coming back, and Reilly signalled to the others in the Imperial Family to do likewise.

They all re-boarded the train, Reilly helping the Grand Duchesses up with the gentle strength of his hand, and I watched as Reilly’s and Tatiana’s hands remained as one for just a touch longer than the rest.

July 9, 1918

This evening, the guard at the door of the Imperial Family’s car told us the Tsar wished Holmes, Reilly and me to join his family. This we did with alacrity.

It was at this session, again with the Tsarina absent, that we explained as much as we could to the Tsar of the true events of the world outside his confinement, which deeply distressed the family. We also explained who we were and the dangers that could well lie ahead.

At the sound of our names, the Tsar became wonderfully excited, as did Alexei. It seems that many were the times the Tsar had read to Alexei my accounts of the adventures of Sherlock Holmes, and even the Grand Duchesses had a vague understanding of who we were.

Holmes and I were absolutely surprised to learn that on one of the Tsar’s holidays with King George, he had even said that when he could bring Alexei to England, he would love to have his cousin arrange an audience for us.

Alexei became something of a grand inquisitor, firing rapid and numerous questions at us. These were not idle questions, but specific questions about specific cases and they were all intelligent questions. It was a joy to behold, and I saw the happiness on the Tsar’s face as he watched his boy come alive.

The Grand Duchesses talked among themselves, and to Reilly, with the bulk of Reilly’s attention being paid to Tatiana. At one point, I am positive I saw the Tsar notice this mutual interest, and then turn back to Holmes with an understanding in his eyes and in his smile of precisely what was happening between his daughter and Reilly. If I was correct, I thought to myself, then this man was truly a very unique man and father, indeed. Given our circumstances, and the extreme tenuousness of our very existence, the Tsar was tacitly giving his daughter permission to love for perhaps the only time in her life she might do so.

July 10, 1918

This morning we arrived in Perm. Even though the Imperial Family knew to stay closeted inside, Reilly thought it best to impart a gentle reminder. Then, with Lt. Zimin, and leaving Obolov with the guards at the train, Reilly left to go to Cheka headquarters and Colonel Mikoyan.

He returned in an hour. Yes, the lines to Ekaterinburg were finally restored and no, there had been no unusual messages. Either luck, or Holmes, or a combination of the two, was working overtime.

Reilly also informed us that he thought it best for us to leave as soon as fresh water, food and fuel could be put aboard. He said he finally did show the Lenin papers to Colonel Mikoyan, in command in Perm, who was very correct and, Reilly laughed, seemed to regard the papers he touched as sacred articles once he realized who had signed them. There would be no trouble in Perm.

Though the colonel would have liked to know who or what was aboard the train, Reilly simply asked to be alone with the colonel, as if to take him into his utmost, deepest confidence, and then told him that the train was carrying something so secret, that even Comrade Trotsky did not know. This was a private, and highly personal mission that he, Colonel Relinsky was undertaking for Lenin. Relinsky then leered and laughed to the colonel to give him the impression this mission involved women. The colonel understood immediately and laughed and leered in response.

Now Mikoyan, his chest puffed out, could regale his comrades about the highly personal affairs he was privy to about Comrade Lenin. Reilly had done a masterful job. Holmes and I shook our heads in amusement, and Reilly, after asking if everything was in order in the Imperial Family’s car, went about seeing to his men.

We left Perm three hours later, and had a very good laugh to see, as we pulled out, our Cheka colonel waving us off at the station, complete with what appeared to be a small guard of honour.

The day concluded without further incident, the only matter of note being Reilly’s increasing sense of “not finding a place for myself,” as he put it. Plain and simple, the man wanted to see Tatiana and he could not just go barging in on her. He was ridiculously restless, and for the two seconds I saw him stop his movements, which resembled a June bug racing from flower to flower, plus the look on his face, an uneasy feeling that took hold that he was actually wishing for something untoward to happen so he could again rescue his maiden fair.

He did not have too much longer to wait.

July 11, 1918

By seven A.M., our train had come to a slight pass between Glazov and Kirov. Reilly, Holmes, Obolov and I had risen about an hour earlier and this was just as well as a shell landed near enough to shake us almost off our feet. It appeared that our journey was no longer going to be without incident. Before Holmes and I could even gather our thoughts, Reilly was on his way to Tatiana’s car.

In an effort to elude further shells, the train gathered speed as it continued through the pass. Then, just as a decent speed had been reached, the emergency brake was pulled. The track in front of us had been blown and everyone in our car was sent careening to the floor or smashing against the walls as the train screeched to a halt.

My first concern was for Alexei. I began to run to his car as Holmes and the men scrambled outside for cover. The guards on the roof were already returning fire with our captured machine guns.

The ladies of the Imperial Family were being directed by Reilly to exit the car as quickly as possible, and I was relieved to see Alexei being carried out by the Tsar, who gave me a quick nod that the boy was all right.

Reilly helped the Tsarina down to a waiting guard, and everyone was directed to seek shelter behind a small incline on the obverse side of the direction from where the shelling originated.

Reilly told me he was off to organise his men, and also said that if the shelling continued, we were finished. We could not stand up to a sustained artillery bombardment. Then, before I could say anything, he glanced at Tatiana and rushed off.

The shelling continued with me thanking the Lord mightily that our enemy’s aim was so poor. Anastasia was crying, as was the Tsarina, Marie trying to comfort her sister. The Tsar was holding Alexei’s head down despite his son’s best efforts to get a better view of the battle. Tatiana held her mother tightly and Olga was flat on the ground, her hands covering her head in the instinctive, protective position.

A shell hit the rear of the soldiers’ car, only blowing apart the rear platform. Our guards on the roof were trying to fire towards the artillery to keep them from shelling our positions, but without much success. I saw some of our guards fall, either wounded or killed. I could not go to their aid.

While all this was going on I was also wondering if Holmes was safe, but knew, of course, he would be. It was then I heard bugles coming from our rear. When I turned to see from where, and from whom, the sound came, I was astonished to see another train stopping behind us; a train, like ours, flying the red flags of revolution.

We were the ones caught in the vice. The Reds had us trapped and now my only thought was that I would never again see Elizabeth or John.

Then, much to my surprise and relief, I saw that the Red troops pouring out of the train were firing not on us, but at the direction from which the shelling came. For whatever reason, they were there to help us, not attack us. While thanking the Lord for this bizarre deliverance, and wondering heavily at what God hath wrought, I received the answer to my question. Colonel Mikoyan appeared from the train, directing his troops against the ridges in front of us.

It was at that moment I realized I must get the Imperial Family back into their compartments. If they were seen by any of these new troops, our game would be up. Since I was the only man now with them, I screamed at them to get back into the train and to be quick about it. They did not know why, but they obeyed immediately, I personally lifting the Tsarina aboard.

I got them all back into their compartments, grabbed a rifle from the hand of a dead guard on the coupling, closed the door from the outside, and felt, but just for an instant, that I was a young surgeon again at Maiwand.

My brief reverie was interrupted by one of the new troops. He was trying to climb aboard the car. I pushed him back with the side of my rifle and he began calling to some of the other troops to come help him. I was certain that he had seen the Imperial Family and he wanted to claim his prize. Now he was holding my rifle and pushing in, and I was holding and pushing out. Just as I got into position to kick him down, he let go and fell backwards. Reilly was standing there, his pistol now aiming down at the dead soldier.

I moved aside and let him up.

“Are they all right?” he asked as he opened the door.

“Yes, she is,” I answered.

Reilly smiled for a brief second and dashed in.

Meanwhile the new troops seemed to be pushing back the forces on the ridge. The shelling had stopped and Reilly’s men had joined the Perm Reds in a counter-attack up the ridge. I lowered my rifle and fell back against the wall of the car.

Reilly came out and as he jumped down and ran towards his men I heard him yell over his shoulder, “Yes, she is.” And as I stood watching him run off, I also heard, “Well, that was unexpected.” I looked down to see a quite dishevelled Holmes, also with rifle in hand, looking up at me.

After about thirty minutes, the Perm Reds, and some of our men, began plodding back to their respective trains. Only sporadic firing was heard and I knew from my own battle experience that enemy stragglers were being hunted.

By the time we saw Reilly returning, walking closely with Colonel Mikoyan, I had told Holmes that the Romanovs were safe, and how I had so undiplomatically bundled them back into the car for protection. He agreed wholeheartedly with my actions.

Then Holmes and I went down to meet Reilly and Mikoyan. They were both laughing.

Reilly introduced us as British diplomats, all the while Mikoyan still laughing and chattering away at Reilly. Reilly, we could see, was forcing a laugh, as he began telling us what had happened.

“It’s quite all right, he doesn’t understand English. It seems that Yurovsky decided to try a gamble. He finally telegraphed to Mikoyan here that we were White agents who kidnapped the Imperial Family and killed many of his men in the process. Our train was to be stopped by every means available.

“After Mikoyan argued telegraphically with Yurovsky, he cursed him and said he would go after us. But he made it clear that if this was a wild goose chase, he would see to it personally that Yurovsky and his men would be arrested and shot. So bizarre did Mikoyan feel the message to be that to avoid any embarrassment he took the only copy of the telegram from the operator, ordered the man, on pain of death, to remain silent about it and brought him along on this expedition.

“Then, he came after us.”

“But they joined in our fighting,” said Holmes, “why didn’t they join in those Reds up ahead and annihilate us all?”

“Because, Mr. Holmes, the troops up ahead weren’t Reds. They were Whites.”

Before we could take that in, Mikoyan, still laughing, Reilly later told us, said he had better take a look inside for himself anyway. With arched eyebrow, he said he just had to see who was causing this fuss. Some of his men were only a few paces away.

As he began to pull himself up, Holmes and I looked at each other to see if the other could stop him. Before we could think, there was a shot from behind and the back of Mikoyan’s head exploded. He fell backwards and landed at our feet. In that fraction of a second, Holmes and I spun around to see from where the shot came. There was Reilly, his arm still straight out, with the pistol pointed at Mikoyan. As Mikoyan’s men came towards us, their weapons at the ready, Reilly whirled around and emptied his pistol into the already dead body of one of his own men. He then began screaming in Russian at the corpse as the men led by an officer came running up.

Reilly continued screaming at the body as he began kicking it. Mikoyan’s men began a frenzy of stabbing the body with their bayonets. It was like a feeding frenzy of sharks. Holmes and I stepped back for safety amidst this senseless brutality.

Quickly spending themselves, they turned towards us as Reilly stepped between us as barrier and talked with the officer. Whatever Reilly said, it worked. The officer had his men carry Mikoyan’s body back to their train. The officer turned and saluted us all, and his train began backing up to Perm.

Holmes was about to demand an explanation when, after just a few hundred feet, the train stopped, and the soldiers began coming towards us once more.

“Holmes, it looks like we’re in for it again.”

“Calm yourself, Dr. Watson, please just watch,” said Reilly. And as we did, we saw the Perm Reds begin digging up the track between their train and ours. They were going to lay it into the spaces in our path blown by the Whites.

The cold sweat into which I had once again broken, evaporated at this, and I told Holmes and Reilly I could use a spot of whiskey. To which Reilly replied, “Will vodka do?”

Before Reilly could turn from killer to host, he hoisted himself aboard the car. Holmes and I followed closely. Reilly went straight to Tatiana’s car and pounded. Tatiana opened the door, and when she saw Reilly standing there, she simply threw the door wide as he pulled her to him and began kissing her. Marie literally sat there with her mouth open. I pushed them both inside the compartment and closed the door so I could get past them to Alexei; and so they would not be seen.

I knocked at the Tsar’s compartment and announced myself. The Tsar opened the door as I saw Alexei huddled in his mother’s arms, she rocking back and forth, chanting something in German.

The Tsar and I looked at each other, he with great concern, I with fear from the look, or lack of it, I saw in the Tsarina’s eyes.

The Tsar gently separated Alexei from his mother, the body seemed all right, and I bent down to the Tsarina.

“Your Imperial Majesty?” Nothing but the chanting. I tried again. “Your Imperial Majesty?” The chanting continued as she looked blankly into the drawn window shades.

I looked up at the Tsar with question in my eyes.

“It is a German lullaby her father sang to her when she was a little girl,” said the Tsar. “She had always been afraid of the dark, and this was the only thing that would comfort her. She began it when we got back into the compartment, just after she grabbed Alexei from me.”

I noticed the look of great fear and incomprehension on Alexei’s face and asked the Tsar if it would be acceptable for Holmes to carry Alexei into the salon while we stayed with the Tsarina.

“Of course, doctor, yes.” He handed Alexei to Holmes, and as Holmes started towards the salon, Alexei said, “Don’t worry, papa, Dr. Watson is a good man, a good doctor, he will help mamma, I promise you.”

The Tsar looked at me and I went back to further examine the Tsarina. Her heartbeat was fairly regular, her pupils were not dilated, but it was grievously obvious, the Tsarina was no longer with us.

Dr. Freud of Vienna has treated cases like this, and I shall paraphrase what he has said. Sometimes, a final, sudden shock may send a more delicate or troubled psyche running for lasting, emotional cover; at last free from fear and harm. It is the only true protection the mind can create and deal with on its own terms. There have been cases where a patient has returned to what can be called normal, but, unfortunately, the majority of such cases remain locked in their self-forged fortress. I explained all of this to the Tsar.

“She has always been frail of spirit, Doctor,” he said, fighting to maintain an imperial composure. “Even when we were first married, she had much to endure. People called her cold and aloof, but she was just too sensitive. How could anyone who is cold and aloof raise such warm, loving children? Because she was German she felt no one accepted her. When the war came, no matter how much she did for the soldiers with her nursing and her immense donations, people said because she was German she was secretly helping the enemy.

“Then revolution, imprisonment, and barbaric treatment at the hands of our enemies. I have been amazed she has not slipped into a comforting, protective world of her own before this. I believe it was only because of Alexei and the girls that she did not.

“Tell me, Dr. Watson, perhaps with rest, and kindness, and love, she might...” He broke off in mid-sentence, fell to his knees by her side, grabbed her hands in his and kissed them repeatedly as he kept sobbing, “Sonny, Sonny...”

I left him alone with her.

When I got back to the salon, Alexei was seated on Holmes’ lap, of all places, a not completely incongruous sight since Holmes has performed the same function for John when he was just a baby. Anastasia, Olga, and Marie were seated by the table. Tatiana was not there. Reilly was absent also. I thought it best not to inquire of Tatiana’s whereabouts, and decided to let all know the condition of the Tsarina. I also felt Tatiana’s absence to be a blessing since she was the closest to her mother, and I thought it better that she be told later by her sisters or father.

Alexei began to cry, as did Anastasia. Marie and Olga just looked at each other, their eyes damp. Then Olga moved next to Holmes and took Alexei to her, comforting him as had her mother, rocking him back and forth, her lips on his forehead, her hands holding him tightly.

Holmes and I went outside; and though the news of the Tsarina had disturbed him, he went to the heart of our problem.

“Watson, this is the first chance we’ve had to speak since the battle. What make you of the attack by the Whites?”

“Holmes, it is an absolute puzzle to me. I thought, from what Kolchak said, that they would simply surround the train at Viatka, Relinsky would tell his men to surrender, and we would be safe. I have not the vaguest notion of what is going on.”

“Nor do I, Watson. However I am sure our friend Relinsky does.” Holmes looked around. “By the way, where is he? For that matter, where is Tatiana?”

“Holmes, are you so removed from everyday passions that you still cannot comprehend the most normal events unfolding before you?”

“I’m sure I don’t understand what you’re getting at, Watson.”

“Then let me give you an elementary lesson.” I had been waiting for years to reverse the direction of that word.

It was several hours before the Perm Reds had finished their task. Reilly had returned to us a short time after Holmes had wandered off, and as he walked towards the construction, he gave me a look that showed great inner turmoil. I simply thought it had to do with his liaison-de-coeur. I was to be proven monumentally mistaken.

Reilly heartily thanked the Perm officer, saluted him majestically and waved him and his men back to their train. Holmes appeared from nowhere and the three of us watched as the Perm train finally backed away for good.

Holmes immediately turned on Reilly.

“Before you begin to explain what is happening here, what was that business with Mikoyan and your dead soldier? What were you screaming? What did you say to that officer?”

Reilly asked us both to step away from the train, away from his men, and especially Obolov who was now standing on the roof of the soldiers’ car, staring down at us. He directed us to a flat area at the top of one of the ridges our train had been passing through.

“Gentlemen, with all I have to tell you now, I am not sure if I should suggest you seat yourselves on the ground or chance a reaction from you both I do not wish. Before we find out, I’m going to hand you my pistol, Mr. Holmes.

“Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, I’m surrendering my weapon, because it’s the only way I know of trying to prove to you my good faith.

“First, so you will understand why I am perhaps better suited to deal with certain indelicate situations than yourselves, I am going to tell you exactly who I am and a very brief account of my peregrinations during this war.”

Reilly then gave us most of the information I have already imparted to you about his past.

“Now, to answer your immediate question about Mikoyan, it was obvious to me that both of you could do nothing. And in that situation the only possible course of action was to shoot him instantly. Remember, he had taken the only telegram, which I have removed from his tunic, and given orders to this telegraph operator, upon death, not to reveal what the message was. Through his laughter, he recounted the death of that poor man in the battle. Therefore, Mikoyan’s death would obliterate any trace of who is in our railway car.

“Secondly, I obviously could not be seen as the man shooting Mikoyan, so I merely shifted the blame to one who would not mind. What I was yelling was, ‘traitor, traitor’. Mikoyan’s men then believed that man to have been a White traitor in our midst. It was that simple.”

“Simple to you, perhaps,” I said. “That is the finest example of quick thinking and action I believe I have ever seen.” I noticed Holmes did not appreciate my remark.

“Now, gentlemen, I am going to relate to you something very painful. What we are all truly here for.” Holmes and I took a step closer to Reilly.

“Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, in Petrograd I had told you to believe nothing of what any Russian said, and only one tenth of what any Englishman said. By that yardstick, you could measure my credibility in a percentage of mere fractions. I have never spoken truer words than those.

“I was not sent to aid you in your task of rescue, I was sent to make sure you failed. Not only that you failed, but that you and the Imperial Family all died in the attempt.”

I just stood there, almost not even able to breathe.

Holmes, however, just shook his head in revelation and said to me, “So, Watson, we finally know why we were here. We were to be the scapegoats.”

Revelation

This revelation was frightening and infuriating. Holmes began walking around Reilly as a hawk would circle its prey. It was as if he was kicking himself internally for not unravelling the one mystery that may have cost all of us our lives. He said nothing, stopped for a moment and then returned the pistol to Reilly as he looked him in the eye. It was clear to me that an unspoken truce had been reached. He then resumed his circling while listening to the rest of Reilly’s story.

“Why you were to be killed, I don’t know. Those few in my field who are like me, only follow orders; or, at least, the orders we want to follow.

“I was seconded from SIS to naval intelligence, and was given specific and direct orders by the deputy director of that branch.”

“Sir Randolph Newsome,” Holmes interrupted.

Reilly seemed surprised. “Do you know him?”

“Let us just say that we know of him. This is not the first time we have come upon the name of Sir Randolph Newsome.”

“We met quite clandestinely months ago at a safe house near Harwich, and I was told that Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson were going to try to rescue the Imperial Family. I was told there was the strongest resistance to this in the highest circles of government; and while there were those who wanted you to succeed, I was taking orders from those who did not.

“Further, these same people wished the Imperial Family dead, but under no circumstances did they wish the blame for their death attached to the Bolsheviks. This he emphasized quite strenuously.

“The methods I chose to carry out the assignment were left entirely to my discretion. I would be given as much money as needed for whatever I required.

“Sir George Buchanan, I am almost sure, was told another story. His superior is, of course, the British Foreign Secretary whose name every Englishman knows, Arthur Balfour. From what I could gather, Sir George believed what you believed; that you were sent to rescue the Romanovs, and that I was sent secretly by the British government to help. He told me also that special arrangements had been made with the White leader, Admiral Kolchak, to help me in my task.

“Usually, an ambassador would not know of my true identity or what my true assignment would be; unless he has a direct need to know, which Sir George did not. So I am still not sure if Sir George knows exactly who I am, or what my main function was before I was seconded. That, by the way, is something I promise to disclose to you at another time.

“Stravitski and Obolov I had known many years before in Russia, and they were of the greatest assistance to me thirteen years ago at Port Arthur during the Russo-Japanese War.”

“Do you mean you were already working with SIS back then?” I asked.

“Yes. That is where Stravitski saved my life. Obolov was with me only because Stravitski was with me; if you understand.” Holmes and I both nodded quietly.

“As for my men, they are Cheka through and through. But they think I am as well. They, too, believe this to be a very special and personal request by Lenin to bring the Imperial Family back to Moscow for trial. A trial designed to show the world why the Reds were forced into their revolution and to lay the blame solely at the feet of the Tsar. They believe it will absolve them and their Comrade Leader Lenin of any blame.

“I don’t know how much Lenin knows. He, too, is a wild card here. Yes, he knows your identities; but what else? Can Lenin be in collusion with the British? Anything is possible; and for a multitude of reasons we can’t even guess at.

“My men also knew how dangerous this mission would be because we were heading right into the middle of the civil war. In addition, even the regional Soviets, like the one in the Urals with which you have become so familiar, were in virtual rebellion against Moscow. Many of the commissars want to set themselves up as autonomous leaders in their own area. So my men were ready for trouble. In fact, they almost wished it.

“However, one thing bothered me greatly. It was a direct order from Balfour to Buchanan to have me work with Kolchak. Why bring Kolchak into this? If Kolchak was privy to my task, Newsome had not said so. It felt wrong on many levels. So I decided to use Kolchak for my own purposes.

“When I met Kolchak, before you did, he told me exactly what you heard yourselves with me. During our return trip, our train would be surrounded, I would order my men to surrender, they would be shot by Kolchak’s men as traitors, and you and I along with the Imperial Family would be in the safe hands of the Whites, who would then see us safely to Archangel. There, after an invasion by the Allies scheduled for the middle to end of July, you would all be taken out of the country.

“It was now very evident the Admiral knew absolutely nothing of my orders from Sir Randolph. In fact, it now seems that no one I have met knew.”

Holmes interrupted again. “Does that sound familiar to you, Watson? One link not being aware of the other link’s function?”

“Oh, yes, quite,” I said.

“Links?” asked Reilly.

“Yes, I shall tell you more of it later. Please continue.”

“I was going to use the White attack as my cover for yours, and the Imperial Family’s deaths.”

“How?” asked I.

“I would not have my men surrender so easily. During the battle, Stravitski and Obolov would have shot you all. I could then claim to Kolchak, when I finally surrendered, that some hard line troops under my command had taken it upon themselves to kill you all rather than have the Romanovs rescued by the Whites. After a brief struggle between men loyal to me, we prevailed and managed to kill the fanatics in turn.

“We could then claim, and I could almost see the propaganda, that the Imperial Family, in the midst of an unfortunate rescue attempt by private British citizens in the pay of unknown forces, were killed when they were caught in a clash between Red and White forces at Viatka. The two British subjects killed along with the Imperial Family were the internationally known consulting detective, Mr. Sherlock Homes, and his celebrated chronicler, Dr. John Watson.”

“Absolutely brilliant, Reilly,” said Holmes, “you satisfy everyone and you not only remain alive, but prosper from your exertions.”

“Perhaps, but something went amiss. The Whites attacked full out and with artillery and in the wrong place. It was supposed to be Viatka. They themselves were out to kill us all. That wasn’t part of the plan. Kolchak double-crossed me.”

At that, we all realized the humour in the remark and laughed. Reilly then appeared to have a revelation.

“Of course, that’s it! That’s why the bastard met with us in Perm. He put himself in danger to personally gauge our mettle. To see just exactly how large a force would be needed. What a cynical son-of-a-bitch. And I now think I also see why.”

“I believe I do, as well,” said Holmes.

“Right now,” said Reilly, “Kolchak is merely the military head of the Whites. But with the Imperial Family dead, and others of the blood executed or in Red captivity, Kolchak can set himself up as the new Tsar. If the counter-revolution succeeds he becomes master of all Russia. The new question then becomes are the British behind this or not? If ‘yes’, he’s recognized immediately by the Allies, and with their unlimited funds might even bribe Russia back into the war. But if ‘no...’”

Reilly then trailed off in thought. Holmes already had.

“The pieces begin to fall into place,” said Holmes, “but I fear only Lloyd George and his invisible others know all the pieces and all the places.”

While these two sterling minds turned into themselves for solutions to the questions they sought, I had one very pertinent question to which I felt I already had the answer; but I had to ask to see what Reilly would say.

“Forgive me, Reilly for interrupting your thoughts, but now that you have confessed all this to us, I have a question to which I would like an answer, if you don’t mind”

“Please.”

“If the Whites had attacked in the method agreed upon, what would you have done?”

Reilly instantly gave a small smile.

“Well, Dr. Watson, I didn’t know you were also adept at arcane deduction.”

“Not at all. It is simply there for anyone with eyes to see.”

“Not necessarily,” and he nodded towards Holmes who remained lost in his own thoughts.

“Anyway, to answer your question, I would not, of course, have kept my part of the bargain. I would have simply surrendered as planned. Then everyone would’ve lived happily ever after.” Holmes looked at us as if we had taken leave of our senses.

“It is strange, is it not, Dr. Watson, how something like this can completely change one’s life? It’s like the silly tale of the sinner becoming a saint; although, I don’t think we have to go that far.” We both laughed.

The track was sufficiently repaired for us to continue. Reilly’s remaining men, only about eight in number, excluding Obolov, Zimin and the engineer, were aboard, as were Holmes and I; it was Reilly who gave the order to move.

With all that Reilly had told us, I had completely forgotten about Tatiana learning of her mother’s condition. Her sisters, knowing she was her mother’s pet were very gentle with her; but she did not take it well.

When I went in to check on her, she was asleep, as was the entire family. They, like all on this train, needed that sleep.

Night could not come quickly enough for me.

July 12, 1918

Upon waking in the morning, I found myself alone in the railway car, the train swaying back and forth like a drunken sailor, its speed quicker than I had remembered.

I went out to the platform of the soldiers’ car to find Holmes staring off into the numbing flatness of the terrain. The day was even hotter than yesterday, and I was already perspiring profusely.

“Good morning, Holmes.”

“Good morning, Watson.”

“Where is Reilly?”

“Here!” The voice came from above and I looked up to see Reilly beginning to climb down from the roof of the car. He had been up checking on his men. Two were on machine guns, two had rifles, as did the engineer and stoker, Obolov and Zimin had pistols.

“We shall be nearing Viatka shortly where we’ll stop for water and food. Doctor, I’m going to the Imperial Family’s car now to see how they are.”

“Good. Just wait one moment and I shall come with you. I must check on Alexei.”

Holmes seemed uncommunicative, and I had very long since learned to leave him to his thoughts at such times

I got my bag and after attempting to tidy myself up, went to find Reilly who was already waiting at the door to the Imperial Family’s car. The man was having trouble not knocking.

“All right, go ahead,” I said.

He knocked and heard the Tsar say, “Enter.”

Upon entering the salon we saw all, except for the Tsarina and Tatiana. Reilly’s face registered his disappointment.

The courtesies of the morning finished, I asked to have a look at Alexei who was sitting in a chair next to his father. The swelling was almost completely gone now and the Tsar told me that Alexei had, of his own volition, eaten some fruit. I applauded the Tsarevich and he laughed and applauded back. The Tsar and the Grand Duchesses also joined in the mock celebration.

I then asked the Tsar if I might attend to the Tsarina. He agreed and asked me to follow him. Reilly was awkwardly smiling at Marie who was knowingly smiling back.

The Tsar gently rapped at his compartment door and Tatiana bade him enter.

Upon seeing me, Tatiana stood up and moved to leave, sensing that Reilly was waiting in the salon. She kissed her father gently on the cheek as she nodded good morning to me and I watched the Tsar look at her as she left. I am positive it was the look a parent displays only once per child: that being when the parent first realizes their child is no longer one.

I turned to the Tsarina. She was as before.

“Has she given any indication of who she is, who you are or where she is?” I asked.

“None, Dr. Watson. She has remained as you saw her yesterday. I fear I have lost my Sonny forever.”

I could not truthfully tell him otherwise, so I was forced to dissemble.

“But Your Imperial Majesty, that is not necessarily so. The science of psychiatry, although still a new science, is making giant leaps every day. New treatments are found for illnesses that yesterday were nameless. Please, sir, do not give up hope.”

“Thank you, Dr. Watson. You are a good and kind man, besides being a true healer.”

Odd, I had never been called a healer before. Always doctor or physician. That simple word was suddenly heavy with meaning for me. I felt a primal sensation in my body, akin, I believe, to a first remembered pleasure of childhood. It was a happiness of spirit if you will. I could not help the Tsarina, I knew that, but I could and would help Alexei; and any other who needed me. I suddenly felt my wife and John there with me.

The refuelling went without event in Viatka, as did the next few days before we reached the all-important junction at Vologda.

In summary of those days, the Tsarina grew worse, the Tsarevich grew better, almost as if one was directly affecting the other; the Tsar grew more to accept what had happened to his wife, and grew even closer to his children. Olga, Marie and Anastasia struck up a friendship of sorts with Holmes. They begged to hear of his adventures with humanity’s villains, as if they had not had enough of their own. Holmes seemed to relax as he recounted those adventures. Tatiana and Reilly spent time alone together, either on the platform of the train as it raced on, or on private walks away from the train when Reilly felt it safe enough, and the rest of mankind separated enough, to do so. Reilly’s men eased and opened; only Obolov remaining sullen and reclusive.

Yet even with our inner tensions about the terrors surrounding us, I truly believed these few days to be a quiet, much needed time of personal rediscovery for us all.

The only thing that kept pulling me back from immersing myself in this wonderful sense of peace and near-innocence, was the summer sun of Russia that each morning and each evening turned the crimson colour of the Red star of revolution.

July 18, 1918

We arrived in Vologda amidst mass confusion and snakes of vehicular traffic stretching to what seemed infinity. In this case, infinity was in the direction of Archangel. Whatever was happening, it seemed, at first sight, cataclysmic. The noise was monumental if your window was rolled down, and only unbearable when rolled up. Since the heat was worse than the noise, windows were down. The Imperial Family, naturally, kept their shades drawn.

It was towards dusk and Reilly asked Holmes and I to stay with the Romanovs in their car. His men remained on guard on our roof, with Obolov in command, while Reilly took Zimin into Vologda to see what was happening. This was new territory for Reilly just as much as it was for us. Had he concluded his original business, he would have been travelling in a different uniform, and with quite different companions.

His sole concern now was for the safety of Tatiana and her family. Holmes and I were merely appendages which, if frost-bitten, could be severed when threatening the health of the body. Being a disposable appendage is not an enviable position.

In the salon, the Grand Duchesses, except Tatiana, who was with her mother, talked amongst themselves about the madness outside. Holmes and I made small talk with the Tsar who had become expansive with curiosity about the surging chaos. At one point, he even asked “Do you think the counter-revolution has succeeded?” It was Holmes who shook his head and quietly said, “No, Your Imperial Majesty. It could not happen so quickly.”

I watched the Tsar’s face show only the slightest twinge of emotion then he shrugged his shoulders and said brightly, “I do hope Colonel Relinsky returns to us in one piece.”

“Knowing Relinsky,” said Holmes, “he would return to us even if he were in two pieces.” We laughed at that and the Tsar turned to Alexei, who, I must say, was now doing very well. They began speaking to each other in Russian.

Within the two hours that passed until Reilly returned, Obolov knocked, an odd event since Reilly had banned him from the car’s vicinity; and some rather well-dressed men and women in their middle-ages pounded on the sides of our car, jabbering in Russian, until forcefully pushed away by two of our guards.

The Tsar looked puzzled as he translated for us.

“They were asking of whoever was inside if they could come in. They said all were killed, there was no way out, and the Germans were coming. I do not know what they meant by ‘all were killed,’ but about the Germans, could this be?”

“Your Imperial Majesty,” said Holmes, “we have been out of touch with the real world for some time now and knowing how fluid is the situation within the borders of your country, anything at all seems possible.”

The Tsar thought about that for a moment. “Yes, anything is possible.”

Hard upon that, Reilly returned. Zimin was sent to check on the men. All in the salon waited on Reilly’s words, with which he was more than forthcoming as soon as I had given him a look confirming for him that all was well with Tatiana.

“No, gentlemen, the Germans aren’t coming. That insane rumour seems to have taken hold and has spread as quickly as a rash.”

“Well, something must have started this mass of humanity on its rampage of flight,” said Holmes.

“Yes, something did. Remember that the entire diplomatic corps was precipitously moved here back in February when they thought the Germans were going to threaten Petrograd? Well, here they’ve sat, quiet and happy, until early yesterday.

“It seems that SIS got hold of the American Ambassador, David Francis, and warned him of the coming Allied invasion. Why SIS told the American Ambassador is beyond me. I would’ve thought his own people would tell him; or at the very least, his brother ambassador, Sir George.

“Francis was the head of the diplomatic corps here, and he went to all the other Allied Ambassadors, then to the Italian, the Chinese, the Japanese, and the bloody Brazilian Ambassadors, for God’s sake, and told them likewise. So all those ambassadors then went and told all their families, and all their dependents, and all their employees, that very shortly, as soon as the British and Americans landed at Archangel, they would not be smiled upon by the local Reds.

“Somehow, that warning about the British and the Americans transmogrified into an impending attack by the Germans, even though the Russians aren’t even in the God-damned war any more. What you see is the result.”

“Where are all the diplomats?” asked Holmes.

“Gone. Francis commandeered a train for them and they headed north last night. Once everyone woke up and found all the diplomats gone, the terror took hold like a snapping turtle.”

“Incredible,” said the Tsar.

“Quite,” said Reilly.

“But why did Francis and the others leave so quickly? Surely they still had ample time?” asked Holmes.

“True enough,” said Reilly, “but the other news coming at the heels of the German rumor really tore it. Since no one knew how the Reds or Whites or anyone would take the news, Francis and his friends decided flight was the better part of valour.”

“What other news?” asked the Tsar.

“Forgive me, Your Imperial Majesty, in the excitement of the moment it seems I’ve forgotten to convey it. Quite simply, you and your entire family have been executed by the Bolsheviks at Ekaterinburg. You’re all dead.”

Playing Dead

After the shock of this statement and sufficient time had elapsed for its full meaning to register, the entire Imperial Family, Holmes and I, broke into spontaneous, extended, tension-breaking laughter. Each time any of us would look at Reilly, standing there with his studied nonchalance, the laughter would begin anew.

Of course Holmes had, by now, told the Tsar as much of our tale as we were able to tell. Reilly’s identity remained Colonel Relinsky to the Tsar; Holmes just saying he was with the British, and the Tsar understanding that certain questions could not only not be answered, they could also not even be asked.

When I regained sufficient composure, I was the first to congratulate Holmes on his coup. Holmes soon became the recipient of mild back-slapping from Reilly and me, and imperial handshakes of gratitude.

The Tsar then said, still laughing, that he must go to the Tsarina and Tatiana to tell them the good news: they were dead! The Grand Duchesses and Alexei nudged each other playfully and continued to laugh while Anastasia suddenly fell on the sofa, straight on her back with her hands folded across her chest.

“Oh me,” she said, “do I make a pretty corpse?”

The laughter began anew, but then I suddenly stopped when it occurred to me that if not for Holmes and me, it was very possible that Anastasia may have indeed, by now, been a pretty corpse. It was a horrifying thought and I swiftly shook it off.

Finally, after we had truly calmed down, and Tatiana had come to join in the merriment, and to see her Reilly, he told us how he and Zimin virtually fought their way to the British Embassy; Reilly hoping to find some word or order from Buchanan. This he did in the form of a young naval commander who said he was left there specifically to wait for “two British VIPs who may be showing up any time now, if luck has been with them.” So said Sir George Buchanan.

Furthermore, in case we “two British VIPs” did show up, the officer had specific instructions as to where in Archangel we were to be brought.

It was at this point Holmes interrupted.

“Reilly, Watson, please let me speak with you for a moment.” Holmes led us to the corner, the three of us forming a triangle closed in upon itself for privacy.

“Reilly, if the news of the Romanovs’ death has reached here, it has surely, by now, reached London. Which means some great distress at 10 Downing Street and at Buckingham Palace, where, I am afraid, an even more despairing reception has been the result.” At those words, I myself felt the pangs of pain for what our sovereign and his family would be feeling.

“But of even greater concern to me,” continued Holmes, “is the fear that Lloyd George has had the Navy recall the vessel or vessels meant for us, no matter what that officer may have conveyed. While I am most anxious for the Prime Minister and the King to learn the truth of our situation, it is more for our direct health than to soothe their immediate emotions.”

“In that respect, Mr. Holmes,” said Reilly, “I told the commander at the Embassy to try to send through an urgent message to London. In fact, it was the message I was to send in any event, upon reaching our embassy on return. It was this: ‘Augustus alive.’ But I added, ‘Proceed as planned.’”

“Augustus?” I asked.

“Yes, Dr. Watson. Augustus was the premier Roman emperor, was he not?” He underscored the word ‘Roman’ in so strong a stage whisper than even a person without ears would hear.

“One more question,” said Holmes, but Reilly answered before the question was asked.

“There were no messages from Preston. He is keeping mum as planned, hoping not to interfere with our safe exit.”

“Good man! Well, I suppose if he were to learn of our true demise, Preston would get the salient facts to London of his own volition. Now, then,” continued Holmes, rubbing his hands together as if chilled, “let us keep our fingers crossed that the message has been received.”

“I have every reason to hope so,” said Reilly, “the commander raced back to the code room to put it through immediately. No dust settled on his tracks.

“In fact, he has completed all arrangements to take us north to Archangel. We should be leaving shortly; as soon as he gives orders at the station to have our cars hooked up to a new locomotive -- one flying British colours.”

Just hearing that we would be travelling under the Union Flag buoyed me immensely.

After about thirty minutes, there was a knock at the door of the Imperial Family’s car. Reilly went out briefly, then returned to tell us all was now ready and we would be leaving in just a few minutes.

As he left to join the commander, Holmes and I followed. As we took the few steps down, the young man came to full attention and saluted us.

It was ‘the young Holmes’ from Harwich, Commander William Yardley.

“Commander Yardley,” said Holmes in greeting.

“Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson. I am terribly happy to see the two of you alive, and, it seems, in good health?”

“You know each other?” asked Reilly.

“Only in passing,” answered Holmes. Then he whispered, “I shall tell you more later when we are alone.”

“But why didn’t you tell me you knew these gentlemen?” inquired Reilly of Yardley.

“Well, I wanted it to be a surprise,” answered Yardley, a bit sheepishly. “I hope I haven’t done anything wrong?”

“On the contrary,” said Holmes, “a more agreeable surprise I could not imagine. Isn’t that so, Dr. Watson?”

“Yes, quite so. Splendid surprise, Commander. Good to see you again. Glad you’re aboard once more. And this time, quite literally.”

“Thank you, gentlemen. Well, as soon as Colonel Relinsky tells me so, we’re off.”

“That I will do in a moment,” said Reilly, “but one of my men is coming towards me and I think I’d better speak with him. It’s someone who needs attending to.” The words were spat out like bile. Holmes and I turned to see Obolov. Reilly went to him, they both walked back towards the rear of the train and disappeared around the other side.

After a delay of twenty minutes, Reilly returned, angered.

“Commander, I shall address myself to Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson because they are already privy to the history of that man and me. You must not be offended.” Without waiting for a response, Reilly turned to us.

“Obolov indicated the men feel funny travelling on a train without the red flag; especially a train with the British flag. He said Lt. Zimin felt the same way; so I went with him to speak with the men. He wasn’t lying. The men did feel extremely uncomfortable and for the first time, I got the distinct impression that Obolov, although it’s laboriously time-consuming for him to communicate with signs and the written word, had been stirring things up.

“Zimin still controls the men, but he was wavering. So I told him that if he would feel better, he and the men could stay here. I would get men from the local Cheka. But I swore that when I returned with those men, I would use them not only as my new troops of escort, but also as all his men’s firing squad. And that included him and Obolov.

“This show of bravado put them off. I then took Zimin aside and spoke to him as an older brother, ordering Obolov to keep his distance. I told Zimin that there are certain things he has no business knowing because he was an officer under my direct orders and he had to obey me absolutely. I then tried the ploy that usually works well with men who need to feel let in on big things.

“I told him that Obolov must be watched carefully as since Ekaterinburg, his conduct had concerned me. I said that I feared for his revolutionary conviction, but stopped short of accusing him of anything counter-revolutionary. Zimin got the message. He told me he would personally watch Obolov and not to worry. He would handle the men and Obolov as well.

“I thanked him for his understanding and then promised something men like him covet perhaps above all else. I said that when we returned from Archangel, not only would I put him in for a promotion, but that I would personally mention him to Comrade Lenin.

“Now, Commander Yardley, we can go.”

With that, Yardley saluted briefly, and ran towards the locomotive as we boarded the barracks car. In just a few moments, we would be heading north to Archangel. We had all just relaxed with our backs resting against the sides of the carriage, when Obolov appeared at the doorway with a ghoulish smile on his face and a pistol in his hand pointed at Reilly. His other hand was behind his back, as if he was holding something.

It was Zimin’s head.

Obolov rolled the bloody head across the floor towards Reilly who didn’t even flinch. The head stopped when it hit his leg. Holmes and I could do nothing, so close were we to Reilly.

Obolov began advancing, pistol straight at Reilly, while he reached to his belt in back and pulled free the bloody sword with which he had just committed murder.

Obolov was making animal sounds at Reilly. They were harsh, low, guttural sounds. As he came close, I could see he was frothing at the mouth; I knew he had gone quite mad. He was nothing more now than a lunatic, governed only by blood-lust.

In those horrible seconds, as this monster came so close I could count the pock marks in his face, it seemed to me as if Obolov was not walking, but slithering towards us; the sword raised higher with each reptilian move.

Then, just as he raised the sword to its apex and was in the act of bringing it down, Reilly rolled to one side as he pulled his pistol from its holster, and shot every single bullet into the madman.

Obolov tottered for a second, then fell heavily onto Reilly, right across his legs, pinning him to the ground. Reilly began kicking him away as Holmes and I swiftly rose and went to help throw off the body.

My heart was beating so fast it felt as if it was attacking me, but I knew it was just the adrenaline and coarse excitement.

Reilly kicked away Zimin’s head as three of his men came running into the car. They stopped short at what they saw, one man retching mightily upon seeing Zimin’s severed head.

Reilly gave them orders loudly and led them outside. In no more than a moment’s time, two of the men came back to retrieve the body and the head, and to clean up the mess made by the third. While they performed their task, they refused to look into our eyes. We could not tell if it was shame or loathing that made them act so.

The stench, being horrendous in that heat, drove Holmes and me to the platform of the car where we saw Reilly approaching us once again. He had a terrible look on his face: anger mixed with disgust.

“The first chance I have, I’m going to have them all shot - every last one of them. I’ll do it myself if I have to. So look at them now if you wish, gentlemen, and behold the countenance of dead men.”

With that he went into the car and virtually at the same instant, the train started moving.

After the two soldiers had made our car clean, and we were well on our way north, Holmes and I re-entered the car to find Reilly sitting where he had been before, quite calm again.

“I fear, gentlemen, that this episode has been quite unsettling for you.”

“For us?” I asked incredulously. “Good God, man, what drugs are you taking to calm you so? Were I you, I am not sure if I would still be in control of my bowels!”

Reilly laughed, slightly. “I had been warning you for some time that evil would happen where Obolov was concerned. It took longer than I had suspected. But in truth, gentlemen, had not this horrible incident occurred here, it would have been somewhere else, and perhaps without so pleasant an outcome.”

“You say pleasant, do you?” I asked.

“Why yes, Dr. Watson. Any time you are alive and your adversary is not, that is pleasant. Look gentlemen, I don’t lead a quiet life but it’s the life I have chosen. I make no complaints, I make no apologies. Mr. Holmes, what of your experiences? Surely you must come across an insane murderer or two in your line of work?”

“Yes, I do,” said Holmes with a mild laugh, “only I usually have time to prepare myself for proper introductions.”

We all laughed at that and some of the collective tension was released.

“But tell me, Mr. Holmes, this Commander Yardley, how do you come to be of his acquaintance?”

“He was the liaison officer waiting for us at Harwich and he may have given away too much in his brief conversation with us. But I see that he has either been redeemed, or forgiven, or his faux pas was considered inconsequential enough to return him to us.”

“Do you have any idea why he’s here?” asked Reilly.

“In truth, I suspect he is here for exactly the reason he has given you. I believe our Commander Yardley is completely on the square and has only the best of intentions where we are concerned.

“He professes no knowledge of what our task has been nor who our charges are. This strikes me as odd, but he may simply be obeying orders given him, as any young English commander would in time of war.

“He can be trusted to do everything within his power to guard our lives and see that we arrive where we are supposed to, when we are supposed to.”

“Well, Mr. Holmes, if that’s the way you truly feel, I bid you and Dr. Watson good night.”

With that, he turned to go to sleep. Holmes and I looked at each other with a shrug before following his lead.

July 19, 1918

In the morning, I looked in on our charges. Alexei and Tatiana were both doing nicely, although I could not say as much for the Tsarina. Later, Yardley joined us in the barrack’s car. We would be at Archangel that very night, if all went well.

On our approach, late that afternoon, to the River Dvina, across which was Archangel, the train was halted before the railway bridge. We were stopped by, of all people, apple-cheeked American sailors.

It seems the invasion had begun at precisely 8:00 P.M. of the night before. The first ashore were twenty-five of these men who had come from the HMS Olympia and had engaged a Bolshevik unit fleeing south. The sailors had commandeered some flat cars, mounted a machine gun on the one forward, and were off on their joy ride after the first group of Reds, like the famed American cavalry and cowboys, when they ran into us.

The Americans saw the British flag, but they also saw the Red Guards at their machine guns. At the sight of these evidently well armed strangers, our men, who were outnumbered and tired, surrendered.

We were now prisoners of the United States of America.

Archangel and Uncle Sam

Of course, this bizarre state of affairs did not last long.

Commander Yardley, along with Reilly, went to talk with the ensign commanding. Yardley convinced him of the urgency of his mission to bring his party into Archangel, there to rendezvous with a ship of the invasion.

The American wanted to know why a British commander was travelling with a group of Red Guards, and Yardley answered quite elegantly that it was none of his business. He furthered added that if the ensign and his men did not, at once, reverse the direction of the flat cars and serve as his escort and guard into Archangel, there were going to be some very angry senior British and American officers who would just love to have roast ensign for dinner.

The American got the message, but in an effort to avoid complete humiliation, he did demand that our guards relinquish their weapons. This was something Yardley completely understood. After all, with England and America now both fighting the Reds in this part of Russia, we couldn’t very well have our men, now the enemy, running around loose and armed. Either they would be shot, or they would shoot someone else.

Furthermore, the American explained that there was a much larger force of invasion troops behind him, and he would just love to take our guards in as trophies. It was Reilly’s choice.

It was then Reilly worked out his compromise. He told Yardley to tell the ensign this: since these Red Guards were under British protection, and the ensign obviously had no wish to blemish Allied relations, Reilly would give his men their unconditional release from service. They would be discharged on the spot, Reilly writing the discharge papers and signing the things there and then. The ensign grudgingly agreed.

Reilly went to his men, explained that they were now free, they could go back home, their duty was over. But they had better move quickly as a much larger body of troops was moving this way and would be looking to capture any Red soldiers. Russia had been invaded, he told them, and he was going into captivity in return for their release; such was his love for his men.

He reminded them of their oath of secrecy and that should any one of them break that sacred oath, they would all be hunted down and killed as would every member of their family. They all swore on the Revolution that they would remain silent.

Then, under the watchful eyes of the American sailors, as Reilly wrote out their formal discharges, on pieces of paper bags, his men suddenly began jumping up and down and hugging and kissing each other with joyful abandon; one even dancing a kazatski.

The Americans watched this and obviously thought the group had gone quite mad. Some sailors were laughing so hard they could hardly keep their weapons trained on the Reds.

Soon, however, our men began to drift away in small groups, heading back the way they had come, their rifles still with them. A few looked back at the train, one or two saluted Reilly, but they all could not get away quickly enough.

When all this had been completed, and Yardley had joined the American ensign on the front flat car, we started up again. Reilly hoisted himself aboard and headed in the direction of the Imperial Family. He would inform them of what had just happened. He later told me that he was approached by one of the Americans who had asked him who we were guarding in our first car. Reilly said he gave the American quite a good laugh when he answered, “Why, the Tsar and his family. They’re taking tea with President Wilson!”

Reilly elicited the same resounding response from the Imperial Family upon recounting his tale, and I had not seen the Tsar laugh so hard. When he finally ceased, he said he was going in to the Tsarina to tell her the story, too. He hoped she might enjoy it. The Grand Duchesses all looked at each other in embarrassment. But who knows, maybe the Tsarina could comprehend what was said to her; and somewhere, deep inside, she would smile.

The confusion engulfing Archangel made the chaos at Vologda seem as neat and tidy as a London librarian’s desk. We were truly in the middle of a great Allied invasion force. And this time there were troops. Thousands of them all around. We picked out men from America, Britain, Canada, France and Italy. A group we could not identify, later turned out to be Serbs. It was certainly a different sort of invasion force.

Night had now fallen and Yardley and the American ensign had departed, leaving the American sailors to guard our train until their return. About an hour later, they were back with us, accompanied by a platoon of Royal Scots Guards and three large limousine cars still flying the red flags of their previous owners. The red pieces of cloth were swiftly exchanged for appropriate British flags.

Holmes, Reilly and I went out and watched as the ensign and Yardley shook hands and saluted each other. The American ensign assembled his men in good order, and just before he led away, he turned to Reilly and said, “Do me a favour, will you? Tell President Wilson and the Tsar that I make my tea with two sugars.” With all of us giving a mighty laugh, he marched his men away; eyes right at the Union Flag.

Reilly and I went in to the Imperial Family to have them begin packing the few things they still had with them. We would now be transferring to the motor cars which would take us to a waiting ship.

Yardley told us the ship had just served as the vessel of the invasion’s commanding officer, Major General Frederick C. Poole, one of the army’s most respected and vigorous officers. The ship, HMS Salvator, was a recently converted yacht; fate having certainly supplied her with a more than appropriate name.

It was then Holmes broached an interesting question to me on the sly: “Why has not Yardley, after all this time, inquired as to who is in the train car?” I shrugged.

We asked the ladies to cover their faces with scarves or handkerchiefs, and the same for Alexei. Since the Tsar wanted to carry Alexei, it was agreed he could just keep his head down for the few seconds of exchange.

When the Imperial Family was ready, the soldiers were given the order to about-face away from the train and motor cars, and to come to attention. This they did smartly.

The Imperial Family got into the motor cars without incident; Holmes, Reilly and I into the last, and the soldiers moved out with us; they marching in front, on the sides, and two at the rear.

We were at the water in about thirty minutes, the war material mounting around us as our motor cars stood waiting. Suddenly all activity around us ceased, it was obvious that orders had been given to clear our immediate area.

Reilly and Holmes got out of the motor car; I simply looked out and saw the gangplank leading up to the Salvator. After just a minute or so, Yardley came to ask us to bring the group aboard. He would go back aboard first, all hands were already quartered, only the captain would greet our charges, and the captain would personally bring us to our cabins.

I thought this over cautious, but I was thankful for it in no small measure. Once Yardley was back on the ship and out of our sight, we began to board in this manner: first the Tsar and Alexei, then the Tsarina and Tatiana with Reilly, then the other Grand Duchesses with Holmes and me.

Although Holmes and I were at the very tail of this Imperial train, as we got closer to the Salvator’s deck, we became extremely confused because the British voice greeting the Imperial Family sounded all-too familiar.

It was. It belonged to Commander Yardley.

Reilly Departs

“Gentlemen, you’ll pardon me for now; an explanation will be yours once I’ve seen to the Imperial Family’s needs.”

Holmes, Reilly and I just looked at each other in complete surprise. In fact, I felt a part of history, in which I had the honour of being on the spot when Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Mr. Sidney Reilly both stood quietly, seemingly at a loss for words. The company I was in was high, indeed.

After the Imperial Family was shown to their quarters by Yardley, and Holmes and me to ours, Holmes asked Reilly, “But where are you to be?”

When Reilly just looked at Holmes, we both knew what this meant.

“Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, please permit me,” said Reilly as he indicated his desire for us to go into our cabin. He closed the door behind as Yardley said, “When you’re finished, please join me on the bridge.” Reilly signalled his agreement and turned to us.

“Gentlemen, I shan’t go with you any farther. This is the end of my assignment. When my work with you was completed I was to return to Petrograd. I shall come to that shortly.

“There’s much I’ve wanted to say, much that I should’ve said these weeks we’ve been together. I shan’t say they’ve been uneventful. You’ve saved my life, you’ve saved their lives, you’ve become a major part of the history of this adolescent century. I thank you now for all you’ve done for me, for them and for her.

“I promised you I’d eventually speak of what I’m supposed to do in Petrograd. It’s as bizarre as my task was with you. With you, I was to eliminate the Romanovs. In Petrograd, I’m to eliminate Lenin.”

Holmes and I looked at Reilly in amazement. We were always looking at this man in such manner because he always gave us cause to. He continued.

“I am to foment my own counter-revolution with quite strong forces within the Cheka loyal to me; and with the collusion of important factions within the Red Army. The timetable is my own, but it must be within the next month or so. That’s all I can tell you now. The newspapers will tell you more.”

“Is Lloyd George completely mad?” asked Holmes. “Is everyone in power in England devoid of reason? What is happening there at Downing Street?”

“Mr. Holmes,” Reilly was speaking very quietly, “I’m not even sure Mr. Lloyd George knows of my directive in Petrograd. Just as we don’t know who wanted you all dead. But this I will say, and I say it to you both from hard, piercing experience. In fact, I have said it to you before. Trust only one tenth anyone who is English. And perhaps not even that. A perfect example is your Commander Yardley. Although he does seem to be here solely for the benefit for the Imperial Family and yourselves, he is obviously not the callow youth you thought him to be. Who knows who he’s really working for? To which ministry is he really attached? That riddle is for you to solve and I have absolutely no doubt that you shall.

“Let me try to give you some more advice. Mr. Holmes, in your work, the criminals you deal with are outcasts of society. In my work, however, the criminals I deal with are the vanguard of that society. It is only a difference of accent and class.

“You once said something about ‘links’ Mr. Holmes” said Reilly. “I understand what you meant by that and while you may be correct, I have my doubts.

“For instance,” said Reilly, “your Captain David. He claimed he didn’t know anything about Yardley, yet Yardley claimed David was an old family friend. Only one can be telling the truth. Furthermore, Sir George knew of your mission in Russia, as did Kolchak, Preston and Thomas.

“No, Mr. Holmes, though it seemed so at the time, I don’t believe your link theory holds true.”

“Thank you, Reilly,” said Holmes, “for you have just proved that my link theory is, indeed, true; but in the opposite way. I shall elaborate.

“Originally, I had thought each link oblivious of the other, and that Watson and I had to then fear the weakest link. But as you have just said, it is now obvious that while the links may not have known about all other links, it seems all knew of our mission. Therefore, a strong chain, indeed, had been forged by our Prime Minister. The question is now whether he is he blacksmith or blackguard?”

“You shall learn that, as well,” said Reilly, “but it shall be one class you cannot afford to fail.”

“I still have uneasy suspicions of Lloyd George,” said Holmes. “I just cannot fix on them. As for Yardley, we do not, as yet, know if he knows.”

“That’s true; he’s a missing piece to the puzzle, all right,” said Reilly, “but you’ll slot him in shortly, I’m sure; now that he may be flying some true colours.”

“Be ever on your guard, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, and keep this one last thought paramount until you’re both safely home. However strongly Lloyd George and his invisible others wanted the Romanovs rescued, it is frighteningly obvious that there are those who wish them dead just as much if not more so. These people are just as invisible. The only one I dealt with was Newsome. He is the key to everything. He is so high up I doubt a buffer would exist between him and whoever is behind this. You’ll probably find answers with your Captain David, as well. Although it seems he’s only a link on the chain. Not the blacksmith, himself.

“Remember, this was only Act I. You may never know the finale.

“I know I don’t have to ask you to be especially on guard for her,” his head moving in the direction of Tatiana’s cabin. Reilly then extended his hand to us.

“Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, I wish you both a safe journey home, and I promise you this: if I should survive my adventures here in Russia, I’ll make myself known upon my return to England.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s someone of whom my leave-taking shall be infinitely more difficult.” He smiled, opened the door, and left us there.

Were his words true? Would we, or more importantly, Tatiana, ever see him again?

A Gentle Secret

What I am about to convey is what Tatiana told me one evening, many months later, of her relationship with Reilly.

“Dr. Watson, Sidney was the first and only man I have ever loved. Yet until we parted that night in Archangel, I didn’t even know his true name.

“I had been shielded to a degree you wouldn’t believe. Matters of male and female were not seemly for a Russian Grand Duchess. Yet my sisters and I talked of little else.

“From the moment I saw him, and he me, it was as if the north and south poles had been pulled together and had exploded and melted from the turbulent heat of the equator.

“Ah, yes, my Sidney. What a mass of riddles and spots of north moss he is,” and she laughed as she explained what she meant by that.

When she was very young, her father had told her, that there were magic secrets hidden “’beneath the spots of north moss.”

“But papa,” she inquired, “what is north moss?”

“Tatiana,” said the Tsar, “that is the moss you find growing on rocks and trees, and it always grows only on the north side.”

“But why, papa?” she asked.

“Because a long, long time ago, a beautiful little girl, just like you, in fact her name was Tatiana also, was lost in this very same forest. She cried because she was hungry and was afraid she’d never see her family again. So she prayed to the Lord and he came and said he would show her the way out.

“He said he would put spots of moss only on the north side of rocks and trees, and that forever after, when she came into this forest, she would always know which direction her home was just by looking at the spots of north moss.

“But how will you do such a thing?” asked the little girl.

“Well, every time a little girl or little boy is good, another spot of moss will grow. As there are so many good little girls like you, and so many good little boys like your brother, all the forests of all the world will soon be filled with spots of north moss. Beneath each spot, in secret letters, will be the name of the little girl or boy who was so good.”

“So you see, Dr. Watson, my Sidney was really all spots of north moss, was he not?”

“Yes, Tatiana, you made him so.”

This particular day, which I shall get to in the proper course of this journal, had been of great emotion for us all, and when Tatiana told me the little fairy tale and her connecting of it to Reilly, I understood completely.

“Dr. Watson, do you think I shall see Sidney again?”

“Of course, you will. After the adventure that man has been through in his life, after all he has done to bring you and your family safely to this place, do you think there is any power strong enough to stop him?”

“I suppose you’re correct, Dr. Watson. Which means I must go as soon as possible to a forest here and count the spots of north moss. The new ones, I am positive, shall all be his.”

With a kiss to my cheek and a ‘thank you’, she took herself off to bed.

July 20, 1918

This day was beautiful, clear and cool from the breezes of the North Sea. Once again we were upon that dangerous body of water, now heading towards England.

Holmes was gone, as usual, so I surmised he had gone to the bridge, something neither of us had the stomach for the night previous. I cleaned myself, blissfully cleaned myself, I should say; the first real shower in such a long while. I then went to check upon Alexei, who was begging his father to go topside, and the Tsarina, who was resting peacefully in her bed. After being asked by the Tsar to find out if we were being taken to the Crimea, to his family’s beloved Livadia Palace, I pointed myself upwards.

Once on deck, I could appreciate the true resilience with which the North Sea air infused one. Then I saw our escort; one looking quite familiar. My initial suspicions were confirmed when I arrived at the bridge and was told, “Yes, that’s the Attentive.”

Holmes was speaking with Yardley when I arrived, and Yardley gave me a warm greeting.

“Good morning, I trust you slept well?”

“That I did. And I should sleep even better tonight with some food inside me.” He laughed, but had gotten the point, and suggested Holmes and I accompany him to his cabin, which had been General Poole’s just the day before. He told the steward, who also looked vaguely familiar, to bring our breakfasts.

On the way down, I found that Holmes had only just gotten to the bridge himself; so exhausted had he proven to be. Nothing had really been discussed, and all that Commander Yardley would now impart was news to both Holmes and me.

We sat at the captain’s table.

“Tell me, Commander,” said Holmes, “oh, I beg your pardon, it is Captain, here, is it not?”

“I’m afraid it is, Mr. Holmes. On ship, I’m the captain.”

“Very well. Why the elaborate charade? Surely, this was not going to be another of your little surprises?”

“It most certainly was. Tell me, Mr. Holmes, weren’t you surprised?”

The sheer baldness of the logic and honesty of the question caught us off-guard.

“Well, yes,” said Holmes, “but you know perfectly well to what I refer.”

“That I do, Mr. Holmes, and I still cannot divulge more information on that score.”

“Then tell me, if you can, for which branch of our government do you truly work?”

Yardley looked down at his uniform and stretched out his arms. “Well, unless I’m wrong, this uniform doesn’t in the faintest resemble that of a Grenadier Guardsman.” He laughed.

“So you are truly a navy man, then?”

“Through and through, Mr. Holmes. Many generations bred. My great, great, great grandfather, I believe, although that may be one ‘great’ too many, was at Trafalgar with Nelson.”

“And your father, perhaps, with Sir Randolph Newsome?” Holmes had sprung his surprise.

The commander’s eyes opened wide and his smile broadened.

“Very good, Mr. Holmes,” said Yardley, applauding mildly. “How came you by that information?”

At the confirmation of Holmes’ outrageous theory, a method of ‘educated guesswork’, as Holmes called it, I felt every hair on my body stand on end. Here was blithe corroboration of Newsome’s machinations; more links in his chain, pulling in the opposite direction of Lloyd George’s, with Yardley’s father firmly tethered to this opposite chain. Yet, since Yardley did not seem to see anything wrong with this information, indeed, he seemed proud of it, it appeared that he was oblivious to Newsome’s real intentions. Yardley thought he was really trying to rescue the Imperial Family, Holmes and me. He probably thought he was going to be a hero.

The scion seemed innocent bait of the sire. Since Yardley was obviously unaware of the damning evidence he had just provided Holmes, Holmes went on as casually as before.

“I, too, am not at liberty to divulge certain things. Tell me, Captain, what are your duties when not employed thusly?”

“Well, I suppose it’s all right. Usually, Mr. Holmes, you would find me at sea somewhere. I’ve been at sea, in one role or another, since I was a boy. About three months ago, however, I was seconded to naval intelligence at the specific request of Sir Randolph.”

“My father told me to expect the move, and I’m not afraid to say I didn’t like the idea much, at the time. After all, Mr. Holmes, I’m a sailor. Sailors belong at sea, in the thick of things, especially during war.”

“I take it then you’ve seen action?”

“Oh, my, yes. I was at Gallipoli, and have done quite a bit of U-boat hunting; where I might add, I’ve been reasonably successful.”

“Then why did Sir Randolph have this burning desire to tear you away from what you loved doing?”

“It was father, really. He’s an admiral, too, you know. He told me Sir Randolph needed me for something he felt he could only entrust to me. It was evidently something very hush-hush between them. When an old friend of the family like Sir Randolph asks for something, he gets it. It’s as simple as that. Whatever he and my father had up their sleeves, I knew it had to be big.”

“When did you finally learn all this?”

“Well, as you yourself saw at Harwich, I was still rather new to this intelligence thing, and I said a bit more than I suppose I should’ve. Although it was nothing, really.”

“You’ve learned your lesson well, Captain. You have been a veritable clam this entire go-round.”

“Why, thank you very much. But I still didn’t know what this was about back then. It was about a week after you left that orders came through for me to report to Scapa Flow. That’s where this invasion force originally began, though we’ve been sitting for a time at Murmansk. Now there’s a story for you.”

“If you don’t mind, Captain, please just continue ours.”

“Certainly. At Scapa Flow I reported to this ship and was attached to the staff of General Poole. He met me personally and simply told me to enjoy the ride over, because as soon as we got to Archangel, I would be coming back. He said that upon landing at Archangel, which, of course, our men would secure with absolutely no problem at all, I was going to be escorted down to Vologda to meet with a Sir George Buchanan, our ambassador to Russia. He wished me well and that, basically, was that.”

Holmes and I looked at each other again. Now General Poole was brought into this. But from where? And from who? All we knew was that he had instructions to send young Yardley down to meet Buchanan. Poole may have just been following orders. But with this insidious chrysalis being woven around us, how could we be sure?

“Well,” continued Yardley, “as you saw, events quite got ahead of themselves and it was Sir George who came up to meet me. It was at that meeting, which involved Sir George and me, and one other, that this entire plan was revealed.”

“Excuse me, Captain, but let me guess at the other person who was present at your meeting. Could it have been Captain Joshua David of the Attentive?”

“I say, very good, indeed, Mr. Holmes. Only in truth, he’s not a captain, and his name isn’t Joshua David.”

“Well, well,” said Holmes, triumphantly looking at me, “then who and what is he?”

“He’s an admiral and the second son of Lord Devon. His name is Richard Yardley and he is my father.”

As Holmes had said before to Reilly and me, “the pieces begin to fall into place, but only Lloyd George knows all the pieces and all the places.” However, now it seemed that Lloyd George most certainly did not know all the pieces and all the places.

This last revelation by Yardley positively confirmed Reilly’s warnings about the secret, powerful group that most assuredly still wanted the Imperial Family dead, and us with them. It left us more uneasy than ever.

In addition to our growing lists of who and who not to trust, Holmes could not divest himself of his “compulsive, illogical mistrust of Lloyd George,” as he phrased it. It upset him greatly that this mistrust manifested itself as “a hunch, a mindless, primitive, primeval feeling that has no business being in my mind at this stage.”

It also bothered Holmes that he had not deduced the true identity of Yardley, Senior. I reminded him that his mind was working on the larger puzzle of solving who was behind the “Black Faction”, as I dubbed our adversaries. As we had just come from a nation filled with Reds and Whites, it seemed only fair that I nominate a colour for this latest group. Holmes nodded consent, and so they became the “Black Faction”.

In any event, as soon as young Yardley had told us of his father’s identity, Holmes asked if he was still in command of the Attentive, now our escort.

“Naturally, Mr. Holmes. My father loves a good scrap as much as the next man. I was quite proud of him in that battle of yours. I hear he was quite the bulldog.”

“That he was, Captain. There’s no wanting of seamanship or pluck where your father is concerned.”

We could see how proud Yardley was of his father, and Holmes just let the matter drop. He turned the conversation to the Romanovs.

“Oh, my, yes,” said Yardley, “what a group of beautiful girls. That Marie is really something,” said Yardley.

From out of nowhere deep within me, came, “Now you keep your mind to the sea and avoiding the Germans, Captain. The Grand Duchesses are to be left quite alone.”

Both Holmes and Yardley were as startled at my outburst as was I.

“I assure you, Dr. Watson, I certainly know my duty. It’s just that, I mean, well, she’s quite the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. I just don’t see what’s wrong with stating the unadorned truth.”

With much chagrin, I apologised. “Forgive me, Captain. I have become an uncle to the Grand Duchesses. I have full confidence in your chivalry. The Grand Duchess Marie is quite beautiful, as are all the Grand Duchesses. I commend you on your judgment of true beauty.”

“Thank you for your apology and your compliments, doctor. I am here only to tend to their needs. Trays shall be set out for them at meal times by my personal steward; he’s been handed down, so to speak, to me from my father.”

Holmes shot up from his seat. I immediately understood why.

“From your father, you say?”

“Why, yes. He was in my father’s service for years. He absolutely worships my father, and he seemed to always have been in the background, watching over me as I grew up. What prompts this violent reaction?”

“I cannot tell you at this moment, Captain, you will have to trust me. Could you please summon your steward here for some questions?”

“Questions? What sort of questions?”

“You can hear for yourself. You are free to remain. But please, summon him now.”

“Mr. Holmes, may I remind you that I am the captain of this vessel. And while you are responsible in general for the well-being of the Imperial Family, they are my direct responsibility on board this ship, as are you and Dr. Watson. I haven’t the faintest idea why you behave in this manner, but if you must question him, he’s bringing in your trays at this very moment.”

Holmes and I turned to see the same man who had served us aboard the Attentive. He was in his late fifties, with the air of an important man’s servant; yet with a touch of the furtive. It was quite obvious this man had been aboard ships for many years, and while he moved with the sure foot of a seasoned sailor, for a man of his years and his comparatively low station in life, his gait was rather too proud and erect.

He was a tall man, as tall as Holmes, with quite a strong physique for a man of his years. Before I could even begin to examine this man with my cursory medical eye, Holmes was already at him.

“Please sit down,” said Holmes, motioning the man to the seat I had just vacated.

The man looked at Yardley.

“It’s all right, Peters, do as the gentleman asks.”

Peters sat after first setting our trays down, with a practiced nonchalance, on the table. He sat there glowering up at Holmes, his eyes as wary as a sparrow’s in the middle of a flight of falcons.

“So Peters, how are you, this fine, summer morning?”

His voice became land-tenant coarse.

“Righ’ enuff, suh.”

“Tell me, Peters, where were you in prison?”

The man jumped out of his chair, his fists raised at Holmes. Yardley was mortified.

“Prison?” asked Yardley. “Mr. Holmes, what are you talking about?”

“Don’t ask me, ask your steward, here.”

Yardley turned to Peters. “Is this true, Peters? Were you in prison? My father never said anything about that.”

“’Cawz he wudn’. He swore nevuh to. He’s kep’ his word, he has. Yaw fathuh wudn’ break his word. How’d he know?” gesturing towards Holmes.

“Never mind that, where?” insisted Holmes.

Peters sat back down, facing away from Yardley. It was obvious he was greatly embarrassed.

“Newg’t.”

“Newgate. For how long?”

“Three yeers.

“Now let me guess, you murdered someone with your bare hands, am I right?”

Peters put his head down and mumbled to himself.

“How’d ya know?”

“It was a studied test. A man with your musculature at your age must have been at truly magnificent specimen when you were very young. Though you’ve learned to serve meals delicately, your hands are as rough and strong as they were when you committed your murder.”

Yardley interrupted. “I don’t understand, what’s this all about, Mr. Holmes?” He was as embarrassed as Peters.

“You shall know presently, I think. Now, Peters, you said you were in prison for only three years. I deal with murder all the time. A charge of murder, in most cases, would have you away for the better part of your life. Or even see you hanged. Now, how did you manage to get out in the time usually reserved for nothing more serious than a minor case of embezzlement?”

“’Twas his fathuh wot dun it. Got me out, he did. I had worked on his land. I grew up on it. I played with the admiral when we wuz boys. He wuz my frend. He got me out. He took me t’ sea.”

“I understand. And you looked after Captain Yardley, here, when he was a young boy?”

“Sometimes, when we wuzn’ at sea. I owes my life t’ the admiral.”

“Would you commit murder again for him?”

This time Peters flew up at Holmes and grabbed him by the throat. Holmes had managed to hit him soundly when Yardley simply ordered Peters to cease. This he did immediately, obeying his orders as a disciplined sailor.

“Mr. Holmes, I demand to know what this has been all about. You accuse a family servant of murdering for my father, and tell me secrets I was not supposed to know. Now, either you tell immediately what this is all about, or I shall have to think seriously of confining you to quarters.”

Peters had come to attention to Captain Yardley’s right, and the captain left him that way until Holmes asked if Peters could now be dismissed.

“Very well. But as soon as he leaves my cabin, you had better start explaining yourself, Mr. Holmes. And it had better be a thoroughly relevant explanation.”

This was the controlled tirade of someone used to power and command; or, rather, brought up with it. He was showing himself to be the antithesis of what Holmes and I first thought him to be. What Reilly had suspected.

“Captain, you asked for my explanation, and you shall have it. But before I give it to you, I also caution you. I cannot say under whose direct orders I am operating. But should anything untoward happen to Dr. Watson or myself aboard your vessel; or even one strand of hair be moved from its rightful place on the heads of any of the Imperial Family, there are those in London who shall make you and your father pay for it personally.”

“What are you talking about? What has my father got to do with this?”

“Captain Yardley, what if I were to tell you that your faithful steward, Peters, may have been put here not to serve your needs, but your father’s?”

“You are talking in riddles, sir. I shall not stand for it. Be straight and be brief or this interview will end.”

“If that is what you wish,” said Holmes quietly. “Very well, I have strong suspicions that Peters was sent by your father to kill not only Watson and me, but the entire Imperial Family. Is that straight and brief enough for you?”

Yardley did not know whether to laugh or have Holmes clapped in irons immediately, so dumbfounded was he by what Holmes said.

“Have you gone completely mad, Mr. Holmes? Do you know what you are saying? Dr. Watson, have you no medicines to calm this lunatic?”

“Captain Yardley,” I said, “I think you should sit down and listen to what Holmes has to say. For if you do not, it is certain that you may become accomplice to the very crime Holmes and I were dispatched to prevent.”

He sat at his chair, holding the arm to quash his anger, burrowing into his deepest self. Then, after perhaps two minutes had passed, he looked up at both of us, gestured to us to sit, and said to Holmes, “Mr. Holmes, tell me all that you’re able; everything that’s led to such a base accusation.”

Holmes, though reluctant to distress young Yardley further, quickly complied.

Captain Yardley sat there unbelieving.

Sherlock Holmes, while not pulling down his house, had certainly damaged its foundations. All Yardley had been taught, all he had faith in, all he had been nurtured by had just been made perfidious. One of his family’s dearest friends had been made into a traitorous villain; and his father, a man he obviously idolized, had been turned into a conspiratorial monster.

Finally, Yardley became the captain of our vessel again, the sworn servant of his King and country, and not the individual whose family honour had just been so trampled. He spoke.

“Mr. Holmes, what you’ve now recounted is damnable; if it be true. But how am I to know if it’s true, and not some insidious flight of fancy of a fractured mind?”

“It is true, Captain,” I said quietly.

“I am a serving officer of His Majesty; do you know what this information shall do to me if it be true?”

“We are only too well aware,” said Holmes “and we deeply wish you did not have to be burdened with such a dilemma.”

“Mr. Holmes, if this story is true, it’s not a dilemma. As I said, I’m a serving officer in war of His Majesty. My life has been pledged for protection of crown and country. Any traitor must be rooted out and destroyed. Any traitor. But in ten minutes you expect me to disavow family, friends, and faith with no corroboration of your story. I’m sorry, but I need much more proof than merely your word. Even though your word is gospel to some segments of society.

“In truth, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, all you have given me is a story by Colonel Relinsky, of whom all we know is that we don’t know all. Given the man’s dubious history, I believe the only way he could tell the truth is if he thought he was lying. And with that supposition, let me pose a question to you, Mr. Holmes. What if it was he who was lying? What if his instructions didn’t come from Sir Randolph, but from someone else? Have you thought about that, Mr. Holmes?”

Holmes had not. Nor had I. Because of the circumstance in which Reilly had told his story, and the previous and subsequent events, we had no further reason to doubt Reilly’s veracity. But now, this question asked by a son trying to salvage the honour of a beloved father, ripped through Holmes’ contemplations and left wide one of Holmes’ most sacred dictums: “when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”

Under those circumstances, the permutations seemed insurmountable. Holmes was now mired in a maze of magnificent proportions; and at this time, there was no further hint in which direction to travel.

Yardley recalled Peters as Holmes and I, hungry no longer, slowly left Yardley’s cabin.

Holmes seemed anguished. There was too much happening and too little evidence to which Holmes could respond. Only tales and suppositions now, since Reilly’s story had been thrown open to question. Holmes asked to walk alone on deck, and I let him do so.

It had only taken one, simple question to knock over the steady table on which had lain the carefully pieced-together jigsaw puzzle. Now the pieces lay on a filthy floor, in total disarray. And even I did not know how Holmes would deal with this conundrum.

In all the current distress, I had not even the chance to ask Yardley our final destination. I slowly, and with monumental reluctance, began a walk back to the captain’s cabin.

As I arrived, though, I heard Yardley’s voice loudly through his closed door.

“...you will.”

“Bu’ I can’t, suh. I promised yaw fathuh.”

“Damn you, Peters, either you answer me now or I’ll have you court-martialled as soon as we get to base. In the meantime, you’ll suffocate down in the brig. Now, answer me or be damned.”

“I nevuh though’ I’d live t’ see the day you’d treat me so, Cap’n. But I understan’ an’ I’ll tell you all I know.

“When yaw fathuh an’ his friend, Sir Reginal’ wuz young’uns they wuz wild. Sir Reginal’ took a’vantge of a girl on yaw family’s property. She wuz gonnna have his baby when she came t’ me. She said it wuz mine, but I knew it wuzn’t. I strangled ‘er fer bein’ unfaithful.

“That took away the fright from Sir Reginal’ an’ yaw fathuh got ‘im to help me out a prison. It took ‘im three years, but out I got. It wuz really yaw fathuh who done it. He pushed that bleedin’ Sir Reginal’ to do the right thing by me.

“Yaw fathuh enlisted me an’ took me t’ sea with ‘im. An’ t’ this day, I tell ya, Sir Reginal’ is no friend of yaw fathuh. He’s awways been a blighter, an’ he still is. He likes the ladies and he likes the money, and there’s no tellin’ what he’d do for the both.

“I don’ know wot yaw want from me, but that’s all there is to it. Yaw fathuh wanted me here to watch over ya, is all. Somethin’ wuz trublin’ him fierce since he come back from that trip t’ Russia last month.”

“What do you mean, Peters?”

“Well, I don’ rightly know, Cap’n. When we come back from Russia t’ Scapa Flow, yaw fathuh met a Mr. Preston one day. I remember ‘im from a few times before. Yaw fathuh wuz a navy aide in Paris when he was young, this Preston was the assistan’ to the ambassador or somethin’ like that. They’d been friends all these years. You remember him, suh, the man wot give you that big, red book on Nelson an’ Trafalgar when you wuz still a boy?”

“Of course, now I remember him. Preston, Preston, that name was brought up by Holmes before. I wonder if there’s a connection there? Anyway, go on, Peters.”

“Lik I wuz sayin, aftuh yaw fathuh met with Mr. Preston, he seemed worried t’ me. He wudn’ say nothin’, but I could tell. That’s when he said he wuz goin’ t’ transfer me t’ you, and fer me t’ look aftuh you. And that’s every single thin’ I know, Cap’n. Everythin’.”

“All right, Peters, you can go now.”

I took my ear from the door and made like I was about to knock when Peter opened the door.

“Oh,” I said. I received the same facial reaction from Peters.

Yardley was excited now. He called me back in enthusiastically.

“Dr. Watson, Dr. Watson, yes, yes, come in. Peters, run and find Mr. Holmes...”

“Uh, Peters, he is on the main deck,” I said.

“Thank you, doctor. Peters, bring Mr. Holmes back to me.”

“Yes, suh,” said Peters with visible apprehension.

“Well, Dr. Watson, I’ve just learned some things I think you and Mr. Holmes should know about immediately. It may shed more light on everything we’ve discussed. And since I can’t confront my father with all this until land, I’ll feel much better about it. As soon as Mr. Holmes arrives, I’ll tell you both everything.

“Look, Dr. Watson, your trays are still here. Perhaps the food is not too cold for you to partake?”

It was, but I did. When Holmes arrived, Yardley was as good as his word and recounted everything I had heard while eavesdropping. Just the mere fact that he held nothing back and reported all so accurately, buoyed my spirits; and did likewise for Holmes when later I recounted my own bit of sleuthing.

Upon completion of Yardley’s news, Holmes became electric.

“My word, Captain Yardley, if this is true, and I do believe it is, much may be explained.”

“What?” asked Yardley.

“Well, obviously, the Mr. Preston to whom Peters referred, is probably none other than Thomas Preston’s father; or at very least, his uncle. As do the families in the army and navy, those of the Foreign Service look likewise to their own for continuity, trust and tradition.

“It is also obvious that Preston, Sr. had come upon some greatly disturbing information which he imparted directly to your father; trusting not telegram, nor telephone, nor post. Would it not seem odd for a senior member of the foreign service to show up at a major port of invasion just for afternoon tea?

“My guess is that whatever information Preston had, it directly affected your father. That is why he could only trust himself for relay of that information. And once your father learned this news, his immediate concern was only for his son’s safety. By God, there is a man for you.”

Holmes was absolutely jovial now as was Yardley; although, he didn’t quite understand all Holmes was laying out for him. And I too, now, was happy; I had Holmes back and it seemed that he was now sailing ahead as swiftly and true as the Salvator and the Attentive.

To Someplace Safe

Yardley had gone to the bridge upon completion of our meeting. I decided to follow him and ask to where we were headed. I told Holmes I would carry back this information and he responded with indifference.

“The Crimea? Livadia Palace? No, Dr. Watson, I’m afraid not. But we’re heading to a like climate. We’re heading towards the Bahamian out-island of Eleuthera,” said Yardley.

“I have not heard of it.”

“I suppose that is precisely why we’re heading there. From what I’ve heard about the place from salts who have been there, and from what I’ve read about it, it sounds a veritable paradise.

“Sun most of the year, a median temperature in the upper seventies, turquoise blue waters bountiful with fish, and natives, what there are of them, friendly and disposed to labour. It is a difficult place to get to, Dr. Watson, if you are a mere tourist. So it fulfils the prerequisites on many counts: security, serenity, comfort, and privacy. It seems the perfect amalgam of British pragmatism and Romanov desire.”

“That it does. From your description, Captain, should you ever find the need to leave the navy, you should do quite well, I believe, as a travel agent.”

We both laughed at that, and then Yardley suggested he personally impart the news to the Imperial Family. After all, he said, he was the captain and it was only fitting that he pay his respects this day and offer such good news. I sensed his slight, ulterior motive, but concurred with his suggestion. He was as a child at the moment of unwrapping a present. He preened in the mirror for a moment, set his cap just so, and then indicated that I lead the way.

I knocked at the Tsar’s cabin door.

“It is I, Dr. Watson, Your Imperial Majesty. I have Captain Yardley with me. He wishes to pay his respects and bring you some glad tidings.”

“Then come in, please, doctor.”

We did so and found the Tsar standing in the salon part of his cabin. Alexei was seated on a sofa. The Tsarina was obviously in the bedroom. When she heard the voices, Tatiana came out.

“Your Imperial Highness,” I said; Yardley followed suit.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” said Yardley to the Tsar, “I think I have wonderful news for you.” He proceeded to relay to the Tsar, the Tsarevich and Tatiana, with even more embellishment, the home to which they were now headed.

All three seemed very pleased, and the Tsar, after excusing himself, went to tell the Tsarina.

“With Your Imperial Highnesses’ permission,” said Yardley, I’ll now go tell your sister, the Grand Duchess, Marie.” He paused, his expression revealing that he was conscious of what he had just revealed. “I will tell your others sisters, as well.”

Tatiana smiled. When Yardley was gone, she turned to me.

“Dr. Watson, is that what I think it is?”

“Your Imperial Highness, I could not begin to suppose nor judge such a thing.” I smiled. “But since you have plainly asked me for my modest opinion, yes, I do believe it is.”

She began to laugh freely and Alexei looked at her with what I suspect is the universal expression of the younger brother when confronted with something he cannot quite grasp.