9

Petrograd, Russia
September 1916

Stephen Morrison stepped down from the train platform, his muscles slightly sore from the long train ride. Walking into Moskovsky Railroad Station, it occurred to him that the last time he had set foot in this city, it was called St. Petersburg, and that was eleven years ago. Now a free man for the first time in over ten years, he wanted to savor every minute of it. Walking into the men’s room, he passed a mirror and stopped to look at his reflection. At age forty-six, his lined face reflected a difficult life. Gray flecks lined his hair and beard stubble. Where to go from here? That would be the next issue to address. At the moment, he didn’t have a clue.

Several days before, he had left the Solovetsky Monastery that had been his prison home for over a decade. His fellow prisoners gave him enough money to purchase a train ticket to Petrograd along with a few items of clothing. The Bolsheviks had given him one of their prize leather coats that they favored, along with a leather cap. Morrison gratefully accepted their gifts, and as he watched Solovetsky Island fade into the distance from the ferryboat, he began to plan the rest of his life. He wasn’t sure what to do; he only knew that he needed to start in Petrograd. At least he had an address to start with. Constantin had forwarded him a contact’s address in Petrograd and had invited him to join them in their revolutionary struggles. Morrison couldn't care less about their politics, but he needed to start somewhere.

As he walked toward the center of the city, he thought about his former life as an officer in the United States Navy and as a husband. He immediately tried to put such thoughts out of his mind. Don’t torture yourself, he kept telling himself. That life is over. Start thinking ahead. One day at a time. He kept walking for no other reason than to clear his head. The sheer joy of being able to walk where he wanted as a free man continued to exhilarate him. He now had time to plan his next move. After all, he smiled, what else do I have to do?

The city looked dirtier than he remembered. Revolutionary posters containing workers’ slogans seemed to be pasted on every building. Many of the notices that Morrison saw littering the streets announced an upcoming labor strike, or a planned street demonstration. The political situation mirrored exactly what his fellow prisoners had described. Many armed troops and police patrolled the streets. In the decade since he had last been there, it was as if a dark, somber veil had descended over the city, and the once vibrant capital of Russia had turned into a cauldron of discontent. After reflecting on his life, Morrison sat on a bench and thought out loud to himself,“God, how I hate this goddamn place!” He purposely spoke in English, just to savor the sound. It occurred to him that he hadn’t spoken English aloud for over a decade.

He kept walking and soon he arrived on Nevsky Prospekt. Suddenly, the streets seemed vaguely familiar, and he remembered several shops and stores that he had seen in 1905. His thoughts turned immediately to his mission and his former partner Sidney Reilly. How I would love to break his neck, he thought to himself. After all these years, his bitterness had not abated. He readily acknowledged that it was the thought of avenging his betrayal that kept him alive.

Casually walking, he strolled up the street to the Passazh Arcade and entered. To his total amazement, in a few minutes he stood in front of the import-export office that he had been in eleven years before. The signage on the door now read “Allied Machinery Company,” and below it the name of the proprietor, S. Reilly. He blinked in disbelief and again read the name. Could it actually be Reilly after all of these years? Can it really be this easy? He stood in front of the door for a few minutes, debating with himself whether to enter, and decided against it. As he walked on to the end of the row of shops, he heard the door opening behind him. He turned to look, and saw Sidney Reilly emerge from the office and walk toward the opposite corner.

This must be fate, Morrison thought to himself as he followed his former partner down the streets. This is the moment I’ve waited over ten years for! There was no mistaking it. His moustache was gone, but it was the same man who had left him to be captured by the Okhrana over a decade ago. Reilly crossed the street and entered a small restaurant as Morrison followed behind at a safe distance. He walked over to the front window and saw Reilly being seated at a small table by himself, his back to the entrance. His heart pounding, Morrison entered the elegant restaurant, and the maitre d’ immediately stopped him. “Can I help you?” he inquired, eyeing the patron’s leather coat and hat with obvious distaste.

“That man dining over there is expecting me. Thank you anyway,” he replied as he entered the dining area. Within seconds he stood directly behind Reilly. As Reilly lifted a glass of wine to his lips, he suddenly felt someone behind him grasp his wrist. Leaning over to Reilly’s left ear, Morrison whispered, “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right here and now.” He then walked around the table and sat down facing the British agent.

Reilly stared back at the intruder, seeming more confused than scared. “Is there something that you want of me?” he inquired. “You know, you’re really not properly attired to be dining here. I’d appreciate it if you’d leave, right now.” He again raised his glass, but the intruder once more grabbed his wrist.

“Take a good look, Sidney Reilly,” Morrison ordered.

Reilly glared into the eyes of this annoying stranger. Something was vaguely familiar about him, he thought. Those eyes, I’ve seen them somewhere before today. Then the realization hit him. His eyes widened in disbelief as he blurted out, “Oh, my God! It can’t be! For Christ’s sake, they hung you at Peter and Paul Fortress! Double Eagle — Morrison, isn’t it? How can this be? I mean, I know — ”

“Will you shut the hell up?” snapped Morrison, cutting him off in mid-sentence. “Never mind how I got here. I asked you a question a moment ago, and I’d like an answer. Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now! I’ve been dreaming of this for over ten years now. I really don’t give a damn why you set me up, only that — ”

“Set you up?” blurted out the startled Reilly. “What in heaven’s name are you talking about? Both of us were set up by someone working for the Okhrana. I barely escaped myself. Jesus Christ, Morrison! Is that what you believed all these years? You fool; you stupid fool! I was nearly killed myself!” Morrison still held Reilly’s wrist tightly. “Please let go of me and calm down.” Morrison let go and sat back, his eyes filled with hatred. “That’s good,” Reilly said as he motioned to the waiter, who promptly came to the table. Taking a sip of his wine, he looked at his old partner and then turned to the waiter. “Ask my guest what he would like to drink, please.” Morrison ordered vodka. Dumbfounded, Reilly continued. “How did you escape the hangman’s knot? I know they announced in the papers that you were hanged.”

“Never mind that for now.”

“And where the hell have you been for all these years?”

“On Solovetsky Island. Doing hard labor. My first two years were in solitary confinement. In fact, I was released several days ago. I just arrived in St. Petersburg today.”

“By the way, it’s now called Petrograd. Less German sounding, you know. You do know there’s a war going on, don’t you?” At that point, the waiter arrived with Reilly’s dinner. “Forgive me, how rude,” he announced to the waiter. “Please bring my guest a menu.”

Morrison continued to glare at Reilly. “Do you still work for the British?”

“Of course. I have multiple passports, multiple identities, and only two loyalties — to myself and to His Majesty, the King of England. Tell me, Double Eagle, why are you dressed like a Bolshevik? All that dark leather stuff. It makes you look quite menacing, you know.”

Morrison perused the menu and ordered his first real meal in a decade. When the waiter left, he looked up at Reilly and told him, “The reason I’m dressed like a Bolshevik is because I’ve been living the life of a Bolshevik. In prison, they thought I was one because I assumed the identity of a prominent prisoner when I left St. Petersburg. Do you remember the Potemkin mutiny? Well, I’m the sailor who led it. And then I was imprisoned at Solovetsky Island. At least that’s what everyone believes. I’m called Moryak, the famous revolutionary.” Over the next few minutes he recapped the details of the past ten years of his life, including his plans to kill the man with whom he was now dining.

“That’s an incredible story, my friend. Now let me tell you what really happened to our mission.” Reilly recounted for Morrison the specifics of their failed mission and how they had deduced that Okhrana double agents had exposed them. When Morrison’s food arrived both men dined without talking until it was time for dessert. Reilly broke the silence with a question. “Tell me, what will you do now? Where will you go?”

Staring off into the distance, Morrison sighed. “I don’t know. At least not yet. I’ve got a contact here in Petrograd, a former prisoner with whom I served. He’s an active Bolshevik. He contacted me in prison and invited me to join them when I got out. Apparently, he’s told the great Lenin all about me, and Lenin himself wants to meet me. Who knows, maybe it’s a job. Isn’t that the ultimate irony? Here I am, an American, posing as a Bolshevik, and the Bolsheviks want me to work for their top dog! Well, if it’s a place to sleep and it buys me some time, I’ll think about it. I just don’t know. Yeah sure, I would love to go back to the United States, but I know that’s impossible. Besides, I’m not the same man who left there many years ago. To survive I’ve had to become … well, let’s say I’m not proud of what I’ve become. I just don’t know. I’m going to have to think this through. For the first time in over a decade, I’m free.” Inside, he felt like he was still imprisoned by this new life and new person that he had become.

Reilly ordered them some after dinner cordials and proposed a toast to his partner of long ago. “Why the hell would I want to toast anything that has to do with you?” snarled Morrison.

“Just you wait, my friend. You might just find that we have much to celebrate,” countered Reilly. Morrison stared at him and slowly raised his glass.

When they finished, he invited Morrison to walk with him. They strolled though the city and finally ended up on the banks of the Neva River. No words were passed between them as they walked, but Reilly’s mind raced with ideas. Since leaving the restaurant, he had formulated a plan, and he grew more enthused as they walked. Finally, he stopped and looked at Morrison. “I think we should talk. Come; let’s go back to my office where we can talk in private. I think I can help you in your dilemma.” When Morrison shot a cynical look at him, Reilly blurted out, “No, really, we need to talk. I think we can actually help one another!” Shaking his head with skepticism, Morrison followed behind as the two former partners headed back to the Nevsky Prospekt.

Entering the back room of Reilly’s office, he offered a chair to his guest. Reilly immediately excused himself. “Please wait here, I have a business appointment scheduled that I’m going to cancel. We’ll talk in a few minutes.” Reilly left for the front office and pulled the door shut behind him as he went straight to his telephone.

When Reilly returned to the room a few minutes later, Morrison noticed that he seemed somewhat animated as he began to talk. “Morrison, I’ve been thinking. You probably don’t recall, but I am quite a businessman, in addition to being one hell of an agent. I have a business proposition for you. Why not work for me, for the Allies? You are in a very unique position that could do us a lot of good.”

“What are you saying? Why would I want to work with you again? I believe our last venture together cost me over ten years of my life.”

“Come now, Double Eagle, think of it. The Allies — England, Russia, and France — we’re at war with Germany. I predict that the Americans will soon be entering this war on our side. We all know that Russia is the wild card. There is so much discontent and anger in Russia over this war. It is bleeding the country dry. The Tsarist government is trying to build up public support for the war, but this effort grows more futile every day. And here’s the crux of the problem.

“The revolutionary groups, especially the Bolsheviks, want Russia to pull out of the war. That would be disastrous for the Allies. It would free up Germany to fight a one-front war, and as a result they just might win this damn thing.”

Morrison stared back at Reilly and asked, “What does all of this have to do with me?”

“Don’t you see?” Reilly asked. “You have lived as a Bolshevik all of these years. They think you are one of their inspirational heroes. You could infiltrate them and work for us. They are a group that we worry about quite a bit. This Lenin character, if he ever got power, would pull Russia out of the war immediately. Now you have the golden opportunity to get close to him, to be part of his inner circle. I’ve watched them grow in number and influence, and I have contacts within their group. Hell, in some places I even pose as one of them, but no one is close to the power. There is no agent who can get near Lenin.

“You are out of your goddamn mind!” replied Morrison, standing up. As he turned toward the door, Reilly leaped to his feet and grabbed his arm. “And where the hell are you going to go, Moryak?” he taunted. “You have no money, and you are considered a dead man in America. Where are you going to go? What are you going to do? From what you’ve told me, the only thing you’re good for now is killing and posing as a revolutionary hero. Don’t be stupid, Morrison, you have nowhere else to go, and you know it.” Morrison stopped at the door. “That’s right, Moryak, use your head,” pleaded Reilly. “We need an inside agent to penetrate the Bolsheviks and get close to Lenin, and you are in a unique position to do the job. Besides, you are still an officer in the United States Navy. You could be ordered to do it and under the circumstances, if you ever even remotely dreamed of going back to America, this just may be the price you’ll have to pay.” Hearing the last threat, Morrison turned around and faced his former partner.

“By the way, my friend, do you recall that I told you I had a business appointment that I had to cancel? Well, I lied. I went into my office and called the United States Embassy. Commander Gaine, the naval attaché, is a close working partner of mine. I told him that the agent of yesteryear, Lieutenant Stephen Morrison, is alive after all these years. That bit of news is already being sent back to America. So, yes Lieutenant, you will be subject to orders once again.

“Also,” continued Reilly, “I made a second phone call. I now have a network of agents assembling outside of this building. They have their orders, too. If any harm comes to me, you’re a dead man. I hate to do business this way, Double Eagle, but your talents and skills are an asset we cannot afford to lose!”

Morrison sat down heavily and sighed. It seemed too incredible to believe. “You know,” he said, “I’m just so goddamn tired of this all. I’m tired of Russia; I’m tired of living a lie. I just want some semblance of a real life back. Hell, I don’t know what I want.”

Reilly sat down next to Morrison. He looked at his former partner, who just stared straight ahead. “Do you recall a conversation we had before we embarked on our mission back in 1905?” asked Reilly in a soft voice. “I told you that we were the same type of people and that I saw right through you. I believe I told you that given our backgrounds, we both yearned to belong, but I, at least, knew that it would never be possible. You were the kind of man that yearned for respect, acceptance, and possibly friendship. I told you then, Double Eagle, that it wasn’t possible, at least not in our world. However, you did get your wish in their sick world, the world of revolutionary Russia. From what you’ve told me, you are respected, widely accepted, and certainly, they all want to be your friend. Why? It’s because you are the famous Moryak, a ruthless and fearless killer. Congratulations. You’ve finally gotten what you’ve wanted all of your life.”

Morrison stood up, his back to Reilly. His anger had crested as he realized that Reilly’s comments were true. Once again, it seemed to him that he was being sent on an impossible mission, only this time he wasn’t volunteering. He was back in a prison of a different type. He stared straight ahead, saying nothing for a few minutes as Reilly stood and said, “Of course, I’m not that big a bastard, Morrison. You are quite a courageous man, whom I do admire. If I can help you in any way — ”

Morrison turned around and interrupted him. “Here’s what I want from you. You find out what has become of my wife Helen. Find out what my actual status is back in the United States. Find out if it’s even possible for me to come once they learn that I’m alive. Then we’ll talk. In the meantime, I’m tired, and I don’t want to talk anymore. I just want to rest and forget the whole world for a night, including you. Hell, I don’t even know where I’m going to find a place to sleep.”

“That won’t be a problem. I have a couple of safe houses that I maintain around the city. You can stay in one of them. Let me contact London and see if I can find what you want to know. When I have all of it, we’ll talk again. Meanwhile, take this,” he said, pulling out his wallet and removing some cash. “Buy some decent clothes. Just relax, Morrison, and clear your head. I’ll contact you as soon as I hear back from London.”

Morrison took the money and pocketed it. As both men began to head out the door, Morrison turned around, grabbed Reilly by the collar, and slowly pulled his face toward him, until they were inches away from each other. “Be certain of this, Sidney Reilly,” said Morrison in a soft voice. “When this is all over, I will kill you.”

“I don’t doubt it for a second,” replied Reilly without hesitation.