Finland Station
Petrograd, Russia
April 16, 1917
Vladimir Lenin had a growing sense of excitement and destiny as the train approached Finland Station just before midnight. Other than a brief six-month visit around the time of the first revolution in 1905, Lenin had been in exile for seventeen years. This return to Russia would truly be a real homecoming. Although not physically present in Russia during all of those years, his revolutionary influences had been felt throughout the land. Between his well-circulated pamphlets and the Bolshevik newspaper Pravda, Lenin’s revolutionary credo was now widespread and gaining in influence as time marched on. “Mark this moment well, Comrade Moryak,” he beamed as the train slowly ground to a standstill at the train station. “History is being created by us, the true transformers of Russia!”
Their journey had begun over a week ago. They had been escorted by German authorities to the Swiss town of Gottmadingen where they boarded the train. As per the stipulations of the agreement, the train was never boarded by authorities during the entire trip, nor did any of the train’s occupants leave the train until it arrived in Petrograd. Just before boarding the train in the Swiss border town, Lenin had finished drafting his plans in Bolshevik terms for continuing the revolution in Russia, and he continued to refine them during their journey. All of Russia would soon know Lenin’s plans for transformation to a Bolshevik state.
All of these thoughts raced though Morrison's mind as the train’s engines shut down, and they began to descend to the platform. As they reached the end of the platform and departed the station to the public square in front, Lenin’s entourage found itself greeted by an assembled crowd of soldiers, workers, and musicians, all offering wild applause. Even Lenin seemed taken aback by the enthusiastic welcome. The man is some sort of returning folk hero, thought Morrison, as they began to work their way through the noisy crowds.
Lenin, visibly moved, finally climbed up onto the hood of a parked car, and began speaking in a fiery rhetoric that mesmerized the adoring crowd. In his speech, he denounced any Bolshevik cooperation with the Provisional Government, as some of Russia’s Bolsheviks were currently endorsing, along with many Social Democrats and Mensheviks. He also announced that the worldwide Socialist revolution had now begun. The statement that drove the crowd into a frenzy came when he ended his speech with the cry, “All the power to the soviets!” They proceeded to escort him through the streets of the Vyborg district. Morrison remained at his side, keeping him from being overwhelmed by the admiring crowd. As they walked, Lenin grumbled to Morrison, “Where the hell is Mozger? He was supposed to be at the station!”
“I thought you heard. They arrested him last week. He’s in jail. Now that we’re here, we’ll work to get him released.” As he spoke, Morrison helped Lenin into an armored car, and the crowds escorted them to the Bolshevik’s headquarters, the Kschessinska Palace, prior residence of one of the Tsar’s former mistresses.
The following morning when Morrison greeted Lenin, he asked him how he slept. “I didn’t sleep at all, Comrade Moryak! I was too excited, too keyed up. Today we take over the revolution. No more waiting, no more compromise! We lay out our agenda, and we forcefully advance it!”
“Easy, comrade,” chuckled Morrison. “You know I’m totally in agreement with you. By the way, there is bound to be some real hostility to our agenda at the Duma. We know we are altering our platform, but the Social Democrats and their allies do not. I will be on the podium with you and I’ll be armed. After all, I am your bodyguard, and I will willingly take a bullet rather than have harm come to you.”
Lenin looked at Moryak with delight in his eyes. Never one to demonstrate personal courage, he greatly appreciated what Moryak had just told him. “Thank you, Moryak, thank you indeed. History will bless the day when you came to us in Switzerland.” He embraced his friend and bodyguard.
Morrison’s prediction proved to be very accurate. He served as one of the armed escorts for Lenin when they arrived at the Tauride Palace, home of the Duma. When it was Lenin’s turn to address the Duma, Morrison escorted him to the speaker’s podium and then sat down in a chair off to Lenin’s side. The crowd hushed as Lenin pulled out his notes and began to speak. In a few moments, he had the crowd in an uproar. No longer would the Bolsheviks endorse or tolerate a bourgeois stage of the revolution that most of the other groups had endorsed. The power must now go immediately to the proletariat. The soviets must rule, not a parliamentary body. As he spoke, occasional boos and jeers arose from the audience. Intermittently, a cry of “traitor!” burst from the audience. Undaunted, Lenin continued.
Morrison noted that Lenin was nearly shouting as he outlined the Bolshevik agenda in a policy statement that he called his “April Theses.” Its main tenets emphasized no cooperation with the Provisional Government, total opposition to the war, and disestablishment of the army, police, and all state bureaucracies. At the conclusion of his speech, a sizable portion of the Duma jeered him, but Morrison observed that the majority of the Duma representatives stood up and applauded. Lenin remained at the podium, watching the turmoil in the audience with a stern look on his face. After several minutes, the tumult had nearly died down when he shouted out, “All power to the soviets!” The audience exploded into a frenzy, just as Lenin had planned. The standing ovation accorded him by the majority of the Duma representatives lasted ten minutes. They all watched as he was led of the rostrum by an armed escort, a man known to many of the delegates; the man called Moryak.
The Bolsheviks retired to their headquarters to plan future strategy. Lenin called his leadership back into the drawing room in the back of the building. As Morrison sat down, he glanced around the room. After entering the room and seating himself at the head of the table, Lenin began to introduce the others to him. “Comrade Moryak, these are Comrade Zinoviev, Comrade Stalin, Comrade Trotsky, and the only one missing is Comrade Mozger.”
Morrison saw Trotsky staring at him for a few seconds when he erupted with, “My goodness, it is you! We were in Peter and Paul Fortress back in 1905. You were called Number Ten!”
Morrison smiled at him and replied, “Yes, I remember you, comrade.”
“Gentlemen,” continued Trotsky, “this man is a genuine hero! He saved my life and stood up to a vile scum of a prison guard who nearly killed me. Why didn’t you tell me then that you were the hero of the Potemkin mutiny?”
“It didn’t seem relevant at the time.”
As they spoke, Joseph Stalin stared at Moryak and puffed on his pipe. Scratching his pockmarked cheek, he studied Morrison, judging him to be both violent and dangerous.
“Comrades, Moryak suffered for ten years in the Tsarist prisons for his bravery,” exclaimed Lenin. “He will be a valuable asset to our cause. Now, let us begin to formulate our strategy. I’m sorry Mozger isn’t here. We need to work to get him out of prison.” They proceeded to formulate specific plans, with Lenin assigning various tasks to each of them. At the end of the meeting, Lenin asked Moryak and Trotsky to stay behind. When the others left, they shut the door and returned to the table. “Comrade Trotsky, tell Moryak what you’ve learned about the sailors.”
“Ah, yes, I thought we’d want to let the famous Moryak know of this!” beamed Trotsky. You know, Comrade Moryak, the sailors at the Kronstadt Naval Base are committed revolutionaries. All of the ships there are controlled by revolutionary committees that elect their leaders. They relieved the officers and replaced them with elected comrades who are loyal to the party and despise the Provisional Government. They are committed Bolsheviks. They still haven’t recovered from the chaos of this past February. Their energies can certainly be channeled by an inspirational leader.”
“Do you mean me?” asked Morrison.
“Of course! What could be more natural than the legendary Moryak to rally and lead the revolutionary naval forces at Kronstadt? The fate of the revolution may well hinge on their actions.”
“He is correct,” added Lenin. “We need their unequivocal support. Comrade Moryak, I’m sending you to Kronstadt Naval Base. We’ve already contacted the party leader, Raskolnikov, about your arrival. Your job is to rally the sailors and prepare them for the coming workers’ revolution. We will continue our agitation here in Petrograd. I also want to look into the situation with the Romanovs. You know, they will be placed under house arrest at Tsarskoe Selo. I’m not sure what the Provisional Government is planning on doing with them. Get some rest tonight, Moryak. Historic times are about to begin.”
“Yes, Comrade Lenin. I’ll leave as soon as it is feasible. I’ll certainly keep you posted on my activities.”
But he failed to inform Lenin of his activities the following day when he dined in a discreet restaurant with a man whose passport read Gregory Reilinsky, but whose real name was Sidney Reilly. All of the details of Lenin’s return to Russia and his speech at the Duma were conveyed that night to London. When Morrison left the restaurant, Reilly sat back and relished his success. He couldn’t believe what a stroke of luck it was to have Morrison reenter his life. He was proving to be worth his weight in gold. He had heard about the discord at Kronstadt and had already thought of a possible plan of action for Double Eagle. He planned to share his thoughts with MI6 in London.
* * *
The cold winds of the early May morning stung Stephen Morrison’s face as the boat approached Kotlin Island in the Gulf of Finland. It brought back an eerie feeling, reminding him of his journey to Solovetsky Island so many years before. At that time, he was known as a traitorous mutineer from the Potemkin. Now he was approaching the docks of the Kronstadt Naval Base as Moryak, the revolutionary hero. It truly is a crazy world, he thought to himself.
Kronstadt Naval Base was the home of the Russian Baltic Fleet, and seeing the warships moored at the piers brought a nostalgic longing to Morrison. God, how he missed the United States Navy. So much so that just seeing the warships of another country gave him a rush.
Kotlin Island was strategically located in the gulf, twenty miles west of Petrograd. According to Reilly’s report, the Gulf of Finland was frozen for nearly five months a year, and only in the past few weeks had it become navigable by boat. “Any earlier, and I would have sent you there on ice skates,” Reilly had joked.
Morrison had read the briefing papers that Reilly provided and memorized the pertinent details before he burned them. Two months before, the sailors of Kronstadt had revolted and overthrown their officers. At a mass meeting in the main square of the base, they formed their own soviet and elected their own naval leaders. Over eighty officers and bureaucrats had been killed in the uprising. “Be careful, Double Eagle, these people are crazy fanatics. They are the most strident of all of the Bolsheviks,” warned Reilly. When Morrison stepped onto the pier, with Reilly’s words fresh in his mind, a huge man with a bushy beard raced up to greet him and hugged him tightly. As he kissed both of Morrison’s cheeks, he gushed, “Welcome to Kronstadt, Comrade Moryak! This is truly an honor to have you here!”
“Please,” protested Morrison modestly, “the honor is all mine.”
“I’m F. F. Raskolnikov, leader of the Kronstadt Soviet. I’ll be hosting you while you are with us. We have a full agenda for you. There are many here who want to see the great Moryak. You are a legend, you know.”
“Well, comrade, I’ll try not to disappoint too many of you.”
Raskolnikov roared with laughter at that comment. Taking Morrison’s arm, he guided him into the waiting car. As they got in, Raskolnikov explained, “I wanted to take you along the piers and show off our ships. I know that it has been many years since you sailed. You must miss it.” The car lurched forward, and they began their tour of the waterfront. As they approached the main piers, Raskolnikov began to describe the three ships currently moored. “We have two dreadnoughts anchored here. The first is the Sevastopal, and the next one is the Petropavlovsk. You certainly must remember the horrid winters we get on the gulf. The ships have actually been frozen in place all winter, as they are every winter.”
“And what is that smaller ship?” asked Morrison, pointing down the waterfront.
“Ah, that is the battle cruiser Aurora. She’s a real beauty. Say, comrade, while you’re with us, would you like to go to sea for a short while, to get your sea legs back?”
“I would like that very much,” replied Morrison with total honesty.
“We can arrange that. Moryak, you must be hungry. Let us have some lunch. Afterward, I’ve taken the liberty of arranging a speaking engagement for you. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” Morrison said as the car turned away from the waterfront toward the main city of Kronstadt, a walled fortress of a city. They motored around to the main gate, facing the east and appropriately called the Petrograd Gate. In a few minutes, they parked in front of a large galley, and Raskolnikov escorted his guest inside. Several other members of the soviet joined them and their lunch included a voluminous amount of vodka. How the hell do these people get any work done after a lunch like this? Morrison wondered.
“You know, Moryak,” said the eager-looking man on Raskolnikov’s right, “most, if not all, of the sailors here were youngsters when you performed your heroic deeds. You were a bedtime story that many of them were raised on. And now you’re here! This is too good to be true.”
“Is it true you are going to address us all after lunch, Comrade Moryak?” asked another of the diners.
“Apparently so,” chuckled Morrison. “I hope I’m not too much of a disappointment.”
“Nonsense! You will be an inspiration. Tell me, is it true that the Potemkin revolt erupted over rotten food?”
“Yes, it is,” Morrison replied, glad that he finally learned the essense of what had caused the mutiny. “It was actually maggot-infested meat. But you know, comrades,” he said, looking around at all of them, “the rotten food was symbolic of a rotten system, one that didn’t care for the little men, the workers, the producers. That’s why we did what we did.” He continued for a few more minutes in that vein, satisfied that he had enthralled them all with his exploits. He could tell by their expressions that they believed every word that he had spoken.
The soviet member at the end of the table clearly seemed to be the oldest member of the small entourage. “You know, Moryak, the years have been kind to you. I met you briefly before the mutiny, and you were quite a scrawny specimen. Our comrades in Petrograd must have been feeding you well.”
“Indeed they have, comrade, indeed they have. Also, I exercise regularly. One must keep fit if he is going to be active in leading a revolution, don’t you agree?” All of the heads around the table nodded in assent.
After their meal, they left the galley and saw streams of people heading into the main square of the city of Kronstadt, known as Anchor Square. As they walked through the crowds, the people recognized Raskolnikov and many realized that the stranger next to him must be the legendary Moryak. Many pointed at him and shouted revolutionary slogans as they waved to the small group heading toward the speaker’s platform.
Finally, they climbed the platform, a place where revolutionary speeches had become the order of the day. Raskolnikov stood and raised his hands over his head, signaling the crowd to settle down. In minutes, the crowd of over ten thousand Kronstadt sailors had quieted down and looked up at them. At that moment, Raskolnikov began to speak.
“Comrades, fellow sailors of Kronstadt, we have a special honor here today for us, courtesy of Comrade Lenin! Our guest needs no real introduction. He is a legend and an inspiration to us all. Comrade Moryak was the leader of the first meaningful act of the revolution — the mutiny aboard the battleship Potemkin! He paid dearly for his courage. He spent over a decade in the criminal Romanov’s prison on Solovetsky Island. Yet he has persevered, and he is here with us today, to help us along the revolutionary path! Comrades, it is my honor and privilege to present to you, Comrade Moryak!”
As Morrison stood at the speaker’s lectern, the crowd erupted into a deafening roar. It took a full ten minutes before the crowd quieted enough for him to speak. As Morrison began speaking, he noted that the audience listened in rapt attention. I’ll have to feed them every revolutionary cliché I can think of, he mused to himself as he spoke. Familiar with all of the revolutionary groups in Russia, he was able to touch upon every facet of Russian politics and proceeded to strongly condemn the Provisional Government. When he finally decided he had manufactured enough party rhetoric, he decided to close his speech with a personal, inspiring touch. “Comrades, it has been twelve years since I’ve sailed in the Russian Navy. That is way too long for my taste. I am first and foremost a sailor, a worker, who has committed his life to the revolution and to the Bolshevik cause. I will be sailing with you again shortly! I will be fighting with you against the oppressive government shortly! I will be working to bring Russia out of this criminal war shortly! Who is with me? I repeat, WHO IS WITH ME??”
The crowd roared with approval as Morrison stepped down from the lectern. The screams of approval and the applause were again deafening as their small entourage left the speaker’s platform. The crowd parted as they walked through it, with many of the people reaching forward to touch Moryak and to shake his hand. It took nearly half an hour for them to reach their car. Sitting in the back seat as they drove away, Raskolnikov smiled at his special guest. “Well done, Comrade Moryak. You had them eating out of the palm of your hand. What can we do for you next?”
Morrison looked at him. “You know what I would like to do more than anything? I’d like to take you up on your offer. I want to spend a little time at sea with your men. Can you arrange it?”
“Of course we can. We’ll have you back at sea in a few days, my esteemed friend.”
* * *
Morrison stood on the stern of the Sevastopal as the sun began to set. They had just completed two weeks of training and maneuvers, and he watched the wake being churned by the battleship’s propellers. As he stood there reminiscing about his prior days at sea, he suddenly heard a voice asking, “How does it feel to be back at sea, Comrade Moryak?”
He looked over to the young sailor who had joined him, a junior petty officer who couldn’t have been more than twenty years old. The look of admiration on his face made Morrison smile. He replied, “It feels wonderful, comrade. You know, I first went to sea when I was about your age. Once the sea gets in your blood, you can’t escape its allure. I dreamed of this moment for over ten years when I was a prisoner.”
“Did you ever give up hope when you were in prison all those years?”
“Not really. I always believed I would get out and that I would make a difference in the world.” I certainly never thought I would become an Allied spy again, he ruefully thought to himself.
“I want to be just like you, Comrade Moryak. I want to dedicate my life to the revolution, to a fair and just Russia! If I die for the cause, it is of no consequence for me. I pray that we can go into battle with the government soon!” Morrison smiled and nodded at the young sailor. He is so typical of all of these sailors, he reflected. They are almost fanatical in their devotion to the revolution. Virtually all conversations aboard ship during the past two weeks centered on the upcoming revolution. It had been the same even before they got underway two weeks ago. The city of Kronstadt had only one thought in its collective mind — destruction of the Provisional Government.
For the past two weeks, the crew was thrilled to have the famous Moryak walking in their spaces and taking part in the ship’s exercises. Morrison was, in fact, familiar with the dreadnought class from his work in England with Admiral Fisher. He, of course, had to pretend that it was a new concept to him. While the ship itself had impressive capabilities, he was largely unimpressed with the ship’s material condition and maintenance and appalled at the seamanship and abilities of the crew. The ship was dirty and most of the equipment was not well maintained. Their gunnery skills were minimal. The atmosphere aboard was more of a philosophical debating society rather than a warship. It was a stark contrast to the United States Navy. No wonder the Japanese kicked their asses at Tsushima, he laughed to himself.
He had been very pleased with his accommodations aboard ship. In deference to his status as a hero of the revolution, they berthed him in the admiral’s quarters and had a mess steward wait on him around the clock. In return, he attempted to do some instructing, and the crew seemed amazed that Moryak still maintained many of his seamanship skills. He especially impressed them with his technique for more accurate gunfire, a skill that he promised he would teach them in the future. All in all, it had proven to be a pleasure to be back at sea, even aboard a Russian naval vessel.
After returning to Kronstadt, Morrison profusely thanked the officers and crew of the Sevastopal and then went to thank Raskolnikov personally. It was early June, and Morrison was supposed to return to Petrograd to report back to Lenin. He promised Raskolnikov that he would return in a couple of weeks to inspect and possibly go to sea on the other ships. He complimented the head of the soviet on the revolutionary fervor that boiled in Kronstadt by saying, “Keep the cauldron bubbling, Comrade Raskolnikov. It won’t be long at all until we’ll need the sailors of Kronstadt to be the tip of the spear! Believe me, it won’t be long at all!”