Vologda, Russia
May 1918
Stephen Morrison’s concern was growing. It had been over two months since he had heard from Sidney Reilly. Now that he lived in Moscow, he feared that Reilly would be harder to contact. Lenin and the rest of the Bolshevik leadership resided in the Kremlin. Morrison lived in a small apartment a few blocks away that had been confiscated from a former Tsarist official. It proved adequate for his purposes and convenient to the Kremlin where he remained at Lenin’s beck and call.
His job had evolved into a general bodyguard and security agent for Lenin and other high-ranking officials. In this capacity, he met most of the leaders of the new government, and the more he dealt with them, the more disgusted he became. They seemed to him to be colorless, mindless robots, married to their revolutionary cause. There did not seem to be a glimmer of humanity in any of them. Especially repulsive to Morrison was Felix Dzerzhinsky. He seemed worse than the vors back on Solovetsky Island. He would have loved to deal with the head of the Cheka in a violent manner. Perhaps that day might come, he mused to himself.
One evening after returning from the Kremlin and as he entered his apartment, Morrison saw an envelope on the floor that had obviously been slipped under the door. There were no markings on the envelope other than two words: Double Eagle. Closing the door behind him, he entered the small sitting room and tore open the envelope. It contained a short note from a Major Homer Slaughter of the United States Army, which instructed him to get to Vologda, report to a certain address the following week, and wait there until he was contacted. It was signed with the initials HS, and it had a postscript that instructed Morrison to “burn this after reading.”
Morrison scratched his head and wondered, Who is Homer Slaughter? He had never been contacted by the Americans before. Why now? Could this be a trap? Vologda was midway between Moscow and Petrograd. Since the government evacuation of Petrograd, Vologda was now where all of the western diplomats assigned to Russia resided. Perhaps something had happened to Reilly. His gut feeling told him that he should make this trip. It would not be difficult to get away; it wouldn’t be unusual at all to travel to Vologda given the presence of all of the foreign diplomats.
After considering several cover stories, Morrison concocted a story about being invited to check security at the various embassies. Lenin thought it would be a good idea to bolster the image of the new government and gave his consent. Without any difficulty or suspicion, Morrison left Moscow and traveled uneventfully to Vogoda.
The address he had been provided turned out to be a dilapidated boarding house. The mysterious letter instructed him to register under the name of Moryak and to wait. He assumed that the desk clerk would notify the mysterious Slaughter the moment he arrived and his suspicion proved to be correct. Within a half-hour, he heard a knock on the door. Morrison drew his pistol and stood behind the door as he opened it slightly. His guest walked in to find the gun immediately pressed against the back of his neck. “Take it easy, Double Eagle. I’m an American.”
“Turn around slowly,” instructed Morrison. He proceeded to pat the man down for weapons. Finding none, he put down his revolver and asked, “Are you Slaughter?”
“That’s me, Double Eagle, or should I say Commander Stephen Morrison? Mind if I sit down? We have a lot to talk about and not that much time.” Morrison promptly motioned for his guest to sit down. The man looked like a soldier. Short hair, solidly built. Although he wore local peasant garb, he looked like an American to Morrison, who asked, “What’s this all about? How do I know you?”
“Actually, you don’t know me, Commander, but I know a bit about you. I’m Homer Slaughter, Major, U. S. Army. My specialty is military intelligence, an oxymoron if ever there was one. I’m currently the Assistant Military Attaché to Russia and working in the Ekaterinburg region of Siberia. That mean anything to you?”
“Isn’t that where they just moved the Tsar and his family?”
“Correct. You see, I’m probably the only person in the United States, other than one high-ranking government official who will remain nameless, who knows of your existence. Of course, a few Brits know, since they’re currently running you as an agent. Reilly, I believe it is.”
“Again, why are you here, Major?” asked Morrison.
“I’m here as another resource for you, to assist you in any way I can. You need gear and equipment; I can get it for you. I’ve also set up a series of safe houses around both Moscow and the Ekaterinburg for you. Most importantly, I have this for you,” he said as he handed a slip of paper to him. “It’s a list of paid-off telegraph operators in these regions that are on our payroll and are trustworthy. You can telegraph anywhere without worrying about the transcript tapes ending up in enemy hands. Believe me, we’ve used all these operators, and they’re reliable. Of course, after you memorize this list, you need to burn it.”
Morrison began pacing around the room. Something started to gnaw at him. He had the feeling that he didn’t quite have all of the information that he should. “You know, Major, I’m in Moscow, not Ekaterinburg. At the moment, I don’t see how this concerns me. Do you have any messages or orders from the United States for me about this? I think I’m missing something here.”
“Well, Commander, let me fill you in on some information that should help to clarify the situation. One of my main functions in Russia is to act as liaison to the Czech Legion. You are familiar with them, correct?”
“Yes, of course,” he replied. The Czech Legion had been a major source of contention during the negotiations at Brest-Litovsk. This force of fifty thousand ethnic Czech and Slovaks living in Russia had volunteered to fight for the Russian government. After Russia withdrew from the war, part of the peace treaty terms allowed transit of the legion across Russia back to Europe so that they could fight for the Allies against Germany. The passports for these soldiers had been authorized by Stalin himself.
“Well, things are going to hell in a handbasket in Siberia. The Czechs are now fighting the Bolsheviks and their Red Army. Seems the Bolsheviks were trying to disarm them at the insistence of the Germans. It’s turning into a mess, but a mess that may work to our advantage. As the Legion and the White Army get closer to Ekaterinburg, their presence may cause enough chaos for us to attempt a rescue. That’s one of my main reasons for meeting with you today. What do you know of the internal political situation there, sir?”
“Major, I sit at Lenin’s side frequently. I can tell you this, and feel free to pass this back to Washington and London. Moscow does not, I repeat, does not have a tight grip on the soviets scattered around the country. This lack of authority is especially true in the Urals, the region around Ekaterinburg. The Urals Soviet is very independent-minded and causes Lenin and the Politburo a lot of heartburn. The fact that they are holding the Romanovs worries Lenin very much. For now, he wants the Romanovs alive. Trotsky is trying to convince the Politburo to bring Nicholas to Moscow for a show trial and then publicly execute him. The people in Urals Soviet, well, they’re animals who would just as soon kill the Romanovs as take care of them.
“What I’m telling you, Major, is that if the White Armies approach Ekaterinburg, the Urals Soviet might execute the Romanovs despite what Moscow wants.”
Slaughter sat there thinking and scratching his chin. “Hmmm. Washington and London really want to get the Tsar out alive. We realize it may not be possible to attempt to rescue the entire family. That’s part of the reason for this visit. If there’s any possibility that you can influence this situation with the Tsar, any way that you can get near and try to pull off a snatch, I’ll assist you however I can. This is what I’ve been instructed to tell you.
“Also, there is a plot underfoot that is being run by the Brits with our help. Lockhart, the British Envoy to the Bolshevik government, is in charge. He has support for this plan from the Americans and the French, and Reilly will be assisting him in this. Apparently they have been contacted by the Latvians who want to assist in a coup to overthrow the Bolsheviks.”
“The Latvians? Are you sure? They are intensely loyal to the Bolsheviks and act as their ‘Praetorian Guard.’ Christ, they provide the security to the Kremlin! Are you sure of this, Major? I find this hard to believe.”
“Absolutely! Our sources vouch for these two. You will be contacted by Reilly shortly for a meeting during which he will outline the plot for you. If the situation favorably evolves, we’d like to pull off the rescue attempt simultaneously with the coup.”
Checking his pocket watch, Slaughter stood up and announced “Jesus, Commander, I’ve got to get going. Remember all of the contacts points that I gave you. The operator in Ekaterinburg can reach me at any time, so don’t be shy.”
“I’ll try not to be,” mused Morrison as he walked Slaughter to the door. Slaughter suddenly stopped and turned to him. “There is one more thing before I leave.”
“What’s that?”
“I’d like to shake your hand, Commander Morrison. I only know broad details of your past, but to accomplish all that you have, under the most unbelievable circumstances, well, it’s an honor to know you, sir. You are a great American.”
“Thank you, Major,” replied Morrison, with all sincerity.