22

Urals Soviet Headquarters
Ekaterinburg, Russia
Late June 1918

The long train ride to the Urals exhausted Morrison, but shortly after arrival in Ekaterinburg, he caught his second wind. How ironic, he mused to himself, that he had been sent on a mission by both the Bolsheviks and the Allied forces to Ekaterinburg. Now he sat in the headquarters of the Urals Soviet, waiting for their leader, Filipp Goloshchekin to arrive. Goloshchekin had already been notified earlier that Lenin had dispatched Moryak to Ekaterinburg on an urgent mission and requested that they meet as soon as he arrived.

At the Ekaterinburg train station he had been met by two thuggish-looking henchmen who brought him to the soviet’s headquarters, located in the old municipal building. There they instructed him to wait in Goloshchekin’s office until he arrived. Morrison had been waiting for about a half-hour when the door suddenly flew open and Goloshchekin walked in. “Hello, comrade,” he grunted as he proceeded to sit at his desk and look directly at Morrison. The man’s theatrics and attempt at dominance did not impress Morrison. He also knew that the two thugs who picked him up at the train station would be posted outside the door, acting as bodyguards. Goloshchekin, a small man, appeared to be about Morrison’s age. “So, you’re the famous Moryak. Tell me, comrade, what is the urgent business for which Moscow has dispatched you here? As you can see, I’m a busy man.”

Morrison stared back at him and began in a soft, almost monotone voice. “Moscow is not happy with your soviet. You are too independent and cause grief to the Politburo when they have enough on their plate. I’ve been sent here to inform you that these days have come to an end. From now on, you will dance to Moscow’s tune. Don’t get me wrong, comrade, you will still run your internal affairs without interference from us, but in the big-picture issues, you will follow the party line. That’s the first order of business.

“Next, I have been ordered by the Central Committee and the Politburo to assume control of the Romanovs. We have had enough of your saber rattling and threats of execution. I will be overseeing the situation until Moscow decides what it wants done.” Morrison handed over to Goloshchekin the official documents from Moscow confirming his authority. He could see Goloshchekin becoming angrier by the second. He read the papers and, at first, didn’t say a word. Then he called his bodyguards into the room. The two men entered and stood on either side of Morrison. “Comrades, escort Moryak back to the train station. Give him all the respect due to a revolutionary hero, but make sure he is on the next train to Moscow. I’m sorry, Moryak, we cannot comply.” He looked down to the paperwork on his desk, signaling that this relatively unimportant meeting had ended.

This response didn’t surprise Morrison; in fact, he had anticipated it. He slowly stood up between the two bodyguards and then suddenly grabbed each of their closest arms and pulled them together with all of his might. The surprised bodyguards’ heads smashed into each other, the impact knocking them both unconscious. As the two men collapsed, Morrison pulled his gun out of his belt and leaped across the desk at Goloshchekin, who had been caught completely off guard by Moryak’s actions. The impact of the collision knocked him over backward, with Morrison landing on top of him. As he attempted to speak, Morrison pinned his left forearm across the surprised man’s throat, and with his right hand, he held his gun with the barrel inserted into his opponent’s mouth. Goloshchekin’s eyes bugged wide open in terror.

Morrison waited about half a minute before he said anything. He wanted the moment to register with Goloshchekin, for him to remember it always. Finally, he said, “Listen, you piece of shit. What I brought to you is not a request. It is an order. An order that will be obeyed, understood?” When Goloshchekin didn’t respond, Morrison cocked the hammer back on his pistol and repeated, “Understood, comrade?” Goloshchekin nodded slightly in assent.

“Good. We seemed to have reached an understanding. I want you to bear something in mind, comrade. I am in charge of security at the Kremlin. I personally train all of my men, every one of them. They are merciless killers as I am. If I were not to report back to Moscow, Comrade Lenin has authorized a small army of my men to return here, and their orders would be to go to your soviet, find your men, and tear their fucking hearts out and eat them for dinner. Am I making myself clear?” Again, the terrified Goloshchekin nodded his head slightly. “Excellent. I do believe that we’ve come to an understanding, my friend.” He pulled the gun from his victim’s mouth and put it back into his belt. Morrison stood and reached down to help Goloshchekin up to his feet.

The two bodyguards remained on the floor, still out cold. “Don’t worry about these two. They obviously didn’t hear a thing or witness our friendly little chat. So you see, this was just between us. No one will ever know how we chatted or what we chatted about. Your authority here is undiminished. It’s just that now you report to and will be respectful of Moscow. Now, isn’t this simple?”

Sitting back in his chair, still trying to catch his breath, Goloshchekin finally responded, “Yes, Moryak, now I understand. Your reputation doesn’t do you justice. You are one crazy son of a bitch. I’ve heard all of the stories. I suppose that now I am the latest addition to the collection.”

“It will be our little secret. Don’t worry about that.”

Rubbing his jaw, Goloshchekin asked, “How can I help you, Comrade Moryak? Where do we start?”

“Let’s start with Citizen Romanov and his entourage. Where are they?”

“They are living in the Ipatiev House. It’s a nice mansion that was owned by an engineer. We appropriated the house from him because it’s large, defensible, and easily guarded. We have constructed a wooden fence around it for added security.”

“Who is in charge of the security detail at the Ipatiev House?”

“We have recently had a change. Comrade Yakov Yurovsky is now in charge. I had to replace the prior leader, Comrade Avdeyev and his people, because they were a bunch of drunks who would harass the prisoners daily and steal their possessions. The guards are much more disciplined and competent now under Yurovsky.”

“Very good. Notify Yurovsky immediately that I will be meeting with him tomorrow and will be assuming command of the prisoners. He will be my second-in-command. Also, comrade, I’ll let you take the credit for this one. Tell them that you decided on this change if it will enhance your prestige locally.”

* * *

The following morning Morrison, escorted by Goloshchekin, arrived at the Ipatiev House to meet Yakov Yurovsky. There, he informed Yurovsky that Moryak had now assumed control over of the detachment guarding the Romanovs. “It is for the best, comrade, and it will also bring us more in concert with Moscow, something that is becoming more and more important.” Yurovsky, although obviously not pleased, acceded to Moryak’s authority. Goloshchekin then departed and left the two as he returned to headquarters. Morrison first requested a tour of the outside of the house.

It was just as it had been described to him, a stately white house, surrounded by a newly constructed fence. The house stood two stories tall and had several ground level rooms on the left side that appeared to be for storage. Yurovsky indicated that the family and the rest of the entourage lived on the second floor. Morrison noted that all of the windows had been painted over with white paint, rendering them opaque. After the tour, Yurovsky invited Morrison in, and they sat down in the front-right room on the first floor that Yurovsky reserved for his own use. “What would you want to see next, Comrade Moryak?” offered Yurovsky.

“Let me ask you, how many prisoners are in this building?” inquired Morrison.

“There are eleven.”

“Eleven? There are seven members of the Romanov family, correct? Who the hell are the others here?”

“You are correct Moryak. There are seven family members. The former Tsar and Tsarina, their four daughters, Olga, Tatiana, Maria, and Anastasia, and the Tsarevitch Alexei. Four other courtiers have remained with them and are in this building.”

“Who are they?”

“There’s their physician, Dr. Botkin. The Tsarina has a lady-in-waiting named Demidova. There’s also the royal cook, named Kharitonov, and lastly Citizen Romanov’s personal servant, an idiot named Trupp.”

Great, thought Morrison. He hadn’t counted on any others besides the family. Any potential plans were already becoming further complicated. “How has Nicholas Romanov behaved while in captivity? Have there been any problems with him or with any of them?”

Yurovsky scratched his head for a moment and replied, “By and large, there haven’t been any real problems. Every now and then, the former Tsar seems to forget that he is a prisoner of the new state and gets a bit arrogant toward us. This was apparently a much greater problem earlier on. There haven’t been any problems recently.”

“Good! What are the living arrangements for the Romanovs?

“The former Tsar and Tsarina, along with the Tsarevitch, live in the corner room facing the front of the house. The four daughters live in the adjacent room along the west side of the building.”

After writing all of the information down, Morrison looked up and said to Yurovsky, “Bring the former Tsar in here. I want to meet with him privately. I’ve got a personal message to give to him from Comrade Lenin. I also want to make it clear who is in charge of this building and that I better not see or hear any ‘royal airs’ from him.”

“Yes, Moryak,” replied Yurovsky as he rose and left the room to fetch Nicholas. After a few minutes, the door opened, and Yurovsky stuck his head in the doorway and announced, “I have Citizen Romanov here.”

“Send him in and close the door,” ordered Morrison. Nicholas Romanov, the former Tsar Nicholas II, entered the room, and Morrison pointed to the chair next to him, indicating that he should sit down. Nicholas sat down and looked at the new head of the prison guards with a blank stare. Morrison noted that he looked considerably older than he would have thought. Hell, he thought, it’s been over thirty years since I last saw him. Nicholas’ hair, now flecked with gray, seemed to accentuate the lines on his face. How old is he? Morrison tried to remember, and he guessed Nicholas was about fifty years old. Dressed neatly in a gray military tunic, he sat there nervously with his hands folded. The small man appeared quite pathetic to Morrison. He remembered what an arrogant snob he was those many years ago in Japan when they had met.

Nicholas eyed this new guard. The menacing man appeared to be about his age. He had a full head of brown hair flecked with gray and several days’ growth of beard. Like many of those revolutionaries, he wore a leather coat. Nicholas began to feel uncomfortable when he noted the dangerous look in the guard’s eyes. The guard stood up, walked over to the door, and locked it. He sat down again next to Nicholas and stared at him for a few seconds. He then began to talk in a quiet voice.

“Nicholas Romanov, we don’t have much time, and I need you to listen to me very carefully.” Morrison leaned over, placing his face near Nicholas. “I am an Allied agent, sent here to rescue you and turn you over to the western forces that will soon be entering Russia. I will be attempting this in the next several days, so I need your total cooperation. The other guards believe that I am a Bolshevik, and that I have been sent by Lenin himself to oversee your imprisonment. I’ll explain the entire situation over the next several days. The important thing is that — ”

“No!” exclaimed Nicholas, jumping to his feet. “I don’t believe you! You are trying to trick me! You want me to attempt to escape to give you an excuse to kill me and my family! Well, I won’t do it! If you want to murder me — ”

“Keep your voice down! Get back in your seat. You have to trust me and listen to me!”

“No. How can I trust you after you tell me such a crazy story?” Nicholas became more agitated as he continued. “You are just going to have to kill me if you want, that’s all. Please leave me and stop this torture. Please!”

Morrison stood up and shoved Nicholas against the wall. Holding his left forearm against his throat, he pinned the former Tsar against the wall, and blurted out, “Shut your mouth! Just shut up!” As he did this, put his right hand on the former Tsar’s chin, turned Nicholas’s head to the left, and then ran his hand along Nicholas’ forehead. Running his finger along the scar on the side of his forehead, Morrison asked, “Do you remember that day in Japan when you got this wound?” Nicholas just looked back at him with terrified eyes. “Answer me!” demanded Morrison. “Do you remember that day? Do you remember having a handkerchief pressed against this wound? A handkerchief that had crossed gray anchors embroidered in the corner with letters USNA above them? Those letters stood for United States Naval Academy. Do you remember that, Nicholas Romanov?” Morrison speaking with an angered viciousness in his voice, now had his face just inches from the former Tsar. “Answer me, Goddamn you!”

Nicholas stared at his assailant, his eyes reflecting obvious terror. He didn’t know what to say. The man had the eyes of a killer and now asked him about an incident that occurred nearly thirty years ago. What could that possibly have to do with anything? Morrison could see the fear and confusion in his eyes, but soon the look of terror seemed to slowly change into a look of astonishment. Nicholas’ eyes got wide with disbelief, and Morrison could see that now he slowly remembered that day so long ago in Japan and how he had been rescued. He backed his forearm off of the former Tsar’s throat so he could breathe easier. The man started slowly shaking his head side to side, and then he finally spoke in a soft, stunned voice. “My God, how can this be? You’re the American! One of those who saved my life! I don’t understand. How can this be? What is happening here?”

“Nicholas Romanov,” interrupted Morrison, “I’ll have to explain all of this to you later. We just don’t have the time now. You have to trust me. I saved your life thirty years ago, and I am sure as hell going to try and do it again. Now please, let me ask the questions.” The stunned Tsar nodded in assent, still trying to comprehend what he just heard. “I just learned that there are four more people in addition to your family that are prisoners here. Is that correct?” Again, Nicholas nodded. “Are all members of the family fit for travel, travel that may be somewhat rigorous?”

Nicholas looked down for a few seconds before answering. “There is a problem with my son Alexei, the Tsarevitch. He’s a hemophiliac and — ”

“What the hell is that?”

“He’s a bleeder. It’s a genetic condition. When he gets even a minor trauma, he bleeds uncontrollably. He has had a recent bleed into his left knee. The pain is subsiding, so the bleeding has apparently stopped. But for right now, his knee is locked and he can barely walk.”

Morrison sighed with disgust. “Well, that’s just great!” he blurted out as he smashed his right fist into the palm of his left hand. He stood up and paced around the room a bit. “All right, all right,” he said, looking at Nicholas, “I’m sorry for the outburst. Is there anything else I need to know?”

“No, that’s it.”

“Have you had any contact with the outside world? Has any aid been brought to you here in Ekaterinburg? Is there anyone we can rely on in the city for help if we need to?”

Nicholas thought a minute and said, “Yes. For a while, people from the local monastery were very kind and sneaked eggs and milk to us. Occasionally there were messages of encouragement for us. One day after they dropped off some food, I gave a message to one of the sisters to send to the Allied forces, but it was discovered by one of the guards before she left the grounds. I’m told she was beaten and since then we have had no outside contact. I don’t believe there is anyone else out there who is willing to help you.”

“All right, now listen carefully,” instructed Morrison. "This conversation we just had, do not, and I repeat, do not discuss this with anyone else, not even the Tsarina. It must be a total secret, understand? I can’t stress this enough. I think the attempt is going to occur within the week, so I need you to be ready at a moment’s notice. When I give the word, or if anyone else gives you sudden orders to prepare to travel, we must go immediately. You have to rouse your family and get them moving immediately. There can be no delay. Do you understand what I’m telling you so far?”

“Yes, I do. I assure you that I will not discuss this at all. You have my word on this.”

“I might as well tell you this. I don’t have an exact plan. I’ll be formulating it over the next day or so. I plan on returning here to speak with you then. By the way, the former head of the guards, Comrade Yurovsky, he’s now my assistant. He thinks I’m interrogating you at the moment.” Suddenly, Morrison lashed out at Nicholas with a backhand slam across his face that sent him sprawling over backward and cut the corner of his lower lip. He then walked over to Nicholas and offered his hand to help him up. All the flustered Nicholas could think to say was, “What the devil?”

“Sorry. They think I’m interrogating you, so I have to make this somewhat believable. Your bruises and cuts will help our cover.” This is just a small payback for what you did to my family, thought Morrison. As Nicholas held a handkerchief to his cut lip, Morrison told him, “I have a feeling we’re going to have to act sooner than later, much sooner.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Do you hear that distant rumble? It’s not thunder. As you can see, the skies are clear. No, that’s artillery fire. The battlefront is approaching. The White Army will be here soon.” He then put his hand on Nicholas’ shoulder and smiled. “Courage, Nicholas Romanov. Remember, not a word to anyone. I’ll be back with a plan.” Opening the door, he called out “Guard! Escort the prisoner back to his room!” As Nicholas exited the room past Yurovsky, the Bolshevik could see the bruises and cuts on the former Tsar’s face. The sight of the bruises made him smile. He liked Moryak’s style already. As Morrison exited the room, Yurovsky asked him, “How did it go?”

“It went well, comrade. He got arrogant with me only once. I doubt it will ever happen again.” Yurovsky chuckled at that. “Comrade Yurovsky, have the guards assembled in the back. I want to meet them.”

In the backyard of the Ipatiev House, Yurovsky assembled the fifteen men who comprised the guard detail. Morrison could see that they were plainly ruffians. Some appeared to have been drinking. Yurovsky proceeded to introduce the detail to their new commander, the Bolshevik hero Moryak. A general murmur of approval arose from the group. Morrison gave them a general talk, outlining what he expected of them and of the importance of central control of all soviets by Moscow. He spoke forcefully and confidently. Finally, when he finished, he asked if anyone had a question. One of the guards named Pavel spoke out. “I have one, Comrade Moryak.”

“What is it?”

“Will we still get the honor of killing the Romanovs, and when?” All of the others nodded their heads. Morrison could clearly see that this question had been on all of their minds. He had to reassure them.

“Comrades, you will all certainly have that honor! It is simply a question of when we get the authorization from Moscow. Once we do, we will proceed. But I tell you this. I am in total command of this guard detachment here at Ipatiev House. Do you all understand that clearly? When we execute the Romanovs, it will be under my command, and we will proceed exactly as I direct you to. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir!” they answered enthusiastically in unison. As they did, another faint distant boom was heard.

“Another thing comrades. Do you hear that which sounds like thunder in the distance?”

“That’s not thunder, Comrade Moryak!” shouted one. “That’s gunfire!”

“That’s exactly right. The White Army approaches. We will have to carry out our mission very soon.” Turning to Yurovsky, he ordered, “Dismiss the men and then let us review the latest battle reports from the front.”