29

Soloviev proved to be the kind of man whose looks were determined more by his personality than by actual physical features. He was not especially handsome unless he smiled, nor was he obviously ugly unless he grimaced. He was not much taller than Daniel and of a slender build. His eyes were dark and keen, seeming to move constantly, taking in all aspects of his surroundings. His pencil mustache framed a smile that made up in charisma what it lacked in sincerity.

They met in the restaurant of Daniel’s hotel, along with Sedov, Pitovranov, and another officer named Karloff whom Daniel had just met. Soloviev seemed not the least bothered by such a public meeting place, and in Daniel’s wary mind that could mean but two things—either the man was drunk with confidence, or he had nothing to fear from the authorities because he was in collusion with them. And the man’s behavior easily supported both theories.

“So, you are still not satisfied, Sedov?” Soloviev said. “And now you bring this foreigner to judge me also.”

“This is Daniel Trent,” said Sedov. “He is in a very good position to benefit our cause.”

“And what position would that be?” Soloviev leveled an incisive look at Daniel.

Daniel replied, “I represent a group of very influential foreign personages with essentially unlimited financial resources.”

Soloviev’s dark eyes brightened considerably at this. “Unlimited, you say?”

“Yes, and they are committed to preserving the safety of the royal family. They would like to work with existing operations, realizing this would be the most effective way of attaining their goal. Of course, before contributing to an organization they would want to be assured of its credentials.”

“Most certainly.” Soloviev smiled and his eyes were bright and friendly, if not exactly warm. “And you will find the credentials of the Brotherhood of St. John of Tobolsk are faultless. Why, the tsaritsa herself named our organization. I am in close contact with Their Majesties. If you would like to see them for yourself, it could be arranged.”

“But it is impossible to get to Tobolsk.”

“Unfortunately, yes. But when the pass clears . . .”

“We have heard all this before, Soloviev,” said Sedov impatiently. “We need more solid evidence of your work.”

“You saw my regiments yesterday.”

“We saw, yes. But I’d like to question some of them—”

“That would be impossible!” Soloviev exclaimed. “These soldiers are risking their very lives by their loyalty to us. If outsiders began questioning them, how long before their Bolshevik superiors became suspicious? No, no! I cannot allow it.”

“Then what other specific plans do you have?” asked Daniel.

“What is your escape route?” asked Sedov.

“What about a time frame?” Pitovranov shot out.

Then followed a barrage of questions around which Soloviev danced like an expert performer. Gradually his patience wore as thin as his slick answers. He became ruffled and angered, and the angles of his features grew sharper and his charm darkened. Finally he jumped up.

“Enough of this!” he snarled. “You treat me like a criminal and I won’t have it. I have the confidence of the tsaritsa, and you have nothing. See how far you get without me! All you will achieve by your suspicions is ruining our tsar’s only chance of survival.” He then turned on his heel and stalked from the room.

Daniel did not know what to make of it. Righteous indignation? Or, a man who feared his true motives were about to be found out?

Daniel retired to his room that night puzzling over the events of the evening. He still had no clear direction, but he did see more clearly than ever why no attempt to rescue the tsar had thus far been made. No one could trust anyone else. Even Daniel was becoming more convinced of the necessity of Lord Bruce’s group working alone.

As he undressed for bed, there was a knock at his door. Before opening it, he slipped his shirt back on.

“Don’t you even ask who it is before opening your door?” Captain Sedov asked, obviously agitated.

“I saw no immediate danger.”

Sedov pushed his way into the room and quickly closed the door behind him. “Quickly gather up your things. You’ve got to get out of here.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Hurry! I’ll tell you as you go.” Daniel pulled out his small traveling satchel and began filling it as Sedov continued, “The Bolsheviks raided our hotel fifteen minutes ago. Because I was in the last room, I managed to get away. Pitovranov and Karloff were arrested. I would have stayed behind to help them but I knew you had to be warned.”

“You don’t have to defend yourself to me, Sedov. I appreciate what you have done.” Daniel latched his bag. Then, as he threw on his coat, Sedov grabbed the bag.

The captain opened the door a crack and looked out. “Let’s go, it’s clear.”

They hurried down the hall toward the main staircase but stopped suddenly as they heard loud footsteps on the stairs. Making an abrupt about-face, they sped, as quietly as their haste would allow, toward the back stairs. Reaching the stairwell they ducked inside. Daniel paused only for one brief backward glance to make certain their fears were well founded. In the hall, he saw half a dozen Red Guards heading directly for his room. Not taking another moment, he raced down the stairs behind Sedov.

Assuming the back entrance would be covered, the two fugitives did not go down the final flight of stairs to the exit but rather tried all the doors on the floor until they found one that opened. It was dark inside the room, and Daniel prayed it was vacant, or at the very least, that its occupants were sound sleepers. A brief inspection once his eyes adjusted to the dark proved the room unoccupied.

“Thank you, Lord!” Daniel murmured.

“What’s that, Trent?”

“An answer to prayer.”

“We’re not out of this yet. Let’s hope God continues to aid us.”

They were able to climb out a window and shinny down a drainpipe the short distance to the ground. They saw the guards at the back exit before they themselves were detected and were able to slip past them, confirming to both men that they were indeed being assisted by a Higher Power.

They spent a cold, miserable night in a barn on the outskirts of town. In the morning, while it was still dark, they found some old clothes, apparently belonging to the owner of the barn. Donning these, Daniel stuffed their own belongings in his satchel. He left the owner a sizable sum of rubles to pay for the clothes. Then they made for the train station.

With the aid of their disguises, they eluded the Reds and boarded the westbound train.

Alexandra scraped a layer of frost away from the windowpane and gazed out. All was covered in snow and ice, and she felt a deep chill in her bones. It was warm enough in the house despite the fact that their new rulers had cut back on the fuel ration along with food and other comforts. Colonel Kobylinsky managed to continue to bring in the wood stumps for Nicky to chop—Nicky had requested this in order to have some form of physical activity. It was proving a valuable request.

No, what Alexandra felt was neither from the temperature in the room nor outside. It came from the inner desolation she feared would never go away. She tried to keep up her hopes, to trust in God’s deliverance, but it was not always easy. How excited she had been several weeks ago when dear Grigori’s son-in-law made contact with her and Nicky assured them that rescue was imminent. But now winter had clamped down harder than ever, and it seemed unlikely anything would happen until spring.

On top of that, life was becoming more difficult since those horrible Bolsheviks had taken over. The soldiers guarding them were getting far more demanding—uppity was another way of putting it. The other day they had made a search for weapons and had taken Mr. Gilliard’s saber and Nicky’s dagger—these were but ceremonial items, little or no threat at all. But a worse blow had come when they insisted that the officers, including Nicky, remove all epaulettes from their uniforms. Colonel Kobylinsky tried to talk them out of it, but it became sadly clear that he, their commander, had no real power over them. Nicky and Baby wore their epaulettes to church but hid them under their greatcoats. Kobylinsky had come to Nicky in great distress and said his nerves were falling apart and he wished to resign.

“Eugene Stepanovich, I ask that you stay,” Nicky told him. “I don’t know what we would do without you. Do you see that I and my wife and my children bear everything? You must bear it, too.”

They did bear it. But for how much longer? Daily Alexandra felt as if the very life were draining out of her. She felt old and brittle. She tried to dwell on the good things. They had been allowed once again to attend church. The people in the village, when they had heard of the cut in rations, had started bringing them small items of food. And best of all, Baby had been doing so well lately. Not a single bleeding episode had occurred since coming to Siberia. That alone should have been enough to bolster Alexandra’s melancholy.

“Mama, would you like a chair?”

“Ah, Tatiana, you are so thoughtful. I thought you were rehearsing A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

“I wanted to see if you would join us.”

“Perhaps later. I feel like lying down now.”

Tatiana came to her and placed an arm around her shoulders. “What were you looking at, Mama?”

“Nothing in particular.” Slowly they walked to the bed, and Tatiana helped her mother recline upon it. “I can’t help but wonder if soon the good Russian men will come to save us.” Soloviev had assured her that three hundred Russian soldiers were standing ready to rescue them. She had gone so far as to discourage other monarchist groups from rescue attempts so as not to conflict with Soloviev.

“I don’t know, Mama. It’s been a while since we have heard anything.”

“You mustn’t lose hope, dear.” Alexandra would never reveal her own inner doubts to her children. Hope and faith were all she had to give them these days. “Russia is a strong, noble country that is for a season in the hands of sinister forces. But the people are good and decent and will soon come to their senses and rise above it. God will not let this darkness reign upon us forever. He will deliver us.”

Nicholas poked his head into the room. “There you are, Tatiana. We need you downstairs.”

“Yes, Papa, I was just on my way down,” said Tatiana. She bent down and kissed Alexandra’s cheek, then went to the door.

“I’ll be down directly,” said Nicholas. Then, to his wife he added, “Are you not feeling well, Alix?”

“Just a bit tired.”

Nicholas pulled a chair up next to the bed. “You should see the children. They are becoming quite accomplished thespians.”

“They are growing so.”

The girls were young women now. Olga had turned twenty-two just before Christmas. Tatiana was twenty, while Marie was eighteen. All three by rights could well be married by now. Anastasia, at sixteen, was still blossoming. But they were all four lovely girls, and Alexandra had no doubt that were they still at Court, they would be breaking many hearts. Even Alexis, though his parents continued to refer to him as Baby, was hardly that at thirteen.

“Marie and Tatiana,” Alexandra went on, happy for some trivial conversation, “are worried they are getting fat with the lack of exercise.”

“At least their hair is growing back.”

The girls had lost handfuls of hair during the attack of the measles, and their heads had been shaved. They had been terribly self-conscious over this for some time. With all the troubles and upheavals in their lives, they were still young with all the normal angsts of youth.

Husband and wife chatted for a few more minutes, then Nicholas rose to leave. “It will be time for my lines soon. Do come and join us soon, Sunny.”

“I will, dear Nicky.”

He was about to bend down to give her a parting kiss when the door burst open.

“Mama! Papa!” It was Anastasia. “Baby has fallen down the stairs.”

Apparently Alexis had become bored with the play rehearsal and, searching for something a bit more stimulating, had come across a small boat in a closet that he decided would be an excellent indoor sleigh. He carried it to the top of the stairs and had an exhilarating ride down until the boat hit the floor at the wrong angle and tipped over, sending him flying.

The injury to his groin was very similar to the one incurred at Spala six years ago. Only now it seemed far worse to Alexis. It had been such a long time since he’d had any serious flare-ups of his disease that he had been lulled into thinking perhaps it had been cured.

It seemed worse too for his mother, because there was no Father Grigori to offer help. Although in the last year hardly a day passed in which she did not miss her dear friend, now she was absolutely devastated by the loss. It was nearly as bad as that horrible day on which she had heard of his death.

As Alexis wept in pain and begged for death, Alexandra prayed for deliverance, begging God to show mercy upon them.