35

In the Siberian region including Tobolsk, there were two rival Soviets. Omsk, the regional administrative capital, held the natural historic power. But the Ural Soviet centered in Ekaterinburg vied with Omsk for supremacy in the area. For years the Ural region had been the more fiercely radical of the two because of the concentration of Imperial mines and factories in the area. They were often referred to as the Red Urals. Thus, with the revolution, Ekaterinburg represented a staunch Bolshevik stronghold.

In the spring of 1918, both Soviets turned hungry eyes toward the little village of Tobolsk. Taking control of the illustrious prisoners housed there would go far in consolidating the power of one Soviet over the other. Both Soviets thus sent armed detachments to Tobolsk.

Alexandra, seeing the Ural troops march into town, mistook them for the long-awaited “good Russian men” promised by Soloviev who would rescue the family. She could not have been more mistaken.

The German embassy in Moscow was tucked away in Denezhny Alley. Count Wilhelm von Mirbach had recently taken up residence there as German ambassador.

“I tell you, Count Mirbach,” said one of the men seated before him, “it would be a grave mistake to leave the Russian people to their own resources in fighting the Bolsheviks.”

“Your indecision,” said the second man, “places the Imperial family in great danger.”

Sitting back in his leather chair behind an expansive mahogany desk, Mirbach briefly assessed the two Russians seated in front of him. They were both men of character and intelligence. General Gurko was a seasoned cavalryman, tough and hot-tempered, but respected by his peers. He had served for a brief time as Chief of Staff at Stavka. Alexander Krivoshien, an urbane and intelligent man, had been Minister of Agriculture under Nicholas the Second, but had fallen prey to the Rasputin appointments and lost his job because of his outspoken criticism. Both men supported the idea of a constitutional monarchy and were committed to the rescue of the tsar and perhaps placing him back on the throne of such a monarchy.

These men and others like them had been making themselves quite a nuisance at the German embassy.

“Are you aware of the letter with similar complaints sent to me from Count Benckendorff?” asked Mirbach. Benckendorff, the Grand Marshall of the Imperial Court, had even gone so far as to suggest that Mirbach present the letter to the Kaiser himself.

“Then we do not need to remind you again, Count, that you Germans are the only ones who can save the tsar and his family,” said Krivoshien.

“You must be patient,” Mirbach soothed.

“We have sent an envoy to Tobolsk,” said Krivoshien, “and he reports that the living conditions of the royal family are far from ideal. Their rations and income have been cut, and the young tsarevich is quite ill. How much longer can they endure this captivity?”

“If anything happens to the tsar, the cause will be due to your inactivity. Urgent measures are called for now!” demanded the general, as if browbeating a squad of raw recruits.

“Please calm yourselves,” said Mirbach quietly, the picture of control and wisdom. “I assure you now, as I have in the past, the Imperial German government has the situation well in hand. You need not worry. When the time is right we will do all that is necessary.” He then pushed back his chair and rose. “Now, gentlemen, I have a pressing engagement in a few minutes, so I must beg your indulgence.” He reached his hand across the desk.

The gesture, as intended, left his two guests with little recourse but to rise and take their leave. When they were gone, Mirbach seated himself once again. He did not have another appointment for an hour, but he certainly wasn’t going to reveal that to those nagging Russians.

“If there was ever a tangled web . . .” Mirbach murmured to himself as he shuffled through some papers on his desk.

What had Germany done in unleashing the Bolshevik scourge upon Russia? Mirbach was not the only German to regret that sad move. It had seemed such an inspired idea at its inception to introduce political turmoil into Russia and thus thwart their war effort. It was doubtful anyone truly believed that scrappy little Bolshevik, Lenin, would amount to anything more than a nuisance to the Russian government. Now he was the government! And he was bent on spreading his revolutionary ideas all over the world, most imminently in Germany.

It was Mirbach’s task to try to extricate Germany from the political mess it had created. He, with the support of his government, was seriously considering the possibility of placing Nicholas back on the throne. With German backing, the White armies could easily overwhelm the Reds. And once the monarchy was restored—in a weakened form of course!—it would naturally be far more friendly toward its German benefactors. And Germany would need such friends if the war continued to proceed on its present course. Since the Americans had entered the war, it had taken a serious turn for the worse for Germany.

But first, those Bolsheviks had to be handled. And Mirbach would need to handle them delicately, but firmly—with just a touch of deception thrown in!

Mirbach picked up the telephone receiver on his desk and rang up Yakov Sverdlov, the President of the Central Executive Committee of the All-Russian Congress of Soviets. How does one deal with people who insist on such unwieldy, impractical titles? Mirbach thought wryly as the phone rang at the other end.

“Comrade Sverdlov, please,” he spoke into the receiver. “This is Ambassador Mirbach.”

The secretary on the other end was obviously flustered to speak directly to the ambassador himself but quickly regained her wits and hurriedly got her boss on the line.

“Ah, Ambassador Mirbach, how very good to hear from you,” said Sverdlov smoothly.

At thirty-two, perhaps Sverdlov had a right to his oily confidence. A close confidant of Lenin, he had, not undeservedly, attained a high position very quickly in the new government. His commanding presence, striking black beard, and tall, broad-shouldered figure was enough to make one overlook, even forget his youth.

Mirbach made sure to immediately assume the superior position with the man. After all, Russia was still very much at Germany’s mercy.

“I have been in contact with my government recently,” Mirbach began. “And we have decided that we would like Nicholas to be brought to Moscow.”

“To Moscow, Ambassador? I don’t see how—”

“This is very important, Comrade Sverdlov. It is imperative that my government interview the tsar—”

“You mean former tsar, of course.”

“As you say . . .” Mirbach rolled his eyes. “At any rate, we want to speak with the man and assess for ourselves his present condition.”

“I can assure you he is being well cared for.”

“I have heard reports to the contrary.”

“Nevertheless, Ambassador, moving the former tsar at this time would pose many difficulties.”

“Come now, surely you can mount a guard regiment sufficient to protect the . . . ah . . . former tsar on such a journey.”

“And to add to the difficulties,” Sverdlov went on, seeming to ignore Mirbach’s statement, “the young son is quite ill and I doubt could be moved.”

“We only want to see the ex-tsar. The others can remain behind if they wish.”

“But—”

“At the moment, Comrade Sverdlov, I am making this a request. Please don’t force me to make it more than that.”

“What does that mean?”

“I think you understand me well enough. The German occupation forces are only an arm’s length from Moscow, an even more ominous position now that Lenin has made Moscow the capital of Russia. Moreover, the peace treaty is quite fresh—I doubt the ink is even dry. . . .”

“I shall see what I can do.”

“I am certain you can do more than that. Good-bye, Comrade Sverdlov.”

Mirbach hung up the phone. That ought to spur some action, he thought with satisfaction. And once the tsar is in Moscow, anything can happen.

Yakov Sverdlov stared into the telephone receiver that had just gone dead. He cursed silently. But he was in a touchy situation, and no matter how it galled him to be pushed around by those Germans, he could not ignore them, or their “requests.”

Stroking his thick, black beard he forced himself to remain calm. He had to give the situation some rational thought. One thing was certain, under no circumstances could Nicholas be brought to Moscow and within the clutches of the Germans. However, it was imperative that it appear as if Sverdlov were complying with the Germans. If some unavoidable mishap should happen enroute, there could be no way Mirbach could accuse Sverdlov or the Bolsheviks of wrongdoing.

Sverdlov’s ties to the Ural Soviet would come in quite handy now. Last year he had been sent to Ekaterinburg to direct the work of the Ural Soviet, and thus he was well-known and trusted by its present commissar, Zaslavsky. He would wire Zaslavsky immediately, but first he must set in motion his compliance to the German request. He lifted his phone, dialed up a number, spoke for a few moments, and soon was on the line with Commissar Vasily Yakovlev.

A half hour later Yakovlev was in Sverdlov’s office.

“Thank you for coming directly,” said Sverdlov. “Take a seat.”

Yakovlev was similar in height and build to the tall Sverdlov. In fact they were also about the same age. Yakovlev, son of a peasant and born in the Ural region, was a seasoned revolutionary and Bolshevik and had served several years in European exile before his return to Russia after the February revolution.

“I am at your service, Yakov Mikhailovich.”

“I know I can count on you Vasily. I have a very delicate operation I wish you to perform. The Germans want us to move the former tsar to Moscow so that they might interview him and learn of his situation—so they say. As you and I know, they cannot be trusted.”

“And what is it you would like me to do?”

“We will move Romanov.”

“To Moscow?”

“As far as the Germans are concerned, yes. And we will indeed move Romanov. Tobolsk is so full of monarchists plotting his rescue that the place looks more like Petrograd. So the timing for a move is right. I believe Ekaterinburg would make the former tsar the most inaccessible to the Germans.”

“Ekaterinburg, Yakov? Could you really guarantee Romanov’s safety there?”

“At this point, there is no better place. You should, however, imply, without saying as much, that you are going to take your charge to Moscow. The Germans must never believe otherwise.”

“I understand perfectly.”

“You will have complete authority in the matter, along with empowerment to shoot any who disobey you. You will also take a private telegraph operator so that we may stay in constant communication should there be any changes in this plan.”

“Do you expect trouble?”

“Who knows? The Omsk and Ural Soviets have been making all manner of noise. I will telegraph them immediately and inform them of your departure and the special importance of your mission.”

“How large of a detachment shall I take?”

“I should think a hundred and fifty ought to be sufficient. Include the special group that just arrived from Petrograd. You will leave in the morning.”