Andrei sat in his cell, in no way believing that no news was good news. He did not know what had become of Daniel. It had been twenty-four hours since his arrest and a good ten hours since he had last seen Stephan. Anything could have happened in that time.
He first began to believe his prayers were being answered when a new guard brought his breakfast to him.
“Yevgeny, what are you doing here?” he asked the young guard who slipped the tray of food through the cubby hole designed for that purpose. They talked to each other through the small barred window in the thick wooden cell door.
“They didn’t need me anymore at the House, so I was sent here. I expect this is temporary until they need me for the defense of the town. What happened to you, Andrei? I heard you had been arrested but no one would say why.”
“I suppose it was because I didn’t see eye to eye with my superiors on how they were running things at the House.” Andrei had nothing to lose now in telling the truth. And he might just be able to use Yevgeny’s obvious sympathy to his benefit.
“What do you mean?”
“Like you, comrade, I don’t want to see harm come to the family. I don’t care what they have done. They don’t deserve to die.”
“Then you don’t know?”
“What?”
“They were executed.”
“Dear God, no! That can’t be!” Andrei’s knees suddenly felt weak. He grasped a hand around a window bar to steady himself.
“I was not there at the time, but I spoke with a guard who was there and saw the bodies carried from the house. I’m not ashamed to admit that I wept when I heard. Even the children, Andrei! What kind of animals would do that? I didn’t become a Bolshevik for this! And the hypocrites also killed good proletarians, too. It is so senseless.”
“What do you mean, proletarians?”
“Several servants were killed also—”
“Servants! What servants?”
“What about the kitchen girl? Talia? You know who I mean.”
“I just don’t know. But they weren’t going to leave witnesses, that is for sure.”
“Did you see her?”
“She was there in the evening when I left—the evening of the, you know, murders. You and she . . . was there something?”
“Yevgeny, I must know if she is all right.”
“But how—”
“Let me out, Yevgeny! You can do it. You can get a key—”
“I’d be shot.”
Andrei grabbed the bars with both hands and shook mightily, though the effort did nothing. In frustration he kicked the tray of food that still sat untouched on the floor.
“I have to find her. I have to make sure she is all right,” Andrei said, but mostly to himself, for he had already lost hope that the young guard would help him. And why should he take such a risk? He would be shot for helping a prisoner escape.
“If they have hurt her . . .” Yevgeny said. “But they couldn’t have. She was completely innocent—”
“They murdered children!” Andrei cried. “Do you think a kitchen girl would matter to them?”
Slowly, as if it hurt physically to make the admission, Yevgeny replied, “You are right, of course . . .”
Hope returning, Andrei begged—he would have dropped to his knees if the window hadn’t been so high—”Please, help me, Yevgeny! Please!”
There was only silence in response and Andrei despaired again. Finally he crumbled to the floor, his head drooped in his hands. There seemed no logical reason why Talia should have been harmed, but he knew better than anyone that the Reds often made little sense in what they did. Yurovsky might kill her just for the pleasure of watching her die—
But the thought caused a stab of pain to shoot through him. Suddenly he remembered that he was learning a way not to bear his pain alone.
“Dear God, please protect Talia. Don’t let the horrors of these times touch her. I would gladly give my own life to spare her if that is what it must take.”
Then he heard the sound of metal against metal. He glanced toward the door as it opened a crack.
“Hurry!” came Yevgeny’s voice.
Without another thought, Andrei jumped up. When he was in the corridor, Yevgeny relocked the cell door and motioned Andrei to follow him. He replaced the key in an attempt to delay discovery of the escape, then led Andrei to a back door.
Outside, Yevgeny said, “I’d go with you, but you’d probably do better on your own.”
“Thank you, Yevgeny. You did the right thing. But what will you do now?”
“Maybe I’ll join the Whites. I can no longer be associated with this new regime.”
Andrei was about to turn when he realized he had forgotten all about Daniel. “Yevgeny, I can’t leave without the American prisoner.”
“If you go back inside you are sure to be caught. But the foreigner is gone anyway. They took him away by guard a few hours ago. I think they are going to deport him if they can get him past the Whites.”
Trusting Daniel into God’s hands, Andrei raced away to search for Talia.
First, he went to the Palais Hotel. He had some difficulty getting past the clerk—the same one he’d encountered before. Slipping upstairs, he found a maid and, after giving her a small bribe, learned that the “mute” fur trader had checked out of the hotel.
What could have happened? Had Bruce been discovered and deported also? And still he was no closer to finding Talia. He went to the boardinghouse where Talia had been staying, but she was not there either. He was told she had not been back in quite some time. Next, he went to the trade union hall, but again, no luck. Same with the deserted barn.
Frantic now, and perhaps not thinking clearly, he went to the only other place he could think of. The Ipatiev House. It was a foolish move. Talia would not be there, but perhaps he could find some clue as to her whereabouts. He also needed to see for himself if Yevgeny’s news about the Romanovs was true.
The last time he had been there, a full contingent of guards had circled the grounds. Now it was ominously deserted. Heart pounding, he strode up to the front gate, hardly aware of the risk he was taking. The gate was locked, so he went around toward the back where he knew of an opening in the fence. Slipping through the breech, he found the yard, too, was deserted.
He ran into the house, looking through all the rooms. It all had the disordered appearance of a hasty departure. On the upper floor where the Romanovs had dwelt, many personal items still lay about. Andrei’s foot stumbled over something and, bending down, he picked up a hairbrush that bore the engraved initials, A.F. Alexandra Fedorovna?
He raced down the stairs.
“Talia, where can you be?”
Back in the courtyard, he noticed for the first time the dark splotches on the ground. These he followed to the semi-basement that had been used for supplies. Hand trembling, he opened the door and descended the handful of steps. The splotches were worse now and his stomach began to churn.
In utter horror, Andrei stepped into his worst nightmare. How he managed to last as long as he did, he could not say. The room reeked with the stench of blood and death. Some attempt had been made to clean it, but it would take much more to scrub away the stains. It was still so fresh he could almost hear the screams of the victims echo off the wall of the tiny room.
As he viewed more blood than anyone could have tolerated, he began to sway on his feet, his own blood draining from his head.
“Dear God, not now! Please, not now!”
His legs could barely hold him, but there was nothing to grasp for support. Then his foot slipped and, looking down, realized he had stepped in a splotch of blood that had not yet dried.
His stomach lurched as he fled from the room, barely making it to the courtyard before it emptied of its contents. In complete despair, he sank to the ground, and paralyzed with nausea and fear, he wept. A sense of failure stronger than he had ever felt before overwhelmed him. Not only were all hopes of rescuing the royal family now obliterated, but had he failed Talia as well? Was her blood also mingled with those stains in that room?
He had to know. He had to find her.
He tried to get up, but fresh waves of nausea assaulted him and all strength seemed to be sucked from his legs. Experience told him he was on the verge of passing out. Then he truly would be useless to anyone.
“Curse you, Andrei!” he railed at himself. “You are weak and worthless!”
He took a breath. “God, help me!”
He forced himself to his feet. The yard spun around for a moment, but eventually it stopped and he willed his feet into motion. He had no idea what to do or where to go, but he could not allow defeat to consume him. And with each step he felt his stamina return. Vaguely he heard the sound of an approaching engine, but his mind was so full of other concerns he did not give it a thought.
He turned a corner, glad just to be walking and forgetting to be wary as well. He nearly ran headlong into Stephan. They stared at each other, equal expressions of shock on their faces.
Stephan regained his composure first. “So you have flown the coop. You were a fool to come here.”
“You murderer!”
“More correctly, executioner.”
“I don’t care about that. Tell me where she is!”
“What are you talking about?”
“Where is Talia—the kitchen girl. What have you done with her?”
“What is this, Andrei Sergeiovich? Did you fall in love with the kitchen girl?” Stephan laughed. “The kitchen girl? Ha! Ha! And now you think she went the way of the Romanovs.” He laughed even harder. “This is rich. Priceless.”
“Tell me, you murderous dog!” Andrei advanced a step, his earlier weakness now all but forgotten in his rage. He did not wonder why Stephan was alone, or if others were close-by.
“All the guilty are dead!” Stephan retorted with enough arrogance to balance his sudden sense of aloneness. “Was she guilty, Andrei? Was she helping to free the bloodsucker? She deserved to die then.” Suddenly, Stephan drew his side arm. “But you will soon join—”
But Andrei neither heard Stephan’s final words, nor did he see the pistol, for he had already thrown himself into the attack. It probably wouldn’t have mattered anyway. He had gone well beyond rational thought.
Though Stephan must surely have been expecting the attack, Andrei’s force was daunting. He was slammed up against the wall of the house with such stunning force, he dropped the pistol. Andrei continued his offensive, smashing his large fist into Stephan’s jaw. Stephan dodged one blow, and Andrei’s fist painfully struck the wall, but still Andrei pummeled him. And Andrei had seen so much blood that day it hardly fazed him when streams of red oozed down his adversary’s face. He heard the cartilage in Stephan’s nose crack and vaguely remembered when, as a boy in Katyk, he had watched Stephan fight another boy and get his nose broken for the first time.
But soon Andrei had to let up his barrage, at least momentarily, as his fist cramped. Stephan seized the opportunity, dodging to the left with a deft sidestep even as he used the momentum to smash his left fist into the side of Andrei’s head.
Andrei was thrown off-balance only a moment before he steadied himself and threw a right uppercut. Stephan blocked this, and for several minutes the fight swung back and forth. Stephan tried to make a couple of lunges for the pistol, but Andrei managed to kick it out of reach.
Stephan landed a blow that sent Andrei sprawling to the ground. The fight might have ended then, but Stephan was too full of rage to do the logical thing. Instead he dove at Andrei, fists striking blows from both sides. They tussled on the ground, one minute Stephan taking the advantage, the next Andrei.
At first Andrei wanted to kill Stephan, yet as the fight progressed he realized this would not help him find Talia—or bring her back if she was dead. He didn’t want to kill. There had already been too much death.
It was then, as he attempted to dodge another blow by rolling away from Stephan, who was now on top, that Andrei’s shoulder pressed against something hard. The pistol. It was the only way to end this thing. He hoped he would not have to use it, but it would give him the advantage he needed. If only Stephan had not also realized the gun was near. Andrei gave Stephan a hard shove. He then twisted around and grabbed the pistol. When Stephan turned back for another attack, he found himself facing his pistol.
“It’s over, Stephan!” Andrei aimed the weapon at Stephan’s heart.
“I don’t think you have the guts to kill me,” sneered Stephan.
“No,” Andrei agreed, “but I can hurt you.” He cocked the weapon, aimed the gun at Stephan’s head, and prompted him to start walking.
“Where are we going?”
“You have a vehicle out front that should come in handy.”
They walked around to the front of the house. There were two or three guards standing by a truck. They gaped in surprise at the pair as they approached, obviously helpless to do anything lest the important commissar from Moscow get a bullet in the head.
Andrei made Stephan get into the driver’s seat, continuing to hold the pistol on him, and they drove away from the House of Special Purpose. Andrei would never see it again except in his nightmares.