Eye of the Red Tsar (32 page)

“And you didn’t think to tell me this?”

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think you would agree to help with the investigation if you knew Grodek was out. The only way the Bureau would let me hold on to my promotion was if I persuaded you to investigate the case.”

“And is it true? Did Grodek offer the Tsar a chance to escape when he was stationed at the Ipatiev house?”

“Yes. In exchange for the Tsar’s gold reserves. Grodek swore that he would free the family if the Tsar would lead him to where they were hidden. The Tsar agreed. It was all worked out.”

“And you were helping him, weren’t you?”

Anton nodded. “Grodek needed someone to create a diversion while he led the family out of the house and drove them away in one of our trucks.”

“And what were you supposed to get in exchange?”

“Half of everything.”

“And what was this diversion?”

“Grodek and I told the other guards that we were going to the tavern. We’d been going every night, so nobody thought it was unusual. I broke into the police chief’s office and put in the call to the Ipatiev house. I said I was from the garrison at Kungur, just on the other side of the Ural Mountains. I said that the Whites had bypassed Kungur and were heading for Sverdlovsk. I told them to send all available men to set up a roadblock. Then I would join the other guards at that roadblock, saying that I had just come from the tavern. I’d tell them that Grodek was too drunk to come with me. Then I’d make sure we stayed at the roadblock as long as possible, so that Grodek would have time to free the Romanovs.”

“If that was the plan, then why bring Katamidze into it?”

“We knew that at least two guards would be left behind to watch the Romanovs while the others were setting up the roadblock. The Tsar was afraid that his family might be hurt while the guards who stayed behind were being overpowered. He refused to agree to the rescue until Grodek came up with the idea of having a photographer sent over. That way, he could make sure they were all gathered safely in the basement until the guards had been disposed of.”

“But wouldn’t the guards think it was suspicious that Katamidze arrived after dark?”

“No. The times were crazy. We received orders at all hours of the day and night. Commands issued by Moscow sometimes took six hours to reach here. By that time, it could be the middle of the night for us, but if the order said it had to be carried out immediately, that was what we had to do.”

“So Grodek planned to kill two of your own men as part of this rescue?”

Slowly, Anton raised his head. “Have you forgotten what you trained him to do? Grodek set up a Revolutionary cell with the sole purpose of assassinating the Tsar. And then, when those people learned to trust Grodek with their lives, he betrayed every last one of them. They all died because of Grodek, even the woman he loved. What were two more lives after that?”

“More than two,” said Pekkala. “Because he never intended to free the Tsar, did he?”

“The Tsar had told Grodek that the treasure was hidden nearby. He said he could lead Grodek to it that same night. Grodek’s plan was to accompany the Tsar to the hiding place, get the gold, and then kill him and the Tsarina. We discussed letting the children go free. Grodek promised he wouldn’t kill them unless he had to. Afterwards, he would say that the Tsar and the Tsarina had been shot while trying to escape. But that’s not what happened. It all went wrong.”

“What did happen?”

“They got into an argument. Grodek said that when he went down to the basement, the Tsar started taunting him, saying that the treasure was right there in front of him, that the Romanovs themselves were the treasure. Grodek thought the man had gone out of his mind. When he realized that the Tsar was never going to lead him to the gold, he snapped. He started shooting.”

“Why did he spare Alexei?”

“He knew he had to get rid of the bodies, so that it would look as if the Romanovs had escaped. Grodek wanted a hostage, in case he ran into White Army detachments and his escape route was blocked. Listen, brother, I will tell you everything I know, but right now we are still in danger.”

“I know about the danger,” said Pekkala.

Suddenly, Anton’s eyes widened.

Pekkala swung around just in time to see Alexei’s boot crash into the side of Anton’s head. Anton’s eyes fluttered. His mouth locked open, teeth bared, as the pain drilled through his skull. Then he slumped back, unconscious. Blood dripped from his head, seeping into cracks between the stones.

Alexei kicked Anton again. This time Pekkala held him back.

“What the hell is going on?” Kirov demanded, appearing out of the dusk.

“That is the man who helped to kill my family!” Alexei stabbed a finger at Anton. “He just confessed to it! This is the murderer you have been looking for.”

“Is it true?” Kirov asked Pekkala.

“Grodek killed the Tsar. My brother helped him.”

“But I thought you said Grodek was in prison for life!”

“He was released during the Revolution. I never knew about it until Anton told me.” Pekkala turned to Alexei. “I am now almost certain that Grodek is the one who killed the photographer Katamidze, and Mayakovsky too. He may have let you live that night he killed the others in your family, but if he feels that we are near to catching him, he won’t feel safe again until all of us are dead. Including you, Alexei.”

“If you want me to be safe,” said Alexei, “then you can start by killing him.” He gestured at Anton, sprawled and bleeding on the cobblestones.

“No,” replied Pekkala. “This is not the time for vengeance.”

“The vengeance would be yours as well,” Alexei urged. “He has been working against you all along. If you won’t kill him, then let me do it. And afterwards you can take me to my father’s gold. Then I will gladly go with you to Moscow. Otherwise, I will take my chances here.”

Pekkala thought back to the boy he had once known, his gentle nature torn away, and of the rage which had taken its place. “What happened to you, Alexei?”

“What’s happened is that you betrayed me, Pekkala! You are no better than your brother. My family might still be alive if it wasn’t for you.”

Pekkala felt as if a hand was closing on his throat. “Whatever you choose to believe about me, I came here to find you and to help you if I could. We are all victims of the Revolution. Some of us have suffered from it, and others have suffered for it, but in one way or another all of us have suffered. No amount of gold will ever change that.”

A strange look came over Alexei’s face.

It was a moment before Pekkala understood what it was. He had pitied the Tsarevich long before the fortunes of his family had turned. But now, Pekkala realized, Alexei was pitying him.

Alexei stared down at Anton, who lay spread-eagled in a puddle of his own diluted blood. Then he pushed past Kirov and stormed inside the house.

Pekkala sat down heavily upon the ground, as if his legs had collapsed underneath him.

Kirov knelt down beside Anton. “We need to get him to a doctor,” he said.

WHILE KIROV STAYED behind to guard Alexei, Pekkala lifted Anton into the backseat of the Emka and drove to the police station. Kropotkin climbed in and the three traveled to the clinic of a man named Bulygin, who was the only doctor in town.

On the way, Pekkala told Kropotkin that Alexei was now at the Ipatiev house.

“Thank God,” Kropotkin kept repeating.

Pekkala also explained about Grodek and requested that Kropotkin put in a call to the Bureau of Special Operations, requesting an armed escort for the Tsarevich’s return to Moscow. “In the meantime,” said Pekkala, “I’ll need as many of your police as you can spare to stand guard outside the house.”

“I’ll see to it as soon as we have dropped off your brother at Bulygin’s.”

“No one is to know the Tsarevich is inside, not even the policemen guarding the house.” If news got out about Alexei, Pekkala knew that the Ipatiev place would be mobbed. Even those who wished him well would pose a threat. He remembered the disaster which had taken place at the Khodynka field in Moscow on the day of the Tsar’s coronation in 1896. Crowds which had gathered to witness the occasion rushed towards tables of food which had been provided for them. Hundreds of people lost their lives in the stampede. Under the circumstances, especially with a bomb maker like Grodek still at large, the situation could be even worse.

Bulygin was a bald man with an emotionless face and a small mouth which barely moved when he spoke. Anton was still unconscious when Bulygin laid him out on an operating table and shone a light into each of his eyes. “He has a concussion, but I see nothing life-threatening. Let me keep him here for observation. He should be conscious again in a matter of hours, but if his condition changes for the worse, I will let you know immediately.”

Returning to the Ipatiev house, Pekkala dropped Kropotkin off at the police station.

“I have seen your brother take a lot of beatings,” Kropotkin told him. “One more won’t do him any harm. I’ll keep an eye out for this man Grodek. In the meantime, let me know if you need any more help.”

Arriving at the Ipatiev house, Pekkala found Kirov sitting at the kitchen table. He was staring at Pekkala’s copy of the
Kalevala
.

“How is your brother?” asked Kirov.

“He should be fine. Where is Alexei?”

Kirov jerked his head towards the stairs. “Up on the second floor. Just sitting there. He isn’t very talkative.”

“When did you start reading Finnish?”

“I’m just looking at the illustrations.”

“Troops are on their way from Moscow. I’ll go and explain things to Alexei.”

“You need a new copy of this book,” Kirov called to Pekkala as he walked out of the room.

“What’s wrong with that one?”

“It’s full of holes.”

Pekkala grunted and walked on.

He was halfway up the stairs when he stopped. Then he turned and ran back downstairs. “What do you mean it’s full of holes?”

Kirov held up a page. Light through the kitchen window glinted through tiny puncture marks scattered across the page. “See?”

“Give me the book.” Trembling, Pekkala held out his hand.

Kirov slapped it shut and handed it over. “Your language has too many vowels,” he complained.

Pekkala took a lantern from the kitchen shelf and ran down to the basement. There, in the darkness at the bottom of the stairs, he lit the lamp and set it down before him.

The nun had told him about the Tsar’s method for smuggling messages out past the guards, using a pin to mark out letters on the pages. Now Pekkala thought back to that day at his cottage, when the Tsar had returned the book. At the time, he had thought the Tsar was just rambling, but now, as he held up the pages one by one, he could see tiny pinholes marked beneath different letters. Pekkala took out his notebook and began to assemble the words.

It took only a few minutes for him to decipher the message. When he had finished, he ran back up the stairs, taking the book and lantern with him. He dashed through the hall and up to the second floor.

Alexei was sitting in a chair by the window in an otherwise empty room.

“Alexei,” said Pekkala, as he tried to catch his breath.

Alexei turned. Nestled in his hands was a Russian army revolver.

“Where did you get that?”

“Do you think I would go about unarmed?”

“Please put it down,” said Pekkala.

“It appears I have run out of options.”

“I know where it is,” said Pekkala. Seeing Alexei alone like this, Pekkala wondered if the Tsarevich was contemplating suicide.

“Where what is?”

“The treasure. You were right. Your father did tell me.”

Alexei narrowed his eyes. “You mean you lied to me?”

“He left a message in this book. The message was hidden. I didn’t realize it was there until now.”

Slowly, Alexei rose to his feet. He put the gun in his pocket. “Well, where is it?”

“Close. I will take you straight to it.”

“Just tell me,” said Alexei. “That’s all I need.”

“It’s important that I take you there myself. I will explain on the way.”

“All right,” said Alexei, “but let’s not waste any more time.”

“We will go at once,” said Pekkala.

They met Kirov at the bottom of the stairs.

Pekkala explained what they were doing.

“It was in the book all along?” asked Kirov.

“I never would have found it if you hadn’t spotted the holes.”

Kirov looked bewildered. “And you say it is close by?” Pekkala nodded.

“I’ll get the car ready,” said Kirov.

“No,” Alexei told him. “Pekkala is the only one I trust. I promise that as soon as we get back, I will drive with you to Moscow.”

“Are you sure about this?” asked Kirov.

“Yes,” replied Pekkala. “Someone should stay here in case the doctor calls about Anton. We’ll be back in an hour or so.” He handed the book to Kirov. “Look after this,” he said.

“WHY WON’T YOU tell me where we are going?” Asked Alexei, as the Emka raced beyond the outskirts of Sverdlovsk.

“I will when we get there,” replied Pekkala.

Alexei smiled. “All right, Pekkala. You just lead the way. I have waited a long time for this. I can wait a few minutes more. Of course, you will not go away empty-handed. There will be something in it for you, too.”

“You can keep it, Excellency,” Pekkala replied. “As far as I’m concerned, your father’s treasure stands for everything that got him killed.”

Alexei held up his hands and laughed. “Whatever you say, Pekkala!”

The Emka turned off the Moscow Highway, and headed down a potholed dirt track, tires splashing through muddy water. A minute later, Pekkala swung the car off the dirt track and into a field of tall grass. The clearing was surrounded by dense woods. At the far end, a crooked chimney rose from a dilapidated building. The Emka rolled across the field. At last, they came to a stop and Pekkala cut the engine. “We’re here,” he said. “We’ll need to walk the last—”