The Romanov Conspiracy (64 page)

Sorg’s eyes widened at the sight of the brown bottle. His craving felt like a wild beast gnawing inside his head.

Kazan dunked the stopper into the bottle, squeezed, and removed
the rubber. A single watery drop of laudanum dangled from the end of the stopper. The bitter infusion of opiate and alcohol stained the air. Kazan leaned in closer, dangling the dropper above Sorg’s mouth.

“You’d like some, wouldn’t you? Put your tongue out. Have a drop for now, more if you talk.”

Sorg’s eyes bulged. He tightened his lips until they hurt. Every fiber of his being longed for the peace the drug promised. But he resisted, willing himself not to be seduced by the glistening dewdrop on the end of the stopper.

Kazan dangled his bait closer to Sorg’s lips. “You want it, don’t you? Go ahead, lick it. Enjoy.”

Sorg felt as if he was having a fit. His face turned crimson; his breathing came in shallow spurts.

“What’s the matter?” Kazan said. “Wouldn’t you like a little pleasure to ease the pain?”

Sorg’s bruised jaw was set like granite.

“I said take it.” Kazan’s temper flared.

Sorg’s entire body shook as he fought the temptation.

Yakov said, “I thought you said he’d talk! We haven’t time for these stupid games.”

An angry Kazan screwed the stopper back on and slammed the laudanum down on the nearby table. “I’ll make him confess, don’t you worry.”

He grabbed a dirty cotton towel and twisted it. Grabbing Sorg’s mouth, he stuffed the towel between his lips until he almost gagged. “Keep biting on that, unless you want to chew off your tongue.”

Sorg’s eyes widened with panic as Kazan picked up two insulated black wires that snaked across the floor to an electric outlet.

“Electricity can light up a room,” Kazan remarked to Yakov. “But I prefer its other uses—the painful kind that can loosen a man’s tongue.” He growled at Sorg, “Resistance is futile. I want the names of your co-conspirators. I want every detail of your foolish plans.”

He tore open Sorg’s shirt, exposing his bare chest. Without another word he touched the two wires together, producing a bright blue spark, and then promptly pressed both wires against Sorg’s bare chest.

His body convulsed in an uncontrollable spasm, his eyes bulging as he bit down hard on the towel.

Kazan removed the wires and Sorg’s body relaxed, but only for an instant. With a sadistic grin, Kazan again touched the wires to Sorg’s chest.

He bucked wildly, like a deranged puppet, crying out behind the gag.

Kazan stopped. “Now the real pain begins. His private parts next.”

Yakov said bluntly, “Enough.”

But Kazan was barely listening, a look of perverted pleasure in his face as he lay down the wires and began to loosen Sorg’s trousers.

Yakov crossed to the wall and tore out the cable.

Kazan stared at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I said enough. Get out of here.”

Kazan turned livid. “This man is my prisoner. I insist—”

Yakov tore the gag from Sorg’s mouth, yanked his Nagant from his holster, and cocked the hammer. “You can insist all you want. Now get out. I’ll take over from here.”

AMERIKA HOTEL

Boyle led the way toward the entrance steps. “I’ll leave all the talking to you.”

Four sentries with rifles guarded the doors. Off to the right was a sand-bagged machine-gun emplacement, manned by another two sentries.

“Halt,” one of the guards challenged. “What’s your business here?”

Andrev produced his letter. “Commissar Couris, from Moscow. We need a room for the night.”

A crack of artillery fire sounded, but it didn’t seem to bother the guards. Andrev remarked, “The enemy’s getting close.”

“They’ll be even closer before the night’s out, Commissar.”

The guard waved them through, and Andrev led the way into a huge lobby, busy with a sea of uniforms. A vast staircase led up, potted plants on either side, an immense sparkling chandelier high above them.

Rooms led off in every direction, the lavish hotel a hive of activity.

Andrev whispered, “Where to now? Our man could be anywhere.”

“Let’s find the bar,” Boyle said optimistically, “and see if we can get some information.”

Yakov said, “Who do you work for?”

Silence.

Yakov raised his Nagant and pressed the tip of the barrel against Sorg’s head. “One last time. I want the names of your fellow conspirators. Help me and you go free.”

Sorg remained steadfast.

Yakov slowly squeezed his finger on the trigger.

Sorg tensed, closing his eyes, fearing the bullet to come.

“Last chance,” Yakov said.

Sorg closed his eyes tighter.

Yakov squeezed harder.

A metallic click sounded.

Sorg snapped his eyes open.

Yakov opened the Nagant to reveal empty chambers. “You’re either a very brave man, or a very foolish one.”

He took a handful of cartridges from his pocket and loaded the gun. “Whichever it is, you’ll never talk, I know that much. But you or your friends can’t win. The family’s fate is sealed. Once midnight passes, they’ll all be dead. No one can save them.”

Yakov replaced the Nagant in his holster. “Can you walk?”

Sorg stared back in silence.

“You heard me. Can you walk? Try to.” Yakov undid the leather straps.

Sorg pushed himself up, groaning.

He looked fit to collapse, but with great effort he managed to sit on the edge of the trolley. He placed his feet on the floor and tried to walk, his legs unsteady.

Yakov supported him. “Do you think you could you muster the strength to walk out of here if I released you?”

Sorg stared back at him as if he were mad. “Is this your idea of a joke?” He touched his swollen jaw.

“Answer me. Could you walk out of here?”

“I think so.”

“There’s an exit door at the end of the hall, past the guards. Go that way.”

Sorg’s face clouded. “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to. Just take the exit door and keep walking. I’ll take care of the guards. I promise no one will follow. You have my solemn word.”

Sorg was incredulous. “You’re trying to trick me, aren’t you?”

“No trick. Leave now. There’ll be no curfew tonight. But be careful. The enemy is close and the city’s in disarray and being evacuated.”

Sorg’s stare fixed on the laudanum bottle on the table.

Yakov noticed, picked up the bottle, and said, “You want it? Take it.”

He tossed the bottle at Sorg, who caught it and said, “This is insane. Kazan hunts me down like a dog, yet you release me. Why?”

Yakov held out a small manila envelope. “There’s a man named Andrev among your fellow conspirators. Give him this.”

“What is it?”

“A note from me. As well as a map and directions to an abandoned grain warehouse, a half mile north of the Ipatiev House. Tell him to meet me at eleven tonight. He’s to come alone. I’ll do the same. Emphasize
alone
. Tell him Nina’s life may depend on it.”

“Nina?”

“He’ll know. Will you remember all that?”

A stunned Sorg nodded, his expression a question mark.

“Go, before Kazan returns or I change my mind.”

99

Despite the crowded lobby, the bar was almost empty when Boyle and Andrev entered.

In a far corner sat a group of dismal-looking men in leather jackets, shrouded in a haze of tobacco smoke and with bottles of vodka in front of them.

A bartender was huddled talking with a colleague. He broke away, nervously wiping the countertop with a damp cloth. “What can I get you, gentlemen?”

“Not too busy, are you?” Andrev remarked.

“The city’s being evacuated, or haven’t you heard, comrades?”

“All the more reason for a drink. We’ll have vodka.”

As the man went to fetch their drinks, Boyle glanced round the near-empty room and whispered, “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.”

The double doors into the bar suddenly burst open and a bullish, bald-headed man stormed in. He looked in a foul mood, banging his fist on the counter. “You! Whiskey. Give me a bottle.”

The frightened bartender looked as if he couldn’t move fast enough, scurrying to fetch a whiskey bottle and glass for the customer, before he served Andrev and Boyle their drinks.

Kazan filled his glass and knocked it back in one swallow. He splashed more whiskey into his glass, refilling it to the brim.

“Bad day, comrade?” Andrev asked.

Kazan’s cold, dark glare swiveled toward him with contempt, one of his eyes milky white. “What’s it to you?”

“We all have them now and then.” Andrev raised his glass. “Your health.”

Kazan emptied his glass, slammed it down, and stepped threateningly closer. “My health’s none of your business. That’s what’s wrong with this country. Too many people sticking their noses in where they’re not wanted.” A strange, twisted grin appeared on Kazan’s face. “But that’s all about to change …”

“My apologies, comrade, I didn’t mean to offend.”

“Then shut your mouth before I shut it for you.” Kazan gave a final growl, grabbed the bottle, and left, the doors swinging after him.

Andrev pushed some coins across to the bartender. “Is he always in such a good mood?”

“That’s Kazan, from the Moscow Cheka. Don’t you know him?”

“We’re just passing through. Should we?”

“Kazan’s got a savage reputation. Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but …”

Andrev winked good-humoredly and slid the bartender a generous tip. “There’s nothing like a bit of gossip. It’ll go no further.”

“It’s been all over the hotel like wildfire. A Moscow commissar named Yakov released a spy Kazan caught. When he found out he went crazy. He and the commissar just had a blazing row in the lobby that almost came to blows.”

“Really? Over what?”

“Kazan’s been ranting that Yakov released the prisoner so he could tail him to his comrades and grab all the glory. Kazan’s fit to burst. There’ll be trouble, I tell you. Kazan’s not one to cross.”

“So where’s the commissar now?”

“He left the hotel five minutes ago.”

100

EKATERINBURG

Sorg made his way through the backstreets.

Sweat drenched his body. He checked his dressing—his wound wasn’t bleeding but he felt fatigued, and his jaw throbbed. He touched his mouth with his fingers; it was crusted with blood. After ten minutes walking he left the backstreets and came out by the river.

A few solitary barges floated past. He saw a public water pump and he greedily stuck his mouth under the faucet and pumped.

His thirst quenched, he dabbed his lips and glanced over his shoulder to see if he was being pursued.
I promise no one will follow. You have my solemn word
.

He didn’t trust Yakov. But he saw no one following him.

He sat on one of the promenade benches. After leaving the hotel he stopped a passing stranger for a cigarette. The man looked so bewildered by Sorg’s bruised state that he gave him two cigarettes and some matches, before hurrying away.

Sorg smoked the cigarettes one after the other. He wished he had more, and some coffee. Coffee would be good. The laudanum bottle felt like a lead weight in his pocket. Fighting his desperation to use it, he had ceased feeling its contours, its tempting shape.