The Romanov Conspiracy (73 page)

“Can you operate, if necessary?”

The medic scratched his jaw. “If it comes down to it. But there’s no guarantee she’d live through it, not in her state. It’s all in the lap of the gods, I’m afraid.”

Boyle sighed with frustration. “Where’s Uri?”

Lydia replied, “Gone to check on Nina.”

“Go fetch him. Tell him we’re ready to leave.”

Lydia moved along the corridors. She noticed a sweet, pungent smell of some kind of narcotic as she came to a sleeper compartment. A pretty, blond-haired woman lay unconscious on the lower bunk.

Even in repose she looked distraught, her eyes blotched from crying. She stirred and cried out, her sleep troubled, and then fell still again.

Concern in her eyes, Lydia stood watching her from the doorway.

And then came a mournful cry, a noise almost more animal than human, from the next compartment …

As she entered, Andrev was kneeling by a lower bunk, next to Sergey’s body. The boy was wrapped in a sheet. His eyes were closed, his body stiff, the lips slightly parted.

Andrev rocked his son back and forth in his arms. He looked crushed, his face stricken, and his dark, tormented eyes hinted at a soul in hell.

Lydia could do nothing but watch him suffer.

He turned and their eyes met. He gently laid his son’s body down, kissed his cheek, and stood.

For a moment she thought his misery would choke him and then he lurched past her, out into the corridor, drawing the back of his hand over his mouth to stifle his tears.

She had no words to console him, and so she did the only thing she could, her arms going around him, binding him to her, sharing his grief.

He clung to her for a long time until finally he drew away.

“I—I don’t know what to say, Uri. How to comfort you.”

“You can’t.”

“I—I saw Nina. Is she going to be all right?”

He wiped his eyes, and they moved into the compartment where Nina lay unconscious. He stared down at her sleeping face, touched it with the back of his hand. “The medic gave her ether to help her sleep. She was distraught. She lived for Sergey. We both did.”

They heard a sudden noise in the corridor behind them.

Sister Agnes came rushing up, her habit flapping. “Boyle wants you both back in the carriage. It’s more bad news.”

They followed the nun back to the carriage, just as the sound of a car engine roared onto the fogged platform.

Boyle was peering out the window. “It seems you can’t get rid of a bad thing.”

Andrev and Lydia joined him.

An open-topped Opel halted nearby. Kazan was in the driver’s seat. With him were two of his men, one in front, one in the back, guarding Sorg. Kazan jumped out and spoke to Sorg.

“What the devil is he up to?” Boyle remarked.

Almost immediately at least six trucks laden with armed troops rumbled onto the far end of the platform. Dozens of soldiers jumped down and began taking up positions, a uniformed commander shouting orders. At least a hundred more stormed into the station, appearing out of the thin veil of fog, their boots echoing like thunder.

Boyle’s face crumpled, Andrev’s, too, knowing that all was lost.

Yakov wandered over to join them. “I warned you. The same old roads all lead to hell in the end.”

115

Kazan climbed out of the Opel. He said to Sorg, “Let’s see if I can talk sense into these friends of yours. Unless they want a bloodbath.” He jerked a thumb at his men. “One of you come with me.”

One man joined Kazan, while the second man slipped into the driver’s seat, covering Sorg with his gun.

A ferocious rumble of trucks drove onto the far end of the platform, near the ticket kiosks. Dozens of troops jumped down. Hundreds more marched into the station. They took up positions seventy yards from the train.

Sorg’s heart sank like a lead weight.

A smug Kazan reached over and gripped his cheek in a painful vise. “See? Your friends have no hope. If they think they can escape with that Romanov witch they’re sadly mistaken. She’s going to die tonight after all, make no mistake.” He turned to the driver. “Shoot him if he misbehaves. But try not to kill him. I want that pleasure myself.”

Kazan strode back the seventy yards along the platform to the troop commander, an energetic, muscular-looking man who clutched his revolver by his side, ready for action.

“So, you’re Kazan? This better not be a waste of my time.” He indicated Kazan’s comrade, standing nearby. “He tells me you’ve apprehended dangerous enemy agents.”

“Wanted by Lenin himself.”

“They’re on board?”

Kazan nodded and beckoned for his man to rejoin him. “I’ll attempt to get them to surrender. But if they try to make a run for it, mow them down, kill all of them.”

“How many are there?” the commander asked.

Kazan took a white handkerchief from his pocket. “A handful. But be vigilant, they’re as cunning as foxes. No one leaves the station until I say so.”

And with that Kazan turned with his men and marched back toward the train, holding the white handkerchief aloft.

Boyle watched as Kazan, holding the handkerchief, approached the carriage with his two comrades. They halted and Kazan rapped on the door.

Boyle said grimly to Andrev, “We may as well see what he has to say.”

Andrev opened the door, wielding his gun. “I take it this isn’t a social visit?”

Kazan offered a tortured smile. “I’m afraid not. Unless you want the men on the platform to start firing, I’d suggest you let me in and listen to what I have to say.”

Boyle nodded to Andrev, who said, “Come aboard. But keep your hands where I can see them.”

Kazan and his men entered. “I’m Inspector Kazan.”

Andrev said, “We know who you are. What do you want?”

Kazan’s gaze shifted past Lydia and the nun to Anastasia, still unconscious as she was tended by the medic. “I would have thought that was obvious. Her for a start.”

“Are you trying to negotiate, Kazan?”

“There’s no negotiation. The station’s surrounded. The rail lines are blocked. Make a run for it and you’ll be cut down like dogs. Surrender is your only option.”

Andrev said calmly, “That’s it?”

Kazan managed a ghastly smile. “I’ll make one concession, if only to bring this to an end. I’ll spare the women a bullet, except for that Romanov witch. And that’s it. Unless you have any last requests?”

Andrev translated for Boyle, who said drily, “I suppose a first-class ticket to Paris for all of us is out of the question?”

Yakov said, “I’ll take over from here, Kazan.”

Kazan skewered him with a look of contempt. “You? You’re no longer in charge. Keep your nose out of this, Yakov.”

“On whose orders?”

“Mine. You’re a traitor. You released a wanted spy. Worse, you helped the enemy rescue one of the Romanovs.”

“Don’t be an idiot. You’re losing the run of yourself, Kazan.”

“Am I? We’ll see what Lenin thinks when he hears what I have to say.”

In the corner, Anastasia gave a pained groan, the medic swabbing away sweat and blood, taking out a needle and thread as if to sew more of her wounds.

Kazan said, “All very noble, but a sheer waste.” He took out his pocket watch. “I’ll give you thirty seconds to think about it. Then it’s over.”