The Romanov Conspiracy (67 page)

“After a short detour, the Ipatiev House.”

Yakov erupted. “You’re insane. You’ll never get near the house.”

“You’re right, Leonid. But
you
will.”

105

IPATIEV HOUSE

1:10 A.M.

As he replaced the telephone earpiece in its cradle, Yurovsky heard the rattle of an engine. He stepped over to the open doorway.

He saw an open-topped Opel car halt outside the courtyard. Four men were seated inside, wearing Chekist leather jackets, Kazan in the driver’s seat.

The guards leveled their rifles. “No vehicles are allowed past the barricade. Order of the
komendant
.”

“Let me through, you idiot.” Kazan stumbled drunkenly from the car, but one of guards cocked his rifle. “Another step and I’ll shoot.”

Yurovsky strode out to the barrier. The other three men in the Opel looked as intoxicated as their driver. “What do you want, Kazan?”

“We have to talk.” The Inspector stank of alcohol, a bottle protruding from his left pocket, and his eyes had a disturbed look.

“No, we don’t. You ought to know the compound’s out of bounds tonight.” The
komendant
jerked his head. “Get yourself some coffee in the guardhouse across the street and sober up. You’re in no fit state to drive.”

Kazan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Believe me, Yurovsky, you’ll want to hear what I have to say. Have you commenced your bloody work yet?”

“No, but what’s it to you?”

“Yakov released the spy I caught.
Released
him, would you believe?”

“For what reason?”

“I asked myself the same question. I thought he was trying to grab all the glory but now, I’m not so sure. He and one of the plotters are old friends.”

“What the blazes are you muttering about?”

“Let me put it simply. I’ve been a policeman long enough to know when I smell a rat. I’m convinced Yakov’s in league with the enemy and up to no good.”

“Have you lost your mind? Whatever’s in that bottle you’re drinking, I’d get rid of it now.”

“There’s something sinister afoot, I tell you. How do you explain Yakov releasing the spy? Answer me that.”

The
komendant
said gruffly, “I don’t have to. It’s not my business. But when I last saw him a few hours ago he was sober and clearheaded, unlike you.”

“Where did he go?”

“I’ve no idea, but he’s quartered in his train. Now get out of here, I have a job to finish.”

“You’re being an idiot! We’ll see who’s right before the night’s out.”

The
komendant
turned to go but Kazan clutched his arm. “Wait—I’ve only three men. I need more.”

“For what?”

“I’m going to find that accursed spy if I have to tear Ekaterinburg apart.”

The
komendant
jerked his arm away. “Forget it. I need every man I’ve got.” He turned to the guards and said, “Throw this drunken madman out.”

The
komendant
lit a cigarette in the doorway and watched Kazan back up the Opel and drive away, the car weaving erratically.

“Trouble,
komendant
?” one of the guards asked.

“Kazan thinks Commissar Yakov is in league with enemy agents.”

The guard laughed. “I wish I could find alcohol like that. The really good stuff. No sign of the truck?”

“I just made a call. The idiots said they got an order to send it to the Amerika Hotel by mistake.”

Just then twin headlights swept up the street. The driver was grinding the gears as he drove the Fiat open-topped truck toward the Ipatiev courtyard.

“About time,” said Yurovsky, checking his pocket watch. It read 1:30 a.m. exactly. He said to the guard, “Alert the men. Tell them we’re ready.”

Yurovsky climbed the stairs to the Romanovs’ quarters. At their door he raised his right index finger, and let it hover over the electric doorbell.

Then he pressed it.

Anastasia heard the shrill sound of the electric bell echo throughout the family quarters and it woke her with a start.

It was dark outside, pale moonlight filtering though the whitewashed windows. Next to her, Maria came awake groggily, rubbing her tousled hair. “Was that the bell? What’s happening?”

“I don’t know. I thought I heard a car engine,” Anastasia replied.

Footsteps sounded from their parents’ room. A knock came on wood, then more footsteps and voices, until moments later someone approached their door. Maria said, “Papa’s coming.”

The door opened and their father stood tired and disheveled, buttoning his shirt. “It seems the
komendant
wants us to assemble downstairs.”

“Why, Papa?”

“He says the enemy is encircling the city and that battle is imminent. He’s afraid that artillery may fall on the house and he wants to move us for our own safety.”

Maria said innocently, “
Our
artillery?”

“Yes, my sweet.”

Anastasia perked up. “Do you think they’ll finally rescue us?”

Her father smiled briefly and fondly touched her face. “We can only pray, my darlings. Now, get yourselves washed and dressed. The others are already up.”

A nervous Yurovsky felt sweat rise on the back of his neck, his impatience mounting. Standing in the hallway, smoking another cigarette, his stomach a knot of tension, he heard the family pace their rooms as they washed and got ready. He wanted to hurry them up.

One of his guards came up the stairs and said, “Any sign of Commissar Yakov?”

“Not yet. But that won’t delay us. Everything goes ahead.”

But Yurovsky was becoming more worried by the minute. He again checked his pocket watch. It was 2:10 a.m. Forty minutes had passed since he rang the bell. He swore softly.

He was tempted to ring the bell again to hurry things along when the door snapped open. One by one the Romanovs appeared on the landing, all dressed and tidy. Nicholai Romanov was the first to lead out his family, holding his crippled son in his arms.

The girls came next, wearing their simple white blouses and dark skirts, carrying pillows, bags, and other personal items. The former tsarina appeared behind them, gaunt and tense as ever, plainly dressed in a dark skirt and blouse, her gray hair untidy. Last, Dr. Botkin and the three servants crowded the landing.

“All ready, I see,” the
komendant
remarked to Nicholai Romanov.

“At least we’re going to leave this place,
komendant
. But what about our personal belongings?”

“That’s not necessary right now. We’ll fetch them later. This way.” Yurovsky offered a reassuring smile, then escorted them down the stairs.

As they passed the stuffed mother bear and its cubs on the landing, the family paused and devoutly blessed themselves: a familiar sign of respect for the dead, believing that they were about to leave the house for the last time.

Yurovsky heard familiar yelping above on the landing as their three dogs barked and scampered, trying to follow them. The guards grabbed their collars and held them back but one of the dogs managed to squirm free and scurried into Anastasia’s arms.

She said, “What about the other animals,
komendant
?”

A distant
crump
of artillery fire sounded, startling them all.

Yurovsky shook his head. “Please, don’t worry. They’ll be brought to you later. For now it’s important that we hurry …”

106

Yurovsky led the family down to the basement. He opened the double doors and ushered them inside a room with a single lightbulb dangling from the vaulted ceiling. Along one wall, a grime-covered window was protected with metal bars. The bare floorboards echoed, and there were no chairs.

“You’ll wait here for now.”

Alexandra indicated her husband, struggling under the weight of their son. “Aren’t we allowed to sit? My husband has to carry our child.”

The
komendant
jerked his head at one of the three-guard escort. “Fetch two chairs.”

The guard returned carrying a pair of bentwood chairs, which he placed near the doors by the far wall. Nicholai Romanov gently lowered his son onto one. His wife eased into the other. Their daughters gathered beside their mother, while Dr. Botkin and the others stood nearby.