Steve Berry - The Romanov Prophecy

"Diamonds," one of the men screamed.

The word drew the others.

"Kolya. Come with me," Yurovsky said, shouldering his way through the crowd.

The men were packed around a female corpse. One of Ermakov's men had discovered another corset filled with jewels. Yurovsky grabbed the diamond out of the man's hand, a Colt pistol gripped in his other.

"There'll be no looting. First man who does dies. Kill me and the committee guarantees retribution. Now do as I say and undress the bodies. Leave anything you find with me."

"For you to keep?" a voice asked.

"It is not mine nor yours, but the state's. I intend to turn all this over to the Ural Committee. Those are my orders."

"Fuck you, Jew," a voice said.

In the flickering light, Maks saw anger flash in Yurovsky's eyes. He knew enough about this sullen man to know that he didn't like being reminded of his heritage. His father was a glazier, his mother a seamstress, ten children between them. He'd grown up poor and hard, becoming a loyal party man after the failed 1905 revolution. He'd been banished to Yekaterinburg for revolutionary activity, but after the February revolt of the previous year, he'd been elected to the Ural Committee, and every day since he'd worked diligently for the party. He was no longer a Jew. He was a loyal communist. A man who took orders and could be depended upon to execute them precisely.

Dawn was breaking over the surrounding poplars.

"You are all dismissed," Yurovsky loudly said. "Except the men who came with me."

"You can't do that," Ermakov yelled.

"Either leave, or I will have you shot."

Rifles clicked to one side as guns were shouldered. The four from the execution squad had once again heeded the call of their commandant. The remaining group of men seemed to know that resisting would be foolish. Perhaps they might overpower these few, but the Ural Committee would not allow their transgression to go unpunished. Maks was not surprised when the drunken crowd disappeared down the trail.

When they were gone, Yurovsky stuffed his pistol under his belt. "Finish undressing the bodies."

Maks and two others accomplished the task while two men stood guard. It was hard to tell identities any longer, except for the tsarina, whose size and age helped distinguish her even in death. Maks felt a sickening in his stomach for these people he'd once served.

Two more corsets were found full of jewels. From the tsarina came the most surprising find, an entire pearl belt sewn into the lining of her underwear.

"There are only nine bodies," Yurovsky suddenly said. "Where is the tsarevich and another of the women?"

No one said a word.

"Bastards. Those filthy stinking bastards," the commandant said. "They must have hidden them away on the way in, surely thinking something of value could be found. They're probably searching them right now."

Maks silently heaved a sigh of relief.

"What do we do?" one of the guards asked.

Yurovsky did not hesitate. "Not a damn thing. We report that nine went down into the shaft, two were burned. We'll try to find them when we're through. Is that clear to everyone?"

Maks realized none of the men present, especially Yurovsky, wanted to report that two bodies were unaccounted for. No explanation would spare them the committee's wrath. A collective silence confirmed that they were all in agreement.

More bloodied clothing was tossed into the fire, then nine naked corpses were laid prone beside a dark square in the earth. Maks noticed how the corset laces had left a line of running knots in the dead flesh. The grand duchesses also wore amulets around their necks with a picture of Rasputin and a prayer sewn in. These were yanked off and tossed into the cache pile. He recalled the beauty each of these women had projected in life and was saddened by how none remained in death.

One of the men reached down and fondled Alexandra's breasts.

A couple of the other men followed suit.

"I can rest in peace now that I have squeezed the empress' tits," one of them proclaimed, and the others joined his laughter.

Maks turned away and watched the fire crackle as cloth turned to ash.

"Toss the bodies down," Yurovsky said.

Each man dragged a corpse to the mine and dropped it over the edge. Several seconds of silence passed before a splash of water could be heard far below.

In less than a minute, all nine were gone.

Vassily Maks paused, sucked in a few long breaths, then sipped from a vodka glass. "Yurovsky then sat on a tree stump and ate a breakfast of boiled eggs. Nuns from the monastery had delivered them the day before for the tsarevich, and Yurovsky had instructed them that they should pack the eggs well. He knew exactly what was coming. After he stuffed his belly, he tossed grenades down the shaft to collapse the mine."

"You said something wonderful happened, too," Lord said.

The old man savored another sip of vodka. "That I did."

Maks left the burial site with the other men around ten A.M. A guard was posted to keep an eye on the site and Yurovsky headed off to report to the Ural Committee on the night's activity. Luckily, the commandant had not ordered a search for the other two bodies, informing them that he would report they were burned separately.

Their instructions were to walk back to town and not attract attention. Maks thought the order strange considering how many men had been involved the previous night. There was no way the burial site would stay secret, particularly given the bitter feelings and a lure of wealth. Yurovsky specifically said they were not to speak to anyone about what happened and were to report for duty that afternoon at the Ipatiev house.

Maks allowed the other four to go ahead. He told them he was going to take a different way back to town to clear his head. Cannon fire rumbled in the distance. His comrades warned that the White Army was within miles of Yekaterinburg, but he assured them no White would want to meet up with him.

Maks left his companions and lingered a good half an hour before trotting down the trail the truck had used the night before. In daylight Maks noted the thick forest, heavy with underbrush. He found the railway watch station, but did not approach. Instead, he got his bearings and located the spot in the road where the boards had been laid over the mud.

He glanced around. No one was in sight.

He pushed his way into the woods.

"Little One. Are you here?" He kept his voice to a low whisper. "It is me, Little One. Kolya. I have returned."

Nothing.

He moved deeper, shoving the prickly brush aside. "Alexie. I have come back. Reveal yourself. Time is short."

Only the birds replied.

He stopped in a clearing. The surrounding pines were old growth, their trunks wide with decades of life. One had succumbed to the ages and lay dead on its side, its exposed roots like the image of disjointed arms and legs he knew would never leave his mind. What a disgrace. Who were these demons who claim to be the people's representatives? Is what they propose for Russia any better than the supposed evil they rebelled against? How could it possibly be, considering this monstrous beginning.

Bolsheviks usually executed their prisoners with a bullet to the base of the neck. Why such barbarism here? Perhaps the indiscriminate slaughter of innocents was a pronouncement of what was to follow. And why all the secrecy? If Nicholas II was an enemy of the state, why not publicize his execution? The answer to that was easy-no one would sanction butchering women and children.

It was hideous.

Something snapped behind him.

His hand went to the pistol stuffed into his belt. He wrapped his fingers around the stock and whirled.

Down the barrel he spied the soft, almost angelic, face of Alexie Romanov.