Duncan Kyle - The King's Commisar

'It's good you're back,' Beloborodov told Goloshchokin. 'The military situation is causing great anxiety!'

His eyes rested but briefly upon me, and though recognition snowed, he did not speak to me. Moments later, by which time all three of us were in a Mercedes car, driving away from the station towards the Hotel Americana, Beloborodov returned to military affairs. It was clear he was a worried man, and with reason, for the Bolsheviks had a wild beast loose in their midst that was like to devour them. It was a beast moreover of their own creation. For when the treaty at Brest-Litovsk produced peace between Germany and Russia, all the Czech forces fighting on the Allied side in Russia were withdrawn and put on trains to journey to Vladivostok and thence home. But they objected when attempts were made to disarm them. The Czechs then overpowered their guards, reformed themselves into the Czech Legion, joined up with the Bolsheviks' White Russian enemies, and set to fighting with a will against the Reds. Arriving at the Hotel Americana, we went direct to a small meeting-room on the mezzanine floor where several members of the Urals Soviet were gathered. An easel held a large-scale map of the area, and beside it stood a man in uniform khaki, seemingly explaining.

Upon Goloshchokin's appearance, this man came to attention and saluted. As the meeting progressed I discovered him to be the General Berzin whose signal giving assurances of the good health of the Imperial Family had been shown to me in Moscow by Sverdlov.

For those present, his news was anything but reassuring. The map bore tapes and arrows, setting out a complex picture of positions and advances. But its message was crushingly simple. Goloshchokin looked at it grimly, turned to General Berzin and asked his question in a single word:

'Encirclement?'

Berzin nodded.

'It is inevitable?'

'There is no possibility of halting the advance,' Berzin said, and his hands made a gesture of weariness.

'We are fighting two full divisions of Czechs, together with the Whites. We simply have not the strength!'

'How long?' Goloshchokin demanded.

'A week, if we're lucky. Probably less. Our men are fighting like tigers, Commissar, believe me. But we are fewer in number, less well-trained, less well-armed -'

'I understand. In the end,' Goloshchokin said, 'we shall win. But meantime withdrawal. . . The discussions began, with me quiet in a corner, looking at faces and wondering whose they were. Bronard/Ruzsky was there, and I identified one Chutskayev whom Preston had mentioned to me. But it was Yurovksy, Commissar for Justice and commander of the guard at the Ipatiev House, whom I sought. I concluded finally that he could not be present, and when the meeting was concluded, asked Goloshchokin.

It was Beloborodov, however, who answered. 'He barely leaves the Ipatiev House now.'

I asked why, and he shrugged. 'Yurovsky is obsessed with the Romanovs.' Beloborodov then turned and began shaking hands as the others departed. I noticed one or two lingered, though - or perhaps he detained them. When the door closed, there were six of us: Beloborodov himself, Goloshchokin, Chutskayev, Berzin, Ruzsky and myself. Goloshchokin wasted no time.

'The Romanovs are to be releasedt o their German relatives,' he said. 'If you wonder why Moscow has so decided, it is because we have harsher priorities than dealing with them. The chairman has had a further telegram today reporting that Germany is seeking the right to station a battalion of troops in Moscow-yes, in Moscow! - to protect her embassy. We cannot allow that, yet we cannot stop them if they choose to move. It is vital at this moment that the Germans be placated, however much we hate it!

So - we will placate them with the useless Romanovs they want so much!'

'Spare them after all?' yelled Ruzsky angrily. 'When they should be punished according to the people's justice!'

'It is necessary,' Beloborodov told him harshly. 'And it is agreed at the highest level.'

Ruzsky subsided, muttering, while I watched him and wondered at his purpose in going through this play-acting. He had a place - and no doubt a reputation - to keep up. It must have been that.

'One thing more, ' Goloshchokin said, indicating me with a wave of his hand. 'This is Yakovlev. Some of you know him or know of him. He has the task, given him by Comrade Sverdlov personally, of delivering the Romanovs to the Germans. That means getting them out of the House of Special Purpose. So - it is vital Yurovsky be not told!’

'It will be difficult to get them out,' General Berzin said. 'The last time I saw him, Yurovsky swore to me not one of them would ever leave the house alive.'

'What if we were to order it - as a Soviet?' Beloborodov asked, with more than a little of pomposity. Berzin said, 'I asked him much the same thing. I said, "Trotsky wants to put them on trial before the world, in Moscow." Yurovsky said that in that case Trotsky would have to come and fetch them personally and promise they'd die for their crimes against the people. Only then might he let them leave the Ipatiev.'

'Then means will just have to be found,' Goloshchokin said. 'Yakovlev and I will discuss the matter. But I repeat - Yurovsky must not know. '

'It must also be quick,' Beloborodov said then. 'If the Whites and the Czechs overrun us, they may try to restore Bloody Nicholas to the throne. He must be out of here, if he is not dead. But he must not fall into their hands.'

And so it was left, but as we broke up and went our ways Ruzsky nudged my arm and muttered that he must talk to me later. We arranged to meet in the familiar place, at the rear wall, of the Palais Royal at eleven. When we did, he gave me news which sounded sinister indeed.

'You should know,' said he, 'that Yurovsky has been asking Scriabin for his maps and charts.'

I'd forgotten about Ruzsky's friend Scriabin, and certainly knew nothing of maps or charts. 'What maps?'

'Scriabin is Commissar for Natural Resources,' Ruzsky told me then. 'He knows all about the mining in this region.'

'Why is that important?"

Ruzsky said, 'Because it means he also has records of mine shafts. Yurovsky's looking for one that's disused and remote.'

'My God!'

'And there's more,' Ruzsky said, and when he spoke of matters like this there was an unpleasant, low relish about the man. We were supposed to be serving the same cause, yet I could hardly bear to be with him. I waited uneasily for his next revelation. It was delivered with a smile.

'He's ordered petrol," Ruzsky said, 'barrels of it. And a massive amount of sulphuric acid.'

As he spoke, there was a low rumble in the distance, which some might have thought to be a summer evening's thunder, but I knew it for guns - the Whites and the Czechs were forcing the Red Army back. Next morning I was up at six and down to the station - and there I halted, sniffing, as I passed the station restaurant. Fresh ground coffee, unmistakable ; and new-baked pastry ! I breakfasted, guiltily but fully, in no more than ten minutes and began looking round for the German train, which was hardly difficult to find, standing as it did on

11Oa marshalling spur no more than a furlong from the restaurant. I looked at it in speculation. Six carriages, two engines, Red Cross markings and drawn blinds. No German flag; indeed nothing to indicate its origins - and there was no lack of wisdom in such anonymity considering the Russian opinion of things German. I stopped for a moment beside the big driving wheel and felt the boiler casing for heat. It was cold, and there was no glimpse of fire when I hoisted myself half up to the footplate.

I walked to the nearest carriage, swung half up and tried the door. Locked. Damned Hun stayabeds, I thought, and banged at the door with my fist until a baggy-eyed orderly swung it open, looked irritably down at me and demanded to know my business.