Duncan Kyle - The King's Commisar

'I must see the commander of the train. '

'Who are you?' Then he added a tentative, 'mein Hen,' in case I held rank.

'From Goloshchokin, Commissar for War,' I snapped. 'Is the commander asleep?'

'I don't -'

It was all plain enough. They'd been here for weeks and were bored stupid. I sent the orderly to rout out his master, found the saloon, and took a seat.

The commander came in his dressing-gown - and a great ornate affair it was in figured brocade. The fat crest on his left breast pocket had enough gold and silver wire in it for a Bulgarian admiral and he was screwing a monocle into his right eye. There was a duelling scar from the eye to the lip. If you were caricaturing a German general for Punch, here was your model. All the same, he'd heard of me. When I told him I was Yakovlev, he gave me a level look and said: 'You came close, my friend, so I hear.'

'And this time we'll do it,' I said.

He gave me a glare that was all surprise. 'We?'

'You haven't been told - from Moscow?'

'I'll tell you what I think,' Beloborodov said. 'I think that now he's living only for the thought of killing them. And relishing the how and when of it!'

So that was that. If the Imperial Family was to be brought out of the Ipatiev House it seemed it must be done despite the guard.

Which meant - by force.

And by me ...

I went next to Berzin, seeking a soldier's eye and memory, and spent a whole day racing on a thin, scraggy pony from one distant defensive emplacement to the next before I ran him to earth at last, seated on a wooden stool outside a smallish tent which was his present headquarters. He looked tired to the point of collapse, but yet had the soldier's way of sloughing off weariness in a second. Then, in ten minutes' work with a sketch-pad, Berzin produced for me a plan of the interior of the House of Special Purpose - and it was one, furthermore, which showed the positions occupied by guards. The outside I had seen for myself, with its double stockade fronting the arched entrance. When we were finished I tucked the drawing into my pocket and swung into the saddle of my sinewy pony, and then Berzin called and I wheeled to face him again.

'Make a close inspection of that aspect of the house which shows itself from the side alley,' he advised. That alley's name is Voznesensky Street, I think.'

'Go on,' I said.

'There's a stair there, rising from the garden to a verandah up above. It's not guarded, or wasn't when I saw it. Good luck.'

'Thank you,' I said, and waved and wished him the same with a hypocritical tongue. He smiled tiredly. 'Luck won't help me. I need ten thousand men and five hundred guns.'

I rode away then, with the rumbling sound of White gunfire ringing me on both sides and to the rear. Only 'Oh yes. Reliable fellows for dirty work, our Lithuanian friends." Then he added unexpectedly,

"Good luck.' He spoke in English and I must have reacted and looked at him in surprise, for he laughed shortly. 'You are British, aren't you?'

I disdained the remark and turned to leave. Von Kleber followed me to the carriage door and there said quietly, 'Don't worry, my British friend. I'm here at the Kaiser's own request. To succeed in this task I'd make an ally of Satan himself!'

Now time began to be lost more than I liked, but there was much to arrange with many people, all of them too busy to be free with their time. First Goloshchokin and Beloborodov went off together to the Ipatiev House to talk to Yurovsky. For ammunition they had with them a telegraph message received that day from a plainly-worried Sverdlov to the effect that if anything happened to Nicholas, then Beloborodov, Goloshchokin and Yurovsky would answer with their necks. I was waiting at the Hotel American when they returned. My fingers were crossed, for if they had succeeded in conveying to Yurovsky the wider issues involved, then perhaps the Family would be released, and my delivering of them to von Kleber's train would be no more difficult a task than ordering a cab or two.

But I knew at once that they had failed, for Goloshchokin came slowly into the room and stood shaking his head. His hands lifted from his sides, then fell again helplessly and he said, 'Yurovsky's alerted.'

' What? How can he be?'

'Or maybe he guesses, I don't know,' Goloshchokin said. 'I think the man's gone mad. He was talking of waiting until the Whites march in, then summoning the White generals and executing the whole Romanov family before their eyes.'

'And what of Sverdlov's message - doesn't Yurovsky value his own life?'

I’ll tell you what I think,' Beloborodov said, I think that now he's living only for the thought of killing them. And relishing the how and when of it!'

So that was that. If the Imperial Family was to be brought out of the Ipatiev House it seemed it must be done despite the guard.

Which meant - by force.

And by me ...

I went next to Berzin, seeking a soldier's eye and memory, and spent a whole day racing on a thin, scraggy pony from one distant defensive emplacement to the next before I ran him to earth at last, seated on a wooden stool outside a smallish tent which was his present headquarters. He looked tired to the point of collapse, but yet had the soldier's way of sloughing off weariness in a second. Then, in ten minutes' work with a sketch-pad, Berzin produced for me a plan of the interior of the House of Special Purpose - and it was one, furthermore, which showed the positions occupied by guards. The outside I had seen for myself, with its double stockade fronting the arched entrance. When we were finished I tucked the drawing into my pocket and swung into the saddle of my sinewy pony, and then Berzin called and I wheeled to face him again.

'Make a close inspection of that aspect of the house which shows itself from the side alley,' he advised.

'That alley's name is Voznesensky Street, I think.'

'Goon,' I said.

'There's a stair there, rising from the garden to a verandah up above. It's not guarded, or wasn't when I saw it. Good luck.'

'Thank you,' I said, and waved and wished him the same with a hypocritical tongue. He smiled tiredly. 'Luck won't help me. I need ten thousand men and five hundred guns.'

I rode away then, with the rumbling sound of White gunfire ringing me on both sides and to the rear. Only ahead, to the north where the city lay, was there no threatening firing. Next morning I was ordered to see Goloshchokin, who demanded to know if I yet had a plan. I told him I had.

'Explain it.'

'No,' said I. 'I will not explain. Once it's told, even to you, then it's out and somebody could carry the tale to Yurovsky. I'm not risking it!'

He glowered at me, but he was no fool.

'When?' he demanded.

"When I am ready. There are things still to be done.'

'Then do them," Goloshchokin said.

When I reached the German train in its siding at the station, General Baron von Kleber was about to take a comfortable breakfast and invited me to join him. When I declined, he insisted it was the merest Imbiss and I must at the very least take a cup of coffee. His breakfast table groaned: cheeses and cold meats, a variety of breads and pastries and fruit - and four soldier servants to heap his plate. The coffee was quite excellent.

Clearly first things came first with von Kleber: the filling of his plate he watched hawk-like, and only when all was to his satisfaction did he look across at me. 'Go on.'

I said, 'Tonight, probably.'

He gave a slow nod. 'You want my Swabian veterans?'

'Yes.'

'Your plan?'

'Is secret.'

'The best way, always.' Von Kleber compressed his lips. 'Tell me what you can.'

'I intend to bring the Imperial Family to you, here, in the early hours of tomorrow. You should have steam up on the engine and be ready to leave.'