Leo was shaking his head. "I've not heard of any directive against you," he said.
I studied his face intently, trying to see through his apparent sincerity. "I suspect you would be the last to know, unless he wanted you to do the deed," I replied.
He shrugged. "I suppose so."
"Stalin didn't know about you at the time of the car incident," Rada added.
"True," I replied, nodding. "Anyway, my money is on the Whites. They can't be happy that I have changed sides."
"But why go to all this trouble? You are no threat to them," Nina said.
"Yes," I agreed, "but perhaps they would rather I was dead than working for the Communists."
We lapsed into silence, as each of us contemplated the possibilities.
Suddenly, an idea formed, and I blurted it out as it grew in my mind, before I had thought it through. "Maybe they weren't trying to kill me! Perhaps they want to capture me."
Rada, who had said nothing so far, laughed. "The man with the car was definitely out to take your life, and today's rifleman was not aiming for effect."
"Oh yes," I said, glumly. "Not much room for doubt, then. They want me dead, whoever they are."
Chapter 22
~ Nizhny Novgorod ~
I felt a surge of excitement as the train eased through the complex web of railway lines that converged on Nizhny Novgorod station. With small lurches and bumps, it jerked to a stop, and I cast a nervous look at Rada, before standing and following Stanislav through the carriage toward the doors.
The air was fresh as we spilled out onto the platform, and I took a deep breath to calm myself. Stanislav called a porter, who hurried over with a trolley for our baggage, then helped him to load it. I began to walk slowly towards the exit, my protectors forming into a square around me.
When we emerged into the concourse, we were met by a middle aged man with a large moustache, who smiled and reached out a hand. "Comrade Sister Tereshchenko, welcome," he said in a deep, almost theatrical voice. "Yakov asked me to be your host here. I am Alexei Maximovich Peshkov; I would like to invite you to stay at my house while you are in Nizhny."
I had been expecting to meet him; Aleksandra and Yakov both knew him well, and had told me about him in glowing terms. He was better known as Maxim Gorky, a famous author and activist for the communist cause. I saw a tall man, broad shouldered, with a friendly, intelligent, lined face.
"Maxim, hello," I said. "Yakov told me you would be here. I am sorry to arrive late, there was ... an incident in Kovrov that delayed our departure."
"Nothing serious, I hope?" He seemed genuinely concerned, but I was already assessing him. Aspects of my true past were known to everyone in the party, and there had been three attempts on my life in as many weeks; I did not know who could really be trusted. I had already been wondering if Sverdlov had assigned Gorky to spy on me while I was in Nizhny.
"No," I replied, smiling reassuringly. "Nothing to worry about."
He blessed us with another broad, toothy grin. "Good."
We began walking towards the exit. "Now, we could take a taxi to my home ..." He paused, looking over his shoulder at my entourage and the porter with his stack of luggage rumbling along behind us. "Make that several taxis," he laughed. "Or we could walk across the square. It's not far."
I could not help liking him, he seemed so affable. "I am in your hands," I replied, returning his smile.
"Good," he said again. "Then let us enjoy a walk."
* * *
We emerged into the bright sunlight and paused beside the road, where he called a cab and instructed the driver to take our cases and bags to his address. Then we continued across the busy street ~ with horses, cars and trams all going about their various businesses ~ and on into the city centre. As we ambled along wide pavements, my host proudly pointed out the history and commerce at the city's bright, lively heart. Smaller than Moscow, Nizhny was nevertheless an impressive place. Shops were open ~ though many had little on display in their windows, I noticed ~ and a good number of people were out in the pleasant warmth of late summer.
After a short walk, we arrived at a busy market square. Nizhny had many mouths to feed, and although the economy still showed no signs of recovery after the war with Germany, the square was bustling with activity. Pens were jammed with noisy animals, auctioneers were bawling, stalls were selling everything from bread to blankets and cheese to chairs.
We chatted as we walked. I knew that Gorky had been a friend of Lenin for a while before the revolution, but was now a fierce critic. It wasn't long before he was telling me about their arguments. He laughed as he remembered once calling Lenin a tyrant in a newspaper article, for his brutal regime of arrests and murders.
"He tried to have me arrested," he grinned. Then his expression clouded. "Lenin and his associates are no better than the Tsar," he told me. "They consider it possible to commit all kinds of crimes in the name of the new regime, just because they can."
The admission surprised me, and his bravado. He did not know that I would not report straight back to Lenin. However, his words confirmed the opinion, first expressed to me by Sacha, and later reinforced in my own mind, that the new rulers were not the benign leaders they tried to portray.
* * *
We walked around the market, stopping sometimes at a stall to look at the goods for sale, my depleted squad nervously pressing tightly against me in the surging crowd, their eyes everywhere. Gorky spoke to nearly everyone we met ~ he seemed to be well known and liked by all.
At the centre of the square, a tall stone column rose, with a statue of a man in military uniform at the top, a sword in his hand, and mythical beasts spouting water into a great circular pool at its base.
I had paused to enjoy the sight and sound of the water gushing and splashing, and the people happily sitting on the stone benches, chatting, when a man suddenly thrust himself out from the throng and lurched towards me. There was a look in his eyes that gave us a moment's warning, and my guards immediately stepped ahead of me to intercept him. But before they reached him, he pulled a hand from inside his ragged coat pocket, and pointed a pistol at me.
"Traitor!" he shouted before pulling the trigger. That insult saved my life. In the second that it took to utter those two syllables, Leo and Stanislav had grabbed his hand and spoilt his aim. The crack of the shot was accompanied by a sound like the ringing of a small bell, as the bullet ricocheted from the pavement between us and whistled through the air above my head like a wild spirit escaping from hell.
'Oh, not again!' I thought.
Instantly, the man was borne to the ground, and the gun wrested from his fingers. I quickly crossed the short distance to stand before him, and my men lifted him to his feet to face me. At last we had captured someone; perhaps now I could have some answers.
When he saw me close to him, he again shouted "Traitor!" his face contorted with hate.
"Why do you accuse me of that?" I asked.
His only reply was to spit at me.
I recoiled, wiping my face with my sleeve, then tried again. "What have I done to make you so angry?"
He subsided into a sullen silence, his head lowered; he looked defeated. He was only about eighteen, no older than me, with unruly brown hair and a straggly beard.
I turned to Leo and Stanislav. "Can you loosen your hold on him a little, please?" Their eyes widened with surprise, but they did as I had asked, their hands still around his arms, but loose enough to allow him to stand up straight. Suspiciously, the man raised his head and looked defiantly at me.
"Who paid you to do this?" I asked.
He glared at me for a moment, then began to laugh. "Paid?" he spluttered. "I do not need payment to kill a traitor!"
"Who have I betrayed?" I asked.
"You helped these animals to murder our beloved Tsar, and now you are enjoying your reward," he shouted defiantly.
So that was it. How easy it was to misunderstand, especially if it fitted the picture you wan
ted to see. I longed to tell him the truth, but it was clear that there could be no placating this man, no explanation that would satisfy him. I turned to Leo and Stanislav. "Please check that he has no more weapons, then release him."
They stared at me in amazement, each still holding one of the man's arms. Leo looked down at the ground before him, thoughtful, shaking his head, then raised his face to me, asking a silent question. Stanislav's gaze at me never wavered, his expression unreadable. Nevertheless, they checked his pockets and patted him down to be sure that he was not carrying anything, then took their hands away, as I requested. I could see, however, that they were ready to instantly grab him if he made any sudden movement.
I returned my attention to the man. "I want you to return to the people who sent you here," I said, stepping closer to him, "and tell them that I am not what you think, nor am I guilty of the crime for which they accuse me. However, also tell them that I resent people trying to kill me."
I paused, my face now close to his, staring into his wild, brown eyes. "Now," I continued, "I do not condone violence, but my life is important to me. If you, or anyone else, try to hurt me again, they will not be spared as I am sparing you this one time. I can promise you that these men who are beside you now can be as mean as a mother bear defending her cub, and your death will not be pleasant or quick. Do you understand?"
He did not move, his expression did not change as he returned my gaze.
I flicked my eyes to Leo and Stanislav, and raised an eyebrow. They each raised a beefy hand to grip the young man's arms between shoulder and elbow, visibly squeezing, their fingers digging into the flesh beneath his thin jacket. I saw his eyes bulge with sudden pain, and his mouth twisted as he fought the urge to cry out.
"I need to know that you are getting this message," I said, softly. "And you will not be released until you answer."
For a moment, he remained resolute. But I could see that his brain was working hard, weighing up his chances. Eventually he looked me in the eye and nodded, once, quickly.
"Are you sure about this?" Leo asked me.
"Yes," I replied. "We would gain nothing by holding him, and little from torturing him." I looked Leo square in the eyes as I said that, knowing as I did that Department Thirteen used methods that held human life in little regard. "Perhaps he will tell them that I am weak, but I will not have anyone tortured in my name."
With a shrug, Leo and Stanislav released the man's arms, and after a confused look at me, he scuttled off into the crowd.
Chapter 23
~ Sunday 1st September 1918 ~
"This is a wild goose chase," grumbled Stanislav.
I couldn't argue, the odds against success were long. "Just humour me, please," I implored.
It was Sunday morning, and the six of us were spending our only rest day crammed into Gorky's car ~ fortunately a large one ~ driving around Nizhny, looking for a particular guest-house, the home of Yelena Novikov. It was our second day in the city, and we could have been enjoying some leisure time, but I could not wait another day. Five weeks earlier, my beloved Max and I had parted at that house, taking separate routes to flee the grasping clutches of a band of ruthless killers. Now I was hoping to return to it in search of clues to his disappearance.
I had described the location to Gorky, who was born and raised in Nizhny, and he was taking us from one place to another, hoping to find one that I recognised. Stanislav was right; it was a huge city, and the only thing I could say for sure was that the house was near the river.
But we were lucky, and after only a few tries I saw the little corner house. "That's it! But don't stop here," I instructed Gorky. "I don't want to frighten Yelena. Drop me off round the corner."
We cruised to a halt a street further on from the guest-house, and I climbed out. "Please stay out of sight. Watch from a distance, if you wish, but Yelena is a sweet and kind woman so you don't have to worry about me. Meet you back here in an hour?"
Gorky waved a hand in a casual salute, and the security team muttered something that I took to be reluctant assent.
It was a strange experience, walking up the short path to Yelena's front door again. The pretty garden was blooming with bright, summer flowers, just as when I left, and the view across the the river was the same, except for the absence of the circus. I had not expected to return, but I felt a pleasurable excitement at the thought of seeing her again. Max and I had stayed there on our last night together, and Yelena had taken me from this garden to the convent, from where my journey to Moscow had begun.
I knocked, and waited. Nothing happened. After a while, I knocked again. There was not a sound from inside, yet I was sure she was there. I had a feeling that I was being observed.
I crouched down and pushed open the letterbox. "Yelena, it is Natalie. Are you home?" I called softly through the slot. I heard a little movement, and stood up, hoping she would open the door.
* * *
The door opened, and Yelena's face peered nervously out.
"I am here as your friend," I told her gently.
She smiled, a wan, sad smile, then held to door for me to enter.
We sat together in her little front drawing room, where we had met the men from the circus. Though she was pleased to see me, I could tell that she was changed; it was clear that something had happened in the short time since we had last met. She looked tired, and her eyes had a haunted look about them. I explained that I was now working for the government. It was important that she knew I was being completely open with her, and also that her secret was safe with me.
As she gradually began to relax, she told me some of the news. Much had happened in the weeks since I had left. Our friend Dmitri was no longer the chief of police, Avadeyev had replaced him with one of his own men. "The city belongs to Avadeyev, now; it is not a good place," she said. And, of course, behind Avadeyev lurked the politically ambitious figure of Yurovsky, close friend of Stalin. I felt a tightening inside ~ I was blithely blundering into the hungry bear's cave like a lost goat.
"Is Dmitri safe?" I asked.
"Yes, dear. He wisely moved out of Nizhny, with his wife and teenage daughter."
That was one piece of good news; Dmitri had been kind to Max and me. It was Dmitri who had introduced us to Yelena.
She told me that Vadim Ippolitov, the man who had organised Max's escape, had been murdered by Avadeyev. He was caught carrying copies of a newsletter for the White Underground, and, although there were no details of the members of the group, the messages were incriminating enough to seal his fate.
"And, Natalie," she said, leaning towards me to emphasis the seriousness of her words. "There is something you should know. The sheets Vadim was carrying said that there was a survivor of the assassination, a young woman, who had been smuggled to Moscow. Avadeyev now knows that you are alive, and where you are."
I nodded. "More than that, Yelena dear. I bumped into Yurovsky in Moscow, so I expect he has told Avadeyev about me, including the fact that I am in Nizhny."
"Why are you involved with them, Natalie?" she enquired. "I thought you would be absorbed into the White Underground, to help the fight to re-establish the monarchy."
"It's complicated," I told her. "For one thing, I don't want to be part of a new royal family. Even though I have misgivings about the new system, I still think people should choose their leaders, not be ruled from above. I set out to try to find myself a job, and wound up working as a secretary for the Party Secretary, Yakov Sverdlov, and the Women's Commissar, Aleksandra Kollontai. They didn't know who I was, until Yurovsky saw me and told them everything."
"And then ...?" she asked.
I smiled. "And then Aleksandra and Yakov stood by me, and persuaded the Council to let me work with them."
She shook her head in wonder.
I enquired about the little convent, and the nuns who had smuggled me out of the city. "It has been closed," she informed me, "as has the monastery in Makaryevo. But the nuns are unharmed; they have
been dispersed to work in what few churches remain open. Nancy came by, and brought me your diaries and other possessions." She stood. "Wait a moment, I will get them for you."
I was overjoyed, something else to smile about; my diaries were safe. When Nancy helped to disguise me as a nun for my escape she had rightly insisted that I carried nothing that could link me to the girl who had worked for the Tsar and his family, and who was witness to their murder. I had been resigned to losing my diaries, which were a complete record of my life at Alexander Palace since I was old enough to hold a pencil, and were incriminating evidence of my past.
She returned, carrying a small bundle of clothes, and placed them in my hands; I could feel the exercise books, in which my diaries were written, wrapped between the layers of cloth, just as I had left them. I felt a surge of joy, and cradled them in my arms for a moment, a silly expression on my face. Not only was I glad to be reunited with my past, but it was also a relief to have them in my possession, to know that they had not fallen into the wrong hands.
* * *
But I had another matter to deal with, the reason for my visit. "Yelena," I said, putting the little pile on the table, "I have to find Max. The circus disappeared without delivering him to Moscow. I have no idea where he is or how to find him."
She looked puzzled. "How can something as big as a travelling circus just disappear?"
I shrugged. "My friends are looking for it, but the train was left in a siding at Kotelnich, and the circus didn't show up at Moscow or Petrograd where they were supposed to be performing."
"I don't know how we can find out any more," she said thoughtfully. "With Ippolitov dead, I have no link with them at all."
I was disappointed that this avenue of enquiry, upon which I had placed so much hope, had proved to be a cul-de-sac, but it would do no good to dwell on it. It was good to see Yelena again, and we chatted freely. For all that she appeared outwardly to live a relatively simple life, she was a deep, intelligent woman, as I had discovered when we first met. It was necessary to pay attention when she spoke, for there was often much hidden meaning in her words.
Though there was still sadness in her eyes, I felt that she seemed a little brighter by the time I had to leave. I would have liked to have stayed longer, but there was a meeting to be addressed, my biggest task yet as Aleksandra's envoy. So we hugged at her doorstep, and waved goodbye as I turned the corner, my bundle of secrets clutched tightly to my breast.