The romanov sanction, p.13
The Romanov Sanction, page 13
part #1 of Briefings from the Deep Scarlet Compartment Series
Marie rushed to Sam’s side to aid him standing. Addressing the Tsar, Sam Cox revealed the back edge of Theodore’s sword. “Sir, President Wilson was not involved. West Wind was a private venture of Mr. Roosevelt. There can be no public thanking. Anonymity now, and in the future, is the price of your freedom. I’m sorry sir, but that is the way it must remain - an unacknowledged event.”
With its continuing thunk, thunk, thunk, the express through Siberia continued its pace toward the rising sun. The assembled group, former royals, a family doctor, an adventurous soldier, and their minder, returned to the coach to talk of things to be. As they left the mail car, Jonathan knelt and effortlessly picked up the still sleeping Anastasia as if she were a doll and not a teenager approximately his same size.
Chapter 17: Voices in the Hall
Train Station
Vladivostok, Russia
43.08N 132.07E
1000 GMT, July 26, 1918
Night gave way grudgingly to the dawn. Days flowed into evenings and twilight again succumbed to darkness. Thumping its way from setting suns into promising dawns, the train continued its eastward trek. Almost seventy-five hundred kilometers later the occupants gained their freedom from the confines of the Pullman and mail cars. For the first time in almost two weeks, the small band of refugees stepped with trepidation onto firm ground.
Much to the dismay of Jonathan, the first foot off was that of the youngest grand duchess. Head high, Anastasia Romanova stepped from the train onto the platform at the Vladivostok station, the last stop on their trans-Siberian trek.
With a long shawl covering her head and shoulders and dressed in a very plain brown smock, she was indistinguishable from most women leaving the train or waiting for friends or family to disembark.
Only those closest to her heard the soft click as she slowly lowered the hammer of the Colt semi-automatic pistol held concealed in the folds of her dress. Turning her back to any potential danger, she reached up to help guide the end of a large rope bound trunk down the ground.
“Miss Ann, I told you there would be no one here to hamper us,” Jonathan whispered under his breath as he stepped from behind the trunk, now resting on its end.
Not to be undone, she lifted herself onto tiptoe and pecked him on the cheek. “Then are you going to hand down the carbine or let Mother carry it?”
“Now I know what the chuckle was about,” the lanky boy behind her mumbled, looking skyward as if for guidance. “Just come around and help your Mother down. Then you and I can get this trunk outside. There will be a cart to meet us on the street side of the station.”
Looking toward the front of the car, Jonathan watched as a young couple descended to the platform. One appeared to be a dark haired young wife with a wounded soldier on her arm. Following close behind them were a teenaged boy and girl, looking like thousands of others, orphaned by the war. They were under the watchful care of two Orthodox nuns.
Following the nuns, a clean shaven middle-aged man, dressed in a conservative suit and caring a small black bag, stepped off the VIP coach. The last off the car was a slender Canadian mining engineer carrying a black briefcase and a tubular container, designed to carry survey instruments. Preceding him was a nicely, if not fashionably, dressed lady. At the base of the steps, she placed her arm in his and they walked slowly toward the station itself.
Eleven individuals, who had shared the adventure of crossing through the summer green of Siberia to the deep blue of the Pacific Ocean, bore little resemblance to the infamous Romanovs of whose fate the world was just beginning to hear hints.
There was a smell in the distance, part ocean part freedom. The platform was quickly deserted as the last of the passengers left the train. Mingling with their fellow travelers and locals, four small knots of royal refugees passed unnoticed through the Vladivostok station and to the street beyond.
Reaching the street, Jacques Lafitte, the French-Canadian mining engineer, quickly summoned a car for himself and his wife. Seeming to notice the nuns and their wards, he insisted that they share his transportation. In a quick conversation in French, he determined that the nuns planned to stay for a few days at the home of a local Catholic priest.
It took more time before the driver understood where to take the group. Jacques’s broken Russian and heavy French accent made communications nearly impossible. Luckily his wife recognized that their driver was Polish. As she spoke a little Polish, the lady who for only a month would be known as Alice Lafitte, was able to pass the instructions that her husband had been unable to.
Soon the car was off and climbing the steep hill overlooking the Golden Horn Bay. The driver stopped before the construction site for the Catholic Church of the Most Holy Mother of God, an unfinished stone and brick building.
Pointing with pride at the building, the driver told Mrs. Lafitte, “This is the new church. It is taking a long time to build. Maybe two, maybe three more years and it will be finished. Money is short, so building is slow. I will take you now to the priest. He is probably at the temporary wooden church today.”
Presently, the car wound down the hill and to the small wooden structure that local Catholics had been using for the past sixteen years. The two nuns and their charges, carrying only a small bag apiece, stepped out of the car and crossed the grounds to the church. Alice Lafitte, formally the Tsarina of all of Russia, looked back powerless as the car left the wooden church behind and headed for the nicest hotel in the port city.
As they passed from the bright sunlight to the dimness of the interior, the passion of an organ responding to the hands of a professional, enveloped the four refugees. Wave upon wave of sound embraced them, drawing them deeper into the building and towards the alter.
A solitary figure was seated in the front, obviously meditating and staring at the stark white hand-carved crucifix to the left of the alter. Presently, the organist finished the piece that she was practicing.
The older of the two young nuns walked the short distance to the front of the church and after crossing herself, approached the seated man. Seeing his collar, she began as Jonathan had instructed, “Excuse me Father, but we are strangers just arrived in Vladivostok and need shelter for two foundlings.”
The priest’s head jerked up at the sound of her voice, an infectious grin spreading across his face. “You and your sister are most welcome here. As to the young ones, our Savior’s instructions are clear.” Turning to the rear of the church, he opened his arms wide and continued, “Come, come, you are welcome in this place. Yes, you are especially welcome in this place.”
When the two teenagers and the second nun reached the front of the church, he addressed the nun before him, who appeared to be in her early twenties. “I am Karol Sliwowsky, and this is my parish. I have been here about six years, but the people here have made this my home.”
The man who would become the first and last bishop of Vladivostok, looked closely at the faces before him and his eyes and then his grin grew wider. Addressing the eldest of those before him, he whispered, “I have been expecting you. I believe that my father knew your grandfather, Louis. Darmstadt, wasn’t it?”
Alarmed, she hissed, “How do you know that?”
“That is simple my child. A fortnight ago, I was praying for the safety of the Tsar and his family. I must have drifted into sleep for I was visited in a dream. I shall never forget the messenger’s words, ‘He, who sent his angels into Sodom after Lot, has sent His own after His own. Four will seek you out for sanctuary.’ So, it is simple. You are here. You are four. You ask for sanctuary. God’s will be done.”
“As to the family part of your question, I am from Poland. The titled families in Europe know one another and my father was friends with Duke Louis IV of Darmstadt. Therefore, he would have known the daughter, who was called Alix, wouldn’t he?”
Shaking his finger at the two older girls in a playful way, he chided, “Your two faces I know from photographs in the papers from before the troubles. The habits are a new calling, perhaps? The boy I also recognize from the photographs, but this girl, she is a stranger to my mind.”
“I am Sophia Piotrovskaya, Father. A man with a frozen face rescued me on the train. There was a monk with him who saved Alexei’s life as well. My people are all gone, and I was gathered up by this family. That is my short story, Father,” replied the fourth member of the group of refugees.
“Piotrovskaya, you say? Then I may have a treat for you. Follow me; you must be weary from your journey. Sister Casimira Piotrovskaya will get you anything that you require while you stay with us.”
“Casimira is here?” Sophia exclaimed in delight. “Sister Casimira is my cousin!”
“There will be blessings and thanksgivings to be said in the parish house tonight.” Turning serious, Fr. Sliwowsky again addressed Olga, “What of the rest of your family, my child?”
“We separated at the station. Mother and Papa are staying at one of the nice hotels in the city as Mr. and Mrs. Jacques Lafitte from Canada. Maria and Anastasia will be staying at another one.”
“We older girls got to be nuns. The youngsters got husbands for the week,” Tatiana interjected, a touch of envy in her voice.
“Which one are you setting your bonnet for, Sister Tat? Are you pining for Sam Cox or do you prefer skinny boys like Jonathan?” was the playful retort.
“Ladies, it is beginning to sound like I should expect a bumper crop in my confessional on Sunday. I’ll be happy to start with you two, but I can send a parishioner over to pick up your sisters and their temporary husbands,” Fr. Sliwowsky observed as the five left the church. “How long will we be blessed with your company?”
“The Lafitte family has passage booked for them on the first of August for Hong Kong. Jonathan is to check later today to see when the rest of us can get out,” answered Olga. “So, it could be as early as tomorrow, or as late as a couple weeks from now. It just depends on how easily that we can sneak out without Lenin’s spies latching onto us.”
“There will be plenty of those around the port, child” replied the priest in a weary voice. “Vladivostok is still loyal to the monarchy. But, because of the port and the commerce with foreigners, you can expect Felix Dzerzhinsky’s minions to be throughout the city and the port.”
Pausing for a few seconds, the political savvy priest tried to inconspicuously scan around the area ahead. With a worried note in his voice, Father Karol continued, “There has been nothing in the press or even among us priests about your escape. But the communist agents may already be looking. They could be hot on your trail already. I think it would be prudent if you stayed close to the parish house while you are here.”
With a self-conscious laugh, he continued, “You know that we priests are curious by nature. I would very much like to hear about your escape, if it would not compromise anyone. But do not tell me anything that you should not. I can live with my unsatisfied curiosity.” The group walked in silence for a while -- the refugees enjoying the air of freedom and the priest planning the steps needed to protect his new wards.
“Ah, here we are at the parish house.” With a lilt back in his voice, Fr. Sliwowsky motioned to Sophia, “Let’s see if we can bring a little surprise to Sister Casimira. Sophia, why don’t you run up to the door and knock. We will lag behind a bit so as not to spoil it.”
Luxury Hotel
Vladivostok, Russia
43.11N 131.88E
1200 GMT, July 26, 1918
Before long, the sound of running water stopped. A husky woman’s voice with a deep French accent called out from behind the door. “Oh Jacques, could you bring me a towel?”
Rising from the comfortable arm chair in which he had been reading through the papers in his briefcase, Jacques Lafitte stepped across the large airy corner room to its private bathroom door. Opening the door, he was enveloped by a thick white cloud of steam. It was impossible to see across the room. “Dear, did you use all of the hot water in eastern Russia?”
“Quite possibly, this is the first time in the past year that I have felt clean. Life in those,” the voice paused for a second looking for a word and then continued, “mining camps was truly unpleasant! I have not had a good private bath the whole time.”
“Well you should be steam cleaned now. Is there anything left of you or have you melted and run down the drain?”
“Come closer and see for yourself, Jacques,” the voice from within the fog theatrically emphasizing the last word.
Later, spent and exhausted, the two lay, intertwined. “Just think of it Nicky, a room to ourselves with a real door that locks from the inside. This room seems such a luxury, but one I can very easy get used to. Hmmm, a little more to the left, Jacque. Yes, that’s it.”
Hostel
Vladivostok, Russia
43.13N 131.88E
1200 GMT, July 26, 1918
Hands on her hips, Maria glared at her younger sister. “You and your young monk had a hand in this didn’t you? Adjoining rooms, for God’s sake! Finally, I am away from Mother’s all-seeing eyes and with a handsome man who risked his life for me — who took a bullet meant for me. All was going fine. Then I went to the bathroom and you arrange for boys in one room and girls in another. I am tired of sharing a room with you, especially after our last vacation spot! You little imp! I ought to punch you one.”
To make matters even worst for Maria, the outburst hit the youngster’s sense of the ridiculous and she burst out laughing. Only the persistent three knocks at the door prevented a hair pulling cat fight between the two sisters. Reluctantly, Maria took a deep breath and went to answer the door.
Standing before her Dr. Botkin, a slight smile on his face, remarked, “I could not help but overhear you, miss. You must keep your voice down. There are ears everywhere in this city. What your two boys risked getting us this far should not be thrown away with a loud fit of pique.”
Continuing the doctor put the argument to rest, “For your information, the sleeping arrangements were mine. The boys agreed with me that these arrangements would maximize modesty while providing you girls the protection that is needed. The boys will sleep in shifts. After you get ready for bed, open the adjoining room door. They will come if you call out. Is that clear, ladies?”
Turning to look directly at Maria, Dr. Botkin winked, “I especially do not want to face your mother’s All-Seeing Eye when this is over. Behave yourselves! And keep the noise down. Goodnight ladies.”
Closing the door, Maria faced her sister with a rueful face, “Well sis, it’s the first night of our honeymoons, want to play cards?”
Chapter 18: Engine Builders
Bent Harpoon
Vladivostok, Russia
43.12N 131.89E
0900 GMT, July 31, 1918
Along the docks, nighttime was usually quiet. The dock workers had left, and the vessels rested quietly tied to the piers. Enjoying the quiet night, two young couples and a widowed doctor strolled along in search of an address. A note from Father Sliwowsky indicated they should meet him at the Bent Harpoon, a small restaurant near the docks that catered mostly to sailors.
Finding the name on a weathered sign outside, the five eased into the smoke-filled room. The sickly smell of stale beer, whisky and old sweat enveloped the new arrivals. Lined up along the bar, three sailors were ignoring the tables beyond. In the back corner, an officer in a heavy blue coat was hunched over in a discussion with the priest.
Two tables with the scars and watermarks of heavy and careless use stood empty nearby. Dr. Botkin joined Jonathan and Anastasia at one while Maria and Sam sat at the other. Maria appeared oblivious to anything in the room but Sam. While obviously contented with the girl on his arm, Sam’s eyes constantly scanned the room. His left arm rested in his lap.
Hearing a lull in the whispered conversation between the priest and the officer, Jonathan swiveled his chair around, stood and joined the two. “You appear to have lost a friend Captain Yiannakis.”
Startled and looking up at the teen standing before his table, Nikos replied, “I do not know you. How do you know me?”
“I was told of your problem and that you would be dining with Father Sliwowsky this evening. My brother Michael told me to come and help you.”
“And what is this problem that you are going to help with, boy?”
“Mike said the Samani lies idled in need of repairs to its engine and that three key members of your crew have left you, Captain. Was I given incorrect information?”
“No, son, it is true enough, but I didn’t know that the word had spread so quickly. We just limped into port today and I found out about the crew’s jumping ship only hours ago. Your brother Michael is very well informed.”
Fr. Sliwowsky looked up at the youth and filled in a few blanks. “Captain Yiannakis was just telling me that he believes the Samani was sabotaged by the crew members who have left him.”
“It is true Father!” The ship’s captain pounded the table in frustration. “My ship, she broke by those who would be communists! Who else would do such a thing? We not plan to come to Russia. We have fine goods from China and spices and precious stones. The Samani, she was headed to America to sell cargo and make big profits for the owners. Now we stuck here. Engineer left. Wireless operator left. First Mate also left. Samani stuck in this Russian port.”
