The romanov sanction, p.15
The Romanov Sanction, page 15
part #1 of Briefings from the Deep Scarlet Compartment Series
The young man made his announcement in a confident, matter of fact tone without any sign of boastfulness. “When will you be ready to leave Vladivostok, Captain Nikos? I would like to send word to the others.” Then with a twinkle in his eye, “I am sure the ladies would be happy to help you pack, but you would probably prefer to do that yourself.”
Mother of God Church
Vladivostok, Russia
43.12N 131.91E
0200 GMT, August 1, 1918
Father Karol Sliwowsky knelt at the altar, pondering his own second thoughts about the adventure enveloping his parish house. At noon, a Voice spoke to him. The female Voice was very specific in her message.
“Karol Sliwowsky, you have found favor with the Son. He, who sits at the right hand, is pleased with the sanctuary that his beloved children have found in your care. Now is the time for them to leave your nest and fly to the east. A man will come to you. This man will tell you that he is sent by Jonathan to retrieve the bundle you are holding for him. When this man comes, you can trust him and follow his directions.”
With that, the Voice was gone. Thinking that someone could be playing a trick on their priest, Karol had looked around the site. He was alone. Realizing the Source of the Voice, he crossed himself and murmured “Your will be done. Amen.”
Within minutes, he sighted an older man walking effortlessly up the hill toward the church site. Dressed as an engineer, the man was a stranger to the priest. Walking directly up to the priest, the stranger addressed him by name. “Father Sliwowsky, I am Hans Gunter. Jonathan has sent me to retrieve the bundle that you are holding for him. We must take them to the docks after dark. They will sail on the Samani tonight.”
“But Captain Yiannakis’ ship is damaged. He told me just yesterday that it would be weeks to repair.”
“What was broken is now better than new. The Samani will sail before the new day arrives,” came the reply. Allowing a little pride to seep through, Hans added, “What may take weeks at other places, the Master Engineer and his craftsmen can accomplish in a single evening.”
“Father, I think Captain Nikos would like you to bless his ship before it sails. I think he also feels the need to confess as well. You can go ahead. Jonathan would like you to join him and his charges for dinner at the Bent Harpoon. I know the way to the parish house and will lead the children to the dock as soon as it is dark.”
Luxury Hotel
Vladivostok, Russia
43.11N 131.88E
0200 GMT, August 1, 1918
Madam Lafitte answered a knock at the door of her room to find a powerfully built older gentleman standing in the hall, with his hat in his hands. “Madam, I am Lars Swenson. Jonathan sent me to inform you that the package you wish sent, will be shipped out tonight. It will be departing at about the same time that you and Jacques will be leaving. I would be happy to accompany you and your husband to the docks this evening.”
Relief flooded into her eyes. With an effort, she controlled her voice and replied. “Thank you, sir! You have brought us most welcome news! Jacques and I would be pleased if you would join us for dinner this evening and then we can go to the ship together. We would love to hear all of the details.”
“Thank you for the offer to join you on your last evening in Russia. I will return at six, Madam.” With that Lars turned and ambled down the corridor of the nicest hotel in the port city.
Hostel
Vladivostok, Russia
43.13N 131.88E
0200 GMT, August 1, 1918
Simultaneously, Dr. Botkin was receiving Kurt into his room, several blocks away. “Doctor, I bring you a message from Jonathan. The arrangements have been made. You and your group will sail with the evening tide tonight. Stephen and I will guide you to the restaurant that you dined at last night and later walk you to the Samani. You should check out individually. We will join you outside the hotel.” With that, the messenger turned and left the slightly seedy hotel.
Stephen waited for him across the street. “That should be it. All the pieces will be moving according to the plan. I wonder what will go wrong before our part is done. Anyway, it was fun working on the old engine last night. It has been a while since we built that one.”
Aboard the SS Samani
Vladivostok, Russia
43.10N 131.89E
1400 GMT, August 1, 1918
Captain Nikos Yiannakis, Master of the Greek freighter Samani, scanned the dark dock area from his chair on the bridge as he contemplated the events of the past two days. Far from the freighter’s ignominious limping into port like an old plow horse, the Samani now seemed to be trembling with the excitement of a yearling yearning to run.
Yesterday the boiler room sounded like the machinery was tearing itself apart from the inside. This evening, it purred like a contented big cat. The whole of the Samani, ship, crew, and captain were looking forward to the prospect of dashing back out into the dark waters of the Pacific.
Still the quay was empty of its new cargo, nine souls escaping from Russia. Had they been detained? Were his passengers even coming? Maybe this was a dream and he was still at sea plodding his course from the Orient to America.
Chapter 20: The Last Supper in Russia
Bent Harpoon
Vladivostok, Russia
43.12N 131.89E
1400 GMT, August 1, 1918
Entering the Bent Harpoon, Maria immediately noticed the change. Although the place was no less dingy, last evening the sailors’ pub was relatively quiet with only a few individuals at the bar. Tonight, the place was crowded with customers eager for both drink and revelry. Two merchant ships had entered the harbor today and their crews were enjoying their first night ashore. Overlaying the smell of sweat and stale beer, smoke from pipes and cigarettes turned the air the color of evening fog.
Despite the crowd, Kurt Besoms parted the revelers as easy as a sloop’s bow parts the waters. Following in the wake of the marine engineer was easy for Maria and Sam. Before the mob could close behind them, Stephen’s form kept the channel open for Anastasia and Dr. Botkin to follow. As soon as Jonathan passed, the gap closed as if the group had never passed through.
At the far end of the room, several tables were pulled together into one long one. Seated at the center were Father Sliwowsky and his four charges. With their backs to the rest of the room, the former Tsar and Tsarina of Russia sat talking to their eldest daughters, their son and Sophia Piotrovskaya, who was fast becoming the boy’s inseparable companion.
Motioning them to the table, Lars indicated that the newcomers sit on either side of their parents. Kurt, Stephen and Hans took seats between the long table and the rest of the room. As the final group took their places, each one noticed the change. Once seated, the din that had enveloped then since entering the Bent Harpoon disappeared. The stale smell fell away.
Father Sliwowsky looked from face to face around the table. He recognized all the diners. Unless disaster struck, this would be the last meal in Russia for its former royal family. Based on the bowls and platters of food before them, this would indeed be a good last supper for his guests. As was his habit, Father Sliwowsky looked to the dozen people gathered around the table, broke bread and began to bless it.
Half way through the blessing, the priest stopped suddenly and looked about the table again. There were twelve heads bowed. The thought screamed at him, twelve, last supper! Jonathan’s hand on his shoulder brought him back to the present, “There is not a Judas at this table tonight. You may complete the blessing in peace, Father Karol.”
Relieved and somehow comforted that everything would run according to plan, the parish priest of Vladivostok continued. Yes, this would be a very good last supper in Russia. After the group had dined, Lars stood and led the way out of the Bent Harpoon.
The proprietor was pleased to see the group depart. As he watched the Samani’s crew thread their way out, the Bent Harpoon’s owner thought to himself that it was a bit unusual for a group of sailors to spend their last night in port in the company of a priest. Usually there was other companionship on such an occasion. Maybe this group was Polish and just wanted to visit with someone from home.
Well fair sailing to their ship. What was its name? Hmm, the name of the ship had already sailed from his memory. Anyway, now that this quiet bunch of sailors was out, the tables were being pulled apart to make room for their new occupants and their female companions of the evening. Yes, this would be a profitable night for the Bent Harpoon.
Dockside near SS Samani
Vladivostok, Russia
43.10N 131.89E
1600 GMT, August 1, 1918
Anastasia walked closely beside Jonathan as the group moved down the darkened streets toward the equally dark wharf area. “Jonathan, I have a question.”
“Yes, Miss Anastasia, what is troubling you this fine evening?” He replied, already guessing the question to come.
“Those sailors in the Bent Harpoon, none of them gave us a second glance. I was sure that at least one or two of them would come over to see if one of us girls would like some fun for the evening. Not that I mind, but they did not seem to even want to look at us.”
“It is simple, miss. The sailors saw what they thought they were seeing. The long table to them was filled with a group of sailors having dinner with a priest. On their first night in port, they had no interest with talking to a priest.”
“But we are not sailors. At least my sisters, Sophia, and I are not. We are not dressed like sailors. We are dressed like girls. And quite pretty ones at that, I would say.” The grand duchess snapped, getting more than a little piqued.
“To those in the Bent Harpoon, they only saw Lars, Kurt, Hans, Stephen and Father Sliwowsky clearly through the haze in the room. The rest of you looked to be ordinary seamen, nothing more. Lars is very good at the power of positive suggestion.”
“You mean Lars cast a spell?”
“No, Lars just provided an image that they expected. The sailors just saw more sailors.”
“Can you do that, too?”
“Yes, if I have to. Why do you ask?”
“Well, look at those men standing by the dock. I think they are checking passports and papers of everyone entering the dock. How good are the papers we are carrying? Will they pass?”
“The papers you and your sisters are carrying are better than government issue. Your passport is perfect. Just remember that you are Ann Roman, an American on holiday.”
“They will only see what they expect to see? They will not see anything out of the ordinary?”
“No miss, they will not see anything out of the ordinary. You can take my word at that.”
“Good, I was wondering what I would do with this Colt automatic I borrowed from Sam,” Anastasia declared, pulling the gray pistol from a pocket in the folds of her dress. “I was hoping that I would not have to use it before we got to the ship.”
Again, Jonathan looked skyward for guidance. Looking closely at the men gathered at the entrance to the quay ahead, Jonathan saw that Anastasia was correct. Everyone entering the area was stopped and had to present papers. They were obviously looking for someone.
Lars, who was leading the group, did not hesitate or change his pace. His booming voice penetrated the darkness. “Jan, Jan Mancewicz, is that you out on the docks tonight?”
“Yes, and who is disturbing the night with that fog horn of a voice? What are you men up to? Where are you heading?” came the staccato reply.
“It’s Lars Swenson. You know me. You sent for us to work on the Samani. Are you getting forgetful of your friends, now that you are the Harbor Administrator?”
A somewhat uncertain voice replied, “No, of course not, but what are you doing on the docks at night? I thought the Samani was ready to sail. Is there still some problem with her engine?”
Continuing his unbroken pace toward the head of the dock, Lars laughed and boomed back, “The Samani has no problems needing our skills. We have been having a few drinks with the crew and are leading them back to their ship before it sails. It would not do to leave them to wander the streets of Vladivostok looking for the sea. My mates and I will see them aboard and then go back to raise a few more tankards to their safe voyage. Care to join us, Jan?”
“No, we are waiting to check through a Canadian that is late to board the Motor Vessel Chava. Chava will be sailing this evening and Mr. and Mrs. Lafitte are not yet aboard. He must be an important one, this Lafitte fellow. I have orders to make sure he gets aboard without any delays.”
“That would be me, Harbor Master. I am Jacques Lafitte, and this is my wife Alice. I do apologize, but we joined this group of Greek sailors and lost the time,” Nicholas replied moving to the front of the group and extending his hand to the Harbor Administrator. “I hope that we have not inconvenienced you. I did not think the Chava was sailing before nine tonight. Alice and I thought we would have a few beers before we went down to the ship.” Pointing to the nearest vessel, Nicholas added, “Is that the Chava?”
“No sir, the near ship is the Greek merchant Samani where these sailors are headed. The Chava is farther down the pier, near the end and on the other side. May I see your papers?”
“Certainly, I think these are in order. Our baggage was sent ahead and should already be aboard,” Nicholas replied easily. Taking his papers back and turning his back to the harbor administrator, he grasped Jonathan’s hand. “Alice and I wish you a safe journey. Maybe we will see each other again in our travels. Call on us if you are ever in Vancouver.”
Then with a long look at each of the ‘sailors’ in Lars’s group, Jacques took Alice’s arm and proceeded down the dock toward the Chava. Looking to the world as a mining engineer and his wife returning home via Hong Kong and Hawaii, the Tsar and Tsarina of Russia eluded their captors on a voyage paid in advance by the very people that had conspired to murder them.
“All of you sailors will have to sign my log before boarding the Samani,” instructed the policeman standing beside the harbor administrator in an officious voice.
Before Anastasia could do something foolish, Lars spoke directly to the policeman, “These sailors are already on your sheet.”
“Yes, you’re right, my mistake. I see their names here. If you will just speak out your names, I can check them off.”
With a mischievous grin, Anastasia stepped up and stated her new name in a clear voice, “I am Ann Roman.”
Scanning down the paper before him, the policeman’s finger down stopped midway down the page, “Yes I have your name, Seaman Aristos. You may proceed.”
Turning to wink at the rest, Anastasia Romanov spun around quickly enough for her dress to fan out and began walking toward the gangway of the Samani, the Colt automatic clearly visible to the others in her family.
Gripping his rosary nervously, Father Sliwowsky observed the process. One at a time the Romanov party passed by the policeman, giving their new American names in increasingly confident voices. Just as quickly as the American name was given, each was checked off the list under another entirely different one.
Seeing the last of his passengers safely on board, Captain Nikos wasted no time in ordering casting off all lines. The Samani maneuvered away from the dock and out into the harbor under its own power. Slowly the Samani drew abreast of the MV Chava.
A couple at the dock side rail of the Chava watched with relief and not a little fear as nine ‘sailors’ on the Samani saluted and then waved happily at the lone couple. Jacques leaned over, kissed his wife and whispered in her ear, “Sunny, for the first time I really think this is going to work. We will see the children next month when we reach Hawaii. Why don’t we go below and get settled in?”
Within minutes, the Motor Vessel Chava followed the Samani out of the harbor and angled south. Checking his manifest, the purser saw that the Lafittes would be leaving the ship in Hong Kong, their first port call. Unknown to him, the couple would not remain in the British colony. Mr. and Mrs. Lafitte would be departing on a Dutch schooner to the Hawaiian Islands where Jacques and Alice would vanish as surely as if they never existed.
Watching the second ship leave port, Father Sliwowsky shook hands with Jan Mancewicz, his parishioner who had donated the land on which the new church was rising ever so slowly. “Good night and God bless you Jan.”
“Just curious Father, but what brought you to see these two ordinary vessels sail tonight?”
“I had met the captain of the Samani the other day and just felt the need to see some of God’s children sail away. I will see you at mass Saturday.” With that, the priest walked away into the gloom. Picking up his pace to catch up with the four marine engineers just turning onto the main street leading away from the docks, Father Sliwowsky quickly approached the corner. Astonished, the future bishop stopped dead in his tracks. Before him the street was totally empty!
