Lenin stood aside most of the time, waiting for his moment, not seeking out any company, not even Aleksandra's. When he eventually was called onto the stage, there was a great noise from the crowd, some cheering and clapping, but many others shouting derisory comments; I was surprised to find that he was not universally popular.
And I was disappointed with his message. It was high in rhetoric, filled with stirring phrases, but, for me at least, it had no substance. I had hoped to hear announcements about progress with reforms, encouragement for the workers, news about food supplies, but instead he talked about the international socialist movement ~ how 'our brothers' were rising up against capitalism in Germany and America ~ and ranted about war and imperialism. After a while, I found myself looking distractedly around the room, at the faces of the crowd as they listened; most seemed to be enjoying it more than I.
* * *
Lenin's speech rattled on like a runaway train, loud and powerful and fast, but with no clear purpose, and seemingly without hope of stopping. When it finally crashed, long after night had fallen, I felt nothing but a sense of relief. This man was the leader of the revolution, said to be a gifted orator, but I found his message to be nothing but moving air, it did not seize my heart. Where Aleksandra had spoken about things that mattered to the working men and women, Lenin seemed to be only interested in his plan for world-wide revolution.
He stepped down from the stage and disappeared into a crowd of enthusiastic supporters, smiling and shaking hands; some people at least were clearly happier with his message than I had been ~ perhaps I was missing something. We all lingered, meeting union officials and activists. It was, of course, Aleksandra and Lenin that people wanted to talk with, they didn't even know who I was, so I stood aside, listening and learning as they chatted and answered questions. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my security team talking with Aleksandra's, and felt pleased that a rapport had already developed between them.
At last, Lenin broke away from the throng, heading for the exit, and we followed him after a few moments. By the time we stepped outside into the yard, he had reached his car, and was talking animatedly with a small group of workers. It was a still, warm night, the yard was half lit by a few gas lamps that leaked yellow puddles around their feet, and the milling crowd was in good spirits, a buzz of voices floated on the calm night air.
Then, like a scene from an opera, I heard a woman's voice call out from the crowd, followed by a sudden bright flash in the gloom and the crack of a gunshot, quickly repeated. I turned to see who it was, but I did not have time to follow events clearly, as I felt my team instantly press closely around me, pushing me back into the factory. People were scattering, and as I looked over my shoulder across the yard I saw Lenin drop to the ground. Several men were running from his side towards a woman, who threw the gun at them and vanished into the crowd. Then I was inside, frustratingly unable to see any more.
"What's happening?" I demanded of my team.
At a signal from Nina, Sonja broke away and went back outside, returning a minute later. "Lenin is being taken to hospital in his car," she reported, "and the woman has been caught."
"Right, I want to get us all back to the Kremlin," Nina announced before I could speak again. The agents nodded, and Rada was sent out to find our cars and have the drivers bring them round to the yard.
* * *
Nina and Rada travelled with me in the first car, along with Sergei, one of my Department Thirteen agents for the evening; the rest of my escort followed in the second car. When we arrived at the Kremlin it was clear from activity around the palace building that Lenin had been taken to his suite, not to the hospital. There were cars clustered around the entrance, and lights glowing from almost all the windows. Aleksandra and I met at the barracks and went straight to her office, where I instructed Nina to take the girls and hang around the palace and send me regular reports on what was happening.
"I recognised the woman," Aleksandra told me when we were alone.
"The one who shot him?"
"Yes. Her name is Fanya Kaplan; she's a party member."
I was amazed. "Lenin shot by one of his own?" I couldn't help laughing. "I mean, I know the speech was boring, but surely it wasn't that bad!"
She looked surprised. "Didn't you find it inspiring?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.
As the new girl, I didn't want to seem critical of the people who had brought about the revolution, but adrenalin was flowing, and my honesty wouldn't allow me to hold back.
"I wanted to hear about Russia, what we are doing to put right all the injustices of the past, but instead he talks about world revolution. What use is that to us?"
She studied me before answering. "You and Fanya would get along well," she said carefully.
"Fanya Kaplan? Why?"
"She is very critical of Lenin's global ambitions for communism. I have spoken to her about it a few times, advised her to be more ... circumspect. You know that I am often outspoken about the way Comrade Ilyich runs things? Well she is even more vehement than I, and has already fallen foul of the leadership on several occasions." She peered intensely at me over he glasses. "Be careful, Nata, who you express your opinions to; in your position, it would not be good for you to be seen as too critical of the leaders."
I nodded. Holding my tongue was not one of my gifts, but I had to learn ~ my life depended on it.
Rada arrived at that moment, slightly out of breath after, presumably, running back with her news from the palace. "Lenin has locked himself in his suite," she reported. "Doctors have been brought in to treat him, and he is surrounded by guards."
"Is he badly hurt?" I asked.
"Two bullets hit him, but he's still alive."
"Why doesn't he go to the hospital?"
Rada shrugged. "Apparently he didn't feel safe going there, in case anyone else tries to kill him."
"I can see why," I said, grimly.
"It was an earlier attempt on his life that drove him to order the assassination of the ex-royals," Aleksandra informed me. "He thought that, while they lived, their supporters would keep trying to get them back on the throne."
"I'm beginning to understand how he feels. But the servants were no threat to him," I retorted. "He didn't need to have them killed."
She shook her head. "To be fair, I don't think he intended that to happen. It is more likely that Avadeyev exceeded his orders, to eradicate all witnesses."
"And I think it is Avadeyev who is the one who is now out to get me," I told her. "I am the only person still alive who knows what he did."
Aleksandra raised an eyebrow, but did not comment further.
After a little thought, I asked Rada to return to Nina and the team and bring them back to escort me home.
Chapter 19
~ Wednesday 28th August 1918 ~
Dark cobbles under threatening skies. Although the first rays of the hidden sun were painting tendrils of pink, red and gold through the menacing, seething clouds that rose like a mountain range beyond the rooftops of Moscow, the light had yet to reach the courtyard where we assembled, which was a gloomy lake, awash in pools of black and grey. Distant thunder rumbled, like an altercation between irascible Norse gods (lacking only the surging Wagnerian music to complete the scene), as we emerged from beneath the towering cliff face of the garrison and clambered into our vehicles for the trip to the textile towns.
We had been working together on the details for nearly a month, Aleksandra and I, and now it was beginning at last. We would spend our first day together at Pavlovsky Posad, while she showed me what the factories were like and introduced me to the women who worked in them, then we would proceed to Orikavo, for more of the same. After that, I would strike out eastwards towards Nizhny, calling at Kovrov along the way, and she would continue to the towns north and west.
We shared a car for the short ride to the station, accompanied by a pair of our dark-suited security guards. Nervous and excited, I settled into the stiff l
eather seat, and watched as the rest of our escorts took up their positions in the three other vehicles. Drivers cranked the engines into life, then scrambled into position behind their steering wheels and our convoy set off, thundering through the arch and out into Red Square. There was a fresh breeze, though the expected rain had yet to arrive. The air was cool ~ summer was drawing to a close, and autumn was stalking the edges of the land, like a black bear, prowling, growling, waiting.
Our vehicles pulled up outside the pretentious front of Kursky station, with its columns and domes and arched windows, and our driver cut the engine and ran to open the door for us.
I looked around as I climbed out onto the pavement. Early morning passers-by had stopped to watch the sudden activity, curious at the arrival of so many people. It reminded me of that late-August morning, almost exactly a year earlier, when I had boarded the little train at Tzarskoye Selo with the royal retinue, bound for exile in Tobolsk. Their reign was already over by then, whereas the new royalty, Lenin, Stalin and the rest, were just getting their feet under the table.
A bright flash briefly lit the sky, and another drum-roll of thunder, closer now, sent a shiver through me as I recalled that day, and the events that followed it. I pushed the thought away. 'The past is past,' I told myself, angrily. 'You were not responsible for it, and you cannot change what has happened.' I knew it was the truth, but the memories would not let me rest.
We reached the booking hall just as the first heavy spots of rain began to beat against the pavements, and heads turned as we swept through like an invading army, accompanied by reverberating crashes of thunder like a salvo of cannon. What an entrance!
When we emerged onto the platform, the rain was pounding on the roof of the waiting train, pouring down upon us as we ran and quickly scrambled into the carriage which had been requisitioned for us in the name of the government. All along our route, trains had been reserved, hotel rooms commandeered, halls booked and factory owners placed on alert. I was fascinated at the way the Party machinery worked, like the locomotive at the front of our train, awesomely all-powerful, just as the Tsar had been. I found the comparison disconcerting.
* * *
Glaring flashes of lightning glittered on the streams of raindrops that raced diagonally across the windows of our carriage as we sliced through the bleak suburbs of Moscow and into the countryside, and the cracks of thunder, now overhead, were audible even above the constant clatter of the wheels on the track. Occasionally, I peered out at the smeared view of looming sky and wind-swept, tarnished-silver landscape, but mostly I watched my colleagues as they chatted. I was not inclined to join in; the act of holding my nerves under control left me with little strength for conversation.
It was mid-day by the time we reached Pavlovsky Posad, one of the grey, industrial towns that served the metropolis from a respectful distance. The storm, by then, had passed over, though rain still dripped from roofs and awnings, and thunder still bounced from sky to earth and back not far away.
An enthusiastic crowd greeted Aleksandra on the station platform. Local party officials jostled to welcome her, anxious to establish their credentials, to prove their loyalty to the cause. Their fawning embarrassed me, and looking at Aleksandra's face it appeared that she felt the same. However, there was business to be done, and we embarked on a programme of meetings and speeches that stretched into the night.
I enjoyed watching Aleksandra at work. She inspired people with her impassioned speeches, then chatted comfortably with them afterwards, answering questions, reassuring, comforting, urging them to keep supporting the new government. She introduced me to the party workers, and involved me in every discussion. I stood beside her on the improvised stages when she spoke to the men and women outside their factories, observed their tired faces, turned up to watch her, absorbing her words like a medicine ~ morphine, numbing the pain of their tedious, mechanical lives.
She told them about me, and I saw their initial surprise and suspicion as their eyes moved from her to inspect me, briefly. But we found that most people were willing to accept Aleksandra's endorsement of me, happy to learn that there was support for the cause, even from within the Tsar's own household; perhaps it helped them to feel a little less isolated.
We went into the cotton factories, and Aleksandra talked to the women working the looms, the engineers and the supervisors and the managers. She carefully showed me how the systems worked, and the things I should look for when I inspected the factories at Kovrov.
After a dizzying ~ almost frantic ~ round of appointments, we fell into our beds for a few hours sleep before rising again before dawn to move on to our next stop, Orekhovo, where the pattern was repeated. The mills seemed like dreadful places to me, but I discovered that they were vastly better than they had been before the revolution. Huge extractor fans were now in place, removing a good proportion of the choking fibres that floated in the air, and there were regulations and controls on the number of hours worked by the women in any one shift, as well as restrictions on the use of children.
By the time our two days together approached its end, I had the knowledge and confidence to begin addressing the last, small meeting myself, with her beside me for support. It was scary, yet exhilarating, and preparation for the role I was to play at Kovrov and Nizhny.
* * *
Another wet dawn, another convoy, another railway station. On the morning of the third day of our trip, Aleksandra and I parted company at Orekhovo. She would be heading north, to continue her whirlwind tour of factories and party offices, while I was going eastwards, with my own agenda.
On a platform opposite I saw Aleksandra's train arrive, and she waved to me as she climbed in with her retinue, the vanished from sight. I stood nervously, with my arms crossed, waiting for mine to arrive ~ the train to the industrial town of Kovrov, about two hundred miles from Moscow, where I had appointments with the workers and managers of the two principal factories. It was time to put my training into practice.
I felt a hand slip into the crook of my arm, and looked round to see Rada smiling reassuringly. "You'll be fine, don't worry," she said softly.
I gave her a rueful smile and shook my head. "This is not me, Rada, standing up in front of people, public speaking, committees, politics. All I want to do is to get to Nizhny and try to find out anything I can about Max's disappearance."
"It's only a day's delay," she said. "By this time tomorrow, we will be in Nizhny, and you can start poking around."
Sudden noise and bustling activity all around us heralded the arrival of our train, and my team closed in around me. Soon we were busy loading our baggage and scrambling aboard.
On the five hour journey I was alone with my whole security team for the first time since the trip began. They seemed to be getting along well enough, although the agents from Department Thirteen, Stanislav and Leo, spoke very little and revealed nothing. The four uniformed girls, however, were talkative and animated, chatting happily amongst themselves about everything from their families to the men they observed from the train window, and, just occasionally, about tactics and training. Even Sonja seemed more relaxed than at the start of the trip; perhaps she had just been nervous when it began.
I let them enjoy each other's company while I read through my notes and the itinerary of my visit.
Chapter 20
~ Friday 30th August 1918 ~
Kovrov, a bleak industrial town, and a chill wind from the north nipped my cheeks as I stepped from the train. I was greeted by a delegation of representatives from the various cotton mills in and around the town, and even some local shopkeepers and tradesmen. Their spokesmen were not slow to express their disappointment that it was not Aleksandra herself arriving, but a mere assistant, someone they had never heard of before the posters arrived.
"I understand how you feel," I said, sensitive to their feelings and also rather nervous about the responsibility heaped on my shoulders. "Aleksandra will be here in November, but she wanted me to br
ing you news about the new employment laws that the government is passing, and to take back to her any messages you may wish to give me. I promise you, she will come. I am here to listen to you, to help if I can, and to report back on any problems."
They seemed to accept this, and led me to the vehicles they had organized to take me and my escort to the guest-house where we were to stay overnight.
My luggage deposited, and Sonja left behind to keep an eye on things, I was whizzed off to the first of the public meetings they had arranged.
In what seemed like the blink of an eye, I was standing on the stage they had erected in the market square, before a small crowd of about thirty curious citizens, and reading out the message Aleksandra had given me to deliver. My nerves took control of my tongue, and I stammered my way through it, embarrassed at my poor delivery and conscious of their impatience. It took about five minutes, and by the time I had finished, the audience had melted away, like winter snow in the first rays of the sun.
Angry with myself, I apologised to the sturdy union leaders who had remained to the end. They laughed, putting me at ease, assuring me that the public rarely enjoyed listening to political speeches.
A short drive took us to a small workshop, where women sat at sewing machines, making traditional Russian garments. Magically, my nervousness disappeared; I felt comfortable with these people ~ ordinary citizens, working to survive, doing what generations had done before them. We chatted comfortably, and I read out Aleksandra's message again as they sat at their work-stations. This time I managed to do it with more assurance.
My next visit was one of two that had been worrying me since we planned the trip. With just my bodyguards, and the drivers provided by the local party, I arrived outside a big engineering plant on the outskirts of the town. The visit had been pre-arranged, and I was met by the owner, Valery Degtyarev and members of his board.
He led me inside, followed by his flunkies and flanked by my guards, and began to proudly show me the huge machines, pointing out the new ones. I noticed at once that the place was as silent as a church. "Why is there no production, Mr Degtyarev?" I asked.
Natalie Tereshchenko - The Other Side Page 10
