Love and Triumph: The Coltrane Saga, Book 8

by Patricia Hagan

Cord drew him across the landing so they would not be overheard should Marilee be awake. Then he hastened to confide, “I confirmed orders from the Bolsheviks to proceed at once to Petrograd with Marilee and turn her over there. I also confirmed with the Whites that once we leave here, we will leave our course and be met by comrades near the German border ready to take us underground.”

  “And will you tell Marilee the truth now?” Serge wanted to know.

  “Yes, yes,” Cord said quickly. “Have you heard her moving around lately?”

  “No. I took her dinner tray to her, and she asked for a bottle of wine. When I took that in, she was in her toilet, so I locked the door and haven’t been in since.”

  Cord took a key from his pocket and let himself into the room.

  Darkness greeted him, and he whispered her name softly, thinking she was asleep. When there was no response, he turned on a lamp.

  The first thing he saw was the dinner tray on the table—untouched—and the full bottle of wine beside it.

  He knew.

  Before he ran across the room to the toilet and dressing alcove, he knew that Marilee had escaped.

  The automobile bumped along slowly, for Marilee was not altogether confident in her driving.

  Straining to see in the moonlight, she was relieved to be able to make out the overgrown path to the winery. She had walked it so many times and knew every curve. With a pounding heart, she turned the automobile in that direction.

  She was frightened, but her fierce determination would see her through this night.

  Cord Brandt would have to face the consequences for allowing her to escape, and oh, how she wished those consequences would be great—and painful—as painful as the aching of her broken heart.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Serge was distraught as he tried to figure out how Marilee had slipped by him. “It had to have been when I went for the wine. She’d gone into her toilet alcove, and I saw no need to lock the door. And when I came back, I thought it would be rude to call out to her, so I just left the wine and locked the door behind me. But how was I to know she was planning to escape?” He looked at Cord helplessly. “You had let her roam about the château, and she’d made no attempt to leave.”

  Cord was deep in thought. “Serge, you’ve got to remember that those times I was usually with her, and besides, there wasn’t another woman around. Elenore showing up just made her angrier than I realized.”

  Serge sighed and shook his head. “She’s out there, in the middle of the night, all alone. We know she took that automobile, but the guard at the gate says she never passed him. That means she has to be somewhere on the estate.”

  Cord nodded absently. He already had every available man out searching the grounds. Did Marilee even know how to drive? Stubborn and determined as she was, he was sure she would not let a little thing like that stop her. No, she would keep on going, trying to make her way to—where?

  He snapped his fingers, his blue eyes suddenly glowing with hope. “She’ll head for the border. She’ll try to make it all the way to Russia.”

  Serge looked at him doubtfully. “How can you be so sure?”

  “Where else would she go? The authorities? Oh, no. She realizes there’s a war going on, and she’d be detained somewhere, then sent back to the Coltranes in Spain. She doesn’t want that. She’s torn over what she was told about her father, and she’s determined to find him and prove it was all a lie.” He nodded firmly and smiled to himself. “Yes, she’ll head for the border, all right, and she knows the countryside. She’ll know which way to go.”

  Serge pointed out, “That still doesn’t explain how she got off the estate without the guard at the front gate seeing her pass. He’s a good man. He swears he didn’t doze off, and I believe him.”

  “So do I,” Cord agreed, his mind whirling as he tried to figure out what to do next.

  They were standing on the marble terrace that overlooked the rolling, moonlit lawn. Suddenly a guard appeared, running and calling excitedly. Cord recognized him as one of his own men, and he and Serge hurried to meet him.

  “The old road, at the back…” He paused to catch his breath.

  Cord knew where he meant, for he had made it his business to go over the estate. “The one that goes to the winery Mikhailonov planned to build? But it’s overgrown with weeds, and—”

  “Yes, yes,” the guard agreed quickly, “but she made it through. We found weeds mashed down, and tracks. We followed, thinking maybe she had stalled somewhere, but she made it to the back road, and she’s probably on the main highway into Paris by now.”

  Cord trusted the man. “We have to get her into the hands of the Whites before the Bolsheviks find out she’s gone. I’m going to get word to them to intercept her before she gets to Paris. I can, if I leave now, but there’s Elenore to be dealt with. She mustn’t know about any of this.”

  He turned to Serge and gripped his shoulders. “Take her back to the Bolshevik headquarters, and only then tell them all that Marilee has escaped. If Elenore puts up a fuss, tell her I’ve gone and I’m not coming back. She’ll go with you then.”

  Serge smiled at Cord. “You know, I’ve a feeling this is for the best. You never wanted to turn Marilee over to them, anyway.”

  Cord grinned. “More than that, my friend. I had no intention of doing so, no matter the consequences.”

  Marilee was leaning over the steering wheel, her fingers gripping it so tightly they ached. She struggled for total concentration, fighting against thoughts of Cord. Yet no matter how hard she tried, his face continued to appear before her in the moonlight—his blue eyes laughing or warm with desire, his tousled blond hair entwined around her loving fingertips. God, she had fallen in love with him without even realizing it! But oh, how painfully quick that love had turned into loathing and hate!

  She could not help pondering what her fate might have been had she not happened upon Cord and Elenore lying naked together, in the wild throes of their passion. Would she have gone on loving him and believing that he loved her?

  A shudder of revulsion went through her, and she could only soothe her aching heart with the conviction that she was far better off to have learned the truth. Now she could get on with her life, and be all the wiser for the experience.

  She drove on wearily. Her immediate hope was to find a friendly farmer who would give her shelter till she could make plans to continue her journey to Russia.

  Suddenly she rounded a curve and saw that the road ahead was blocked by three automobiles. A line of men faced her, and she saw that they were all carrying guns. With a cry of fear and defeat, she could do nothing but brake to a stop, then wait for them to descend upon her.

  Damn! Damn! Damn! she cursed. So close yet so far! To taste freedom, to actually dream of making her way to Russia and finding her father had been too good to be true.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The door on her side swung open, and a man with a German accent said crisply, “Please get out. You’ve no cause to be frightened. We mean you no harm.”

  She obeyed, her frustration quickly giving way to renewed courage. With her head held high, she glared at him. “What right do you have to stop me? Who do you think you are?”

  Her captor grinned. She could see that he had a kind face. “Who I am,” he said gently, “who we are, will depend on who you are. I ask that you tell the truth.”

  Lifting her chin yet higher, Marilee disclosed her identity.

  His grin grew broader. She saw the men around him relax and lower their rifles.

  Still wary, Marilee asked cautiously, “Will you please tell me what this is all about?”

  “Are you, by chance, Drakar Mikhailonov’s daughter?” their leader asked.

  She nodded, beginning to tremble. Dear God, don’t let them be Bolsheviks, she silently prayed.

  “You have nothing to fear,” he told her, signaling one of the men to get in the car. “Come with us. We’ve been looking for you.”

&nb
sp; She shook her head, still bewildered. “But why? Who are you?”

  He led her to one of the cars. “You’ll be told everything later, but for now, suffice it to say that we’d heard you were in this area, being held hostage by the Bolsheviks. We heard from one of our spies tonight that you had escaped, so we were watching the roads to try and intercept you before they got to you first.”

  She gasped, tears of joy stinging her eyes. “Then, then you are…counterrevolutionaries. And you know my father?”

  “Ah, yes, we know Drakar well,” he assured her. “But allow me to introduce myself. I am Vladimir Dubovitsky. We have a long journey ahead, for we’re taking you all the way to Russia. There will be much time for answering all your questions, but let’s be on our way. These woods will be crawling with Bolshevik supporters by daylight, and we want to distance ourselves as quickly as possible.”

  Marilee was no longer afraid. Although she had no proof that he was telling the truth, she had no choice but to put her fate in his hands. Something told her that she was safe.

  Vladimir helped her into the rear seat of one of the three cars that formed their convoy, and he settled in beside her. When they were on their way, he explained they would keep to the back roads, skirting Paris and the Allied troops. “We’re on our way to a little town called Mantes-la-Jolie on the Seine. From there we take a small boat to Le Havre, where a ship will be waiting to take us on to Russia. We’re disguised as fishermen. You will be given clothes to dress as one also.”

  Marilee listened, nodding at everything he said. Finally she could restrain herself no longer. “You’ve got to tell me about my father! I’ve got to know he’s all right.”

  The man driving turned his head ever so slightly to give her a look of sympathy. She felt a chill of foreboding.

  “Drakar, as far as we know,” Vladimir began, “is fine. I will try to tell you all that we know at this time.’’

  “Yes, please,” she urged. “I’ve been told some terrible lies about him, that he stole money from the Czar, and the Bolsheviks demanded it be returned as my ransom, because they fear he’ll use it to help Nicholas escape.”

  “Only part of that is true,” he said. “Actually, your father didn’t steal anything when he slipped away from the Imperial train in Pskov and went underground.”

  “I don’t believe he ever deserted the Czar. He and Nicholas were like brothers. They grew up together. They—”

  “I know all that, Marilee.” He covered her hand with his. “Your father is not a coward. He was ordered to leave the Czar. We knew the end was near, and he could do more for Nicholas by leaving him than by staying to become a general of the Provisional Government, something he did not believe in. So, with Nicholas’s blessing, he left the train in the middle of the night and slipped away to join other advisers and officers who planned to start a counterrevolution. They are known as Whites. So are we. Is it becoming clearer to you now?”

  She nodded vigorously. “But what about the money? Why was he accused of stealing that?”

  Vladimir’s voice suddenly took on an amused tone, and she saw the two men in the front seat exchange smiles. “Did you know your father had a lubovnitsa?” he asked.

  Marilee recognized the Russian word for “lover”. Quietly, she responded, “No. But I’m not surprised. After all, my mother died when I was born. It’s hardly likely my father would spend the rest of his life in celibacy.”

  “Actually, Irina was more than Drakar’s lubovnitsa. It was said they were going to be married,” Vladimir explained.

  Marilee was glad to know that her father had found happiness in his life, for she was only too aware of how bereft he had been when her mother died. Kitty had even confided once her fear that he would take his own life in his grief. “Go on,” she urged amiably. “Tell me about this special woman who was able to heal my father’s grief.”

  “Ahh, Irina was special,” he assured.

  “Was?” Marilee tensed. “Is she dead?”

  “We hope not,” he said quickly. Then he went on to relate the entire story, how Drakar had melded into the underground and Irina had subsequently smuggled much gold from the Imperial treasury to him. She had been a respected member of the royal court, with access to the Romanov jewels and treasure, so it had been easy for her to slip out a little at a time. Caught with the last bit she was smuggling, she had been tortured, but had refused to tell where Drakar and the other counterrevolutionaries were hiding.

  His respect and admiration apparent, Vladimir told how Irina had been in a hospital, recuperating from her injuries at the hands of fiendish Bolshevik guards, when she somehow managed to escape.

  “She has not been heard from since,” he finished with a shrug. “We can only assume she made her way to your father and is with him now.”

  “And where is he?” Marilee demanded. “You said he was one of you—a White. So why is it you don’t know where he is? Why is it the Bolsheviks don’t know? I was supposed to be taken to them as bait to get him to come out of hiding, but I escaped before that could happen. Where is he, that no one seems to be able to locate him?”

  Vladimir sighed heavily. “Your father has been captured by the Bolsheviks. He came out of the underground to make contact after hearing you were being held a hostage, and they took him prisoner.”

  “Oh, dear God!” Her hand flew to her throat, and she felt herself swaying.

  Vladimir put his arm around her. “Take comfort in the knowledge that he probably won’t be harmed because he’s worth more to them alive than dead. Your father was quite respected. If they execute him, he’ll become a martyr to the people, and you can be assured the Bolsheviks don’t want that.

  “Besides,” he hastened to add, “from first accounts, Irina was not captured. The details are still filtering in from our contacts in Russia, but from all we’ve been able to learn so far, he was alone. Evidently he was wary of a trap, because he didn’t have the gold with him. So we can only believe that Irina has it, and that she’s in hiding somewhere.”

  Marilee demanded fiercely, “Well, what are your people doing about it? Why aren’t you trying to free him instead of wasting your time with me? The Bolsheviks won’t be interested in me now that they’ve got my father.”

  “You’re wrong,” he contradicted her. “You’re still a valuable hostage to his followers, like Irina. They’d figure she would not stand back if she knew you were being tortured as she was. She’d come forth with the gold, because that’s what your father would tell her to do. I’m afraid you’re still important to the Bolsheviks, my dear. And it’s best we get you underground and keep you there.

  “Now just settle back and enjoy the ride,” he finished. “You’re safe now.”

  Marilee leaned back against the seat, but she was anything but relaxed as she chewed her lower lip thoughtfully, forming a plan.

  The night rushed by.

  On the horizon, lavender fingers touched the darkness.

  The little village of Mantes-la-Jolie was still asleep as their convoy reached the waterfront. Vladimir draped his long wool coat around Marilee’s shoulders as he urged her to hurry to where a tiny fishing boat was waiting.

  The crew had had advance notice of their important cargo and shoved off as soon as Marilee came on board. They headed straight into the morning wind—their destination, Russia.

  She was given the clothes of a fisherman. She tucked her hair, still short from her Irene Castle bob, beneath a woolen cap. From a distance she easily passed as just another crew member.

  In the little galley below decks, coffee was waiting, as well as bread and eggs, and Marilee ate and drank heartily, realizing she had been famished.

  “So tell me,” she said to Vladimir. “What is the news in Russia? I’m afraid my captor did not tell me much.”

  Vladimir had been watching her, delighted that she seemed so fit and well. He did not miss the sarcasm in her voice when she said “captor”, referring to Brandt. He, like the other Whites st
ationed in France, had heard the rumors that the usually stern and cold Cordell Brandt was falling in love with his Russian-American hostage. He knew, also, that Cord had not yet confided his true identity as a counterspy to her, and his orders were that she not be told now. It was obvious that she still harbored resentment toward him.

  Vladimir proceeded to tell her that the Bolsheviks were in power. She was not surprised, knowing that revolution had been imminent.

  Vladimir recounted everything.

  On the night of October 23, 1917, Lenin, his beard shaved and wearing a wig, had made his way secretly into Petrograd for a meeting with the Bolshevik Central Committee. He had demanded an immediate rebellion, and the other party leaders had agreed that an armed uprising had become necessary.

  On November 6, the Bolsheviks had struck.

  The cruiser Aurora, flying their red flag, had put down anchor in the River Neva opposite the Winter Palace. Armed Bolshevik squads quickly and methodically took over all public buildings, telephone exchanges, bridges, banks, and railway stations.

  Kerensky, the leader of the Provisional Government, had left the following day by car, accompanied by another car, which flew the American flag. They had moved without incident through streets packed with Bolshevik soldiers, heading south to attempt to get help from the army. But at nine o’clock that night, the Aurora had fired a single blank shell, and the women’s battalion within Malachite Hall of the Winter Palace, which had been protecting the remaining ministers of the Provisional Government, surrendered.

  Two hours later, shells whistled across the river, hitting the palace and doing slight damage to plaster.

  At exactly 2:10 a.m. on the morning of November 8, the ministers surrendered.

  “It was almost without incident,” Vladimir told Marilee pensively. “From what our people have related to us, nothing really changed. Restaurants and cinemas and stores on the Nevsky Prospekt stayed open and streetcars continued to run in most of the city. There was even a performance of the ballet at the Mariinsky Theater.” He shook his head incredulously.